Empire

AD 65

With his wife and son beside him, Titus Pinarius stood before the wax effigies of his ancestors in the vestibule of his house. As he looked from face-to-face and recited each of their names to honour them, Chrysanthe lit small candles and Lucius set one candle in each niche. Were his son’s hands shaking? They were all nervous and excited about the day’s upcoming events.

Titus was thankful that he had taken the wax effigies when he fled the city; unlike the objects the looters had stolen or destroyed, the masks of the ancestors were truly irreplaceable. Returning them to their niches had been the first step in restoring the house to its former glory. Titus had not yet found a skilled artisan to repair the floor mosaics – such artisans were in tremendous demand – but the wall paintings had been meticulously cleaned, the broken statue of Venus had been reassembled and patched and painted so that one could hardly tell it had been damaged, and many of the stolen or destroyed furnishings had been replaced. He had even found an antique folding chair almost identical to the one Cato had owned. In the months since the fire, thanks to a great deal of hard work and at considerable expense, Titus’s household had gradually returned to normal. Many people in Roma had not been so fortunate.

Titus had looked after the images of his ancestors, and they had looked after him; of that he had no doubt. That was one of the reasons he honoured them on this special day, when the emperor was about to pay him and his family a great honour.

Titus wore his senatorial toga with a purple stripe. His son also wore a toga, a garment he was still not used to. His wife was in her finest stola, a gown of beautifully embroidered ocher linen. Her hair was arranged in the style made fashionable by the emperor’s strikingly beautiful young wife, Poppaea Sabina, with multitudes of ringlets framing her face.

The ceremony was concluded. They retired to the garden to await the day’s events. Nothing in the garden was as beautiful as Chrysanthe, thought Lucius, feeling proud, as he often did, of the choice he had made for a bride so many years ago. Nor was anything in the garden as fragrant as Chrysanthe. “You smell of rose petals and milk,” he whispered in her ear.

She smiled. “Credit the emperor’s wife. Poppaea has made it fashionable for the best women in Roma to bathe in milk.”

“And will you become a Jewess, like the empress?” asked Titus, teasing her. It was widely known that Poppaea had shown favour to the Jews in Roma and had regularly received their scholars and holy men. Some claimed she had secretly converted to the religion.

“No more than you have become a Christian,” said his wife, teasing him back. She gestured to the fascinum, which Titus was wearing to mark the special occasion. Titus did not find this jest particularly funny. It seemed to him that Kaeso must have altered the amulet in some way to make it look even more like a cross. Nevertheless, Titus wore the fascinum openly and proudly, refusing to hide it inside his toga.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a flurry of excitement in the house. Even the slaves were excited, and with good cause. It was not every day that the emperor himself came calling.

Hilarion rushed into the garden. “They’re here, Master!”

“Are they coming in?”

“I think not, Master. The man at the door says you’re to come out and join them.”

“Then we mustn’t keep them waiting.” Titus took his wife by the hand and allowed his son to lead the way.

The retinue in the street was even larger than Titus had expected. There were secretaries and scribes, a troop of Praetorians, several senators in togas, and even a colourful group of actors and acrobats. In the middle of the retinue, carried by some of the brawniest slaves Titus had ever seen, was a large litter set on gilded poles and decorated to look like a giant swan. A hand adorned by many rings pulled back a purple curtain. Smiling broadly, Nero made a gesture of welcome. Sitting next to him was the beautiful Poppaea, her blonde hair done up in an elaborate fashion that Titus had never seen before.

Portable steps were produced. Chrysanthe entered the litter first, followed by Titus and Lucius. They settled amid plush cushions across from the emperor and his wife. Titus felt Chrysanthe tremble and he took her hand. Poppaea smiled at this gesture of intimacy and likewise took one of Nero’s bejewelled hands in hers.

“We’re not pressed for time. I thought we might take a little tour of the city on the way to our destination,” said Nero.

“Certainly,” said Titus. “There’s so much construction going on, all over Roma, I can’t keep up with it.” Actually, Titus was well aware of almost every building project in the city, but the tour would be a treat for Chrysanthe and Lucius, and he was enormously flattered by the emperor’s offer to spend time with his family.

Nero smiled. “My great-great-grandfather famously said that he found Roma a city of bricks and left her clad in marble. I found a city of scorched marble but shall leave her covered in gold.”

As they were carried aloft through the city, Nero proudly pointed out the rapid progress that had been made on reconstructing various temples and public structures. The rebuilding of the Circus Maximus was one of the largest projects; it would be some time before it was ready to reopen, but Nero had plans to make it more splendid and beautiful than before. There were also curiosities to be seen. Up on the Palatine, the ancient Hut of Romulus had been spared by the fire, and though most of the oldest parts of the imperial residence had been burned, the laurel trees flanking the original entrance had survived and remain intact.

“Surely that’s an omen, father,” declared Lucius, overcoming his shyness in front of the imperial couple, especially Poppaea, whose beauty could have intimidated any man.

“It certainly is,” said Titus. “Those trees appear to be indestructible, immune to both fire and lightning. I believe those two laurel trees will survive as long as there are descendants of the Divine Augustus.”

This comment was clearly appreciated by the imperial couple, who gave each other a loving glance. Poppaea, though not showing it yet, was rumoured to be pregnant. Her first child with Nero, a daughter, had died in infancy; Nero had been grief-stricken. Now there was again hope for a new generation directly descended from the Divine Augustus, and an heir for the emperor, who was not yet thirty.

“So many beautiful old houses were lost,” said Nero, pressing his fingertips together while he gazed at the passing view. “But the fire displaced not just the wealthy who lived on the Palatine, but a great many other people as well. I’m told many of those citizens lived in appalling squalor, stacked atop one another with hardly enough room to turn around. Well, we shall build shiny new tenements for them, better than those rat-traps they lived in before. That will take time, of course. For now, sadly, many of the homeless are still in temporary shelters on the Field of Mars and at my own gardens across the Tiber. To give the citizens work, I’ve hired a veritable army of bricklayers and day labourers for construction projects all over the city. To feed their families, I’ve repeatedly lowered the price of grain. And to make sure such a catastrophe never occurs again, I’ve introduced new building codes that the experts assure me will reduce the danger of fire – buildings set farther apart, limitations on their height, requirements to keep firefighting implements such as picks and buckets on the premises, that sort of thing. Oh, look there,” he said, pointing to an aqueduct covered with scaffolding. “We’re also repairing and extending the aqueducts that were damaged. There must be cisterns and fountains to ensure an adequate water supply to fight any fire that may occur in the future.”

“Caesar’s swift and steady response to the crisis has been an inspiration to us all,” said Titus.

“Ah, now we’re passing through the very heart of what will become the new imperial complex,” said Nero, grinning with excitement. “This entire side of the Palatine has been cleared and claimed for the new imperial apartments. And down there, in that cleared area that used to be crammed with hideous old buildings, there will be a rather large lake, entirely enclosed within the imperial complex. Won’t that be charming? A private lake in the heart of the city, surrounded by vineyards and gardens and a little forest stocked with wild deer, so that Poppaea and I may retreat for a stroll in the countryside, or even go hunting, without ever stepping outside the imperial palace, much less the city walls. Of course, the lake will have a practical purpose as well. It will serve as a reservoir, a source of water in the event of fire.”

The creation of the artificial lake was well under way. Hundreds of workers were raking and shovelling great piles of excavated earth, shaping them into the rolling hills that would become the man-made woodland surrounding the lake.

“Along here, on this side of the lake, there will be a vast pavilion with a covered walkway a mile long,” said Nero. “The rooms will be very spacious and finished with the best of everything – imported marbles, fine statuary, ivory screens, and the most sumptuous fabrics. You must see the sketches the designers have made for me. The ceilings will be decorated with gleaming gems and mother-of-pearl, so that at night, by lamplight, it will seem that the starry sky itself has descended to gaze with envy at such splendid rooms. And gold – there must be a great deal of gold everywhere. We shall cover the whole facade with tiles of golden glass, so that it dazzles the eye. The only colour that truly pleases me is purple, and the only metal is gold. How I love the weight of it, and the mellow colour, like sunlight on water. Like that lovely little golden amulet you’re always wearing, Senator Pinarius.”

Titus touched the fascinum and smiled. “A gift from my ancestors.”

“Yes, I know. Curious-looking thing,” said Nero. He flashed a quizzical smile, then returned his attention to the construction work going on around them. “When the time comes, there shall be a grand ceremony to mark the day that Poppaea and the baby and I move in. I think I shall call it the Golden House. What do you say to that, Senator Pinarius?”

“A splendid name for a splendid house.”

“The only house fit for a person such as myself to live in,” mused Nero. “Ah, we’ve come to the site of the grand courtyard. This will be the main entrance for visitors who come from the Forum. The Sacred Way will terminate at a stairway that ascends to the door of the Golden House. There’ll be other entrances, of course, including Augustus’s old entry on the Palatine, flanked by those ancient laurel trees, but that will be a sort of back door. The grand courtyard is going to be enormous, surrounded by a portico with hundreds of marble columns. You can’t really appreciate the enormity of it now, cluttered as it is with all these workmen’s shacks. The centerpiece will be that colossal bronze statue going up in the middle, depicting myself. We haven’t yet decided in what guise I should appear. Poppaea thinks I should pose as Hercules, but Zenodorus, the sculptor, thinks I should be Sol, wearing a crown of sunbeams. When it’s finished, the statue will be over a hundred and twenty feet tall – the largest statue since the Colossus that once stood at Rhodes. And unlike that statue, this one will be covered in gold. Can you imagine the splendour of it on a sunny day? People will be able to see it from miles away, and the closer they come, the more dazzled they’ll be. On a sunny day, it will be positively blinding.”

“Truly, Caesar, the new Colossus will be a stupendous monument,” said Titus, amazed anew not just at the extent of Nero’s imagination but at the enormity of his expenditures. A great deal of private property had been seized by the state to allow for the massive expansion of the imperial palace, and a great many temple treasuries from all over the empire had been appropriated to pay for construction and to provide decorations.

In this ambitious enterprise, Titus had played an invaluable role. Auspices had to be taken to seek divine approval for many of Nero’s actions, and religious ceremonies had to be conducted to propitiate the gods whose treasuries were depleted. Titus had faithfully served as Nero’s augur, just as he had once performed the same duties for Claudius. He had volunteered to do so and had performed eagerly and with unswerving loyalty. Since the night he had been transfixed by Nero’s song about the burning of Troy, Titus has become one of the emperor’s most fervent adherents.

The emperor was thankful for his loyal service. The invitation to Titus and his family to accompany the emperor and his wife in the imperial litter was one of Nero’s ways of thanking him.

“I am grateful, as always, to play any part, however small, in Caesar’s grand enterprises,” said Titus.

“Unfortunately, Senator Pinarius, not everyone seems to feel as you do,” said Poppaea. She had been quiet throughout the tour and had even been looking a bit bored; no doubt she had heard Nero speak the same words many times before. Titus, who had met her on several occasions but had never spoken to her privately, was not quite sure what to make of Poppaea, who always seemed distant and self-absorbed and tended to speak in riddles. Nero was not her first husband; previously she had been married to Nero’s friend Otho. Rumour had it that the three young people had become so intimate that they formed, as one wag put it, “a three-headed love monster.” But ultimately Nero wanted Poppaea all to himself. He forced Otho to divorce her, appointed Otho governor of Lusitania to get him out of Roma, and made Poppaea his wife.

Her remark probably referred to the increasingly widespread rumours of a conspiracy against the emperor. Despite Nero’s energetic response to the crisis and his optimistic plans for the future, a simmering discontent reached across all classes. The fire had been followed by a pestilence that had killed tens of thousands of people, especially among the homeless poor, and the loss of so many religious and historical treasures had thoroughly demoralized the populace. Nero’s vast building projects were intended to replace those lost treasures, but among the wealthy there was a fear that his profligate spending would precipitate a financial crisis. Hostile senators were said to be plotting against him, and among the common citizens, vile rumours claimed that Nero himself had deliberately started the fire so that he could claim vast tracts of ruined real estate for the imperial house and rebuild the city to suit himself.

Unfortunately, and with obvious regret, Nero had found it necessary to banish a number of senators whom he suspected of disloyalty. Among these had been Gaius Cassius Longinus, the senator who had made an impassioned speech to crucify the slaves of Pedanius. Nero had ordered him to remove from his ancestral effigies the wax mask of the Cassius who had assassinated the Divine Julius – a perfectly reasonable request, Titus thought. The senator had refused. Cassius’s exile to Sardinia had caused an outcry among his colleagues, who argued that pity should be shown to a jurist of such renown, especially since he was now completely blind.

Next to him, Titus heard Chrysanthe groan, and then he saw the reason. On a scorched wall, all that remained of a destroyed building, a message had been scrawled in black paint:

Strong and valiant,

He killed his mother

And set my house on fire!

More and more frequently in recent days, Titus had seen such ugly graffiti on walls and in latrinae all over the city. Fortunately, a group of men was in the process of painting over this message and adding their own. Titus craned his neck to see what they were writing, but as the litter moved on all he could make out were the words Christians and burn.

“My loyal freedmen, hard at work,” said Nero, pulling at the rings on his fingers. “I don’t even have to ask them. They go about the city and clean up such slander wherever they see it.”

“Gossip is a terrible thing,” muttered Poppaea.

“It certainly is,” agreed Chrysanthe, nodding sympathetically.

“But on this day, all those nasty rumours will be put to rest, and the true culprits will be brought to justice,” said Nero, regaining his good humour. “The people will see that their emperor is dedicated to protecting Roma and destroying those who harm her. I shall give them a show they will never forget!”

They proceeded towards their destination, the imperial gardens on the far side of the Tiber, where Caligula had built a large racetrack for his private amusement at the foot of the Vatican Hill. Nero used the track frequently, for he loved to race chariots, and Seneca had convinced him that it was unsuitable for the emperor to race in public. Since the Circus Maximus was not yet rebuilt, Nero had decided to open the Circus Vaticanus to the public; it was one of the few spaces large enough to accommodate the spectacular entertainments he had devised for the punishment of the condemned arsonists.

As the litter bearers carried them across an undeveloped area of the Field of Mars, Titus saw the sea of makeshift shelters where much of the populace was living. These dwellings were little more than lean-tos built from scrap lumber, or makeshift tents stitched together from bits of cloth. On this day, no one stayed inside the shelters. Excited by the impending spectacle, everyone in Roma seemed to be heading in a great mass towards the imperial gardens across the Tiber.

As the litter passed through the crowd, with the Praetorians clearing the way, people flocked to have a look at the emperor and his wife. There were cheers and shouts of “Hail, Caesar!” and “Hail the beautiful Poppaea!” But some in the crowd shrugged and turned away, or gave the imperial couple hostile looks, or even muttered curses. Poppaea frowned and whispered in Nero’s ear. He called to the one of the Praetorians to tighten the cordon around the litter, then unhooked the chains holding back the drapes so that they could proceed in relative privacy; the gauzy drapes allowed Nero and his guests to see out but appeared opaque from the outside.

A new bridge crossed the Tiber, allowing direct access from the Field of Mars to the Vatican meadows. At Nero’s orders, the bridge had been built with amazing speed for the purpose of allowing the homeless of Roma to cross easily from the city to the shelters provided for them on the far side. On this day, the new bridge served as a means for the multitudes of Roma to attend the spectacle in the Circus Vaticanus. Already such a crowd had gathered that the bridge and the area before it were packed with people, but the Praetorians quickly cleared a path for the litter to pass through and cross the river.

Spread across the Vatican meadows was a veritable city of makeshift shelters; some people even appeared to be living in the trees. Beyond the meadows they came to the formal gardens that had been planted by Caligula. These were entered through an iron gate. The Praetorians pushed back the crowd so that Nero could pass. The gardens to either side of the wide gravel path were splendid, with beds of roses and other fragrant flowers and fine statues, including a particularly striking fountain in which the nude Diana stood ankle-deep in shimmering water while the unfortunate Actaeon, transformed into a rearing stag, was attacked by his hounds.

They arrived at the circus. The permanent viewing stands, built of travertine, were elegantly appointed but quite small. These had been supplemented by the erection of temporary wooden stands that completely encircled the track and could accommodate tens of thousands of spectators. The stands were already about half filled, and more people were arriving at every moment.

The litter came to a halt before the travertine structure adjoining the circus. Nero and his party stepped out. The emperor and Poppaea abruptly disappeared – Titus was not sure where they went – while Titus and his family were escorted directly to the imperial box. Titus was flushed with excitement. He could see that his wife and wide-eyed son were equally elated. Never before had the Pinarii been invited to be the personal guests of the emperor at a public entertainment. Not only would they view the proceedings side by side with the emperor, but they would be seen beside him, in his company, perceived to be among the most elite of the imperial circle. This was an important day for the Pinarii – not just for Titus and his immediate family, but for all who had borne the name Pinarius in the past or would bear it in the future.

The box was lined with purple draperies bordered with gold and surrounded by a cordon of Praetorians. Titus and his family were the first guests to arrive and were shown to couches at one corner of the box. A slave offered them a choice of wines and set out a tray of delicacies for them.

Directly before them, in the centre of the spine that bisected the oval racing track, loomed a towering Egyptian obelisk made from solid red granite. The obelisk had been brought to Roma by Caligula from the city of Heliopolis in Egypt. The four sides were strikingly plain, without hieroglyphs. A gilded ball was set atop the obelisk, balanced on the very tip. The obelisk was a landmark visible from many places in the city. Titus had previously seen it only from a distance and was awed by its height.

The Vestal virgins and members of various priesthoods had been seated in the front rows to the left of the imperial box. To the right of the box was a large section reserved for senators. Out in the arena, to warm up the crowd, musicians played while acrobats tumbled, walked on their hands, and formed human pyramids. Laughter and applause swept through the stands, but many people continued to talk and move about while waiting for the main event.

More guests arrived in the imperial box. Leading the party was Seneca. Since the death of Agrippina, he had become more powerful than ever, though Titus had heard rumours of growing discord between the emperor and his chief adviser; the strains of dealing with the aftermath of the fire were taking a toll on everyone. Arriving with Seneca was his wife, Paulina; now that he was in his sixties and she was nearly forty, the gap in their ages was not as striking as it once had been.

Also with Seneca was his handsome nephew. Lucan was two years younger than Nero and their shared love of poetry had made them close friends. Like Nero, Lucan had bloomed early. At the age of eleven he had created a sensation with his first poem, about the combat between Hector and Achilles, and at twenty-five he was the city’s most famous poet. On this occasion, he wore an augur’s trabea. Nero had seen fit to induct Lucan into the college well ahead of the prescribed age, just as previous emperors had done for Titus and his father.

Lucan was accompanied by his wife. Polla Argentaria was almost as famous as her husband, thanks to the verses he had written praising her. She was the daughter of a wealthy senator and, like Seneca’s wife, had received an unusually extensive education for a woman. Argentaria was said to be her husband’s muse and amanuensis, and perhaps even his collaborator, as she tirelessly helped him revise and perfect his verses.

Gaius Petronius was next to arrive. The emperor’s arbiter of elegance was not quite forty and had flecks of silver in his hair. Titus found it impossible to put his finger on what set the man apart from all others; Petronius wore a toga about which there was nothing extraordinary, and his grooming, while impeccable, was not in any way unusual. Still, the man cast a spell by his very presence. Perhaps it was the effortless grace with which he moved, or his inscrutable expression. Even when he was most serious, there were flashes of amusement in his pale grey eyes.

Titus felt privileged to be in such illustrious company, but he also found it rather stressful, since he had difficulty keeping up with the conversation, which revolved largely around the three men’s literary projects and was full of puns and allusions and double entendres, many of which Titus couldn’t decipher. Lucan, he gathered, was about to publish the next volume of his epic poem about the civil war between Caesar and Pompeius, a work full of violent action and scenes of epic grandeur. Seneca, who had been reading the work in progress, thought that his nephew sided perhaps too much with Pompeius and the Republican cause against the Divine Julius, a point of view sure to stir controversy.

Petronius was working on something very different, a long work in which his narrator recounted a series of erotic misadventures and comical disasters, all related, to heighten the irony, in the most elegant and rarefied prose. Knowing how Nero relied on Petronius for advice on all matters to do with good taste, Titus asked him if he was responsible for staging the spectacles they were about to witness.

Petronius narrowed his eyes. “I contributed very little. Caesar devised most of the entertainments. The emperor threw himself into this project as he enters into all his endeavours, with extraordinary energy and enthusiasm. But what about you, Seneca – what are you working on these days, when you’re not out mining gold to build the emperor’s new house?”

Seneca smiled. “I’ve finally finished the play about Pasiphae.” He noted the blank look on Lucius’s face. “Do you know the tale, young Pinarius?”

“I’m afraid not,” admitted Lucius. Titus winced. His son’s education reflected on himself.

“Pasiphae was the wife of King Minos of Crete,” said Seneca. “She was cursed by Neptune to crave intercourse with a bull.”

“What woman has not?” said Petronius. Chrysanthe blushed, Lucius giggled nervously, and Titus himself was startled by the comment, but the others seemed to find it quite amusing.

“Just so,” conceded Seneca with a wry smile, “but Pasiphae did something about it. She ordered the inventor Daedalus to construct an effigy of a heifer so realistic that even a bull would find it convincing, then she concealed herself inside the mock heifer and seduced the bull into gratifying her. Nine months later, Pasiphae gave birth to a child with a bull’s head – the minotaur.”

“Who but Seneca would bring such material to the stage?” said Petronius. It was impossible to tell whether his tone was respectful or sardonic. “Has the emperor read it yet?”

“The emperor is always my first reader, and invariably the most astute. I’m happy to say that Caesar seemed quite fascinated by the tragedy of Pasiphae. Ah, here he is now!”

They rose to their feet as Nero entered the box with Poppaea beside him. People in the crowd saw him enter, and a thrill ran up and down the stands. But the response was mixed. Just as earlier Titus had heard shouts of “Hail Caesar!” in the streets, so many in the crowd now shouted accolades, but there was a low grumbling as well, and scattered hisses.

Nero escorted Poppaea to her seat, then stepped forward and raised his hands. With his fair hair and purple-and-gold robes, he was visible and instantly recognizable to everyone in the circus. The crowd fell silent. For a moment, it appeared that Nero might address the crowd. Indeed, Nero had wanted to deliver the opening speech, but Seneca had persuaded him not to do so: there were simply too many problems that might arise when an emperor directly addressed such a large and unpredictable gathering.

Instead, Nero gestured to a public crier, who stepped forward. With his powerful, trained voice, the man was able to make himself heard from end to end of the circus. While he spoke, Titus could see that Nero moved his lips along with the crier, like a proud author in the theatre mouthing lines spoken by an actor.

“Senators and people of Roma, you are here today at Caesar’s invitation. Welcome! But if you have come expecting a mere entertainment, you may be surprised at what you are about to witness. Today you will not see charioteers race. You will not see gladiators fight to the death. You will not see wild animals hunted. You will not see captives of war made to reenact a famous battle for your amusement. You will not see actors perform a comedy or a drama. What you will see is an act of justice, carried out under the open sky so that all the gods and the people of Roma may witness the proceedings.

“The criminals you will see punished today are guilty of arson and murder. They have conspired against the Roman state. They have plotted the destruction of the Roman people. Even those not directly guilty of setting fires must be punished. Their notorious hatred of the gods, of mankind, and of life itself makes them a menace to us all.

“Because of the fire, many of you are still without proper homes. Because of the fire, many of you lost your most cherished possessions. Because of the fire, many of you lost loved ones, whose cries of anguish still ring in your ears. Our city – the most beloved by the gods of all cities on earth – has been devastated. The gods themselves weep at the destruction of Roma and the suffering of the Roman people.

“Thanks to the vigilance of your emperor, the arsonists who perpetrated this misery have been apprehended. They call themselves Christians. The name comes from Christus, the founder of their sect, a criminal who suffered the extreme penalty at the hands of Pontius Pilatus, one of our procurators in Judaea during the reign of Tiberius. Thanks to Pilatus, the insidious superstition propagated by this Christus was checked – but only for a short while, because it quickly broke out again, not only in Judaea, the first source of this evil, but in many places across the empire, even here in Roma. Lurking among us, the followers of Christus have plotted our destruction.

“Thanks to Caesar’s vigilance, the Christians were apprehended. Under interrogation, they revealed their accomplices and confessed their crime. More than confessed it, they proclaimed it, without remorse. The Christians are proud of what they did. They are gratified by your suffering!”

The crowd erupted in boos and jeers.

Initially, Titus had been dubious when the mass arrest of Christians began; they struck him as an ineffectual group of lay-abouts. But when he remembered the jubilant reactions of the Christians watching the flames, it was not hard to imagine that some of them had deliberately started the fire. Such a crime was almost unthinkable, but the fanaticism of all the Jewish sects was well known, and the unyielding atheism of the Christians and their loathing of all things Roman was particularly virulent. That their abhorrence of the gods had led them to such a monstrous crime was shocking, but perhaps not surprising.

The jeering of the crowd continued until Nero himself gestured for silence. The crier continued.

“But what punishment, you may ask, could possibly fit so terrible a crime? For offenses so hideous, so foul, so wicked, what retribution can possibly be adequate? That is what we are here to see.

“Senators and people of Roma, this is a holy day. We call on the gods to pay witness to what happens in this place. What we do, we do in honour of the gods, and in gratitude for the favour they have shown us.”

The crier stepped back. Lucan stepped forward. From the folds of his trabea he produced a beautiful ivory lituus. While the young poet took the auspices, Titus felt a twinge of envy, wishing he had been chosen for the honour. But as high as Titus had risen in the emperor’s favour, he knew he could not compete with Lucan, with whom Nero felt a special intimacy because they were so close in age and shared such a deep love of poetry.

The auspices were favourable. The emperor pulled a white mantle over his head to assume his role as Pontifex Maximus, stepped forward, and raised his hand. Every head in the circus was bowed as Nero uttered the invocation to Jupiter, Best and Greatest of the Gods.

The spectacle commenced.

At gladiator games and other public events, the punishment of criminals was often part of the programme, but usually only a very small part, worked into the proceedings by making the condemned fight against gladiators or act as bait for wild animals. On this occasion, the punishment of criminals, because there were so many of them, and because their crime was so great, would make up the entire programme. The stagers, with Nero guiding them, had faced great challenges both logistical and artistic. How could so many criminals of all ages be made to suffer and die in ways that were not only sure and efficient but also meaningful and satisfying to those who were watching?

From a cell beneath the newly erected stands a large number of men, women, and children were driven to the racetrack. They were dressed in rags. Most looked confused and frightened, but some had the same serene, glassy-eyed stare as Titus had seen on the faces of the Christians watching the fire. They seemed oblivious of what was about to happen, or perhaps they even looked forward to it.

“So many!” muttered Chrysanthe, leaning forward.

“Oh, this is only a small portion of the arsonists,” said Nero. “There are many more to come. The punishments will go on for quite some time.”

“How could we have had so many of them among us?” wondered Lucan. “What drew these terrible people to Roma in the first place, and how did they seduce decent Romans to join their ranks?”

“All things hideous and shameful from every part of the world eventually find their way to Roma, and inevitably attract a following,” said Petronius. “As a flame attracts insects, as a whirlpool attracts flotsam, so Roma attracts the vermin and filth of the world.”

“Yet, a flame is beautiful,” said Nero, “once the charred insects are brushed aside. And a whirlpool is beautiful, once the flotsam is flushed away. Just so, Roma will be beautiful again, once it has been purified of these vile criminals.” He gazed raptly at the arena below.

Next to him, Poppaea also sat forward in eager anticipation. While it might be true that she had played hostess to Jewish scholars and wise men, she detested the Christians, as Jewish heretics if nothing else.

Lucan looked sidelong at Titus. “My uncle tells me that you had a brother who called himself a Christian.”

Titus stiffened. It was inevitable that the subject would come up, and he was prepared for it. “I have no brother,” he said stiffly. Self-consciously, he touched the fascinum that nestled amid the folds of his toga.

From storage rooms under the stands, an army of stagehands produced a multitude of crosses and laid them on the sand. The Christians were made to circle the racetrack, driven with scourges, then were seized and thrown on the crosses. While they screamed in terror, their hands and feet were nailed in place. Then the crosses were set upright into holes that had been dug ahead of time

Suddenly the circus was filled with a forest of crucifixes. The crowd jeered at the Christians. Spectators with strong arms and good aim competed to pelt them with stones and other objects. Some in the stands had brought eggs especially for this purpose.

“These crucifixions are in imitation of the dead god they profess to worship, who likewise ended up on a cross,” explained Nero in a hushed voice. “While this batch hangs from the crosses, they will witness what happens to their accomplices.”

More Christians were driven into the arena. Their arms were bound and they were wrapped in bloody animal skins, but their heads were uncovered so that their faces could be seen and their screams heard. At the two far ends of the circus, packs of vicious dogs were released. The animals sniffed the air. Within moments, they began racing towards the Christians.

The dogs had a long way to go. The Christians staggered first one way, then the other, trapped between the packs bounding towards them from both sides. The crowd went wild. People jumped to their feet with excitement, anticipating the moment the hounds would reach their prey. Nero smiled. This was exactly the reaction he had hoped for.

The dogs attacked without hesitation and tore their victims to pieces. The barking and screaming and the sight of so much blood and gore excited the crowd to an even higher pitch. Some of the Christians provided considerable sport as they squealed and whimpered for mercy and darted this way and that, trying to elude the dogs. Those among the Christians who died with a degree of dignity, muttering prayers or even singing songs, ignited the fury of the crowd. Such behaviour made a mockery of justice; how dare such criminals continue to taunt their victims even as they were punished?

More Christians were driven onto the racetrack. More hounds were released. Each death was as bloody as the last, but the crowd began to grow restless, bored by the repetition. Nero had anticipated this. At his signal, a new phase of the spectacle began. To revive the spectators’ interest, various familiar stories were re-enacted, using the Christians as props.

For the story of Icarus, boys with wings attached to their arms were driven to the top of a portable tower and made to jump off. One after another they plummeted to earth and lay twitching on the sand. Those who survived were carried to the top of the tower and thrown off again.

To illustrate the story of Laocoon and his sons, tanks filled with deadly eels were wheeled onto the sand and groups of fathers and sons were thrown into the water, where they died screaming and thrashing.

For Titus, the most striking of the tableaux was the tale of Pasiphae, perhaps because Seneca had just related it. A naked Christian girl was first paraded around the track while the crowd jeered and shouted obscenities, then she was forced inside a wooden effigy of a heifer. By some trickery, the animal trainers induced a white bull to mount the effigy. The device was constructed to amplify the girl’s cries rather than muffle them; her bloodcurdling screams could be heard from one end of the circus to the other. The crowd was transfixed. Eventually her screams stopped.

When the bull was finished, the trainers led it away. A few moments later, from a concealed compartment in the bottom of the effigy, a naked boy wearing a calf’s head jumped out and performed a lively dance.

“The minotaur!” people cried. “She’s given birth to the minotaur!”

The crowd went wild with applause and cheering. Nero beamed with pride.

Such tableaux, one after another, took place all up and down the length of the circus.

Eventually, for a climax, men with torches appeared, and all the Christians who lay lifeless or near to death on the sand and all the wooden props were set afire, though the crucifixes were left untouched. The sight of the flames was alarming, as was the stench of the smoke. Some in the audience, reliving the trauma of the conflagration, wept with grief. Others laughed uncontrollably. There were gasps and shrieks from the crowd, but also cheering and applause. The Christians were convicted arsonists, and the legally prescribed punishment for arson was death by fire.

As the scattered flames died down and night began to fall, sturdy poles twice the height of a man were erected in the spaces between the crucifixes. The poles had been soaked in pitch, as was evident from their strong smell. Obviously, another spectacle involving fire was about to be presented. The crowd reacted with cries of mingled dread and fascination. To the top of each pitch-soaked pole a kind of iron basket was affixed, large enough to hold a human body.

Thus far, Titus had watched the spectacle with grim detachment. The auspices had been unequivocally favourable for this event – Titus had watched closely as Lucan performed the augury – and that was a clear indication that the gods were pleased. Watching the gruesome punishments of the arsonists gave Titus no pleasure, but it was his sombre duty as a citizen and as a friend of the emperor to witness the event.

Titus felt the need to empty his bladder. The moment seemed opportune, as there appeared to be an interlude before the next event, so he rose and excused himself. Looking over his shoulder, Nero told him where to find the nearest latrina and then giggled, as if at some secret joke. Titus left the imperial box, glad that the spectacle had put the emperor in such a buoyant mood.

The latrina was in a small building some distance from the stands. A few other men were inside, talking about the spectacle as they went about their business. They were in general agreement that, while some of the punishments had been too repetitious, others had been quite remarkable. There was an enthusiastic consensus that the rape of Pasiphae had been by far the most impressive of the tableaux.

“Not something you see every day!” quipped one man.

“Unless you’re a god, like Neptune, and can make such things happen with a wave of your trident.”

“Or unless you’re Nero!”

Titus headed back to the stands. The sky had grown darker. The stars were coming out. Torches had been placed here and there to light the grounds. As he neared the stands, a pair of Praetorians abruptly blocked his way.

“What’s that?” said one of them. The man was big and brutish but had perfect teeth, which glinted in the torchlight. He pointed at the fascinum at Titus’s breast. “Isn’t that a cross, like some of those Christians wear?”

“What I wear around my neck is none of your business,” said Titus curtly. He tried to step past the two men, but they barred his way.

“You’ll come with us,” said the Praetorian with perfect teeth.

“I most certainly will not. Can you not see that I wear a senator’s toga? I’m returning to the imperial box.”

“Sure you are! A Christian, in the emperor’s box!”

Each of them grabbed an arm and together they led him, despite his efforts to resist, to a small room under the newly built wooden stands. A third Praetorian, apparently their superior, sat at a table piled high with scrolls.

“Problem?” he asked.

“An escaped Christian, sir,” said the Praetorian with perfect teeth.

“This is ridiculous!” snapped Titus.

“What’s your name, Christian?” said the officer

“My name is Pinarius. Senator Titus Pinarius.”

The officer consulted a list. “Ah, yes, we do indeed have a Pinarius among those scheduled to be punished in the circus today. A male citizen, age forty-seven. This must be him.”

Titus clenched his jaw. All day he had avoided thinking about his brother, telling himself he had no brother. “That would be Kaeso Pinarius, not Titus-”

“ Now I recognize you!” said the officer. “You were one of the first arsonists we arrested. You certainly look different now! How did you manage to clean yourself up like that, and escape from the cell? And where in Hades did you get that toga? I’ll bet you murdered a senator to get your hands on that!”

“This is absurd,” said Titus. “I am a senator, an augur, and a friend of the emperor.”

The Praetorians laughed.

Titus felt a sinking sensation. The situation was getting out of hand. He told himself to remain calm.

“Let me explain something,” he said, speaking though gritted teeth. “I have a brother… a twin brother… who is a Christian-”

The Praetorians only laughed harder.

“An identical twin?” shouted the Praetorian with perfect teeth. “That’s rich!”

“With your imagination, you should be writing comedies for the stage, not setting fires,” said the officer, who abruptly ceased laughing and looked grim. “Such a preposterous story only confirms what I suspected. What do you fellows think? How do we treat a lying, murdering Christian?”

The Praetorians roughly shoved Titus back and forth between them, yanked at his toga until they pulled it off him, then ripped his undertunic until it hung in tatters and he was left wearing nothing but his loincloth. When one of them reached for the fascinum Titus tried to fight back, but he felt like a child flailing at giants. The Praetorian with perfect teeth struck him hard across the face, jarring his teeth and leaving him dazed and unsteady and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

They grabbed him by the arms, pulled him out of the little room, and began taking him somewhere else. In the open space behind the stands, they passed two men in senatorial togas. Titus tried to raise his arms, but the Praetorians restrained him.

“Help me!” he shouted.

The senators glanced at him. One of them muttered, “Filthy arsonist!”

The Praetorians struck Titus across the face to silence him and shoved him to a gate. The gate opened and Titus was forced into a dimly lit enclosure. Above him he could hear the murmur of the crowd. All around him echoed the creaking of the wooden stands as people moved about overhead. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the cell was quite large and full of people, most of them in rags or wearing little more than he was. They were filthy and unkempt and stank of urine and sweat. He passed among them, staring at their faces. Some were trembling with fear and muttering prayers with their eyes tightly shut. Others were oddly calm, speaking to their companions in low, reassuring voices.

“In such a wicked world, death is a release to be longed for,” said a man with a long white beard. Titus had seen him once in Kaeso’s rooms. “Even a death under circumstances as horrible as this is better than life in such a world. Death will deliver us to a better place.”

A harried stage manager scurried by, followed by a group of Praetorians. “I am trying to maintain order here; I am trying to keep to the emperor’s schedule of events!” the man shouted. “Now, I need you fellows to divide the prisoners into groups-”

Titus ran toward the man. “Listen to me!” he said. “A mistake has been made. I shouldn’t be here-”

The man started back, as if a wild dog had jumped at him. Before Titus could say another word, one of the Praetorians raised a shield and used it to shove him back. By a flicker of torchlight Titus caught a glimpse of his reflection in the highly polished metal. He was shocked at what he saw.

Staring back at him was a nearly naked man with a crazed look in his eyes, his face bruised, his lips bleeding. How quickly his dignified, untouchable identity as a Roman senator had been stripped from him!

Titus looked this way and that, desperate to find someone to whom he could explain his situation.

Suddenly he was face-to-face with Kaeso.

He had never before seen his brother look so wretched. Like Titus, Kaeso wore only a loincloth. The body Titus saw before him was familiar but distorted, like a mockery of his own, covered with bruises and wounds and bloody patches. Kaeso had been beaten and tortured. From his gaunt appearance, he had been starved as well. There was nothing aloof about his manner, as was the case with some of the Christians; Kaeso looked utterly broken and unnerved. Titus saw a pitiful, frightened man.

As the arrest and interrogation of the Christians had proceeded and the day of their punishment approached, Titus had forced himself not to think about his brother. He had told himself so many times that he had no brother that he almost believed it. Now Kaeso stood before him, a shadow of the man he once had been, but still undeniably the son of Lucius Pinarius, Titus’s twin brother. Titus felt an unbearable sadness, remembering their boyhood together in Alexandria and the years before they became strangers to each other. How had they grown so far apart? How had Kaeso ended up among these mad death-worshippers?

“It’s alright, brother,” whispered Kaeso. “I forgive you.”

Titus’s sadness faded. He felt a quiver of anger. What had he done to require forgiveness? Why did Kaeso always have to be so smug and self-righteous?

He tried to think of something to say, but there was no time. Suddenly a line of Praetorians was between them, forcing Kaeso into one group and Titus into another. With the Praetorians barking orders at them, the people in Kaeso’s group were forced to put on tunics soaked in pitch, then their arms were tied behind them.

A door opened. From the arena came the roar of the crowd. The stage manager screamed at the prisoners to hurry into the arena. “Quickly, quickly, quickly!” Guards with spears herded them through the opening.

Titus suddenly realized that his meeting with Kaeso had not been accidental. The gods had given him a last chance to save himself. He stepped away from his group and tried to get the attention of the stage manager. “We’re twins! That’s my twin brother! Look at us! Do you see? There are two of us, but it’s my twin brother who’s the Christian, not I! I’m not supposed to be here!”

The stage manager gave him an exasperated look and rolled his eyes. One of the guards used the butt of his spear to knock Titus to the ground.

Kaeso managed to break away from the group and ran to Titus. Stinking of pitch, with his arms bound behind him, he dropped to his knees beside his brother.

“Give me the crucifix,” he whispered. “Please, Titus! It’s the only thing that can give me strength to face the end.”

Lying on his back, Titus clutched the fascinum at his chest and shook his head.

“Titus, I beg you! Titus, I’m about to be burned alive! Please, brother, grant me this one small favour!”

Reluctantly, Titus removed the necklace and put it over Kaeso’s head. Even as he did so, he knew it was wrong to give it up. He reached desperately to grab the fascinum and take it back, but a guard pulled Kaeso to his feet and the fascinum eluded Titus’s grasp.

Kaeso was the last of his group to be herded onto the track. Titus scrambled to his feet. Through the opened door, he saw that the prisoners were being lifted up and placed in the iron baskets atop the pitch-soaked poles. Guards carrying torches ran onto the track and stationed themselves by the poles, ready to set the human torches alight.

As Titus watched, Kaeso was driven to the nearest of the poles; he was the last to be lifted into a basket. Titus caught a glimpse of something bright and glittering at his brother’s breast – the fascinum – then averted his eyes. He could not bear to watch.

He heard a low murmur run though the crowd, a rush of indrawn breath like wind passing though tall grass. This was followed by a cheer that started at one end of the circus, then gradually rose to a roar. From the stands above came the deafening noise of spectators stamping their feet in excitement.

Titus stepped to the doorway and peered outside. At the far end of the circus, a lone charioteer had driven onto the track. He was dressed in the leather racing outfit and helmet of the green faction favoured by the emperor. The charioteer was driving his white steeds at a slow canter as he waved to the crowd.

There were charioteers whose popularity rivalled that of the most famous gladiators, but what charioteer could be so high in the emperor’s esteem that Nero would select him to play this majestic, even godlike role? As the charioteer drove past each human torch, he raised his arm, pointed an accusing finger at the prisoner, and the torch burst into flames. The effect was uncanny, as if the charioteer had the power to cast thunderbolts.

As more torches were lit, the arena grew brighter, and Titus at last saw what the crowd in the stands had already perceived: the charioteer was Nero.

As the emperor continued his slow progress, he drew nearer and nearer to the doorway where Titus stood, and to the pole on which Kaeso had been hoisted. With a gesture from Nero, the torch next to Kaeso was set alight. Kaeso would be next.

Suddenly, Titus felt hands on him. The guards had seen that he was at the opening and were pulling him back. Summoning all his strength, Titus managed to break free. He ran onto the track.

He slipped on a slick, wet spot and tumbled forward. Scrambling to his feet, he touched something and screamed in revulsion. It was a mangled human ear. He staggered to his feet and looked at himself. Wherever his naked flesh had touched the ground he was covered in a gritty paste of sand and blood. He heard the guards shouting behind him and ran.

How different it was, to be here on the arena floor, rather than in the imperial box! He had watched the day’s proceedings from the stands with a mixture of grim determination and exalted privilege, comfortably remote from what was taking place in the arena below. Now he found himself in a bizarre landscape of towering crucifixes and human torches, surrounded by flames and carnage. The blood, urine, and faeces of dogs and humans littered the sand. Everywhere he looked he saw fingers and toes and other scraps of flesh left behind by the ravenous hounds. A nauseating stench filled his nostrils, and hot smoke burned his lungs. Above the roar of the crowd he heard the screams of those set alight, the crackling of burning bodies, and the moans of the crucified.

With the guards at his heels, Titus rushed headlong towards Nero. He reached the chariot and threw himself on the ground.

Basking in the approval of the crowd, his eyes glittering in the firelight, Nero registered no surprise at Titus’s sudden appearance. He grinned broadly, then threw back his head and laughed. He pulled at the reins to stop the horses and waved at the guards to draw back. He stepped from the chariot, strode to the spot where Titus lay gasping on the sand, and stooped over to pat him on the head.

“Never fear, Senator Pinarius,” he said. “Caesar will save you!”

Weeping with relief, Titus clutched Nero’s spindly legs. “Thank you! Thank you, Caesar!”

The spectators assumed this exchange was part of the entertainment. They applauded and roared with laughter at Nero’s satirical demonstration of clemency amid such overwhelming carnage.

“Nero is merciful! Merciful Nero!” someone shouted, and the crowd took up the chant: “Nero is merciful! Merciful Nero! Nero is merciful! Merciful Nero!” The chant mingled with the shrieking of the human torches.

Titus trembled so violently that he thought he might fly to pieces. He wept uncontrollably. He had no choice but to remain on his knees. He could not stand.

Nero shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Poor Pinarius! Did you not realize your predicament was all a practical joke?”

Titus stared up at him, baffled.

“A practical joke, Pinarius! That ridiculous family heirloom you insist on wearing gave me the idea. Where is it, by the way? Don’t tell me you’ve lost it.”

Titus pointed mutely to Kaeso, trapped in the basket atop the nearby pole.

Nero nodded. “I see. You gave it to your twin. How appropriate! Petronius always said it was in very poor taste for you to wear something that looked like a crucifix, since everyone knows you have a Christian brother. How amusing, I thought, if Pinarius should find himself among the Christians.”

“You… you planned for this to happen?”

“Well, not all of it. I had no idea you’d run out to greet me like this. But how perfect! Truly, this is one of those rare, fortuitous moments that sometimes happen in the theatre, when everything comes together as if by magic.”

“But I could have been killed. I could have been burned alive!”

“Oh, no, you were never in danger. I instructed the guards to lay in wait and apprehend you outside the latrina – you had to go there sooner or later – but not to harm you. Well, no more than they had to, to convince you to go with them. You’ve had quite a scare, haven’t you? But inducing terror is one of the functions of the theatre; Aristotle himself says so. Terror, and pity – which you will feel soon enough. Was it not delicious, to feel the hot breath of Pluto on you, and then, when all hope was lost, to escape unscathed? I fear your arsonist brother shall have a different fate.”

Cupping Titus’s chin, Nero directed his gaze to Kaeso. With his other arm, Nero mimed the act of hurling a thunderbolt. The pole on which Kaeso was trapped burst into flames.

Titus was unable to look away. He watched – horrified, spellbound, stupefied.

Never before had he felt the presence of the gods as powerfully as he did in that moment. What he felt was beyond words, almost too intense to bear. This was the place, unlike any other, where the characters in a tragedy arrived; this was the moment of utmost revelation, so terrible that a mere mortal could barely endure it. What Titus felt was wonderful and horrible, bursting with meaning and yet utterly absurd. It was Nero who had brought him to this moment – Nero, who loomed above him, smiling, serene, godlike. To have devised this moment, Nero was without question the greatest of all the poets or playwrights who had ever lived among humankind. Titus felt again, now magnified beyond measure, the awe he had experienced when he heard Nero sing of burning Troy. Truly, Nero was divine. Who but a god could have brought Titus to this supreme moment?

Nero gazed down at him and nodded knowingly. “And when this is done, Pinarius – when the smoke clears and the embers die down – we shall retrieve that amulet of yours from your brother’s ashes, and you must wear it every day. Yes, every hour of every day, so that you may never forget this moment.”