CHAPTER 57

Romans know how to build things. It took thousands of slaves less than two weeks to turn the stone pavement of the Forum into a thirty-thousand-seat arena. They constructed enormous wooden stands on each side that extended almost to the majestic height of the surrounding temples.

I walked past the construction nearly every day. The slaves worked like ants, covering the Forum, and the sound of construction drowned out the legal proceedings. It made a strange sight, the oval-shaped arena sitting in the middle of Rome’s historic monuments —the temple of Concord, the temple of Saturn, the Basilica Julia, the House of Vestal, and the temple of Augustus. The architect had been astute, incorporating the Rostra into the design, using it as the foundation for the emperor’s box.

Caligula’s decision to host the games in the Forum rather than the 150,000-seat Circus Maximus had caused no small amount of grumbling. Caligula said he was doing it to honor Augustus Caesar, who had hosted his own games there. But the citizens of Rome knew the real reasons were financial ones.

Caligula had squandered an enormous amount of money. Long before he became emperor, a soothsayer once said that the son of Germanicus had no more chance of becoming emperor than of riding a horse across the Bay of Baiae. Recalling that prophecy after he became emperor, Caligula had ordered that a temporary floating bridge be built across the two-mile Bay of Baiae, using ships as pontoons. The emperor proudly rode across the bay on his racehorse, Incitatus. The stunt had cost millions of sestertii that the government couldn’t afford.

And Caligula found other creative ways to waste public funds. He built a large ship that functioned as a floating palace, complete with marble floors and plumbing. In an attempt to preserve his popularity, he periodically gathered the freedmen of Rome around the Imperial Palace and threw money from the balcony. His frequent banquets were elaborate, gaudy, and expensive.

All these expenditures occurred at a time when many in the empire were starving. The last games in the Circus Maximus had not gone well. The exotic animals were less numerous than before and not well fed. Even some of the gladiators had seemed malnourished. So when Caligula announced that the games for Augustus would be held in the Forum and, accordingly, there would be no wild-animal safaris in the morning, the citizens were skeptical. It cost less to build the wooden seats than it did to buy the lions and panthers and ostriches.

My instincts told me I should stay away from these ill-fated games. But the thought of sitting at my house and waiting for news of whether Mansuetus survived was something I could not bear. I respected the man too much. I had to see this one for myself.

On the morning of the games, Flavia might have been the only person in Rome excited about the weather. It was mid-November, and the day promised rain, plenty of wind, and the possibility of some late-season thunderstorms. A perfect day for Flavia’s disguise.

She woke early and met secretly with Rubria. She could see the fear in her young protégé’s eyes and had to talk the young girl through the plan all over again.

“There are plenty of wigs I can wear while it grows back,” Flavia told her. “Besides, it can’t look worse than it does now.”

Rubria’s hands shook as she held the scissors and started cutting. When she finished, Flavia ran her hand through her uneven hair. She checked herself in the mirror.

“Shorter. You’ve got to make it shorter.”

Reluctantly, Rubria cut Flavia’s hair again, this time much closer to the scalp.

“Perfect,” Flavia said.

Next Flavia mixed a thin layer of foundation with black soot made from roasted dates and spread it on the lower part of her face, mimicking the one-day growth of a man’s beard. She scrubbed the paint from her fingernails and toenails. She put on a tattered black cloak with a deep hood.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Rubria looked her up and down. “Like my father,” the little girl said proudly.

“Promise to keep this a secret,” Flavia said.

“I promise.”

Four hours later, when the games began, Flavia shuffled in with the freedmen. She spoke to no one as she climbed the stairs and took a seat in one of the highest sections on a side of the stadium where she had a good view of the Rostra and the makeshift imperial box. Her hood covered most of her face, and she shivered against the cold. It had already rained for a few hours earlier that morning, and now the sand on the arena floor looked wet and sticky. Flavia prayed it might somehow be an advantage for Mansuetus.

Caligula entered the arena at the fifth hour, shortly before midday, to the sound of trumpets, flutes, and muted applause from the people. Fittingly, the dark clouds had returned, and a few drops of rain arrived at the same time as the emperor.

He stood at the front of the Rostra and announced the opening of the games in honor of the great god Augustus Caesar. To mark the occasion, Caligula was dressed in the white flowing robes of Jupiter, and he appeared to be freezing. His curly red hair was crowned with a laurel wreath, and his pudgy and pasty white arms were bare. Three years of living luxuriously had earned him a noticeable potbelly.

The rain picked up as the criminals were paraded before Caligula with placards around their necks announcing their crimes. A giant bull was led out to the floor of the arena as a sacrifice to appease the gods. The priests danced, the drumbeat grew faster, the throat of the bull was slit, and he crumpled to the ground. In response, a peal of thunder rocked the stadium. The rain blew sideways in sheets.

Let the games begin!