The Far Arena (31 page)

Although Domitian and I had had many dealings, I had never visited here nor had he been to my home. We entered the palace through a vestibule the size of a small arena, except it was rectangular. There were enough statues lining this entranceway to make the finest, most perfectly carved marble a drudgery to the eyes. I was led by the same praetorians to a large room with a couch, three sellae, two tables, and delicate murals of fields and streams and birds with gods and women playing through them.

A slave brought me wine and bread of pure white, the finest there is, all the darkness milled from it. There were also plums and apples and garum sauce for crushed chickpeas. I drank the water, not the wine, and ate the bread and chickpeas. It was good garum, the fish fermented just right and seasoned properly to make a smooth, brown sauce. At home, mine had been as good.

Domitian's emissary entered the room and I saw the hallway was packed with praetorians. They were my guard. The emissary's face was taut, with a jerkiness around the eyes. His body was stiff, and he poured himself wine in a silver cup and watered it by but half.

'Well, Eugeni. We have a problem.'

'I have been robbed,' I said. 'That Greek stayed loyal until the first crisis. Then he was off with my wealth. All of it, except the six million sesterces you bargained for. Domitian's money. It is his.'

'We have it. Thank you.'

'You are welcome to it.'

Things can go more easily for you if you cooperate,' he said, and his face was still grave. Did he think I was some schoolboy who had stolen a peacock with his friends? 'I will not lie to you. You are going to die, but how you die can be up to you. There are fast crucifixions and slow ones. Our divine Domitian is not a vindictive man. We will find out everything you know anyhow.'

'Tell Domitian I have never known of anyone able to enforce an agreement from a cross.'

'Dead, you will have no need of money.'

'And if I am dead, you will not have it,'

'We will get most of it.'

'Then why are you here?'

'For your cooperation. You have done Rome a great disservice this day. Perhaps you can make amends.'

'I am willing to pay what I have, whatever I have, if you will give me something for it.'

'What?'

'My life.'

'Impossible. You wouldn't believe it if I promised it anyway. Is that not true?' I nodded.

'So let us begin from there. We can make sure your wife and son whom you love will live and with a reasonable pension from Domitian's own treasury.'

'They're probably dead now. The mob was heading towards my house.'

The emissary nodded. What he really wanted, I knew, was to find out for certain how much Miriamne and Petronius meant to me in terms of cooperation Domitian could trade for. Wife and child for my fortune. Knowing Domitian, he would probably have them crucified before my eyes once I had given him what he wanted. Their safety was in Domitian's belief that I really did not love them as I loved them.

'I wil
l confess,' said the emissary. ‘I
lied to you. They were mutilated by the mob near your house.'

He watched my face like
a priest examining a goat liver
for the secrets of tomorrow.

'Too bad,' I said lightly. 'They should have proper funerals. I would like that. Although I don't know what I could pay for mourners. I have nothing. That Greek abandoned me. Took everything.' And on this I clenched a fist and showed great anger in my face.

'Will you help us find him?'

'Only if he dies with me.'

'Done. We can promise that.' He finished his wine and poured himself some water. There were no slaves in the room. 'Now. Who was in it with you?'

'Me and Publius.'

'No. No. The plot to create the riots. One does not create two riots consecutively without a plan.' 'You mean assassination?' 'Yes.'

'That is in Domitian's mind, not mine. As you rightly stated before the match with Publius, I did quite well with Domitian as emperor. It was not in my interest to see him replaced.'

'But what if you thought Domitian would confiscate your property after you left the arena?'

'And therefore I offended all Rome so that his successor wouldn't? This is foolishness.'

'We did not believe you were part of a plot. But who knows? Rome is treacherous today. The old virtues are dying. The senate is a foul sewer. The patricians, from whom one would expect the most virtue, show the least. Domitian loved you, Eugeni. He sent three gold swords for your son's ceremony. Still he holds no anger. Look at the fruit. Look at the wine. Is this an enemy you deal with ? He could have you burned as a torch this very evening, if he wanted.'

'No, he could not,' I said sharply and slapped the table to emphasize this. 'He could not. If he burned me to ashes, there would be people who said I had bribed him for my life. They would say it was a slave who was burned. Whatever our divine Domitian does to me, he must do before Rome publicly so it will not be said that the wily Greek bought his life.'

The emissary sighed. 'Eugeni, you overestimate yourself and underestimate our Domitian.'

'He did not come down here because he could not look upon me without killing me. Until the execution, I am as safe as in my mother's womb.'

'He could throw you to the mobs.'

'And the first hundreds would see me, and all the rest of Rome would swear I had bought my life and it was a slave who was torn apart.'

'Only a fool thinks he has power he does not. Good-bye. You will never see me again. When I leave. I leave forever. Be good to yourself for once. Use your cunning.'

He rose, standing before me. At the door he begged me to reconsider, for he was never going to return once he left this room; he was my last chance.

'Help us find what you do not need and things may go easier for you.'

I took a red plum, both sweet and tart.

'Then I must say good-bye forever. The last friend you have with Domitian.'

Forever was by nigh
tfall. I knew it was night becau
se when the door was open the lamps were flaming in the hallway. No light from the sky. The emissary had prevailed upon Domitian to give me one more chance. I had not had the advantage of a Roman upbringing and therefore lacked the logic and reason of a Roman. I could not be expected to see things clearly on first examination. . There was but one question. Who really controlled my funds? Tullius? Galbas? Some other clerk? Domitian did not believe I would entrust the bulk of my fortune to a Greek.

'I said Demosthenes.'

'All right, Galbas then,' said the emissary.

He returned in the morning to tell me it was not Galbas.

Tullius, then.'

'It's not Tullius,' said the emissary.

A young girl came into my room. She had large breasts and smooth skin. I did not touch her. She left, and later a young boy entered with even smoother skin. I did not touch him.

And then Tullius entered followed by slaves. He looked worried, but there was not a mark on him. Galbas was dead, he said sombrely. Tullius had managed to win his freedom and even a small stipend by telling our good friend Domitian everything. That was why he was able to walk away free now. He was sorry he gave up part of my fortune, but it was his life. There was one thing I should understand about Domitian. He was not a vindictive man. As emperor, he was a veritable slave to reason.

That afternoon I was taken to one of Domitian's baths, first the caldarium with its warming steams and then the frigidarium with water cooled by shade and rocks. There was another prisoner in the baths. He followed me from hot to cold. He too had offended Domitian once, endangered the whole empire, he confided. He was so ashamed of what he had done that he would not repeat it. But Domitian, he discovered, was not a vengeful man. He only appeared that way to the mobs to keep order. If a person were cooperative. Domitian would keep him quietly in his own palace. He was an emperor, not some besotted youth in the street venting anger at problems. He had an empire to run. It was a heavy burden. Domitian could not indulge in wreaking vengeance for every slight. There was not enough time.

'Our poor emperor,' I said.
‘
He does have great burdens, and I am afraid I am one of them. My fortune, by right of offence, belongs to
him
. Yet I am stubborn and selfish. He could beat me and burn me to free my tongu
e. But he has a problem there. I
am a gladiator, and I was trained on whips and burning iron. He would have to bring me near
death to get what is his, and I
believe he needs me living. Our poor divine Domitian.'

The praetorians delayed me before taking me back to the room. The man in the baths was a foolish attempt. It was obvious the man was not a lounging prisoner. He had calluses on his right hand and left forearm - hand to hold sword, forearm to hold shield. Was a prisoner going to practice with weapons daily ? His cheeks were red from recent sun and his chest and arms were muscled. His legs showed the sharp work of long marches. The palace was big but not the Appian Way.

When finally the praetorians returned me to the room, it smelled of recent defecation, as though the slaves had failed to remove the pots. On the sleeping couch, a large white linen cloth covered what appeared to be sacks of apples. The marble floor beneath the couch glistened with fresh scrubbing. Two small red dots appeared in the centre of the linen and grew larger. The praetorian officer made to it first, so that he could remove the linen with a sudden flourish. There was my recent bathing partner, the pink in his cheeks drained out of his neck. His head had been severed. His dismembered arms were crossed over his belly, and his body ended at his loins. Those hard legs had been sawed off and his trunk rested on the stumps.

That's you, Eugeni. Here you go,' yelled the praetorian, and two men seized mv arms and two my legs and they laid me on the table. The praetorian raised his unsheathed sword. It was smeared with blood.

'No. No. Domitian needs him. He will not allow this. He wants him to live.' It was the emissary. 'I want his liver,' yelled the praetorian. 'You cannot. He knows things.' 'You have got nothing out of him.' 'We can get something. Let him live,' begged the emissary. 'No.'

'I promise you. He loves Rome. He will help.' 'He hates Rome. He defies the gods themselves,' shouted the praetorian. His face was positively imperial purple above me. 'I will tell all,' I said. 'Not enough,' said the praetorian.

'I order you to let him. Domitian demands it,' said the emissary. T want his life.' 'It will be yours, then.' 'I do not care.'

'Then your honour and virtue. You will lose it, if you harm our Eugeni, the emperor's ward.'

'Only if this Greekling pays back his debt to Rome.'

'He will,' said the emissary. 'Eugeni, please. For your life. Who helps you? Who has the maps to your wealth? Who are your allies?'

'Actors,' I said.

And this excited the emissary even more. For an actor had been the empress's lover once 'Actors?' said the emissary.

'Yes. Dressed like praetorians,
’
I said. 'See how good this one is? One would believe he is going to kill me.'

And I laughed the gross arena laugh which has no joy in it. The praetorian officer raised his sword as though to chop wood and brought it down near my head so that I heard the air whistle. But I had heard swords before. When you hear them, they are no danger, for that means your opponent is slashing and has lost control.

I might even live.

The patient was in extreme danger and all three had to prepare for it. This from Sister Olav, as she and Dr McCardle and Dr Petrovitch met in a bright sun porch down the hall from the room. Workmen had just finished putting masses of large houseplants around a small stone pool, as Sister Olav had ordered.

‘I
don't know if our patient can survive discovering where he is. I think it will be like falling off a cliff for him. I think it might be fatal.'

Her manner was even more grave than usual. She had been here two days, and Lew had gotten several calls from Saint Sabina's Hospital nearby because of the brevity of Sister Olav's visits to the place where she was supposed to live. She worked twenty hours a day. She typed faster than most secretaries. She had done a Herculean job with the tapes. When she wasn't organizing the bits of verbal information into typewritten form, she was visiting the patient's room and making notes. She was always attentive, sharp, and definite.

She was not someone Lew wanted to be near with his massive hangover, with his body thirsting for relief, with his mouth dry and foul, and his head a prison that must be kept perfectly still, or great ringing alarms would punish his skull. He wore a dark brown suit with a soft white shirt and dark brown tie. He wore polished brown cordovans.