CHAPTER 63

On the morning of January 24, two Praetorian Guards showed up at my house just after dawn and put me in shackles. I was being arrested on charges of maiestas, they said, and was accused of conspiring to take the life of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. I would be held in the palace prison along with others who had been arrested on similar charges.

The temperature was barely above freezing, so the guards allowed me to put on my cloak before we left. I hung my head as they paraded me down the streets of Rome, my face hidden by the hood of my cloak. It was early, and there were few people in the Forum.

The guards marched me to the palace and placed me in a dark cell in the catacombs. I instantly recalled my visits with Mansuetus and Flavia. This wasn’t the Tullianum —I supposed I wasn’t important enough for that —but this place was depressing enough. There were no windows here. It had the same foul odor. I shuddered in the damp darkness.

They had taken my dagger, but I had managed to keep the small vial of poison. I fingered it now and thought about the hours ahead. I said a prayer to Apollo for Flavia to be protected. I sat down, leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried not to imagine what was to come.

The lavish, custom-built theater could seat nearly nine thousand patrons, another monumental waste of government funds. It was built on the Palatine Hill with several entrances from the Forum and an underground tunnel that connected it directly to Caligula’s palace.

It opened the week before the emperor was scheduled to leave for Alexandria, and for the last two days, the festivities had been nonstop. On this, the final day of the plays, every seat was taken.

It was a command performance. When Caligula took his place in the imperial box —without his wife, Caesonia, by his side —he had insisted that Flavia sit next to him. Her hair had started to grow back, but she still used a black wig imported from the Middle East. It framed her face in ringlets. She had shaded her eyes with a bit of ash, straightened her eyelashes, and colored her lips with dark-red cinnabar. She had applied perfume generously. Rubria had told her how beautiful she looked.

Caligula opened the festivities by sacrificing a bull in honor of Augustus. When he returned to the imperial box, his hands were covered in blood. He had his slaves throw expensive sweets to the spectators while he rinsed his hands in a basin and returned to his seat beside Flavia to enjoy a glass of wine.

As Caesar drank, Flavia took stock of the security precautions. Around the perimeter of the theater were no less than a hundred of Caligula’s Germanic bodyguards. A similar number of Praetorian Guards were scattered throughout the crowd. There had been some speculation that conspirators might try to strike on the last day Caligula was in town.

“I’m told that you’ve been seen sneaking out of the House of Virgins again,” Caligula said under his breath as the crowd scrambled for the sweets. “I’m told that this time the recipient of your late-night affections is none other than Theophilus.”

“I am afraid Your Excellency has been misinformed.”

“It may interest you to know that we arrested Theophilus this morning,” Caligula continued, his voice cheery and casual. He was speaking softly enough that only Flavia could hear. “He’s being held in the palace dungeon on charges of treason. I’d like to have his case resolved before I leave.”

Flavia tried to keep her emotions in check. She cast a casual glance behind her and saw Chaerea standing in the back of the imperial box. She kept her voice low and steady as she responded.

“I know Theophilus well, Your Excellency. I can assure you that he would never be part of such a conspiracy. Who is it that accuses him?”

“A man I trust. A man who is willing to testify in the Senate about the details of the conspiracy. That’s all you need to know.”

The crowd had quieted again, and Caesar stood. “There will be three plays this morning,” he announced to the audience. “The final two are based on the Greek tragedy of Cinyras and Myrrha. The other, the one that will open our show today, has been written especially for this occasion.”

Caesar sat back down and said little else. His conversation with Flavia was apparently over, and she watched in horror as the first play unfolded. It was a pantomime about a band of robbers who were arrested, their leader nailed to a cross. A large amount of fake blood covered the stage.

“A pity I can’t crucify Roman citizens,” Caligula said. He tossed a few grapes into his mouth. “But I can behead them. Which is what I have in mind for Theophilus, though I’m open to negotiations.”

Flavia swallowed hard. “What types of negotiations?”

“I’ll be back in my chambers for lunch,” Caligula said. “If you were to meet me there, alone, all might be forgiven. I could give an order releasing Theophilus right after I leave for Alexandria. I’d be a safe distance away by then.”

“How do I know that this time Caesar would keep his word?”

The actors took their bows, and the audience started clapping. Caligula stood, and the audience stood with him. Reluctantly, Flavia rose to her feet as well.

“Let’s put it this way,” he said, leaning toward Flavia so he could be heard over the applause. “You have my word that he will die if you do nothing. And since you obviously care for the man or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, it would make sense for me to keep him alive as long as you play along. That way, I can invite you to my palace whenever I wish.”

“What about Caesonia?”

“She’s the mother of my child, nothing more.”

They sat down as the theater readied for the next play. Flavia’s skin crawled with contempt. She hated being this close to the man.

“Let it be done according to Caesar’s wishes,” Flavia eventually said. “Should I leave now?”

He reached over and put a hand on top of hers. She wanted to recoil but forced herself to stay calm.

“Your hands are cold, my dear,” Caligula said.

“You make me nervous.”

Caligula laughed, a disdainful chuckle that came from deep in his throat. “Maybe you should head back now,” Caligula said. “I’ll follow in a few minutes. In the meantime, it might be good for the citizens of Rome to see a Vestal give me the same kind of respect I’m afforded by Rome’s greatest senators.”

He bent over and unfastened a sandal. He held out his right foot and looked at Flavia.

The thought of it was revolting, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it, to kneel and kiss the man’s hairy foot as if he were some kind of god she needed to worship. Caligula was truly insane.

Instead, she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “I don’t kiss the feet of Caesar,” she said. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”

He considered this for a moment and then lowered his leg. He turned and snapped his fingers, and Chaerea approached his seat.

“Flavia would like to see my chambers,” Caligula said, keeping his voice low.

Chaerea nodded, and Flavia took his arm. Together they left through the exit that led to the palace.