CHAPTER 10

The Circus Maximus was the largest arena in the world. Over 2,000 feet long and 387 feet wide, it had a seating capacity that exceeded 150,000. At the height of the games, during a close chariot race or when two gladiators were evenly matched, the roar of the crowd would thunder through the seven hills of Rome, clawing out to the surrounding city and echoing back on itself. Seasoned spectators claimed that the noise made their ears ring for minutes afterward, as if the waves of the Mediterranean were crashing in their heads. The arena, they said, literally shook with the noise.

The Circus was located below the imperial residence on the Palatine Hill and was connected to the palace by an underground tunnel that opened to the emperor’s luxurious, shaded box. The sprawling palace, full of arches and frescoes and colored marble, formed a stunning backdrop to the arena. The shadow of the emperor’s house loomed over the festivities like a father hovering over his children at play.

Tiberius would not be at the games, of course, but the people didn’t care. Sejanus would preside, and Tiberius would foot the bill —what more could one ask of the emperor?

Two days earlier, this same arena had been the scene of the always-popular chariot races, the drivers churning four abreast around the barrier down the middle of the oblong arena. Fortunes were made and lost in the betting.

The night after, thousands of slaves covered the floor of the arena with sand and brought in an elaborate set for today’s games, replete with shrubs and trees, transforming the arena into an African landscape. The games would begin with a hunt.

Seating for the event was carefully segregated. Sejanus, a few select senators, the imperial slaves, and the Vestal Virgins would take their seats under the red tile roof of the emperor’s box. Other senators, resplendent in their gold-trimmed togas, sat on both sides of the box. Equestrians like me were entitled to the spacious seats closest to the arena floor, stone benches with plenty of leg room. Above us, on wooden seats, sat the other Roman citizens —the freedmen. Women were allowed only in the top rows.

My seat next to Seneca was almost directly across the arena from the emperor’s box, and I had the perfect vantage point to watch both the games and Flavia’s reaction to them. My own family’s seats were several rows higher and farther from the center of the arena, but today I was with Seneca, and friendship had its privileges.

Fashionably late, the trumpets blared, the flutes played, and a colorful procession arrived from the emperor’s palace. The sun was low in the sky on my side of the stadium and reflected off Sejanus and his cohorts, the long, polished trumpets blinding to the eyes. Sejanus, wearing a purple toga, led the procession, and the crowd erupted. He was followed by the Senate’s two consuls and a handful of other senators. Next came the Vestals, who seemed out of place in their white satin robes and elegantly braided hair. I noticed that Flavia was a few inches shorter than the other Vestals, but she held her head high and looked majestic as she took her place a few seats down from Sejanus. If she abhorred the games, she didn’t let on.

After the cheering subsided and the crowd sat down, the condemned criminals were paraded through the arena. They were chained and humiliated, staring at the sand in front of them. The guards held placards over their heads, informing the crowd of their crimes. The good citizens whistled and jeered at the prisoners, though the taunting seemed halfhearted. The criminals were a mixture of freedmen and slaves, all noncitizens, accused of murder or sedition or stealing from the state treasury. There were men of every skin color and nationality imaginable, and my advocate’s heart, always the champion of the underdog, assumed they might have avoided this punishment if they could have afforded a better lawyer.

After the parade of the condemned, the gladiators entered. They were all huge, carrying a variety of weapons, looking ready to kill. Their bodies had been massaged, oiled, and well fed —the lanistae looking after their investments. A dead gladiator, one lanista had told me three days earlier during my research, was an expensive gladiator.

Sejanus stood and announced the name and record of each gladiator, then waited for the traditional salute: “We who are about to die salute you!” Sejanus would nod, and the next gladiator would step up.

Money began changing hands all around me, and friendly arguments broke out about which ludi trained the best gladiators and which weapons were the most lethal. If only the Romans cared this much about law or politics or philosophy.

Seneca began making his own snide comments, mimicking the others around us, saying he wanted to bet on this man or that man because he liked the color of his shield. I admired the courage of the gladiators and told Seneca as much.

“You want to hear about real courage?” Seneca asked. He told the story of a German gladiator who went off to the lavatory before a show, the only place where he wouldn’t be watched, and choked himself to death by jamming one of the lavatory sponges on the end of a stick down his own throat. “That man defied everyone, choosing the manner of his death!” Seneca said.

“And that makes him a hero?”

“My favorite gladiator of all time.”