Roman Boy, page 2
“Tell me about yourself, Lucius,” Gaius said as they walked, the bodyguards close behind them. “What kind of education did your father arrange for you?”
They had come to the bottom of the Esquiline, into the narrower, more crowded streets. People were lining up at the open fronts of the food shops, and the warm air was filled with the smell of grilled meat and newly baked bread, along with the odours of blocked drains and rotting rubbish. Lucius noticed people staring at Gaius with envy, but they also saw his bodyguards and kept out of his way.
“My father employed a tutor for me to begin with, of course,” said Lucius. “Then later he couldn’t afford that, and sent me instead to a school with other boys…”
Lucius kept to himself the fact that he had hated the tutor, an old bad-tempered slave who had beaten him for every mistake he made. The school had been better, its owner a Greek with a passion for poetry. Lucius had loved the great poems of Homer in Greek and Virgil in Latin, especially the battle scenes. But it wasn’t long before his father’s money ran out again, and Lucius couldn’t go to school any more.
“I see,” said Gaius. “But I take it you can speak and read Greek?”
“Yes sir, I can,” said Lucius, although he didn’t think of it as a particularly special skill. Rome had conquered the Greeks a long time ago, but they were an ancient people with a culture that the Romans deeply admired. In the Eastern provinces of the Empire, Greek was used far more than Latin, the tongue of the Romans, and even in Rome itself most people spoke at least a little Greek. You heard it everywhere, along with many other languages spoken by the peoples Rome had conquered.
“Well, that’s a start, I suppose,” said Gaius. “And what about your coming of age ceremony? You still wear a boy’s tunic, so I assume it hasn’t happened yet.”
A boy came of age when his family decided he was ready to become a man. A priest made a sacrifice, prayers were spoken and the boy was given his first proper toga. Most boys hung up their bulla in the family shrine the same day, only putting it on again if they especially needed divine help. Some boys came of age at fourteen, while others had to wait until they were fifteen or even sixteen. But without an older male relative to sponsor him, Lucius might never be allowed to come of age.
“That’s right, sir,” said Lucius. “I hope it will happen before too long.”
“Well, better late than never. But in many ways your true coming of age will begin today. And here is my first piece of advice for you. Watch and listen.”
Lucius nodded, trying to look keen. He soon found out there was plenty to watch and listen to in the business of a man such as Gaius Metellus Corbulo.
They spent the day in the crowded buildings around the Forum, the great space at the foot of the Capitoline Hill. There were shops, temples, shrines and huge halls with colonnades where people met to do business, and to gossip. On one side stood the Curia, the building where the Senate met. Lucius was allowed a glimpse inside at the Senators sitting in their seats, each wearing a toga edged with a purple stripe.
Many men approached Gaius. Most said something flattering to him before they dared ask for a favour or a loan. Lucius noticed that Gaius rarely answered a question directly, and said little, only shrugging from time to time. That seemed to make those who spoke to him want to fill his silences with their words. Thus they gave away far more about themselves and their business than they should have done.
“So, Lucius,” said Gaius as they were walking back up the hill at the end of the afternoon, the bodyguards following. “What have you learned today?”
“I have learned … that it is usually better to listen than it is to talk.”
“Well done, my boy. I’m impressed. You have passed the first test.”
Lucius learned more over the next few weeks. He went to the Forum with Gaius most days, and met many important men. Before long he knew a great deal about their families and their ambitions, and whether Gaius thought of them as supporters – or enemies. Sometimes it was hard to tell, but that didn’t seem to matter. As Gaius said, one man can be both – today’s friend is often tomorrow’s enemy…
At the end of the summer, Gaius said that he had arranged a special day out for Lucius and his mother. It was the time of the Ludi Romani, the great Festival of Roman Games, with events throughout the city. There were to be processions, athletic competitions and chariot races at the Circus Maximus. But they would be going to the biggest, most important event of them all, at the Flavian Amphitheatre.
“Oh, how wonderful, Gaius!” said Lucius’s mother. They were lying on their couches in the triclinium, eating the dinner served by the slaves. “Lucius, you are so lucky to have such a generous stepfather, and I such a generous husband.”
“You both deserve a treat, my dear, and by all accounts the Emperor will be putting on a grand show,” Gaius said. “There will be plenty of exotic wild animals, and I’m told there will be more than three hundred gladiators fighting as well.”
Lucius felt a surge of excitement. The beast fights and gladiator shows at the Flavian Amphitheatre were an essential part of the city’s life, something many people enjoyed and talked about endlessly. Most fathers took their sons with them on such occasions, and sometimes even their wives. Lucius’s father had often gone to the Amphitheatre, where he drank with his cronies, then usually lost money betting on the gladiator fights. But he had never taken Lucius or Cornelia with him.
The day came at last, and they set off just after sunrise. The Amphitheatre was an enormous building at the foot of the Esquiline Hill, a massive circle of masonry with a colossal golden statue of Sol, the Sun God, standing in the square beside it. When Gaius, Lucius and Cornelia arrived, their bodyguards pushed a path for them through the huge crowd that was already flowing into the building’s many entrances.
There were four levels of seats inside, the best at the bottom and the worst at the top, where most of the spectators were slaves. But Gaius’s seats were in the front row, looking down directly on the vast, sandy arena, and next to the Emperor’s enclosure, a sealed-off area with the best view of all. There were many rich people already inside it, as well as soldiers from the Emperor’s Praetorian bodyguard in their black armour and red-crested helmets. The Emperor himself hadn’t yet arrived.
The morning was given over to the beast shows: slaves fighting and killing wild creatures from all over the Empire – including wolves, lions and crocodiles. The crowd screamed and roared as if it were a single wild beast too, growing louder with every kill. In the final beast event of the morning, a crowd of criminals and runaway slaves were dragged into the arena and the last wild beasts were unleashed on them.
“That was marvellous,” said Cornelia. “Such an impressive display.”
Lucius glanced at his mother. Her eyes glittered as she watched the arena slaves dragging out the bodies and raking the bloodstained sand. It had been an amazing spectacle, but Lucius hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he had thought he would. Some of it had been exciting, but there had been so much cruelty and blood and death that he had felt uneasy watching it. But then the gladiators marched in, three hundred men in pairs, their armour and oiled bodies gleaming in the bright sunlight.
Lucius could see the various kinds of gladiator he’d heard about – Thracians with their elaborate helmets and tiny shields; Retiarii with nets and tridents. Trumpets blared and the crowd leapt to its feet, roaring with excitement and bloodlust.
“You know, Lucius, most people think the arena is just entertainment,” said Gaius, leaning over to speak into his ear. “But the wise among us understand it means far more than that. In Rome great men compete to be top dog, and those who fail often pay the ultimate price. It is the same for gladiators – their fights end in death or glory. That is why we come to watch them, to see how they deal with their fates.”
“I had never thought of it in quite that way,” said Lucius. “Thank you for today. I only wish the Emperor would come. I would so much like to see him.”
“Oh, don’t worry, my boy, you’ll do rather better than that. I’ve arranged for you to meet him in a few days. I’ve known him for years… Ah, here he is now.”
Lucius was so surprised by Gaius’s words, he almost stopped breathing.
THREE
THE TEMPLE OF APOLLO
LUCIUS EAGERLY WATCHED the Emperor entering his enclosure, the soldiers snapping to attention. Hadrian was around fifty, tall and well-built. His hair was a mane of brown curls, his neat beard a little lighter. Before Hadrian, only Greek men had let their beards grow. Roman men – and especially Roman Emperors – had made a point of being clean-shaven. But Hadrian was known to love all things Greek.
The crowd had noticed his arrival too, and welcomed him with loud cheering. Down in the arena the gladiators lined up before him, raising their spears or tridents, banging their swords on their shields. “We who are about to die salute you!” many of them called out. Hadrian waved to the crowd, and to the gladiators. Then he turned to the people in the nearest seats, and raised a hand in greeting to Gaius.
For Lucius, the rest of the day passed in a blur. He could hardly stop staring at the Emperor. Hadrian was sitting on a gilded throne under a large red-and-gold silk canopy, occasionally chatting to the men sitting on either side of him. It was just so extraordinary to see him like that, Lucius thought; this man whose image was on Rome’s coins, and who would be worshipped as a God long after he was dead.
Only one of the gladiators Lucius saw that day stuck in his mind afterwards. Most of the combats were over quickly, men dying in dark pools of their own blood. Lucius soon realized many of the fighters weren’t very skilled, and were probably men who had only recently been made into slaves and sold to the gladiator schools. But one man survived fight after fight, easily defeating everyone who came at him.
His long, flame-red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a thick moustache of the same colour drooped around his mouth. He was stripped to the waist, his pale skin covered in swirling blue tattoos, all flowing lines and circles. He wore loose dark trousers and light leather shoes, and he fought with a slender sword, moving swiftly around his lumbering, heavily armoured opponents as if he were dancing. The crowd loved him, of course, everyone leaning forward, thrilled by his skill and courage.
“He is from Britannia,” said Gaius, noticing Lucius’s interest. “One of the northern tribes, I would guess by his markings. They are fierce warriors; wild savages who have never accepted our rule. A few years ago they caused a great deal of trouble and Hadrian himself had to go there to deal with it. But at least it all keeps our slave markets profitable. As you can see, they often make excellent gladiators…”
The warrior from Britannia cut down yet another opponent. He raised his blade in triumph, blood running off it, and the crowd roared its acclaim. Lucius wondered what it would be like to fight such a man, and a cold chill ran down his spine.
He hoped he would never have to find out.
A few days later, Gaius took Lucius and his mother to the Emperor’s new villa in Tibur, twenty miles east of Rome. They left before dawn, travelling in a carriage drawn by four horses, with half a dozen slaves running alongside. They arrived in the afternoon, and joined a noisy crowd of people waiting at the gates for the Praetorian guards to let them in. A Centurion recognized Gaius and snapped to attention.
“Make way for the noble Gaius Metellus Corbulo!” he barked at his men. They pushed the crowd back, and Gaius, Lucius and his mother went through.
They walked along a path between two rows of statues, painted figures of Gods. At the end was a wide building, its tall bronze doors open, with two more Praetorian guards on duty. Then they crossed a wide hall with a beautiful mosaic floor, an image of the Goddess Venus, and went out into a courtyard open to the sky. From there they could see colonnades, gardens, fountains sparkling in the sun and even more statues of Gods and Goddesses and heroes. Lucius was utterly amazed by it all.
A Praetorian guard told them where they should go, and they set off down a path. They passed another large building, Gaius explaining it was where the Emperor’s secretaries and advisers worked, dealing with all the business of the Empire.
“This is more than just a villa,” murmured Lucius’s mother at last. She was gazing at everything in wonder. “There is nothing like this, even on the Palatine Hill.”
The Palatine was where Emperors usually built their palaces, and some were very large. Yet this was bigger. Hadrian was known to love erecting new buildings, even ordering a huge wall and forts to be built across the north of Britannia to mark the frontier with the unconquered barbarian lands beyond. That must have been when he had gone there to deal with the trouble Gaius had spoken of, Lucius thought.
“Yes, he has done well for himself,” Gaius said quietly. “Come along.”
Lucius glanced at him, catching an odd tone in Gaius’s voice. It was envy, Lucius realized, which made sense, of course. Gaius was rich and powerful, but the Emperor was top dog, the richest and most powerful man in the world. Lucius knew that in Rome’s past great men such as Marcus Antonius and Augustus had even gone to war with each other to become Emperor. But that hadn’t happened for a long time.
Eventually Gaius, Cornelia and Lucius were met by another Praetorian and led towards a small temple. Its dome was held up by slender columns, and inside it, standing on a marble plinth beside a white altar, was a brightly painted statue of Apollo. The God was wearing a golden tunic and carried a bow, with a quiver of arrows on his back. Incense burned in a bronze bowl before him, its sweet scent heavy on the air. He was so life-like Lucius wondered if he might step down and speak.
Beside the temple was a pond edged with rocks, water trickling into it from a swift stream. The Emperor was waiting for them, sitting in a plain chair and wearing a tunic just like Apollo’s. Nearby were five guards, some officials from the imperial household and a tall, thin priest in a red robe, the hood drawn over his head.
“Welcome, Gaius,” said Hadrian with a smile. “It is good to see you.”
They bowed, then the Emperor had seats brought for them, and he and Gaius sat chatting like two old friends who had met in the Forum. Although Lucius thought there was something about the Emperor that set him apart from ordinary mortals, a kind of magical force he seemed to give off… Lucius realized his mother felt it too. She sat still, her eyes fixed on Hadrian, following every word he uttered.
“I have remarried since we last met, Caesar,” said Gaius after a while. Ever since the days of the great Augustus, all Emperors had been addressed as “Caesar”. “May I introduce my new wife Cornelia, and her son Lucius Caecina Placidus?”
The Emperor nodded at Cornelia. She blushed and quickly lowered her head, stammering a few words that he ignored. Then he turned to look at Lucius. Their eyes met, and Lucius saw that Hadrian’s were a clear grey, like the sky in winter.
“So you are a stepson, and hoping to be adopted, I’m sure,” said Hadrian. “I know how hard that can be. My own father died when I was only ten years old.”
Lucius knew that Trajan, the previous Emperor, had been Hadrian’s cousin. Trajan had been a great Emperor, conquering vast new lands for the Empire. But he had no children, and so he had adopted Hadrian to succeed him as Emperor when he died.
Their ancestors had left Rome long ago to settle in the distant province of Hispania, and Lucius could hear that Hadrian still spoke Latin with a slight accent.
“Yes, I have asked my stepfather to adopt me,” Lucius said, risking a glance at Gaius. “And he has promised to decide whether I am worthy to be his son.”
“Ah, so your future is uncertain,” said the Emperor, his face taking on a strange, eager expression. Lucius had heard that Hadrian was fascinated by oracles; the quest for knowledge about the future. “Perhaps I can help you,” the Emperor went on. “Fate has brought us together here, at the Temple of Apollo, God of prophecy. I will offer him a fine lamb if he will allow Calchas the priest a sign of what is to come.”
“That’s very generous of you, Caesar,” said Gaius. “But I don’t think—”
“Silence!” the priest hissed in Greek, staring up at the sky. He must be an Augur, thought Lucius, a priest who studied the flight of birds for omens. The priest’s face was deathly pale, his eyes dark, and a strange memory stirred in Lucius’s mind, like a glimpse of something seen through a mist… But it was gone before he could grasp it. The air seemed to crackle with expectation, all of them holding their breath.
“Look, a pair of eagles!” said Hadrian, jumping to his feet and pointing.
Lucius saw the birds now too. One was large, a fully grown male, and the other was male too, but smaller, or perhaps younger. They both had sharp, curved beaks and brown and black feathers, their out-stretched wings tipped with white.
“The younger bird flies higher and faster,” murmured Calchas, still speaking Greek, following them with his eyes across the sky. “It is a good omen … for the boy.”
Lucius smiled, but then he saw that his stepfather was staring at him.
Gaius was frowning, his eyes narrowed.
FOUR
WAVE OF ANGER
THE EMPEROR SEEMED excited by what had happened, and asked Calchas lots of questions, both of them continuing to speak Greek. At one point Calchas went into the temple and came out with some ancient scrolls for them to study.
“The Gods have honoured us with a strong prophecy, young man,” said Hadrian at last, switching into Latin. “I cannot ever remember seeing eagles fly over here before, so that must have meaning. Calchas thinks your future is in the Army.”
Lucius understood why. The Roman Army was divided into Legions, large units of soldiers. Each Legion had a name and number, such as the Tenth Gemina or the Second Augusta. They had their own battle standards, tall poles carrying honours the Legion had won, and topped with the carved figure of an eagle, a symbol of Rome. So if you joined the Legions, you were said to be “following the Eagles”.
