Nero

28

I was afraid that Lucius would go too far too quickly after his victory over the Roman philistines. In fact he acted very sensibly.

'Some people were terribly upset about the games, Titus.' We were in the Greens' stable at the racetrack ten days later: Hermippus had a new team to show off. 'I mean, I know it's silly but there you are. The next day in the Senate House it was like talking to a row of mummies. Apronianus was biting his cheek so hard I thought he'd draw blood.'

We moved down the row.

'At least it was his own cheek,' I said. 'And presumably the facial variety.'

'Oh, come on, darling!' Lucius sniggered. 'I'm serious! They were terribly complimentary to my face, of course, but they don't like what I'm trying to do one bit. Do they?'

'No,' I said. 'They don't. They don't like it because they don't understand it.'

He stroked the nearest horse's nose; it was a gelding of pure Spanish blood and must've cost the Greens a fortune.

'Exactly. Bloody Romans. Well, I'm afraid they'll just have to lump it. I've decided to put on another festival next year. A proper Greek one thistime.'

I wasn't unduly surprised. The Youth Games had been tremendously popular with everyone but the hard-liners. We'd come a long way since Cincinnatus at his plough, and it was about time we acknowledged the fact.

'You'll be taking part, naturally?' I was politic.

The horse in the stall next door whickered and nuzzled Lucius's arm. He took an apple from the basket by the wall and held it out for the pink lips to grasp.

'No. No, I don't think so,' he said. 'I've scratched that particular itch for the time being, and it causes too much bad feeling. There'll be no ballet-dancing, either, for obvious reasons.'

I nodded. Greek festivals were solemn religious occasions, and ballet-dancers an insalubrious lot: Mysticus, one of Paris's colleagues, for example, had recently caused a scandal by his part in the deaths of two purple-stripers at a party. One heart failure in coitu I could have understood — the gentlemen concerned were septuagenarians, after all, and Mysticus was an energetic soul — but two in one evening was careless.

Lucius had taken more apples and was moving along the line of horses. They were from Sicily, black as midnight with not a white hair among them. I thought of Tigellinus.

'Aren't they lovely?' he said. He patted the last black head. 'This one's the best. Brontes. A real hundred-racer, you can see. I wouldn't mind driving him myself.'

'Why don't you?'

'The farts again. I can't afford to offend them too much, Titus, and I have made my point.' He called the groom over and wiped his hands on the towel which the man held out. 'Actually I was meaning to ask you about another idea of mine.'

'Oh, yes?' I said guardedly.

'Don't look so worried. It's nothing special. What do you think of having regular poetry evenings?'

'You mean recitations?'

'Gods, no! Something on the Greek model. Where people can come to supper and give whatever they're working on an airing, so everyone can chip in with comments and suggestions.'

'I think it's an excellent idea. Who would you invite?'

'Anyone. Everyone. Even Seneca, if he'll promise to behave.'

'Burrus?'

'That old goat wouldn't recognise an anapaest if it reared up and kicked him, darling.' I laughed. 'I'm serious. He has his talents, but literary criticism isn't among them. What do you think of the idea, though? Really?'

'I've told you. It's excellent.'

'Good.' He patted Brontes's neck. 'I thought you'd like it. We'll start at once.'

I enjoyed Lucius's literary evenings, but they led to my first little tiff with Seneca. The prime cause was Lucillius, a podgy Greek who wrote epigrams. He was giving us a few of these after supper one evening, and the last went something like this:

Thyestes ate his own child: poor old fellow,

He has my sympathies. Still -

Wouldn't it be nice if Seneca had done the same?

Naughty and not very tactful, especially since the great man was sharing his couch at the time. Everyone roared: I was eating a grape and choked on it, and my own couch-partner had to pound me on the back.

Seneca swelled up like an outraged rooster.

'If that,' he said, 'is a hit at my recent tragedy then it is not particularly funny.'

Lucillius shrugged and raised a beautifully curved eyebrow. While Seneca puffed himself up even more, he turned towards the emperor and held up a languid hand in the classic pose of a gladiator appealing for the verdict. The room erupted, and Seneca looked angrier than ever.

'Oh, come on, Seneca!' Lucius said. 'Don't be such an old kill-joy! It was just a joke.'

'So's his Thyestes,' Lucillius muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear. There was fresh laughter, in which Lucius joined.

By this time Seneca was coldly furious.

'Perhaps, my dear Lucillius,' he said, turning to the Greek, 'you would be so good as to tell me what precisely is wrong with the play.'

Oh my. A less conceited man would've seen the dangers of such an invitation, but modesty and a true assessment of his own literary abilities had never been Seneca's strong points. Gleefully, Lucillius took the thing apart, and others chipped in. I doubt very much if the old ham had ever had so much valid criticism given him in his life, and if much of it was malicious he'd only himself to blame.

Finally his temper snapped.

'The emperor liked it, at least!' He turned to Lucius, who hadn't taken part in the baiting. 'You told me so when I gave my recital, did you not, dear boy?'

'But of course I did, darling!' Lucius beamed at him. 'Your Thyestes is splendid theatre! Blood and guts by the bucketful! A glorious rant from beginning to end, and so deliciously evil!' He gave a shiver. 'Lovely stuff!'

This wasn't quite what Seneca had been looking for. His face was puce.

'But as poetry, my dear?' Lucillius prompted. 'As literature?'

Lucius's smile widened. 'Oh, as literature the thing's a monstrosity.'

Seneca's mouth fell open. The room dissolved. He said very little for the rest of the evening.

He was still smarting when we shared a litter home.

'I cannot imagine what the emperor sees in some of these so-called writers!' he said. 'Tonight was dreadful, absolutely dreadful!'

'I quite enjoyed it myself,' I said.

Even in the darkness I could feel him glaring.

'I mean no disrespect, Petronius, but you would. There's too much of the anarchist in you for your own good. And for everyone else's.'

'Really?' I said mildly. 'And for everyone else's, eh?'

'Certainly.' He straightened a cushion. 'Don't forget you have responsibilities. The way you pander to the emperor at times is quite appalling. It sets the poor fellow totally the wrong example.'

I was too taken aback to be angry. 'Seneca, don't be ridiculous! As far as pandering to Lucius goes, you could give me lessons any day of the month.'

'That is completely different!' he said stiffly. 'A wayward ruler must be indulged in small things to safeguard the greater. If Nero wants parties and dancing girls…'

'How about dancing boys, dear?'

'…then I am willing to give him parties and dancing girls. But that does not mean I approve, and I certainly wouldn't encourage him, let alone suggest any…refinements. You seem to be doing both.'

'Perhaps that's because I quite like parties and dancing girls myself. And dancing boys.'

'Oh, don't be disgusting!'

'At least I'm not hypocritical.' Although I knew the reason for his foul mood he was getting under my skin, and I had to work to keep the irritation out of my voice. 'Personally I think Nero's done wonders with Rome these last few months. He's shaken some of the dust off and put a bit of colour back into life.'

Seneca snorted. 'Nero is nothing but a spoiled child. Spoiled children, especially if they happen to be rulers, need careful guidance. Like it or not, you are one of the guides, and I'm afraid to say at the moment you are not making a very good job of it.'

'I disagree.' I was getting angry myself now. 'For a start the emperor is not a child. I've said that before. But he is an artist. His priorities may be different from yours, but they're just as valid, and the fact that you can't appreciate them doesn't — '

'Oh, stop being a child yourself!' Seneca snapped. 'This is nonsense! Whatever his artistic pretensions Nero is first and foremost a ruler. He has many good qualities, but he is and always will be mentally unbalanced and over-susceptible to the influence of others, and that, in a ruler, is a recipe for disaster.'

'Accepted, but — '

'There is no but! We are like a chariot, Petronius, with a runaway horse and only a single rein. The last thing we need is some well-intentioned idiot urging the beast on to greater efforts.'

'Oh, what a lovely metaphor, my dear! And so flattering to the emperor and myself.'

'It's valid, damn you!'

'Perhaps it is,' I said carefully; I had never, ever heard Seneca swear before and it was an indication of just how upset he was. 'But what if the horse is going at a reasonable pace in the proper direction, and your idiot has his doubts about his co-driver's right to give orders?'

'Then the man's even more of a bloody fool than I give him credit for!'

There was no more to be said. We finished the journey in hostile silence, and I dropped him off at the Caelian like a hot brick.