CHAPTER 47

TWO YEARS LATER IN THE THIRD YEAR OF THE REIGN OF GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR AUGUSTUS GERMANICUS

The games were not what they used to be. There were empty seats, and the crowd was on edge. Flavia could only hope the deterioration would continue, that people would lose interest. Perhaps one day the games would be no more. Maybe Rome could become more like Greece, and sport could be celebrated without bloodshed.

For now, it all came down to money. Caligula’s games were struggling because the imperial treasury was running dry. Exotic animals were terribly expensive, as were gladiators. Caligula had already burned through more than two billion sestertii that Tiberius had left in the state coffers. Recently, the emperor had turned desperate in an attempt to raise more public funds.

He increased taxes. He found new things to tax, including prostitution. He set up a brothel in a wing of his palace. Any wills that named Tiberius as a benefactor were interpreted so those same bequests went to Caligula. If any rich Roman citizen died without leaving Caligula a large bequest, the will would be invalidated for lack of generosity. That way everything could go to the state.

But still, the revenues could not keep up with Caligula’s lavish spending, and the games suffered. On this day, the crowd had jeered during the halfhearted animal hunts in the morning. The arena didn’t begin filling until the gladiator battles after lunch. Halfway through them, Caligula made his noisy entrance.

Flavia was already in the imperial box when the trumpets and flutes announced the emperor’s arrival. There were scattered catcalls throughout the arena, though most people stood and applauded. Flavia could still vividly recall the games six months earlier when a section of freedmen had booed the emperor and been immediately arrested. Caligula had ordered that their tongues be cut out. They were fed to the wild animals the next day in front of the entire arena. His entrances after that event had been met with nearly unanimous, albeit perfunctory, applause.

Caligula arrived at these games, held in honor of his late sister Drusilla, dressed like the god he claimed to be. He wore a long blue silk robe covered in jewels. A large seashell hung from a gold chain around his neck, reminding the Romans that a year earlier he had marched an army north to Britannia, stopping at the very shores of Gaul, where he had ordered his soldiers to collect seashells before coming home.

Over his robe, Caligula wore the breastplate of Alexander the Great, which he had purloined from the man’s tomb and brought out for special occasions. The smooth skin of Caligula’s round face had been transformed by a fake beard decorated with gold. He held a trident in his right hand, a sign of his deity.

He walked deliberately to the front of the imperial box and stood there for a long time, enjoying the applause. He smiled disdainfully at his subjects, the benevolent grin of a god with limitless power. Finally, long after the people had tired of cheering, he stepped back and took his seat.

Flavia returned to her own seat two rows behind him. Even being that close to the man nauseated her. He had made a mockery of everything she stood for. She detested every leader in Rome who enabled the emperor and his boorish conduct. But right now, Flavia was less concerned with the emperor than she was with a certain gladiator match.

Mansuetus would be fighting for the first time in six months, and it had her emotions on edge. Typically, certain types of gladiators were paired against other types. Mansuetus was a Thracian and fought with a small shield and a curved sica. His speed and quickness was typically matched against a heavily armed gladiator such as the hoplomachus.

But Caligula loved to defy tradition, and so today he had cast Mansuetus against a type of gladiator he had never fought before —a retiarius. Those fighters were Caligula’s intriguing favorite, the most lightly armed of all. The retiarius had a ribbed metal guard protecting his left shoulder and leather on his arm, but his only weapons were a large net and a trident. His tactics were simple: ensnare his opponent in the net and spear him with the trident.

Flavia had seen it numerous times before. A gladiator fighting a retiarius would make a single wrong move, and with a flick of the wrist the retiarius would cast his broad net and cover his opponent. He would pull the net tight, leaving his opponent thrashing on the ground to be finished off by the three-pronged tip of the trident.

Mansuetus should win. But the fight would be unpredictable. And if he lost and found himself thrashing on the ground, caught up in the net, Flavia felt certain that Caligula would turn his thumb down.

By the time Mansuetus and his opponent entered the arena late in the day, Flavia felt like she might explode from the nerves. She refused to join the lusty cheer of the crowd when the gladiators were introduced.

Though he was supposed to be the villain, wearing the armor of the ancient Greek Thracian tribe, Mansuetus was a crowd favorite due to his cheery demeanor and curly blond hair. He walked to the middle of the arena and waved, turning in a circle so that he could be adored by everyone. He had won thirteen straight fights. If he won three more, he would earn his freedom.

He and Flavia had discussed that very possibility the prior night on the banks of the Tiber. She knew how much Mansuetus loved the arena. Like most champions, he considered himself invincible. He had always maintained that even after he earned his freedom, he wanted to keep fighting, that it was in his blood, that the gods would protect him. But last night he had finally said the words Flavia had been aching to hear.

“I love the arena, Flavia. But I will give it up for you. When I win my freedom, that fight will be my last.”

They had spent most of the night together and talked about the future. He would become a lanista, training other gladiators. When she completed her service as a Vestal, they would marry. Three more fights and it would all be possible.

Mansuetus approached the imperial box and cast a not-too-subtle glance at Flavia. She gave him a sideways look, chastising him with her eyes. They took enough chances sneaking out late at night. He didn’t have to make it obvious to the entire watching world.

But the man was incorrigible. Flavia’s scolding look only made him smile more broadly, locking his eyes on hers. She would give him a piece of her mind later that night. Assuming, of course, that he prevailed.

Mansuetus bowed with his usual flair in front of Caligula. “We who are about to die salute you!” he said.

Flavia had never told Mansuetus about the night Caligula kissed her and tried to molest her. She knew if Mansuetus found out, he would take matters into his own hands. But even if he found a way to kill the emperor, he would never survive the fallout.

Flavia couldn’t imagine living without him. In eight more years, she would have completed her service to Rome. She dreamed of living with Mansuetus and withdrawing from public life. They could start a family. Raise children. Pursue a life of happiness.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present when Caligula stood. He turned and his eyes fell on Flavia. She pretended not to notice, staring ahead at the gladiators.

“Flavia, why don’t you come join me?” Caligula asked. He pointed to the seat next to his.

Even though the emperor had married a woman named Caesonia a year earlier in a lavish ceremony, she rarely attended the games with him. Instead, the seat on Caligula’s right was always occupied by Adrianna.

Flavia feigned surprise at the emperor’s request. “Your Excellency, I wouldn’t dream of taking Adrianna’s seat.”

But Caligula insisted. He humiliated Adrianna, sending her to the rear of the imperial box.

Reluctantly, Flavia moved next to the emperor. The gladiators were in position, waiting on a signal to begin.

“Whom are you picking in this one?” Caligula asked, leaning toward Flavia.

“Mansuetus.”

“Everybody loves Mansuetus. I wonder why that is.”

The comment chilled Flavia. The emperor knew something. This was his style —conniving, underhanded, playacting the fool.

“Perhaps people like those bulging biceps,” Caligula suggested.

Flavia didn’t respond.

“Perhaps it’s that nice scar on his left shoulder or perhaps those cute blond curls,” Caligula said.

Again Flavia ignored him. The best way to interact with Caligula was the same way one would treat a spoiled child. As if he didn’t exist.

“Or perhaps those beautiful, white, smiling teeth.”

Was it jealousy? It had to be more than that. This was the first time Caligula had paid attention to Flavia in the past two years.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t get distracted by his frequent glances in your direction,” Caligula said.

Her heart stopped.

The emperor raised his hand, and the fight was on.

The crowd started cheering immediately, many rising to their feet. Fights involving a retiarius were notoriously short-lived. Mansuetus danced around, looking for an opening. His opponent’s trident was eight feet long, and Mansuetus had to keep his distance. The retiarius thrust the trident a few times, but Mansuetus easily blocked it with his shield. Twice he sidestepped the retiarius’s cast net.

The entire time, Flavia’s heart was pounding with the fear that, like every other time he stepped into the arena, this fight could be his last. She had her hand to her mouth and could hardly force herself to watch.

“He’s so close,” Caligula said. “Wouldn’t you say?”

It seemed to Flavia that he was keeping a respectable distance. “No, Your Excellency.”

“Oh. You thought I meant to the retiarius’s net,” Caligula said.

“I’m sorry?” Flavia asked, keeping her eyes on the fight.

There was another toss of the net and another dodge by Mansuetus. This time he lunged at his foe, but the man stepped back and flipped the net a second time. It wrapped around Mansuetus’s knee, and the retiarius jerked on it, pulling the big man’s legs out from under him.

Flavia gasped.

“Yes!” Caligula yelled, jumping to his feet.

Mansuetus rolled as the retiarius lunged with the trident, spearing the ground inches from him. The gladiator sprang to his feet, and Flavia exhaled.

There had been close calls before. And every one of them took ten years from her life.

Mansuetus smiled and brushed his forehead with an arm as if the call had been a little close even for him. The crowd roared its approval, and Mansuetus stole a quick glance in Flavia’s direction.

Keep your eyes on your opponent.

“Back to my point,” Caligula said as the gladiators resumed their death dance. “I meant that Mansuetus is so close to buying his freedom. Three more matches, if my math is correct.”

Flavia shrugged as if it were news to her. “He seems like a noble fighter,” she offered.

“Not just noble —undefeated. It would be a shame if the man never had the opportunity to taste freedom and become a citizen.”

Flavia wanted to reach over and strangle the emperor. What in the world was he talking about?

“I don’t understand, Your Excellency,” she said. There was steel in her voice.

Mansuetus seemed as if he had grown bored with the fight. He stood at a safe distance from his opponent and lowered his sword and shield, practically begging the man to come and fight him toe-to-toe. But the retiarius was having none of it. He continued to circle with his net, poking here and there with the trident. The crowd began to get restless, and there were a few disgruntled yells from the fans.

“If he wins today, will you meet him at the Tiber tonight to celebrate?” Caligula asked.

He said it with a teasing tone, yet the comment stunned Flavia. She turned and looked at him, though the emperor kept his eyes on the fighters. She could hardly breathe, much less respond. Her thoughts whirled in her head. How did he know?

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Adrianna told me that you have been sneaking out. It’s my job to protect the dignity of the Vestals, so I had you followed.”

Caligula, like a master actor, let the accusation hang in the air for a few seconds. Flavia felt the bile rising in her throat as her mind raced with the implications. Vestals who violated their oath of virginity were buried alive. Their lovers were whipped to death in the Forum. And most disturbing of all, the judge of their guilt and innocence was the Pontifex Maximus, the man sitting to her immediate left.

“Mansuetus looks rather strong,” Caligula observed. “I wonder how many lashes it would take before he expired.”

The question almost became irrelevant. Mansuetus had become careless, taunting his adversary and smiling at the crowd. The retiarius had been biding his time, distracting Mansuetus with poorly executed casts of the net. Just when Mansuetus fully relaxed, the retiarius thrust the trident low and hard, like a spear. The middle point penetrated Mansuetus’s right foot. He cried out in pain and tried to pull back to avoid the swiftly cast net. But he stumbled, and the retiarius caught him in the net.

Flavia screamed as the retiarius retracted his trident and raised his arm to spear Mansuetus.

But Mansuetus grabbed the net that now covered his body and gave it a mighty pull, yanking his opponent off-balance. They became entangled together on the ground, engaged in hand-to-hand combat, their weapons of little use. Through his superior strength, Mansuetus torqued the body of his opponent into an unnatural position.

Flavia wanted to look away but couldn’t will herself to do so.

With all the spectators now on their feet, Mansuetus flexed his powerful muscles and with a loud grunt snapped his opponent’s neck.

The crowd roared, and Flavia sat down, feeling disoriented. The move had been a gruesome sight, but the battle in the arena was the least of her worries.

Mansuetus stood and shrugged off the net. He drank in the cheers of the crowd and hobbled over to the emperor’s box. He dragged his right foot as he walked, leaving a trail of blood in the sand.

Caligula stepped down from the imperial box and joined Mansuetus on the floor of the arena. He placed the laurel wreath of victory on Mansuetus’s head. The crowd showered the gladiator with money and other objects of affection. Mansuetus limped around, stoically collecting as much of the booty as he could, but Flavia could see that her lover had turned pale. She worried about his loss of blood.

Somehow Mansuetus held it together until he exited the arena. Only then did Caligula sit down next to Flavia and lean toward her as he whispered his ultimatum.

“Come spend the night with me in the palace, and your indiscretions along the Tiber River will be forgiven,” Caligula said. “Find out what it’s like to make love to a god. Refuse me, and both you and Mansuetus will pay the price.”