CHAPTER 61

When I returned to Rome, I wrote a letter, sealed it with my signet ring, and took it to the temple of Vesta. I gave it to one of the guards who recognized me as Flavia’s advocate. I asked if he would deliver the letter to Flavia, and he promised that he would.

Later, at midnight, Flavia met me under the Arch of Augustus just as the letter had requested.

She wore a hooded black cloak, and even in the torchlight, I could tell she was in deep sorrow. I was shocked to see her hair cut so close to the scalp. It made her look thinner than she had at the trial and gaunt, ghostlike in the dim light. Her big brown eyes were hollow, underscored by dark circles. They were red from crying. She carried herself with the same regal bearing as always, but it seemed to be at great effort.

She walked up to me, and we embraced. I could tell she was fighting back more tears.

“I have Mansuetus’s body,” I told her.

Her head jerked back at the news. “Where?”

“At the estate of Apronius. I’ve prepared it for a proper funeral.”

She was anxious to go with me, and we rode out on the horse I had purchased, Flavia sitting behind me, her arms around my waist. The trip went slowly because I was not much of a horseman and because the steed I had paid handsomely for was not much of a horse. We talked very little, and occasionally I could hear her quietly crying.

The storms had passed, but when we arrived at our destination, the ground around the funeral pyre was still soggy.

I had done my best to prepare Mansuetus’s body. I had washed his exposed skin and hair, cleaned out his wounds, and anointed him with oil. I left him in his gladiator’s armor. He lived as a warrior; he would be cremated as one. I had created a wreath and placed it on his head.

I asked Flavia to wait for a moment before she approached the body. The night was pitch-black with dark clouds covering the moon and stars. I lit two torches, one on each side of the funeral pyre. Mansuetus actually looked peaceful lying there, his battles over.

I turned and nodded to Flavia. I stepped away so she could have a private moment with him.

She walked up to the body, removed her hood, and gently stroked his cheek. She leaned forward and kissed Mansuetus’s forehead and placed a coin in his mouth, the cost for the gods to transport him in the next world. Her tears fell softly on his face. She ran her fingers over his eyelids, and I watched her body tremble with grief as she stepped away. I moved next to her and put an arm around her. She leaned into me and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

After a few minutes she regained her composure and wiped her eyes. “I’m ready.”

Before I lit the fire, there was one more thing that needed to be done. Every great man was entitled to a funeral oration. I would give it my best shot.

“Mansuetus fought with great valor and dignity and skill,” I said. “But more than that, he embraced life, even life in the arena, with the joy and passion of a true Roman. He fought to obtain Roman citizenship, and he fought for his brothers, the other members of his gladiator school.

“In a way, he gave his life for them —one man laying his life down for his friends. He knew when he stepped into the arena for the last time that he wouldn’t just be fighting his fellow gladiators. He would be fighting the twisted schemes of the emperor himself. He did it anyway because his brothers needed him to. He did it because he thought it was the right thing to do.”

I paused, unsure if my words were helping or hurting. I decided to plow ahead.

“He also knew how to love. He called himself ‘gentle’ because that’s what he was. The same huge heart that made him courageous in battle made him tender in love.”

Flavia gave me a squeeze with the arm she had wrapped around my waist, a small token of thanks.

“I could see in his eyes, Flavia, that he loved you more than life itself. I sometimes think that his great success in the arena was due in part to his visions of spending the rest of his life with you. Love is stronger than fear. Total love eviscerates fear.

“May the gods be merciful to his soul. May his spirit rise to the heavens. May the name of Mansuetus be praised and his memory be as fixed in our hearts forever as it is on this day.”

I paused, but I knew I couldn’t stop there. It would take more than mere words to honor the memory of the great Mansuetus.

“And may the gods give us strength to avenge his death and desecrate the memory of all those who caused it.”

We waited in silence for a few moments, and I sensed that Flavia was summoning the strength to light the fire. “Thank you,” she said softly.

She left my side, picked up a torch, and lit the wood.

We watched for a few minutes in reverent silence as the flames leaped to the sky.

“Did you mean what you said about avenging his death?” she finally asked.

I turned to her. Light from the flames seemed to dance on her anguished face. “Yes.”

“Let me have your dagger,” she said.

I handed it to her, and she wrapped her left hand around the blade. She pulled the knife through her hand, slicing her fingers and palm. She handed it back to me, her hand now bloody.

I did the same, doing my best to ignore the pain.

She placed her bloody hand under mine and her right hand on top. In turn, I placed my right hand over hers.

“I vow by the gods to avenge the death of Mansuetus,” she said. “Blood for blood, life for life. I will not rest until Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus is dead. May the gods curse me and torment my soul if I do not fulfill this sacred vow.”

I repeated the words while our blood ran together. When we were done, we rinsed out the cuts, and I sliced a piece of my toga into strips so that we could bandage our hands.

I had no remorse about what I was preparing to do, but I marveled at the person I had become. Theophilus, the lover of Roman justice, a man who saw the best in everyone, was now a conspirator intent on assassinating the Roman emperor.

We both knew, as we watched the flames die out on Mansuetus’s funeral pyre, that other similar conspiracies had failed. Yet I had no doubt that ours would succeed. It wasn’t just the look in Flavia’s eyes. It was a sense that somehow the gods were with us. That despite the death of Mansuetus, the gods could not sit idly by and watch Rome be destroyed.

And if they did, we would succeed anyway. The gods be cursed. We were taking matters into our own hands.