"I will see that you are not punished for this," I told Tibur. "I shall go at once to the Praefect of the Guard and explain the matter."
"No, my sparrowkin," said Tibur, "you will do nothing of the sort. Probably the worst that they will do to me will be to kick me out of the Guard and send me to some lousy post in Germany: but you-that is different. You are a slave."
"But I killed the beast by accident in the protection of a girl," I argued.
Tibur shook his head. "A slave girl," he reminded me. "No matter how excellent your reason, from your point of view, the fact remains that a slave killed a Roman citizen, and that is just too damn bad for the slave."
"They shall never crucify me," I said. "I shall open my veins first."
"And wisely," said Tibur. "But you won't have to open your veins or go to the Via Flaminia, for no one shall ever know that it was you. And now let's talk of pleasanter things and borrow no more trouble. We may never hear of this matter again, the fellow that you killed was only a petty thief."
But we didn't have an opportunity to talk of pleasanter things: a slave came to summon me to Caligula. It was early, and I had hoped that my pestiferous master still slept. But no, he was awake and unusually cantankerous. As a little child, Caligula had more often been sweet and kindly than otherwise; but with each passing year I, who was always so close to him, had noticed an increasing surliness and arrogance. Year by year, he was becoming more like his divine mother. He was not constantly thus; there were times when he was quite affable, but his moods were erratic and unpredictable.
This was one of his bad mornings.
"Where have you been, slave?" he demanded. "Must I, Caesar, wait all day upon the convenience of a slave, a vile barbarian? Why have you not attended me?"
"I await your commands, Caesar Pip-squeak," I said. "And, listen! Lay off that 'slave' and 'vile' stuff, or I'll knock your ears off."
At that, Caligula seemed about to explode. "I'll have you crucified!" he screamed. He appeared feverish.
"I've heard that one before," I told him. "Can't you think of something new and original?"
Words failed him. He gave me a dirty look and got out of bed and began to dress. He was mumbling and grumbling to himself all the time. "I am going to the races today," he said, as he finished dressing, "and I was going to take you with me, but now I won't."
I had wanted to go to the races very badly and had hoped that he would want to, too; but I knew my Caligula. It would never do to let him know that I had set my heart on seeing these particular races.
"That's fine," I said. "I had been hoping that I wouldn't have to go today."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Oh, I had other plans."
He looked at me narrowly for a moment and then unloosed a nasty grin. "I shall leave for the Circus as soon as I have finished my breakfast," he said.
"Good!" I applauded.
"And you," he continued, "shall attend me. See that you are ready."
After breakfast, Caligula, Tibur, and I walked down from the Palatine Hill to the Circus Maximus and took our places in the imperial loge in the center of the side of the Circus nearest the Palatine. Already every seat was filled, other than those reserved for citizens of patrician blood or high rank, for admission was free. There were almost as many thousands milling around outside, trying to gain admittance, as there were fortunate ones who had succeeded. Among these, vendors and bookmakers circulated, calling their wares or announcing the odds, and inside there were others of their kind selling programs or cushions, confectionery and perfumes, their shrill cries rising above the babel of voices which flowed and ebbed in tumultuous waves, a sea of sound that beat as ineffe ctually upon the thin air as spume or spindrift on a rocky headland. But I do not have to tell you how much noise a hundred and fifty thousand Romans can make.
Caligula was busy consulting his program and picking winners, a procedure which required no great mental effort on his part, as he always placed his wagers on the Green. A bookmaker stood at his elbow recording his choices and naming the odds, which were never very favorable for the bettor who chose either the Green or the Blue, always the two favorites at this time.
The bookmaker was an obsequious, oily fellow who constantly addressed Caligula as "Caesar." He made me sick. He paid no attention to either Tibur or me, although when Caligula had finished with him, he deigned to accept our few small wagers. Caligula leaned over and looked at my program on which I had marked my selections. I had selected the Green in some races and the Blue in others, being guided more by my knowledge of the horses and the drivers than by colors. "Who have you in the tenth race?" he asked.
"Blue," I said.
"You're crazy," announced Caligula. "The Blue hasn't a chance in that race. Look who's driving for the Green: none other than Lucius, the slave of Silvanus. He has won five hundred races, and today he is driving in the tenth race the pick of the Green stables: Spatium, Certus, Bellus, and Ferus. Take Spatium for instance, the near horse; out of Pulchra, a famous mare, by Fortis, himself the near horse in a hundred winning races. And consider Certus: a grand horse. His sire was Princeps-" and thus he went on ad nauseum. He seemed to know the performance of every horse and its ancestors back to the fourth or fifth generation. He was, when on this subject, a bore of great obnoxiousness. If he had devoted half as much time to Euclid, Aristotle, and Titus. Livius as he had to his racing forms, he would have been a savant of the first order. Tibur caught my eye and winked. Neither of us was paying any attention to him. For my part, I was searching the stands and the loges looking for Attica.
Finally Caligula ran down like a water clock, evidently having run out of horses, although I think that some of his pedigrees reached back almost to Pegasus. Then he turned to me: "You said that you were betting on the Blue in the tenth?" he asked, with a sneer.
"Manius for the Blue looks good to me in that race," I said, "and there are no flies on his team, either. With horses like Eros, Albus, Niger, and Terror he can't lose."
"Just how good does he look to you, simpleton?" inquired Caligula.
"You are quite sure that the Green will win?" I asked.
"I know it," said Caligula. "Last night I dreamed of ten sheep in a green pasture, and yesterday Antonia's fortune-teller assured me that ten was my lucky number and green my lucky color. What more could anybody ask?"
"I would ask for horses and a driver," said Tibur. Caligula ignored the remark.
"If you are so sure of Lucius in the tenth," I suggested, "you would probably give me odds if I should lay a little wager with you."
"Absolutely," said Caligula. "Two to one."
"I have but two hundred sestertii left since I placed my other wagers. I'll bet you the two hundred against four hundred and let Tibur hold the stakes."
"Done!" said Caligula.
Above the tumult of the crowd, we now heard the sound of fifes and trumpets. The procession that had started at the Capitol was now entering the Circus at the end to our left. The sea of voices subsided and every head was turned toward the entrance from which the musicians emerged onto the yellow sand that covered the arena.
Behind these came twelve lictors bearing the fasces indicative of the authority of the official who was to preside for the day. He rode behind them in a gorgeous chariot drawn by richly caparisoned horses, his toga embroidered in gold and upon his tunic golden palm branches. In his hand he carried an ivory scepter, and over his head an attendant held a crown of gold leaf.
A ripple of applause greeted the entrance of the great man, but it swelled into a roar as the many chariots that were to compete in the races followed him onto the sand. The backers of the White, the Red, the Green, and the Blue sought to outdo one another in earsplitting volume of noise as their favorites passed in review down one side of the two-thousand-foot arena and back along the other.
The retinue in festal attire, which followed the chariots of the contestants and the carts bearing the effigies of gods and goddesses, drawn by r
ichly trapped horses, mules, or elephants, received their share of applause, and presently they were gone and the chariots to compete in the first race were shut in their stalls at the far end of the track. Now, the dignitary who was aedile for the day arose in his loge and held a white cloth on high; and as he let it fall, the barriers were dropped and the four teams were off. The first nine races held but nominal interest for me: most of my meager funds were upon Manius in the tenth. I broke a little better than even on those races.
At last the chariots were in their stalls for the tenth race, and my heart was pounding. My entire capital, barring the little I had won during the first nine races, was on the Blue. I had placed one hundred sestertii with the bookmaker at even money and two hundred against Caligula at two to one. I therefore stood to win five hundred sestertii; quite a lot of pecunia numerate for a seventeen-year-old slave in the household of Agrippina. Of course, as a slave, I received no wages. However, Caligula used to give me money occasionally, and I frequently won from him at dice. I also received a few coppers now and then from a couple of other slaves whom I tutored. Agrippina never gave me so much as a copper as she was as tight as the corset of an effeminate dandy. So no wonder my heart was pounding as the barriers were dropped for the tenth race. Manius had drawn the outside position, and Lucius, the Green driver, the inside, naturally the choice position. The White and the Red were between them, the White next to the Green.
the audience, the drivers, the reins tied tightly about their waists, leaning far across the fronts of their chariots, urging their horses on with shouts and whips. The wheels and the spurning hoofs scattered the yellow sand. The horses strained for the lead, the drivers for position. Manius moved slightly ahead, keeping his eyes on the three gilded goalposts where he must make his turn at the end of the spina. He was crowding the Red chariot, but its driver had no mind to be pinched off. He lashed his team, exhorting them with loud shouts, and they responded nobly. He moved up on Manius. For a moment it seemed inevitable that the two chariots would foul, and that might mean the loss of the race for both of them, perhaps death for one if he failed to draw his knife and cut the reins before he was dragged to death beneath the wheels of chariots and the hooves of the horses.
I ceased to breathe, and then Manius pulled to the right and the danger passed for the moment. Around the goalposts they swung, the first of the seven dolphins was taken down, and I breathed again as the four chariots plunged into the straightaway on our side of the arena.
The cries, the exhortations, the advice, the curses of the audience followed them as they rounded the goalposts at the lower end of the arena and the first of the seven eggs was taken down; they had completed one lap. Manius had lost distance at the first turn, but he had made it up on the straightaway. Now the Green, still on the inside, forged ahead again at this second turn. It had been a close turn; his hubcap must have grazed one of the goalposts, for Manius, on the outside, was crowding and, in turn, it looked as though nothing could avert a catastrophe. But the Red held back, and now they were off again on the other side of the spina with Manius third from the inside instead of fourth, and the Red trailing.
"He didn't have the guts," said Tibur.
The backers of the Red were booing and reviling their man; others cheered on the White, the Green, or the Blue. "Come on, Lucius!" "Good boy, Manius!" One would have thought that their throats would have been sore after nine races, but they were as blatantly vocal as ever.
One by one, down came the dolphins and the eggs. Five laps had been run. The White was holding up nobly: that driver had courage. Time and time again Manius had tried to squeeze him as he had squeezed the Red, but the fellow would not give an inch, and he drove superbly. I looked at my program; the chap's name was Numerius. He was the slave of Helvidius Pius, Noting this, I looked around again for Attica, feeling sure that the family of Helvidius Pius would be present to see his horses run. As-well look for a particular minnow in the sea.
They were on the sixth lap now, the next to the last. Manius was in the lead by a head but still on the outside. Numerius and Lucius were racing neck and neck. You could hear their shouts above the tumult of the crowd as they exhorted their sweat-lathered teams. The Red chariot was trailing just in the rear of the others, but slightly to their right. The driver was waiting for the chance of an accident which might pile up the other teams and let him come in the winner, and the way those three madmen were driving it was well within the range of possibility.
The leaders rounded the goals at our left in a bunch that brought the whole audience to its feet, silent and breathless; then there was a great sigh of relief as they straightened out and roared down past the imperial loge.
They were at the last turn; an attendant had his hand upon the last egg to ta ke it down. Once again they were crowded into that hair-raising press of lunging horses, lurching chariots, and shouting men. The whips wove like venomous snakes about the backs and bodies of the frantic horses-all but the whip of Manius. During all the race he had not laid it on once. As they rounded the last goalposts, Lucius must have let his left rein go slack, for, instead of cutting the goals close, the chariot swung out a little, striking the left wheel of the White. Manius must have seen what was coming, for he swung his team out to the right. The driver of the White laid on his whip and swerved off, but it was too late for the Green. His right wheel collapsed, the car overturned, and the four horses, the chariot, and the driver of the Red piled on top. The Red horses went down, but the terrified Green team broke away, dragging the wrecked chariot and Lucius after them; the poor devil had not had time to cut loose his reins.
Now, for an instant, the White and the Blue were racing neck and neck; then, and not until then, did Manius lay on his whip. And how that team responded! Like a spear from a catapult they shot away from the White, crossing the finish line three lengths in the lead.
The crowd roared in thunderous applause, and the terrified horses of the Green raced madly around the arena dragging the wrecked chariot and the bloody corpse of Lucius behind them.
It was a great race. As Manius drove through the Gate of Triumph with the palm of victory in his hand, Caligula arose. "Come," he said, "I am going home. I feel sick." I was about to say I didn't wonder, when I happened to glance at his face. It was crimson. I saw that the boy had a high fever, and I kept still.
When we got home he went to bed with the measles.
That was a great day for me: I won five hundred sestertii and Caligula got the measles.
Chapter IX
A.U.C.776 [A.D. 23]
CALIGULA WAS a very sick boy for about two weeks. There was a time when it seemed quite probable that he would die. Agrippina was frantic, and I, Britannicus, was not a little worried. What would become of me if Caligula were to die? I had no need to consult an oracle to know that Agrippina would get rid of me as quickly as possible; that I would go to the slave market seemed inevitable. And then what?
At this time one-third of the population of Rome were slaves, and they were not all well-treated. The slave possessed no rights at all. His owner could do whatever he wished with him: beat him, sell him, kill him. For any crime he could be crucified. He did not actually have to commit a crime in order to meet that hideous fate; he need only be charged with a crime. Perhaps I should come into the possession of a cruel master. I prayed that Caligula would recover.
During his illness the place was a madhouse. Constantly, sacrifices were being made to the household gods, and every day Agrippina went in person to the Temple of Venus, the tutelary goddess of the Julian clan, to make sacrifices and pray for the recovery of her son.
The palace was overrun with physicians, astrologers, soothsayers, and fortune-tellers, each of whom knew about as much what to do as the others. There was one exception: the great Roman physician, Cornelius Celsus, sent by Tiberius. He was the only one of the lot who seemed to know anything about the science of medicine or the treatment of a measles patient. When she saw him in the bedroom of Ca
ligula, Agrippina flew into a maniacal rage and ordered him from the palace, screaming imprecations after him and accusing him of having come to poison Caligula. "As he did to the father, Tiberius would do to the son," she cried. All this was not good for the patient. But in spite of it, Caligula recovered.
While he was ill, I was not allowed in his room for fear that I might contract and carry the disease to the other children, so I had much time to myself for a couple of weeks. I never tired of exploring Rome. From the Caelian Hill to the Campus Martius, from the Tiber to the Praetorian Camp, I came to know the city almost as well as a member of the city watch, and during my jaunts I became acquainted with people as well as avenues and monuments. The one locality that I avoided was the Via Flaminia.
Many a time I loitered at some sidewalk eating place, and over my watered wine and cakes I engaged in conversation whomever chanced to wait upon me, usually another slave. But I spoke with freedmen, freemen, and patricians. Artificial social distinctions meant nothing to me. It was the man himself: his character, his intelligence, his learning that placed upon him the mark of mediocrity or superiority. I have never thought of any patrician as a patrician but only as a man. I have never thought of myself as a slave. No man is a slave unless he thinks of himself as such. No Briton can ever be a slave.
Many of the most brilliant men of Rome were nominally slaves: philosophers, poets, physicians, astronomers-usually Greek or Egyptian. In conversation with one of these I first learned of the theory that the earth is a sphere and not a flat plain as I had always supposed, and thus came to read that work of Manilius, Astronomica, written during the reign of Augustus. It explained many things to me. One, which had always baffled me, was that when one watched a ship sailing out to sea, it slowly disappeared from view, as though sinking beneath the waves-first the hull and last of all the masts.