Nero

by David Wishart

  The Christians didn't play the game at all.

  At first the crowd took it badly: no one likes to be cheated. When the first group were brought in and the beasts were released there was the usual roar that turned to boos and curses when instead of scattering the men and women in the arena knelt down together and waited. Even the beasts – they were panthers and female lions, natural runners – seemed surprised, although not for long: that first group died quickly. The second and third did the same. With the appearance of the fourth group the crowd was deathly quiet, even the mob in the topmost tiers. You could hear the singing distinctly. It was like watching a sacrifice where the audience keep holy silence as the priest cuts the victims' throats.

  As I said, unsettling. I left before the fifth group were brought in. I wasn't the only one, either.

  That evening Lucius had a party in the Vatican Gardens. I went alone: Silia was still out of Rome. I'd just got out of the litter and was adjusting my party mantle before going through the gate when someone gripped my arm.

  'Petronius, my dear fellow! How are you these days?'

  I turned, although I'd already recognised the voice: Seneca's plummy tones were unmistakable.

  Seneca himself was not.

  I didn't ask him if he was well. Clearly he wasn't, and even allowing for the two-year interval I wouldn't have recognised him. The face above the immaculate mantle was a death mask, all shadows and pits and hollows. The hand was a claw.

  'I'm back in Rome as you see, like the proverbial bad penny.' He smiled and let me go, and I handed the guard my invitation. We walked through the gate together. 'Terrible affair, terrible! I lost the town house and a good fifty million in property besides. Yourself? Not too badly hit, I trust?'

  It took me a moment to realise he meant the fire. Of course, that would bring him back. Absentee landlords from all over Italy were coming to the city to check on their investments and do a bit of judicious buying while prices were low.

  'The Quirinal was hardly touched,' I said. 'And I've no other property in the city.'

  'Lucky man! But take my advice and buy some now. You won't regret it.'

  I could see the torches up ahead near the centre of the gardens. The evening breeze carried a delicious smell of cooking.

  'Roast pork,' I said. 'How nice.'

  'I eat hardly anything myself these days. Mostly vegetables and fruit.' Seneca patted his once-ample stomach; like the rest of him it was shrunk almost to nothing. 'A return to my youth, when I took philosophy seriously.'

  I laughed politely, as he expected: from Seneca it had to be a joke.

  We were on the fringes of the party now, and it was well under way and quite crowded. The trees and bushes had been hung with glass and metal spangles lit from beneath with hundreds of tiny lamps, but the main area where the crowd was thickest had dozens of huge torches the height of trees. Even at this distance I could smell the pitch-pine resin mingling with the scent of the roasting pigs. Over to the left a flute wailed.

  We were almost knocked over by a young man in a wreath and very little else pursuing two giggling dancing-girls. They disappeared together into the shrubbery, the girls already turning and falling, with their arms raised. Delightful. I hoped I wouldn't be saddled with Seneca all evening.

  'You've seen the emperor since you got back?' I asked.

  'No. But I sent him word from Naples that I was coming, and staying fora few days. The dear boy was good enough to invite –'

  Seneca stopped, so suddenly that I thought he'd had a seizure.

  'What's wrong?' He was rigid, his mouth open, seemingly fascinated by the pitch-pine torches immediately ahead of us. 'Seneca, are you ill?'

  His head moved from side to side, but not his eyes. They were still fixed on the nearest torch. I allowed my own to follow them.

  It wasn't a pitch-pine torch after all, and what I'd smelled wasn't roast pork. The bundle of rags on a stick had been a human being once, nailed by its wrists to a crosspiece, doused with pitch and set alight. There were, as I've said, dozens of the things scattered over the middle of the gardens.

  'Oh, Jupiter Best and Greatest!' I whispered. 'Oh, sweet Serapis!' My throat tightened, and I fought back the nausea.

  'There can be slain no sacrifice more acceptable to God,' Seneca murmured. At least I think these were the words. They were Latin, but they sounded like a quotation; a particularly cold-blooded one in the circumstances.

  'Indeed,' I said. 'Indeed.'

  The politeness was a reflex. Neither of us could tear our eyes away from the obscenity on the cross.

  I was turning aside, finally, when I caught sight of Lucius staggering through the crowd in our direction, hugging a pair of doe-eyed Persian beauties. He was drunk, and his gilded laurel-leaf garland kept slipping down over one eye. As the girl-child – the Persians were twins, no older than ten – reached up on tiptoe to straighten it, he saw us and changed course like a heavy merchantman fighting its way across a contrary current.

  'Titus!' he cried. 'Is that you? Seneca, you old devil! Join the party! How do you like my lanterns, eh?'

  Neither of us spoke. I know I couldn't. Seneca looked grey.

  Lucius stooped down and kissed first the girl then the boy hard on the mouth, his hands stroking their private parts. Then he looked at us and beamed.

  'Serves the fuckers right! Poetic justice! They burn Rome, I burn them. Tit for tat. Economical, too.' He giggled. 'A good Christian will last you hours, properly oiled.'

  'Were they dead before you set them alight?' Seneca's voice was deceptively mild; I could see he was shaking.

  'Some of them. We nailed them all up first then went round with the pitch. Most lasted out. The ones that weren't too heavy.' He giggled again. 'Mind you, the fatsos burn better, so it comes to the same thing in the end.'

  'Was this Tigellinus's idea?' I was watching the two children. They were fondling each other's genitals now, completely absorbed. Neither of them paid any attention to us, or to the burning corpses.

  'Tiggy's idea? Of course not!' Lucius laughed. 'Why on earth should it be Tiggy's idea, darling?'

  'No reason.' I felt empty.

  'I mean, give me some credit for originality!' He turned to Seneca. 'That's these self-styled aesthetes all over, my dear. No one's allowed to have any good ideas but them. Tiggy's the same, it's so tiresome sometimes you just wouldn't believe.' Suddenly he sagged against the children's shoulders; they must have been stronger than they looked, because they were supporting most of his weight. 'Anyway, don't let me keep you. Go ahead, darlings, there's tons to eat and drink. Enjoy yourselves.'

  The Persians moved off, towards one of the little pergolas that dotted the gardens on the edge of the lamplight. I would've gone home myself, but someone would no doubt have noticed and reported it to Lucius when he was sober. That I couldn't risk.

  Nor could Seneca, seemingly. We moved forward to join the party. I noticed that as we passed the first of the human torches he bent down surreptitiously, scooped up a handful of earth and tossed it into the flames. I noticed something else, too. The fire had left the corpse's lower legs intact, and on one of them was a broad discolouration, like a childhood burn.

  My slave Crito was safe at Alba. Paullus, with his Roman citizenship, was also safe, for the time being, at least. Justin, who had brought me my wine and had nothing and no one to protect him, was another matter.

  I only stayed for a couple of hours, although by that time the crosses with their charred remains still attached had burned themselves out and been replaced with more conventional lighting. Tigellinus was there, drinking alone, but I avoided him, not caring much if he saw me do it. Nor did I search out any more congenial company, despite the fact that there was plenty of it around, both male and female. I don't know whether Seneca had gone by the time I left or not. He was hustled away from me early on by a tight knot of grim-faced senators in uncompromisingly plain mantles, and that was the last I saw of him.

  45.
r />   I only found out that something out of the usual was happening when I went round by arrangement at the end of April to see how the decoration of the new palace was progressing. The gates were closed and guarded. Even my written invitation had no effect on the Praetorians in the gatehouse.

  'Sorry, sir,' the commander said as he handed it back. 'No one goes in or out till further notice.'

  'Is there anything wrong?' A pointless question: there were twice the number of troops on duty, including a contingent of heavily armed Germans.

  'Couldn't say, sir.' The man was polite enough but firm. 'If you've a message for the emperor I'll see he gets it.'

  'No, no message.'

  I went away very worried indeed. Trouble had been brewing for months. Lucius's attempts to shift the blame for the fire on to the Christians had failed, and his building schemes had caused fresh outrage. The Treasury was almost empty already, the provincial governors were screaming at the latest tax demands, and to make things worse he'd sent agents out to the eastern provinces to requisition bronzes and other items to stock the rooms and gardens of his Golden House. He was not, to put it mildly, currently popular with anyone.

  Instead of going straight home I called in at Silia's newly-rebuilt house on the Palatine. I was half hoping that Arruntius would be there, but he wasn't. Silia herself was looking flustered.

  'But haven't you heard, Titus?' she said when the slave showed me through into the atrium. It still smelled of fresh paint.

  'Heard what?'

  'About the plot, of course.' Although it was the middle of the day her hair was still loose and she was wearing no make-up. She looked old, and a little haggard. 'Half the Senate's under arrest, if the rumours are true.'

  I sat down. 'Arruntius?'

  'No. Gnaeus is in Ostia. At least, I think that's where he is. I haven't seen him for days.'

  'What happened?'

  Her fingers were twisting the pendant at her throat. At any moment I expected the thin gold chain to break.

  'I don't know,’ she said. ‘Not the details. But it's bad, very bad.'

  I reached over, took both her hands and forced them into her lap. They were trembling.

  'Now, dear,' I said firmly. 'Tell me.'

  . . .

  As these things go, the plot had been well thought out. The principals seemed to be Calpurnius Piso, the consul-designate Lateranus, two more senators, Scaevinus and Natalis, and one of the Guards commanders. Their plan was simple. At the games that day Lateranus would throw himself at the emperor's feet as if making a petition, grab his knees and bring him down; at which point the others would draw concealed daggers and stab him. Piso wouldn't be directly involved; as their choice of successor he would wait elsewhere with clean hands. The plan would have worked, too, if Scaevinus hadn't given the game away accidentally to one of his freedmen, who had immediately warned Lucius.

  The most worrying thing was, as Silia said, Lucius's probable reaction. Any threat, especially a personal one, threw him into total panic; and when Lucius panicked he lost all capacity for rational thought. People would die soon, that was certain; a lot of people, innocent and guilty alike. It would be the treason trials all over again.

  'The fools,' I said softly, still holding Silia's shaking hands. 'The bloody, bloody fools!'

  'He has only himself to blame.' Silia's mouth was set. 'Gnaeus has been saying for months that something like this would happen. I only hope the poor lamb hasn't been silly and kept things from me.'

  'He's in Ostia. You said so yourself.'

  'Do you think that makes a difference?' she snapped. 'We dine with Piso regularly. And Lateranus gave us the use of his country house last summer. For the emperor that would be enough. More than enough.'

  'Did he say when he'd be back?'

  'No. But then he never does.'

  I got up. 'Come home with me. Now.'

  She shook her head; she was on the verge of tears. 'I can't.'

  'Get out of Rome, then. Go to Baiae.' Arruntius had a villa there. 'At least until all this blows over.'

  'No. It's better if I stay here and behave as if everything was normal. Besides, Gnaeus may be back at any moment. He must've heard the news too.'

  I felt as if I was teetering on the brink of a precipice, but Silia was right. There wasn't anything anyone could do but wait, and act as normally as possible.

  'Perhaps I can get in to see Lucius,' I said. 'Find out what the situation is.'

  'Don't even try, dear. He won't be...himself.'

  That made sense too. I could imagine from past experience the emperor's present mood. It would be safer to walk unarmed into a tiger's cage.

  'Someone else, then.' I remembered the conversation I'd had months before. 'Thrasea Paetus.'

  'Titus, don't be a fool! You'll only get hurt! Go straight home and do nothing!'

  'Let me know when Gnaeus gets back.' I bent forward to kiss her forehead, and left.

  The streets were full of soldiers; not just the Market Square area but every corner between the Palatine and the Quirinal. Otherwise there were few people about; the whole of Rome, it seemed, had become an armed camp empty of civilians. I didn't go to Thrasea's after all. Silia was quite right; visiting him would have been stupid in the extreme. In the end I took her advice. I went home, and waited.

  The next month was as bad as anything under Caligula or Claudius. Tigellinus's secret police made dozens of arrests, mostly senators and Guards officers, and the accused were taken in chains to the Servilian Gardens where Lucius, Tigellinus and the egregious ex-Praetorian commander Faenius Rufus – now back in favour again – held an ad hoc court. Rumours were rife. The only bright spot was a message from Silia to say that Arruntius was safely home and was not, touch wood, implicated. So far, at least.

  There were no parties these days, of course – one was never sure that host or guest might not embarrass one by being charged with treason the next morning – so I was in the study reading by the light of an oil lamp when Crito knocked on the door (he was back from the Alban villa, Christian slaves being now almost fashionable).

  'A visitor, sir,' he said.

  I was surprised; no one, as I say, moved over their own threshold that month if they could help it, even during the hours of daylight.

  'Who is it?'

  His lips set in a tight line. 'Ofonius Tigellinus.'

  I don't think I let my feelings show, which was just as well because Tigellinus had brought himself through and was already standing grinning in the doorway.

  'Bring us some wine, boy,' he said to Crito, 'and then fuck off.'

  Crito ignored him and looked at me. I nodded. Tigellinus pushed past him and lay down on the spare reading couch. We stared at each other.

  'Don't worry, Petronius,' he said at last. 'I haven't come to arrest you. Not yet, anyway.'

  'I never thought you had, my dear.' I smiled at him, although my heart was thudding and he must have known it. 'And it's a pleasure to have such a distinguished and cultured guest under my roof.'

  The grin didn't falter. 'Thank you. Was that him? Your tame Christian?'

  'That was Crito, my head slave, yes. His beliefs are none of my business so long as he keeps them to himself.'

  'The emperor would disagree.'

  'The emperor knows my feelings quite well. And he's gentleman enough to respect them.'

  This time the grin did fade. 'Meaning I'm not?'

  'Opinions differ.' I set my book aside. 'You're entitled to think as you like. As am I.'

  Crito came back with the tray. We both watched as he poured the wine and left, closing the door behind him. Tigellinus held up his cup.

  'To justice,' he said. 'And to the death of all traitors.'

  I drank. He watched me through narrowed eyes.

  'Now,' I said, lowering the cup. 'If you haven't come to arrest me, just why are you here?'

  'Oh, but I'm not here.' He smiled again, with his mouth only. 'At least not officially. But I did want to have a
talk with you.'

  'Talk, then.'

  'You know Seneca's dead?'

  It would have been dangerous to have shown the shock I felt. I kept my face expressionless.

  'Really?' I said.

  'Really. He slit his wrists this morning at his country house, on the emperor's orders.' He took a long, slow drink of his wine while his eyes held mine over the rim of the cup. 'One of his many country houses. I thought you'd like to know.'

  'Thank you. I'm obliged.'

  'You're most welcome.' He finished the wine and poured himself another cup. 'The old goat should've known better than to try treason at his age. We're well rid of him.'

  'Treason? Seneca?'

  'Of course. You're surprised?'

  'Naturally I'm surprised! Did he confess?'

  Tigellinus smiled. 'He didn't need to. Natalis denounced him.' Natalis, if you remember, was one of the conspirators. 'The old bastard was in it from the start.'

  I set my wine down untasted.

  'Well, my dear,' I said carefully, 'it was very kind of you to come and tell me all this, but it is getting rather late and –'

  '"There can be slain no sacrifice more acceptable to God,"' Tigellinus murmured.

  I froze. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'I'm not going yet, Petronius. I haven't finished with you. I haven't even begun. You remember these words?'

  'No.' It was a lie; I remembered them quite clearly. Seneca had spoken them to me, or to himself, that night in the Vatican Gardens.

  'Strange. One of my people said you were with him at the time. You're sure you don't remember?' His eyes were boring into me.

  'Oh, yes. You're right, of course. He was commenting on the burned Christian. Not the most tasteful of remarks, but we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, should we?'

  Tigellinus laughed. 'A good try, Petronius. But not quite good enough. I thought you prided yourself on being a literary man. Surely you recognised the words?'