Closer and closer we came, but I didn’t pull them back. The White was ahead, and if the rope stayed taut, he would be the first to trip on it. That would pull down the rope and let the rest of us cross it safely before we had to stop.
But it did drop, and we ran over it, coming alongside the spina, which began at the line of the alba linea. Now, until the first turn, we were on the straightaway.
I needed to get over closer to the rails if I had hopes of making a tight turn, and I steered the horses to the left. But the White kept blocking me, wavering and feinting, teasing me but not letting me past. I shot a look at him; his horses were running steadily but not too fast. My first judgment that he was cautious had been borne out, but he was very skillful in his handling.
I would go around him. It took more ground, but I could pass him. So I pulled my team to the right and gave them the command to run all out, and they speeded up and we pulled alongside the White. Now to get around him!
But the old driver turned his head, grinning that grin, and suddenly his horses pulled out a reserve and leapt forward. I urged mine to do the same, but they weren’t fast enough, not even trying their utmost.
Not fast enough . . . how could that be? But a team is only as fast as its slowest horse, Tigellinus had cautioned, and the other three were not as fast as the Iberian.
So I fell back on the inner rail behind the White. Just then, coming from behind, the Blue passed me and ran neck and neck with White. Now I had two of them blocking me; I was trapped.
A roar went up from the stands, but although I was aware of it, it didn’t register as anything but noise, background noise.
The first turn. I was gripping the reins tightly, but my hands were so sweaty they made the reins slippery. But the Iberian performed magnificently, sure-footedly navigating around the metae, while the Cappadocian expertly pivoted and kept the chariot from veering out to the right.
The right! I glanced at my chariot wheel but could not see anything but the dust around it.
For the next circuit all stayed in the same positions, or at least we first three did; I could not see behind me. After the next turn, on the straightaway, the White and the Blue collided when the Blue tried again to pass, and the White went flying, his chariot careening in the air and falling to earth in a shower of splinters. The wheels rolled away on their own. The driver managed to free himself and huddled by the side of the spina. His horses littered the track, groaning. I had all I could do to avoid running over them, but I saw their terrified eyes as I passed.
Now, having steered safely past the wreckage, the Blue was behind me but making up his lost time from the crash and closing in. When we passed the spot of the wreck on the next round, workers had cleared the chariot debris, but two dead horses lay on the side. The driver had presumably been carried off in a litter.
A blur on my right side. Green was coming up, trying to pass me. I urged my horses faster, but he passed me anyway, and just after him Blue passed me also. Now I was behind both of them. Red must be behind me, but how far behind? Or had he wrecked himself and was now out of the race?
Ahead of me for two long laps the Blue and the Green battled for first place, jostling, attempting to hook one another’s wheel and jerk it off, even hitting each other with whips. But both clung to the lead, running even. Both negotiated the turns and did not lose their place. But then, subtly, the Green’s horses began to slow. They must have been a fast breed that lacked endurance and it was telling now. The chariot began to slip behind, little by little, and the Blue saw it and urged his horses faster, demoralizing the Green, who could not call up one more token of speed from his team. He fell back behind the Blue but was still ahead of me.
Another turn. This time, my chariot skidded out to the side, but mercifully on the side of the stands and not the unforgiving metae side. The Cappadocian did not steady the team enough and went wide. Was he tiring? The Red was now right behind me.
All the while, with my every sense alert and straining, time seemed suspended, unreal. I saw what was happening on the track around me, but it unfolded slowly, as if I floated. In reality it was happening so fast I could barely comprehend it. I had never experienced such a feeling, of elation, vigilance, fear, and desire simultaneously. Such are the chariot races, and the emotion is conveyed and magnified in the audience of tens of thousands who share it with the charioteer.
Suddenly my team found new strength and speed and hurtled toward the next turn. I was able to guide the Iberian through it with only my voice, not needing to even touch him with the whip, and we gained ground with that perfect turn and now I was just behind the Green.
“Go, go!” I cried to my team, and they obeyed, running faster still, calling on reserves of power they had saved. With a sudden burst of speed, we passed the Green on the outside. On the outside! Covering more ground, but still going faster!
The last turn. Oh, make it perfect! I called to the Iberian again, but this time we did not execute the turn as sharply and lost ground. It was impossible to overtake the Blue, who was well in the lead. So much for my thinking his horses were nondescript. They may have been ungroomed, but they were blazingly fast.
The finishing line was just ahead, and the roar of the crowd was loud as thunder. Out of the corner of my eye I could see wild movement in the stands, but I had to keep focused ahead on the horses. We crossed the line at full speed, and it took until the end of the straightaway for the horses to slow to a walk. Then we waited until the others finished, the Green just behind me and the Red after that.
At the judges’ station, we lined up in order of finish. Two judges came down on the field, awarding the Blue the winner’s wreath. They stopped by my chariot and said, “Well done, Caesar,” awarding me the ribbon for second place and the Green, one for third.
I stepped out of the chariot. The solid ground felt odd beneath my feet, and my legs buckled. I touched the iron rim of the wheel, and it was hot from the friction and speed it had endured. Turning to my team, I petted each of the horses in turn, telling them how proud I was of their performance. The ring of Germanicus was still on the Iberian’s breastplate; it had indeed brought us luck.
Second place. I had competed in the Circus Maximus and won second place! I was suddenly overcome with the enormity of the achievement.
My fellow racers came over and congratulated me.
“A brilliant debut,” said Green.
“As you can see, we did not let you win,” said Blue.
White, who had been released from the medical station, hobbled over on crutches, his head bandaged. “No, really, it was all staged—couldn’t you tell?” He laughed, a painful wheeze. “I went to the trouble of being wrecked just to prove I wasn’t favoring you.”
“Your loyalty is impressive,” said Red.
“I am grateful to all of you,” I said. “You have given me a gift beyond the precious.”
Before anyone could reply, we were swept away by the crowd pouring down out of the stands, engulfing us. I was surrounded by people crying out, “Nero, Nero, Nero!” waving palm branches, scarves, and ribbons. None were gold because no one had known I was competing, but all the other colors were there, and they covered me with them. Wreaths and flowers followed, spinning through the air.
“Our emperor!”
“Our god! Sol! The sun himself!”
“Shining upon us!”
They tried to lay hands on me and hoist me up, but a group of Praetorians who had hurried down to the track prevented them. “No, don’t touch him!” they barked, pulling out their swords.
Gently I pushed the Praetorians back. “Let them,” I said. “It is their day—it is our day.”
At the sound of “our” the people let out a roar, and an enormous man, with his fellows, hoisted me up on his shoulders, shouting, “Behold our emperor, who dares what none other has dared!” The stands, which were still far
from empty, erupted in screams and cheers.
I was borne around the entire circuit, to the cry of the crowds in the stands, and as I looked at them, and felt the strong shoulders beneath me bearing me up, I was wedded to them all in a mutual passionate love.
XXV
It was dusk when I returned to my palace quarters, exhilarated beyond all telling, my tunic sweaty and stained, wilted wreaths of flowers drooping around my neck. Fatigue had not set in yet; instead I felt as powerful as a god.
Poppaea was waiting, sitting on one of the ivory-footed couches. Instead of rising, rushing toward me, and embracing me—as the crowd had done—she just lifted her chin. There was no smile.
I had been walking toward her, but I stopped.
“That was a pretty show!” she said, her voice cold. “It was hideously embarrassing. What a kind surprise to present me with. You could at least have warned me.”
“No one but Tigellinus knew. It had to be that way.”
Did the others in the box feel the same way? I wondered.
“Not only was I frightened that you would be injured—or worse—but I was shamed that the emperor would perform before a hundred thousand people. As a charioteer! Slaves are charioteers, not the upper classes, let alone the emperor! You have dishonored yourself, can’t you see that?”
I looked at her, at her perfect face, now set in judgment over me. “You are wrong. It was the opposite. The people were proud of me. They in effect crowned me, directly, today. In that way this is my true accession day.”
“The Praetorians and the Senate crowned you ten years ago, and they are the ones who matter, not the rabble.” She fingered her gold-and-emerald necklace, sliding it around her throat. “The love of the rabble avails you nothing and even costs you in the esteem of those in power.”
“In power? If they are in power, it is because I allow them to be. One word from me and they cease to be in power.”
I went over and sat on the couch with her. I longed for her to put her arms around me, belatedly congratulate me. I had done something praiseworthy today.
Instead, she held her nose. “You smell like a horse. And the stinking crowd.”
“A sweet smell to me,” I countered.
“Why did you have to do it? Why race chariots?”
“It was something I have wanted to do since I was a child.”
“But you are no longer a child. Or are you? You behave like one.”
“If I behave like one, it is because deep inside the child is still there.” I shuffled my feet, stuck them out, and flexed them in the sandals. Sand fell out onto the green marble floor.
“Childhood is a phase of life, to be put aside as one grows up.”
“No, it should be cherished, because it is the truest part of ourselves, the part that came into being first.” I had always had a fear that I would lose that, that somehow when I was an adult all the essence of the real Nero would be lost, drowned in a sea of dreamless days. But I had preserved him, he was still there, and today he had shown himself in all his fullness. “It is when we are our childhood selves that we are closest to the gods.” It was true. Sol had come to me in dreams; he had come to me today. He did not attend Consilium meetings.
She softened and put her head on my shoulder, even letting the crushed roses around my neck grind into her hair. “I loved you for the boy in you, the radiant youth—but it does get a bit tiresome,” she said, stroking my cheek. She kissed me. “I do want a man as well.”
Outside in the fading light, dark shapes, flocks of birds, filled the sky, going to their rest.
“And you shall have him,” I promised. “Now.” The perfect end to my perfect day.
* * *
• • •
Elated from the triumph at the Circus Maximus, I sent out invitations to the Senate, my friends and administrators, and the general public to the inauguration of the Domus Aurea at noon a week later to continue the celebration of the first decade of my reign.
“But you must come with me and tour it first,” I told Poppaea. “I want to see it through your eyes.”
“Is it finished?” she asked.
“Not completely, no. But well enough that we can entertain in it.” We were taking a leisurely breakfast in our small dining room.
The sun shone through the murrhine goblets holding our fresh pear juice, making them glow. Poppaea held one up, playing with the light effects. She sighed. “I don’t feel so well. Perhaps another day.”
“We can take a litter. You need not strain yourself,” I said. “This is the perfect day to see it.”
She nibbled on a dried fig. “Very well. But is there any place where I can lie down if I need to?”
“I’ll have a bed brought,” I promised her.
* * *
• • •
The litter deposited us on the top of the Oppian Hill, where delicate porticoes and gardens were being laid out. We stepped out and stood looking upon the city, with the rising residential palace and its lake below us. The waters on it sparkled; it had just been filled from the Claudian aqueduct.
“The residential palace should be ready for us to move in by winter. As you can see, the lake is finished. The gardens and grounds are being landscaped, and we’ll have the animals last of all.”
“Will we have peacocks?” she said. “I do fancy peacocks.”
“I have already ordered a dozen from a supplier in Sicily.”
“And overseeing all this will be the colossal statue.” She giggled. “How is Zenodorus coming along with it?”
He was slow, that I knew, and even in the best of cases, it would take a long time. “Well enough,” I said.
A dry, playful wind blew across us, carrying leaves along with it. They danced and tumbled, and the ones that landed on the ground chased one another around our feet. We crunched some of them, loving the crackling sound.
I pointed to an open area beside the hilltop gardens. “I plan to construct baths here, with both sea and sulfur water,” I said. “But that is for later.”
“Thank Zeus something is!” she said. “Is this your attempt at economy?”
I laughed. “Perhaps. Perhaps. Come, let us go into the pavilion itself.” I took her hand, and we descended from the brow of the hill down to the wide stone terrace onto which the rooms opened. As far as we looked, the facade of the building stretched away.
She gasped. “Where does it end?”
“You looked at the plans. You know it is twelve hundred feet long. It has over two hundred rooms.”
“But a plan doesn’t show you what it really will look like. O gods, this is—this is—”
“Extravagant?”
“That isn’t the word I was searching for. Dangerous. It is dangerous, politically, to have built such a thing.”
“It will fulfill a need. Rome needs a central place for art, for gatherings, for celebrations, apart from the living quarters of the emperor, which should be private. You will see. It will be used constantly, and Romans will not know how they ever got along without it.” And it will fulfill another purpose, a grander one. It will reflect the glory of Sol and his chosen dwelling place.
She did not reply.
“Come, come!” I motioned for her to follow me into the building. Every room opened directly onto the terrace, and with no inner doors to close, the sunlight was able to penetrate far within, into the second row of rooms and beyond. Gold leaf gilded the stucco, magnifying the light, making the room glow. Glass and gems also caught the light, sparkling as we turned beneath them.
“Now do you see why I called it the Domus Aurea, the Golden House?” I asked her. “The light and the gold together make it the royal house of the sun.” The sun god. Sol. Inaugurating his house will usher in the golden age of Rome.
She walked around the perimeter of the first room, marveling at the vivi
d frescoes and the marble inlays.
“This is one of the smaller ones,” I said, leading her back toward the peristyle court in the interior. Even here, the light followed us.
Now she gasped. The rush of water filled our ears; a waterfall at the back of the peristyle court emptied into an enormous footed porphyry basin, easily ten feet across. We stood at its rim, glimpsing the bottom through the very clear water. Over the lip of the basin, water flowed gently into a channel and out of the room.
“Oh, there’s more,” I said, turning to another room, with the theme of Ulysses. High on the ceiling was a mosaic of Ulysses offering the cup of wine to Polyphemus—the first of many, which would lead to his drunken downfall. “A ceiling mosaic—something never done before.”
“My head is spinning,” she said. “I need see no more.”
“Oh, but you must. You need to see one more thing before the guests do, so when they are amazed, you can be blasé.” We walked farther east, to the large garden courtyard where I would first welcome the guests, and stopped.
“Close your eyes,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” I took her hand, and we stepped outdoors into the courtyard.
“We are outside,” she said. “I can feel the sun and the air.”
“Don’t look yet,” I said, turning left on the terrace and walking until we came to a large open entrance. We entered it and I led her almost to the center.
“Now,” I said. “Open your eyes.”
We were standing in the octagon room. The sun was a brilliant circle of light shining through the oculus, beaming down on the dazzling white marble beneath. It was so bright it hurt the eyes.
She was silent, looking up in wonder. Then she turned to me. “Forgive me,” she said. “I questioned you, as if this were an ordinary palace. I did not know it would rival the gods.”
I pulled her toward me, hugging her to my side.
“The huge open space—how does the ceiling stay up without pillars? It soars into the air as if it were air itself,” she said.
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