Arena (14 page)

“I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

“In fact, word runs that he and Fabius had a hot argument because Fabius refused to even think about the possibilities of putting on such an act. Not even for Nero’s private parties. Stupid, eh?”

“No. Fabius and I are of like mind there. The thought’s sickening. Forget it.”

“Very well.” Syrax sighed, then studied me shrewdly. “We will forget it where it concerns the Cassian School. What I do with my free hours is my own affair, however. Right now I think I’ll swim.”

So saying, he plunged with a savage dive into the smoking-hot pool. He lashed about with violent strokes to work off his concealed rage. I quickly went to dress, my belly uneasy at the very thought of his scheme. I trusted he’d spoken rashly, and would eventually abandon the disgusting idea. Insistence upon it would surely provoke serious trouble between us.

Luckily he soon seemed his old self. No more was said about the idea. Doubtless he saw that we did not need to lower ourselves to providing audiences with sexual spectacles in order to reap profits. Our fortunes increased modestly day by day. Our contingents to the circuses grew larger. We felt confident that upon the occasion of the next Imperial games, the Cassian School would be well represented.

Public gossip held that the Emperor would be staging those games in the near future. The political climate made it necessary.

In the year since we’d won our freedom, things had gone from bad to worse on the Palatine. The Princeps became more and more reckless. His public face was righteous enough. Coins were struck bearing the mottoes propounded by Seneca.Clementia.Concordia. Clemency and good will, the foundations of stable government. Imperial officials regularly prophesied new and greater eras of happiness and prosperity just ahead for all.

Behind the scenes, however, the Emperor was working to assert himself and override the power of the Senate. When he appropriated large sums to build new retirement colonies for old legionnaires at Antium, Pompeii and Tarentum, the Senators balked. They objected that Nero was merely playing up to the Praetorians to enhance his personal power. To which the Emperor reportedly countered, in a shrill scream, that his power must be preserved because every bit of the liberty and prosperity of Rome was a direct result of his sovereignty, but definitely not an inherent right of the citizens. The Senate gave in.

Rumors circulated that Seneca, Serenus and the Praetorian Prefect Burrus were having poor luck counteracting the fanatic personal cult the Emperor was building. As an Imperial adviser, his mother Agrippina’s status had been reduced to nil. She was seldom seen outside her fine house.

She took the side of Octavia, Nero’s colorless wife, in the debate over whether blonde Poppaea Sabina would one day be his Empress.

Mercifully, I was far removed from all this haggling and intrigue. I heard it only second- and third-hand from nobles visiting the school on business. I was satisfied to enjoy my growing status, my modest house, my three slaves, and Locusta.

But one night the politics of the Palatine intruded into my life.

A warm, muggy summer’s dusk had fallen over Rome. I had invited Serenus and Syrax to dine.

We had completed our meal, and the hot and cold wine had been passed around. My friends were relaxing on their couches. After taking a drink, Serenus asked me, “Cassius, what’s become of that girl? The one from Sulla’s? I’ve bean meaning to ask you for some time.”

“Acte?” The name still made queer music on my tongue. “Why don’t you ask one of the
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Emperor’s intimates instead?”

He waved. “Oh, Nero got over his infatuation for her soon enough.”

“Well, I really couldn’t tell you what’s become of her, Serenus.”

The gold hoop in Syrax’s ear bobbled furiously. He had choked on the wine. I looked at him, curious. He returned the glance with a bright, innocent smile and immediately began drinking again. He seemed to squirm on the couch, even though he sat stock still. I was puzzling over this peculiar behavior when Serenus interrupted my thoughts to remark wryly, “I realize you’re a very busy man, Cassius, what with your great devotion to the teachings of the cult of Cybele.

Still, I wondered whether you’d ever seen Acte again.”

“Not once. I was finished with her long ago. The last time we met was the day Syrax and I won the swords. She was a greedy little beast. I thought I was in love with her. I found out I’d made a bad mistake.” I waved my goblet at him. “A man can’t have both a soft heart and a fat purse, you know.”

He shook his grizzled head. “Too bad you lost track of her.”

“Listen to him!” Syrax said, very nearly sneering. “He talks like a lovesick swain!”

Serenus scowled. They never got along well. He said, “I fail to see the humor in my question, Syrax. I merely inquired about her. I thought her quite a charming girl. Besides, my foxy friend, I’m not so old that I couldn’t make some young maiden a good husband, in return for a little companionship. A stone sleeping couch grows damned cold at night.”

“Better to have an empty couch than one occupied by a cheat like Acte,” I told him.

He shrugged and subsided into sentimental silence. There was a loud knocking at he street gate.

One of my servants rushed in to summon me. Moments later I entered the atrium to find Locusta waiting.

“Wonderful news, Cassius! I came at once to tell you. At the Festival of Quinquatrus, in three weeks’ time, the Emperor is giving a splendid fete at his villa on the Bay of Baiae. There will be private games. I’ve arranged for you to perform. In person.”

Quick excitement overcame me. I kissed her violently.

“Clever woman! You promised me this honor once, didn’t you? But how did you pull it off? Did you talk to the Emperor yourself?”

“Why, no.” She gave me a brittle smile. “Nothing so direct as that. I spent a few hours with Tigellinus. The way he’s been begging me to do for months. In return, he interceded with Nero to —”

Jealous wrath brought my hand slashing across her face, knocking her backwards. There was fury to match mine in her jade eyes as she spat, “Have you become a complete ass, Cassius? Isn’t success what youwant ? I’m disgusted with you.”

“And I with you!” I choked. “To sleep with that slimy creature just to make a bargain —”

“Where did you acquire your scruples so suddenly?” she shrilled. “Have you all at once rejected our plan to win the rank of eques for you? Rejected your vow that came first?”

Seething out the words, she faced me, tense and almost ugly. Outside the open door of the house, torches glittered around her chair, highlighting her fiery curls and the malice in her jade eyes.

I heard my guests laughing together, drinking my fine wine. Abruptly my anger seemed ridiculous. What Locusta had done was no worse than what countless married Roman women did every night, from lust rather than worthy ambition. I hardened my heart and took her in my arms.

“Locusta, I’m sorry. I’m delighted with the news.”

“That’s better.” Her pink tongue caressed my lips. “For a moment I thought you’d turned into a weakling.”

“No,” I said firmly. “That will never happen. Come inside. Let’s tell the others of my good fortune.”

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DURING THEnext three weeks I worked myself into a state of high excitement and apprehension. All, as it turned out, for nothing. The performance at the Emperor’s villa on the coast went off without a hitch.

Nearly a thousand illustrious persons packed the small indoor amphitheater. Seated in the largest box was the boy himself — I still thought of him thus, for he was barely past twenty, although his puffed cheeks, affected ringlets and sullen, swollen eyes lent him the look of a debauched man far older. At his side was the blonde strumpet Poppaea. She wore a gown of the sheer kind that had once cause Seneca to remark that such dresses neither afforded protection to the body nor concealment to modesty.

Modesty, however, didn’t seem to concern Nero. He paid more attention to Poppaea’s ruby breasts snuggling against his ribs than to the show I staged down on the sand.

Indeed, he paid no attention to his wife either. Octavia sat in an adjoining box. She was a pretty but frail creature, and she watched the show with obviously feigned interest. Next to Octavia, like a conspirator, was another, older woman, rather lean, with a thin and haunted face and dark hair in which dye could not conceal premature gray streaks. Nero’s mother Agrippina.

Frequently she cast disgusted glances at her son. Nero returned them with the blandest of smiles, free of all guile, even as he continued to openly fondle Poppaea’s most private parts.

By and large the notables assembled gave my performance a good reception, even thought their jaded appetites were not particularly satisfied by my exhibition of catching bear and deer with ropes. When I loosed half a dozen savagely yipping foxes and went against them alone with a sword, picking up a few wicked bites before I killed them all, the Senators and equites and their wives cheered. They liked blood.

Not all, however. Seneca was in the gallery. So was the stubby Praetorian Prefect Burrus. Both watched glumly, disapproving of the gory entertainment. I also spied the tribune Julius in his glittering armor. He had nothing for me but unfriendly scowls.

Ofonius Tigellinus was present too, occupying the box next to Locusta’s. Tigellinus hardly gave an eye to the animal show. He fretted and fussed and exchanged sly smiles and remarks with my red-haired woman. Locusta was stunning in greenish silk that matched the color of her eyes.

At the exhibition’s end I accepted a garland and a purse from the Emperor. Gone were all fears of his recognizing me. Even now he hardly gave me a second glance. Meantime, Tigellinus was clutching Locusta’s arm across the rail, and whispering earnestly.

The audience broke up to return to the main part of the villa for the evening’s banquet. I thought again of how Locusta had arranged for my appearance. How many hours had she spent doing it?

While I was bathing prior to taking my place at dinner, one of Nero’s masters of revels informed me that the name of the Cassian School would be high on the list when attractions were picked for the next Imperial games a few months hence. With that news I found I didn’t care how much time Locusta had spent with the Sicilian. I would play the cuckold to hear such good tidings any day.

I hurried across the grounds to the white villa. The night was warm but blustery, promising a squall. Barges and other pleasure craft were moored at the wharf in the Bay of Baiae. Across the wind-chopped water gleamed the far lights of fine summer homes in Antium. Flushed with satisfaction, I was escorted to the great hall, where the feast was already in progress.

Locusta had reserved a couch adjoining hers, much to the anger of Tigellinus. He was seated on a higher tier, immediately below the Emperor. The sovereign lolled in a purple chair, eating sloppily and directing all his attentions to Poppaea. Agrippina and Octavia sat on his other hand, rigid with humiliation. Neither touched the food heaped before them.

Musicians drummed and piped. Laughter racketed off the walls. A hundred nude male and female slaves ran among the couches with solid silver winejars and trays overflowing with succulent foods. Locusta and I gorged ourselves on wine and fare like tiny hummingbird’s breasts stuffed with a delicate spicy dough mixture.

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The party grew rowdier and rowdier. Since there was nothing shameful in open lovemaking, Locusta and I were indulging in a bit of it when there was a sudden fearful crash of pottery and metal. Heads swiveled. Eyed lifted. Tongues stopped.

Agrippina was on her feet on the dais. She gazed down at her son, furious.

“All evening I’ve watched your disgusting behavior. I’ll bear no more. To run your hand up that creature’s gown while your own wife watches — have you no shame left?”

Poppaea sneered. Nero lurched up, stepping over the jars and platters Agrippina had upset. He seized her arm. His voice was wheedling and his smile looked false.

“Mother, pray don’t embarrass us tonight.”

“Me embarrass you! Your actions disgrace the title of Imperator, cover it with dung and —”

“Mother! Return to your place.” He still smiled in a kindly way, guiding her elbow.

Agrippina pulled back. “Let go. The touch of your lecher’s hand sickens me.”

Nero laughed, lips slack and moist. He continued to hold her arm. Agrippina’s mouth turned white at the corners. I knew he was hurting her, but his tone remained gentleness itself.

“Mother, I insist you compose yourself in front of our guests. None of us here is without some stain.”

A flush spread from Agrippina’s throat to her cheeks. With a ragged word or two none could hear, she turned away and sat down. The oblique reference to her husband Claudius and the fabled way he died had broken her defiance.

I reached for a cluster of fat grapes and swallowed a handful. I said to Locusta, “That’s a nasty situation. I don’t see why the Emperor should fear her, though. He’s pushed her so far into the background, she couldn’t possibly intervene in his affairs. She has no household troops.”

With this rather drunken pronouncement, I swallowed more grapes, untroubled by the purple juice trickling down my chin and staining the white stripeless toga I’d purchased for tonight.

Conversation was slow to resume after the altercation on the dais. The musicians were refreshing themselves with wine. As a result, the hall was momentarily quiet. Locusta weaved slightly when she reached for the wine cup. She was drunker than I by far. When she spoke, it was thoughtlessly, and in a loud voice that carried, “The Emperor needs to be wary of anyone with secrets, Cassius, dear. There was the death of his rival Brittanicus, which very few can explain.

Very few,” she repeated, her green eyes glazed with mirth.

Our tier was but three removed from Nero’s. He heard the remark. While I pretended to stare at a Senator’s wife who was busy exposing her breasts for her husband’s hand, I said in a low hiss, “Be careful what you say. They’re watching.”