Nero

27

Lucius's demonstration of chariot-driving raised even more metaphorical dust than literal. Dressed in gorgeous robes of Coan silk, made up to the eyebrows and with his hair bound back with a golden charioteer's cord, the ruling Emperor of Rome galloped his four horses round the Vatican Racetrack beneath a blue canopy studded with gold stars. Did it well, too: Tigellinus had exaggerated when he compared him to Hermippus, but not by much.

Rome was delighted. She was horrified. She was scandalised. The drive cocked a glorious snook at convention, and it split the city. The mob was wildly enthusiastic, of course, but then the Roman mob will cheer anything. The upper classes were another matter. Some were laughing in their sleeves. Some, mostly the younger element and those who appreciated what Lucius was trying to do, applauded, while the diehard traditionalists watched with frozen faces and tight lips, and privately consigned him to ten kinds of hell.

I'd arranged to watch the up-and-coming Youth Games with Silia, but in the event we were a group of four.

'I've asked Acte up to stay, Titus,' she said when we were finalising arrangements; Acte had moved out of the palace several months before and was living in the villa Lucius had bought her at Puteoli. 'She's had such a lonely time of it, poor dear. Oh, and Gnaeus as well. I wouldn't usually inflict him on you but he's terribly upset just now over some little Corinthian flute-player and the poor lamb needs comforting. You don't mind too much, do you?'

'Of course not, darling! Not at all!' What could one say? All the same it had all the makings of a disastrous outing. Arruntius was five steps to the right of Cato and he wouldn't normally be seen dead at a concert.

The games began with a religious ceremony that was almost pure theatre. After a bull-burning that left the whole city smelling like a cookshop Lucius climbed the steps of Jupiter's temple holding aloft a beautiful pearl-studded gold casket. This box contained his beard-shavings, which in accordance with tradition he deposited with the god. ('The old dear'll like a bit of camp, Titus,' he'd confided to me earlier. 'He's quite a show-off himself, and he'd've made a simply marvellous actor.')

That was just the start. Our major task over the next few days was to keep Arruntius from apoplexy. There was the female ballet dancer, for example, who gave us a tolerable Cassandra ('Her brother was City Judge, Petronius!'); and, worst of all, the scene where King Minos of Crete’s wife Pasiphae, shut up in the hollow wooden cow, is made love to by her husband's bull — the latter danced superbly by Paris. ('Jupiter! He's screwing her! The fellow's actually screwing her!')

Paris was, too, but very tastefully. Not even Acte blushed. Under the circumstances I thought it better not to tell Arruntius that 'Pasiphae' was the wife of a noted senator and had volunteered her services. That information, I suspect, would've finished the poor darling off totally.

On the last day Lucius took the stage himself.

It was meant as a surprise, of course, but I doubt very much if there was anyone in the packed theatre who didn't know beforehand. Even so, the silence as he stepped on to the platform in his spangled harpist's gown was absolute. Silia and I had to hold Arruntius down.

The applause came wave upon wave. It was led by a specially recruited clique of youngsters whom the emperor had trained himself in great secrecy: Lucius was taking no chances. There were three groups, scattered throughout the theatre. The first kept up a low buzzing, the second applauded with cupped hands and the third with their hands stiff. The result was impressive. It went on for what seemed hours before he held up his hand for silence, and struck his first note.

He gave us one of Terpnus's best, the lament of Niobe over her slaughtered children. Each note was pure as a bell, and the total had me almost in tears.

'Isn't he good?' Acte whispered proudly.

I nodded, quite speechless. He was better than good. Emperor or not, madman or not, and flattery aside, Lucius was a superb performer. Composition, performance and phrasing were all excellent. Even a Roman audience, I felt, must appreciate quality when they heard it.

Some of them all too evidently didn't. Arruntius, wedged between me and Silia, had a face like an ancestral death-mask. He was swearing under his breath, fluently and at considerable length.

The song ended and the applause began. It was deafening as before, but the lad deserved it, every bit. I was only sorry that it meant nothing at all. As Emperor of Rome, Lucius would've got as much if he'd sung like a crow.

As an encore he played a piece of his own: the death-song of Attis. I doubt if Terpnus himself could've faulted it. I looked around the audience. There were some rapt faces, to be sure, but there were more closed ones, and when the song ended these were often the people who applauded loudest. I spotted Seneca, sitting in the front row, and Burrus off to the left with the honour guard of Praetorians. I couldn't see their expressions, but I noticed that they'd the decency to keep their applause within reason.

Arruntius, too, was barely clapping.

'It's a disgrace,' he muttered. 'A disgrace.'

'I thought he did very well, dear,' Silia said. 'Who would have thought he'd have such a lovely voice?'

'In the past any citizen who appeared on stage lost his citizenship automatically.' Arruntius may have been angry but he wasn't a fool; he kept his voice down. 'That's still the law, so far as I know. And for an emperor to do it is nothing short of blasphemy.'

'Nonsense.' Silia sniffed. 'Besides, how can it be blasphemy, dear?'

'You know what I mean! Nero's…'

I laid a warning hand on his arm. Lucius had raised his hand for silence, and the covering noise of the applause was dying away.

He gave us another song, and then another. Finally, after the fifth encore — and a good hour after the concert had been scheduled to end — he made his bow and left the stage. The applause continued, but the emperor did not reappear.

I let the rest of our row — a frozen-faced senior finance officer and his party — clear itself and then stood up.

'Let's go backstage and offer our congratulations,' I said. 'He'll expect it.'

Arruntius looked at me as if I'd made an indecent proposal. 'You can do as you like, Petronius,' he said slowly, 'but I'm going home.'

'Oh, Gnaeus, don't be such a sourpuss!' Silia took his arm. 'Come on, dear! You too, Acte.'

'Not me.' She was shaking her head. 'Lucius — the emperor, I mean — won't want to see me.'

'Rubbish! You're not in disgrace, dear! You chose to leave Rome, he didn't send you away. Now come along, both of you!'

'Silia, I've told you.' Arruntius pulled his arm roughly from her grasp. 'I'm going home. I'll see you later.'

And without another word he walked away from us towards the exit. Silia looked after him fondly.

'He is an old grouch, isn't he?' she said. 'Never mind, we're better off without him.'

Lucius was in his dressing-room, together with some fifty other people. The result was a full-scale party.

'Titus!' He beamed. 'Silia, dear! Lovely! Come over here and give us a kiss! Paris, get them a drink, darling! The good stuff, not that rotgut you've been palming off on me, you stingy bugger!'

I fought my way through the crowd, dragging Silia by the hand behind me. They were all, I noticed, theatrical types or their hangers-on. Grey or bald pates and broad purple stripes were not much in evidence, and there was no sign of either Burrus or Seneca.

'Who's that you've got with you?' Lucius had kissed first me and then Silia and was peering over our shoulders. 'Not Acte?' He pushed past us and enveloped her in a hug. 'Acte! How marvellous! I thought you were sulking in Campania!'

'I wasn't sulking.' Acte's broad ugly face was alight and wet with tears. 'You know I wasn't. Lucius, love, you were wonderful!'

'I was, wasn't I?' Lucius grinned and kissed her. 'Paris, make that three wines, darling! And if you spill them I'll have your wollocks docked!'

'Here, gracious lord.' Paris spun through the crowd with a silver tray held high, then fell at Lucius's feet in a single fluid motion, arms raised and eyes rolling. On the tray were three cups of wine, filled to the brim. The silver was unmarked. As an exercise in movement, it was breathtaking.

Lucius laughed and prodded him with his toe.

'Don't be sarcastic, you old poof!' he said. 'And get up, you look like a manic chimpanzee.'

Paris mimed huff, and went back to join his own group of admirers.

'Now.' Lucius turned to us. 'Tell me again how marvellous I was. Anddon't spare my blushes.'

'You were superb,' I said. 'Really superb.'

He looked at me closely, then nodded as if satisfied.

'I was nervous as a cat all the time, of course,’ he said. ‘And my breath simply stank of onions. Gods, how I hate onions!'

'Then why eat them?' Silia was for ever practical.

'The best thing for the voice, darling. That and chives in oil, which are even more loathsome. Still, it was worth it, wasn't it? I could've gone on for hours, they absolutely lapped me up. Except for old Seneca and Burrus, of course. Did you see them, the old farts, with their bum-faces, trying to pretend they were enjoying it? I thought I'd burst, honestly!'

'I liked the support group,' I said, sipping my wine. 'Very impressive.'

'He didn't need them.' Acte was still radiant. I'd never seen her look so proud.

Lucius bent and kissed the top of her head.

'Perhaps not,' he said, 'but they did well, didn't they? Some of them were sailors I got off a boat from Alexandria, lovely boys. I may keep them, just for fun.' There was a movement by the door. Lucius glanced up and frowned. 'Oh, hell, here come the bum-faces! Stand by your beds, darlings!'

I turned round. Seneca was pushing his way through the crowd as quickly as his dignity would allow.

'Oh, my dear fellow!' He reached us and embraced Lucius. 'Well done! My heartiest congratulations!'

'Thank you. Where's the other…where's Burrus?'

'He sends his congratulations too.' Seneca's smile enveloped us all. 'Petronius. Silia. Acte, my dear, delighted to see you again.'

'You enjoyed the performance, then?' Lucius was smiling back.

'Certainly.'

'How much? Tell me.'

Seneca's smile froze. 'Do forgive me, Nero,' he said. 'I don't quite understand you.'

'It's an easy question, darling. Just how much did you enjoy my singing?'

'Very much.' He hesitated. 'Very much indeed.'

'Very much isn't enough.' Lucius hadn't raised his voice, but the room was suddenly still. 'Not enough by far.'

Seneca wasn't smiling now. He looked at me for support.

'What Annaeus Seneca is saying, sir' — I put on my best pompous voice — 'is that he enjoyed your singing as much as a bum-faced old fart with no ear for music can enjoy such a sterling performance.'

It was as if a string that had been wound too tight had suddenly snapped. The emperor blinked, and hugged me.

'Oh, Titus!' he said, grinning. 'Isn't he terrible, Seneca? Imagine calling my chief adviser a tone-deaf bum-faced old fart! Whatever next?'

'Not at all, my boy.' I could see that the old man was desperately trying to regain his composure. For a moment he'd been frightened, and I didn't blame him. 'He's quite right. I never have appreciated music properly. But I do enjoy it, as far as lies within my power.'

'Then that's all we can expect, isn't it? It's not your fault you've got a tin ear. Or that you and Burrus are a pair of bum-faced old farts. So long as you try.' People were sniggering around us. As if he were onstage, he held up a hand for silence. 'We really will have to educate them, won't we, Titus? Seneca and Burrus both.'

Seneca thanked me, later, as we were leaving the building. I laughed it off as nothing, but we both knew that the emperor had given his two advisers a clear and final warning.