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.The ruin of my wife's family has taught me a great deal.Profit by my experience.Should your plans change, I hope you will let me know of them so that proper steps may be taken.I am ever eager to advance the cause of the Roman Empire, as are you.From my own hand, on the twenty-fourth day of October in the 818th Year of the City,Cornelius Justus Silius[Back to Table of Contents]14* * * *FROM HIS vantage point near the Gates of Life, Saint-Germain watched the Circus Maximus fill with more than seventy-five thousand Romans.As much of the populace of the city as might cram themselves into the public stands had turned out for Nero's last Games before he left for Greece.The great tarred ships’ beams were in place so that the arena could be flooded for an aquatic entertainment.Slaves were already stationed at the sluices, ready to let in the torrent that would flood the floor of the amphitheater to a depth almost twice the height of a man."They didn't used to do this,” remarked the old, freed gladiator who stood beside Saint-Germain.“The spina was lower, too, and the metae were standing on it, to keep chariots from running onto it when they turned too tightly.Now they have to have the metae on the ground and the spina is almost as tall as they are.They've raised the stands, of course.Well, they had to after that leopard climbed into that old Senator's box and mauled him and his slave.” He rubbed at his neck.“Hot day.""Yes,” Saint-Germain said."That bestiaria of yours going to be here today? I saw her last time she was in the arena.It's a pity she doesn't know how to fight.A woman like that, with a sword and those horses.” He ducked his head in respect.“Fine woman, your Armenian.""Thank you,” Saint-Germain responded.“I will tell her you said so."The old gladiator snorted.“Why, she wouldn't know Tsoudes from a savage.It's good of you to offer."A shout went up from the various managers of the Games, and the slaves waiting at the sluices bent to turn the stiff brass handles.There was a throaty rumble under the susurrus of the crowd as the water began to rush into the arena."Where's the court?” Tsoudes muttered.“You can't tell me a showman like Nero'd let the Games begin without him.” The old gladiator folded his thick arms across his massive scarred chest.“Sometimes I think the only thing they care about now is the spectacle.Not so long ago, it took skill to fight in the arena.We had pride, all the fighters, because we were the best-trained warriors in the empire, and that includes the legions.Now"—he tossed his head scornfully—"it's blood they're after and blood they get.Last month, those Greek hoplites were in the arena.I tell you, they are soldiers, those men.It was a joy to watch them.But the crowd hated them.There wasn't enough blood on the sands for them.The hoplites fight too efficiently and too well.""Did you fight when the spina was lower?” Saint-Germain asked, eager to turn the conversation."By Mithras’ Bull!” A low, rumbling laugh shook him.“That was done before my grandfather was made a slave; Divus Julius or Divus Augustus did it.""Nero has talked about adding more stands.There were two people killed in the rush to get seats this morning, and so long as part of the stands are being rebuilt, they might as well be made higher.” Saint-Germain looked up into the packed stands and toward the multicolored awning of fine-spun wool.Tsoudes followed his glance.“I was here the day that Caligula had the awning removed and the exits blocked.He wanted to punish the people for laughing at one of his displays.It was very effective, really.The sun and the heat were terrible.A handful of them died of the sun."Through the thick tar-coated logs came the scent of roses.The water filling the arena had been perfumed.Saint-Germain recalled Petronius and his aversion to roses, and was saddened."Yes,” Tsoudes went on, delighted to have so distinguished an audience for his ramblings, “it was dangerous being a gladiator for old Gaius Caligula.Never knew where you stood with him.I remember watching him in the parades, very tall and gangly, forever looking about.And Claudius.well, I never liked Claudius.There were unpleasant rumors about him, and there was something in his eye.See this scar?” He pointed to a jagged white line that ran from his collarbone to the top of his hip.“That happened under Claudius’ podium.I killed my opponent, straight and fair, but it wasn't enough for Claudius.He ordered one of the others to kill me.Screamed at him, telling someone I had not fought with to kill me.If it hadn't been for the crowd, I'd have gone out through the Gates of Death that day."Saint-Germain, who had seen Claudius once, in Britannia, held his peace, though he agreed with Tsoudes."Two of the fighters I trained will appear today,” Tsoudes went on.“I had less than a year with each of them.They're nowhere near ready for a combat, but that's the way of things now.” He hooked his thumbs into the wide leather belt pulled tight across his hips.“There isn't the pride there used to be.No one cares for skill and training.It used to be there was honor in the arena, but now, it's disgusting the way—"His words were lost in the sudden blare of trumpets and the drone of the hydraulic organ on the spina.From the awning lines high above the crowd, beautiful young boys with gilt wings tied to their shoulders were lowered to hang like cherubs over the heads of the people.They had been given roses and gold to toss to the crowd, and various gifts from the Emperor, among them deeds for land, large estates, a brace of wild boars, fine jewels, a fully manned bireme, a charioteer, half a dozen ostriches, bolts of silken cloth, an invitation to dine with the Emperor on his pleasure barge, a man-eating tiger, an Egyptian mummy, and other equally whimsical expressions of the Emperor's favor, all of which would be signed over to the new owners at the end of the Games.Just as the crowd had grasped at the last of this largess, the boys were once again drawn up to the awning and the trumpets pealed out their fanfare announcing the arrival of the Emperor.There were rustlings and murmurs as the people looked toward the podium.It, and many of the nobility's boxes, stood empty.The noise of the crowd grew louder and the trumpets were almost overwhelmed by the din.Then, at the far end of the Circus Maximus, three huge doors that rose above the logs at waterline lifted, and six fine barges, each drawn by fifty beautiful youths trained to swim in precise coordination together, surged onto the perfumed water
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