Blood Games (27 page)

"Very well. In two days I'll provide you with the names of your slaves.” He gestured his agreement and set about the task his master had set from him.

TEXT OF A LETTER TO CORNELIUS JUSTUS SILIUS FROM THE CO-COMMANDER OF THE PRAETORIAN GUARD, NYMPHIDIUS SABINUS.

To the distinguished and noble Senator, Cornelius Justus Silius, greetings:

I have been asked by my co-commander, C. Ofonius Tigellinus, to inform you of his retirement from office. His health has forced him to leave Rome and live quitely on his estates in the north, where, it is hoped, the care of his physician and the more restful setting will soon restore him to his former vigor. Certainly you must feel as I do that the Praetorian Guard has lost a respected and able leader at a time of great need. Had it not been for his deteriorating condition, you may be sure that Tigellinus would be here with me now, helping to reorganize our men into a more effective unit.

Since the Emperor has been gone so long, his return has thrown us into something of a quandary. We have new troops who have yet to serve the Emperor in person, and for that reason there are many new demands of the Guard while we prepare to assume the full weight of our responsibilities once again. There is a very high standard of conduct demanded of the Praetorians, and it will be a little time, I am sad to say, before we are once again at the level of that standard. The constructive advice of men such as you will get our fullest attention at this time.

Tigellinus informed me that you have been of service to him in the past, and so I ask that you will be kind enough to have the same regard for me now that the whole burden of command has fallen to my shoulders. How greatly I have come to value those noble and honorable Romans who have taken the interests of the empire to their hearts and have sworn to protect all that we have gained, here and abroad, and are not seduced by the new waves of treason that are lapping at the very gates of Rome. Those subtle enemies who work from within are more dangerous than those who besiege us from without, for they gnaw at the very heart of the empire.

Perhaps you are aware that some of the legions far from Rome, in their discontent, have spoken of rebellion and the raising to power of their various governors and commanders. We have had information here within the last two days, from truly reliable sources, that the legions in Tarraconensis and Baetica, and possibly those in Lusitania as well, are about to hail their governor, Servius Sulpicius Galba, as Emperor of the Roman Empire. It seems incredible that a man of Galba's years—he is close on seventy, as you may know—should embark on so dishonorable and rebellious a venture at this time. It is true that many of the legions do not love Nero, and that the recent prolonged stay in Greece has in part contributed to the unrest abroad, and has helped bring this uncharacteristic action about.

You have long observed the ways of Rome, and Tigellinus has assured me of your deep loyalty. For that reason I would like to request that should you at any time hear from those legions, or others, who have plans to unseat the rightful Caesar and set another in his place, that you will be at pains to inform me of what you have learned so that the Praetorians may fulfill their sworn oath and protect the Emperor.

This on the tenth day of April in the 820th Year of the City, by my own hand and under seal.

[Back to Table of Contents]

OUT ON THE lake of the Golden House there were boats filled with musicians and singers, and they played Greek songs to the guests on the banks. The evening was warm and soft, scented with herbs and flowers. It was a bright evening, with stars pricking through the last touch of daylight. A small herd of tame deer wandered among the guests, who offered them fruits that slaves had given them for that purpose. Nero himself walked along the banks of the lake, strumming his lyre and singing bits of new songs he had learned while he had been competing in the Olympic and other Games.

"Yes, the Greeks are far ahead of us in matters of art,” Nero interrupted a bit of
Ariadne on Naxos
to remark to the men beside him. “Their halls are alive with song, their statues make ours look stiff and paltry, their conversation is elegant and philosophical. Until you've spent time among them, you can have no idea how profound their culture is."

"You may bring it to us, Caesar,” Cornelius Justus Silius said with a nod to the other three men accompanying the Emperor. “You've had an opportunity that is given to few."

"But the burdens of my rank,” Nero sighed and plucked at the big lyre. “There are times I envy the meanest shepherd in Greece, who has time to watch the wind and explore the full extent of his thoughts."

"You express your genius in other ways,” Nymphidius Sabinus assured him. “This great Golden House with grounds that would make me think I was deep in the country if I had not seen for myself that we are in the heart of the mightiest city of the world."

The third man, Constantinus Modestinus Datus, was newly arrived from Gallia Belgica, and was still somewhat stunned to find himself in such exalted company. “Indeed, Caesar, I had heard of the Golden House, but nothing, nothing had prepared me for its...grandeur."

Nero smiled broadly. “It is my tribute to the empire,” he said, and struck a deep chord on his lyre.

Modestinus nodded rather grimly. “It requires a wealthy empire to create such a lavish palace."

"What of my statue?” Nero asked eagerly. “Have you seen it yet? Doesn't it impress you? A few critics have compared it with statues of Apollo.” He chuckled to show that he did not agree with this extravagant praise. “It flatters me particularly because Apollo is the god of music, which has always been my first love."

"And no one can question the depth of your devotion,” Justus said quickly. “You have made yourself the first acolyte at the altar of art."

Nero regarded the fourth man in the group, who walked a little apart from them. “And you, Saint-Germain. Would you agree with the Senator?"

"Your dedication is rare for an Emperor,” Saint-Germain said evenly. “It does you a great deal of credit. But if you were a singer and not the Emperor, you would have to be twenty times more devoted to your art to excel to the fullest.” It was a calculated risk to speak so to Nero, but Saint-Germain thought it might be worthwhile.

"There, good companions, is an honest man,” Nero cried in delight. “My prizes say that you are too severe, but I believe you are not dissembling."

"Prizes,” Justus said at his most ponderous, “are not given for art alone, but for skill in presentation and in the quality of majesty of the singers. You have such an impact on those who see you, Caesar, that no one could deny the merit of your prizes."

Saint-Germain refused to be drawn into such an argument. He lifted his shoulders negligently. “I did not hear Caesar in competition, and therefore have no judgment to offer on his prizes."

Justus gave him an angry look, then turned his attention to Nero once more. “The statue is a wonder, and everyone who sees it is struck with its beauty and richness. There is gold enough there to supply three or four kings with an ample treasury."

Or, Saint-Germain thought to himself, several thousand slaves and freedmen with food for five years. He directed his next comment to Modestinus. “In Gallia, what have you got for entertainment? I have heard you have several excellent arenae, and a few theatres, but I'm not sure where these are."

"It's not on the scale, of course,” Modestinus said, glad for the deft change of subject. “There are a few arenae, nothing so large as you have in Rome, and not so many. We have a theatre a day's ride from the garrison, and there are times I've gone there, but the actors are not usually the best, and many of the plays are not very well-performed. We did have some jugglers and acrobats come through a few years ago, and they were marvelous. It doesn't sound like much to someone living in Rome, but in Gallia Belgica, it means a great deal to us, I can assure you."

"I think,” Nero said, overriding the conversation once again, “that at the end of next year, I will visit Gallia and see how the garrisons live there. I may even perform for them. I remember how well the legions there liked the song I wrote for them."

"They still sing it, Caesar,” Modestinus said with real sincerity.

Nero was pleased. “Do they? How kind of them. It was a pleasure to write a song for soldiers."

"Sometimes the troops sing it while they march,” Modestinus assured the Emperor, but did not mention that the soldiers had added many verses of their own, far less patriotic in tone than those Nero had written.

"Do they? Sing my song?” He flicked his fingers over the strings and began the first verse. “
As
far as any eagle flies, the might of Rome will go. / From out of steaming Africa to Hyperboric snow / Oh, hear the awesome marching beat / The steady tread of legions’ feet / Advancing while the foes retreat; / Advancing on the foe!"

Modestinus had joined in the song, which pleased Nero so much that he offered to sing all fifteen verses. “I'm afraid my memory isn't as good as yours, Caesar,” Modestinus said quickly with a little self-deprecating bow. “I've never been good at remembering the words to songs. It says a great deal that I can remember so much of this one."

Nero was too satisfied to be offended by this. “Well, it does me good to know that my efforts on behalf of the legions are appreciated.” He turned to Saint-Germain. “I have wanted to speak to you since my return."

Saint-Germain's response was prompt. “Tishtry's not for sale."

"Excellent!” Nero laughed, his head thrown back, his dark blond hair in disarray around a silver wreath. “No, no, it is not about that fabulous charioteer of yours, though if she were for sale, I would be the first to make an offer for her."

"In which case, should I ever decide to part with her, I will give her to you, since no one would bid against you for her."

If Nero heard how sardonic the remark was, he gave no indication of it. “She would be a rare present, indeed. I will remember that, Saint-Germain, and remind you of it.” He smiled at the other two men. “She is an amazing woman, this Armenian charioteer of his. Even in Greece, I saw nothing to equal her.” Then he turned back to Saint-Germain. “I've had a project in mind for some months now, and it occurs to me that you are the very man to help me bring it to a full realization."

Saint-Germain felt a certain dread at that announcement, but kept his tone carefully even. “A great honor, Caesar. Though I admit I wonder why you should ask me, and not another Roman."

"Because of your skill with musical instruments and metal,” Nero said, as if it were obvious. “I've noticed that the hydraulic organ in the Circus Maximus is in need of repair, and so long as the work is to be done anyway, the instrument might as well be replaced with a better one. You're gifted in such matters, and I would like you to help me with the design. I have already worked out what will be required, but I'm unsure of the actual limits of the metal in the instrument. I rely on you to help me there. I've studied the plans of the organ as it exists now, and I am certain that the sound can be improved. It's loud enough now, but it would be more appropriate for the pipes to ring like bells rather than bray like asses.” This was a carefully turned phrase, and Nero waited for admiration.

Justus did not disappoint him. “You have much felicity in your speech, great Caesar. There are orators older than I who, in all their years, have not learned to speak as well as you do."

Nero made an expansive gesture. “It is a point of honor with me to use the language as elegantly as I can.” Suddenly he flung out his arm and pointed to where slaves were carrying a tall crucifix to which a man was tied. “Ah! The Jews!"

"Jews?” Modestinus wondered aloud.

"Oh, I'm sure you've heard of them. They're the ones that are always starting a war with the garrison in Jerusalem. Stiff-necked and fractious as any in the empire. This group petitioned the Master of the Games to be spared the humility of dying with heretics—other Jews with a different point of view, is what they meant. They are condemned to be executed, and so, since the leader of this particular sect was crucified, I decided to let them emulate him.” He watched excitedly as the slaves placed the unusually tall upright beam in a waiting, reinforced hole.

"But what is he wearing?” Modestinus asked, plainly becoming distressed.

"A tunica soaked in pitch,” Nero explained delightedly. “There are several dozen of them about the gardens. The tunicae will be set on fire and then we, too, can see the light they claim to have seen. I have ordered them gagged so that their screams will not disturb us."

The furtive pleasure in Justus’ eyes was worse than the greedy anticipation in Nero's. “Great Caesar, your genius extends everywhere, even to your wit."

"Yes,” Nero responded automatically. “I considered letting them run free in the garden, but there was no saying whether or not one of them might seize a Roman and carry both down in flames. This is more appropriate, somehow.” Nero gave an exasperated sigh. “If they would stop attacking the garrison, none of this would happen. I've told their representatives time after time that they can worship their gods in any way they like, in their country and in Rome, and they respond by saying that there is only one god"—Nero almost laughed—"and that all others must be destroyed. They see the presence of our garrison as a religious matter. What can anyone do with such a people? I wish to be a just and merciful man, yet they make it impossible to pardon them. I have tried to be reasonable, but they won't accept my offers, and they continue to rebel."

Over the centuries Saint-Germain had seen such barbarity, and acts much more atrocious, but they always gave him the same cold horror ever since he had found himself alone on a battlefield with a sea of corpses around him. “Don't you think that this will only spur them to further rebellion?” he suggested gently.