Gaius stilled, thinking once more of icy ground, but Malleus continued to smile.
“There are many here in Rome who appreciate Agricola’s qualities, qualities that appear ever more admirable each time we learn of some mishandled campaign by one of our other generals.”
“Then why doesn’t the Emperor employ him?” Gaius asked.
“Because victory for Roman arms is secondary to keeping the Emperor in power. The more people clamor for Agricola to be sent out as General, the more our “lord and god” suspects him. In another year he will be due for a major consular appointment, but as things are now, his friends must advise him not to accept it.”
“I can see the problem,” said Gaius thoughtfully. “Agricola is far too conscientious to fail deliberately, but if he does well, the Emperor will feel threatened by his success. Well, he will be remembered with honor in Britannia, whatever happens in Rome.”
“Tacitus would be happy to hear you say that,” said Malleus.
“Oh, do you know him? I served with him in Caledonia.” The conversation moved into a general discussion of the northern campaign, which the Senator proved to have followed closely. It was only as the guests were being herded to the gardens for a display by some Bithynian dancing girls that the conversation became personal once more.
“I’m giving a small dinner party three weeks from now —” Malleus laid a friendly hand on Gaius’s arm. “Nothing elaborate, just a few men whom I think you will find interesting. Would you honor me by attending? Cornelius Tacitus has promised to be there.”
From that day forward it seemed to Gaius that the superficial round of parties and entertainments that had begun to exasperate him took on a new dimension. It felt as if he were at last penetrating the veil with which Roman society protected itself against outsiders, and if it was only one segment of that society, and perhaps a dangerous one, even that was preferable to dying of boredom.
A few days later Licinius’s cousin, whose agnomen was Corax, took Gaius with him to the Games in the new Coliseum that Domitian was building on the site where Nero’s overwrought palace had once stood.
“There’s a certain appropriateness in the location,” Corax observed as they took their seats in the section reserved for the equestrians, “since Nero himself put on Games such as Rome had never seen before, especially when he was trying to convince everyone that that odd Jewish sect – you know, the Christians -had caused the great fire.”
“Did they?” Gaius was looking around him. They had arrived between fights, and slaves were replacing the bloodstained sand.
“You hardly need deliberate sabotage to start a fire in this city, my lad,” his host said wryly. “Why do you think every district has a fire watch to which we all contribute so willingly? But this was a particularly bad one, and the Emperor needed a scapegoat to counter the rumors that he had started the blaze himself!”
Gaius turned to stare at him.
“New buildings, lad, new buildings!” Corax explained. “Nero fancied himself an architect, and the people who owned the property where the fire started wouldn’t sell. The fire got out of hand, and the Emperor needed someone to blame. The Games were really quite horrid – no skill involved at all – just a lot of poor souls who died more like sheep than like men.”
Gaius was suddenly glad he had not captured Cynric after all. Such a fighter would certainly have been sent here, and he did not deserve it, though surely he would have not been a sheep but rather a wolf or a bear.
Trumpets blared and a shiver of expectation ran through the vast throng. Gaius felt his own heartbeat quicken and was reminded oddly of the moment before battle; it was the only time he had been in the presence of so many thousands, all nerving themselves up to make blood flow. But at least in war both sides were at equal risk. It was other men’s blood these Romans were offering, not their own.
He had seen bear baitings at home, of course, as entertainment for the Legions. There was certainly a fascination in some of the pairings of wild beasts imported for the Games. A lion and a giraffe, for instance, or a wild boar and a panther. Corax told him that on one occasion a pregnant sow had been fighting and actually farrowed a piglet during her death throes. But the real focus of the afternoon was on the most dangerous of all animals — man.