David Wishart - Nero

I agreed; the fight was shaping up very nicely indeed.

Half the crowd were on their feet, screaming. The victorious Skirmisher drew out his spear and raised it high above his head; just as the first Fish-man turned and buried his sword to the hilt full in his unprotected back.

'Oh, well done!' Burrus said. 'Jupiter, what a fight, eh? Two clean deaths in five minutes!'

Tigellinus's eyes were alight. 'The stupid bastard never knew what hit him!'

I looked past him to the imperial couple. Poppaea was sitting stiff as a statue, her hand clenched in her lap. Lucius had turned away. He was looking greener than ever.

It was one against one now. The remaining Fish-man's helmeted head swung slowly round towards his remaining opponent, who stood waiting several yards off. They stared at each other while the crowd yelled above them. Then the Fish-man dropped his own sword, stooped and picked up his brother's. He moved forward at a lumbering run.

The Skirmisher danced away, keeping a ten yards' distance. There were some boos, but most of the crowd shouted encouragement, knowing it was in the lighter-armed man's interest to tire his opponent out. Clearly the Fish-man realised what was happening, because he stopped and waited.

'That fellow's no fool,' Burrus grunted. 'Nor's the other one. This is going to be a long hard slog after all.'

I settled back to watch as the two fighters circled each other. The Skirmisher darted forward, but his spear point scraped against the iron facing of the Fish-man's shield and the heavy short sword hacked at the shaft. The Skirmisher spun away, moving towards the other man's blind side.

'Time for drinkies.' Tigellinus produced a leather flask of wine, unstoppered it and drank. He passed it to me without wiping the top. 'You want some?'

I shook my head. Tigellinus shrugged and took a second, longer swig. Below us, the two fighters were still circling each other. The crowd was getting restless. Someone to my left, in the strong tones of an Ostian bargeman, yelled: 'Get on with it!' Whether he was shouting at the Fish-man or the Skirmisher, I didn't know. Perhaps he didn't know himself.

Suddenly the Skirmisher made his move. He had slowly been retreating backwards, enticing his opponent towards him and gradually increasing his speed. Now he darted left and lunged at the gap between the Fish-man's mailed sword-arm and the edge of his shield. The Fish-man's sword flashed up and down, catching the spear shaft a foot above the head and severing it cleanly. Then, as his opponent tried to regain his balance, he swung his shield round and with all his force smashed its massive iron boss into the man's side. The Skirmisher screamed and fell, dropping both spear and shield and clutching his shattered ribcage.

I expected — everyone expected — the Fish-man to wait for the life or death verdict from the emperor, but he didn't. Throwing aside his own shield, he dragged the screaming man by the hair across to where his brother lay. There he pulled his head back as far as it would go and slit his throat above the corpse. The crowd yelled its approval.

Lucius was on his feet, white-faced and swaying like a drunkard.

'Bastard! Fucking barbarian bastard!' he screamed.

Poppaea and Burrus gripped him by the arms and pulled him down; although I doubt if anyone noticed that. Not the Fish-man, who had his helmet off and was waving his bloody sword aloft in triumph. Not the crowd: they were shouting themselves hoarse and throwing fruit, coins, nuts — anything that came to hand — into the arena. Tigellinus was laughing quietly to himself and sipping from his wine flask.

Between them, Poppaea and Burrus got the emperor settled as the Fish-man made his triumphal tour of the arena and raised his sword a last time in salute to the imperial box. Slaves with hooks dragged off the dead fighters while others scattered fresh sand over the pools of blood. The second set of gladiators marched through the gates.

Instead of returning their salute, Lucius turned to Burrus. He was pale-faced and shaking. His finger stabbed towards the spot where the three corpses had lain, and the baying crowd beyond.

'That's your Rome!' he hissed. 'That's the peak of your fucking so-called civilised Roman society! Well, you can stay and watch the other murders if you like. I'm going home!'

We stared at him in silence. Burrus's expression was unreadable. As slaves sprang to open the door of the imperial box, Lucius paused. He was still trembling, his face now purple with fury. 'Oh, and once this shambles is over I want to see you at the palace! All of you! Seneca as well!'

Burrus sent an urgent message to Seneca to meet us on the Palatine. If he was surprised to see Tigellinus with us when he arrived he didn't show it, but I noticed he was even more formal and reserved than usual. The warning was well taken. While we kicked our heels in the palace waiting room we kept our mouths firmly shut.

Lucius received us in his private sanctum. He was on his feet, pacing the room, and he still looked angry.

'Well? Did you enjoy your little blood-bath, darlings?' he demanded. 'Do you feel suitably purged, all of you?'

'Speaking personally, yes,' Burrus said equably. 'And the mob was happy, which is the main thing. They cheered you at the end, Nero, even if you did choose to deprive them of your presence.'

I winced. It was dangerous to oppose the emperor in his present mood, but Burrus was right and Lucius knew it. No ruler can afford to ignore the mob; and Lucius wanted, more than most, to feel loved.

'My dear fellow, I sympathise with your feelings, believe me.' Seneca was more conciliatory. 'I've no time for legalised butchery myself, as you well know. But Burrus has a point. Unlike us the mob are crude souls. We can't expect them to be capable of true catharsis, they simply haven't the intelligence.'

Lucius threw himself on to a bench and picked up a small bronze statuette from the floor. He was scowling. 'Oh, sit down! Sit down, all of you!' He waved irritably towards the chairs. 'You're quite right. It's just it's such a terrible waste! Perhaps I was wrong to be upset. It's not the people's fault, not really, poor dears. As Seneca says, they don't know any better. And they absolutely adore me.'

'Who wouldn't, when they knew you?' Tigellinus's flattery was so outrageous it took my breath away.

'Exactly.' Lucius was nodding, and absently stroking the bronze; it was Corinthian, a boy athlete, and beautiful. 'The personal touch, that's what's missing. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. All the people need — all Rome needs — is to be shown how a truly civilised man behaves, to be educated by example, and all this silliness will vanish. You agree?'

Beside me, I felt Seneca hesitate.

'In principle, yes,' he said cautiously. 'Mind you, one cannot change human nature overnight. Philosophers have been trying for centuries. It's along-drawn-out process, and uncertain at the best of times.'

'Oh, I know that, darling.' Lucius set the statuette aside. 'I'm not a fool. But I am the emperor, and if anyone can do it I can. Yes?'

'Of course.' I swear Tigellinus winked at me; but I wasn't about to fall for that nonsense. I kept my face straight, all studious attention. 'You're quite right. If anyone can civilise us it's you.'

Seneca cleared his throat. 'What exactly, Nero, did you have in mind?'

The emperor was becoming excited. 'Well, you see, for a start there're all these silly barriers. Us and them. And then this stupid anti-Greek prejudice. We've got to get rid of all that. Open people's eyes to the wider world, for their own good.' He turned to me. 'Titus, dear, you know what I'm getting at, don't you? You're on my side?'

'Oh, yes.' I wondered where this was taking us.