They proceeded towards their destination, the imperial gardens on the far side of the Tiber, where Caligula had built a large racetrack for his private amusement at the foot of the Vatican Hill. Nero used the track frequently, for he loved to race chariots, and Seneca had convinced him that it was unsuitable for the emperor to race in public. Since the Circus Maximus was not yet rebuilt, Nero had decided to open the Circus Vaticanus to the public; it was one of the few spaces large enough to accommodate the spectacular entertainments he had devised for the punishment of the condemned arsonists.
As the litter bearers carried them across an undeveloped area of the Field of Mars, Titus saw the sea of makeshift shelters where much of the populace was living. These dwellings were little more than lean-tos built from scrap lumber, or makeshift tents stitched together from bits of cloth. On this day, no one stayed inside the shelters. Excited by the impending spectacle, everyone in Roma seemed to be heading in a great mass towards the imperial gardens across the Tiber.
As the litter passed through the crowd, with the Praetorians clearing the way, people flocked to have a look at the emperor and his wife. There were cheers and shouts of “Hail, Caesar!” and “Hail the beautiful Poppaea!” But some in the crowd shrugged and turned away, or gave the imperial couple hostile looks, or even muttered curses. Poppaea frowned and whispered in Nero’s ear. He called to the one of the Praetorians to tighten the cordon around the litter, then unhooked the chains holding back the drapes so that they could proceed in relative privacy; the gauzy drapes allowed Nero and his guests to see out but appeared opaque from the outside.
A new bridge crossed the Tiber, allowing direct access from the Field of Mars to the Vatican meadows. At Nero’s orders, the bridge had been built with amazing speed for the purpose of allowing the homeless of Roma to cross easily from the city to the shelters provided for them on the far side. On this day, the new bridge served as a means for the multitudes of Roma to attend the spectacle in the Circus Vaticanus. Already such a crowd had gathered that the bridge and the area before it were packed with people, but the Praetorians quickly cleared a path for the litter to pass through and cross the river.
Spread across the Vatican meadows was a veritable city of makeshift shelters; some people even appeared to be living in the trees. Beyond the meadows they came to the formal gardens that had been planted by Caligula. These were entered through an iron gate. The Praetorians pushed back the crowd so that Nero could pass. The gardens to either side of the wide gravel path were splendid, with beds of roses and other fragrant flowers and fine statues, including a particularly striking fountain in which the nude Diana stood ankle-deep in shimmering water while the unfortunate Actaeon, transformed into a rearing stag, was attacked by his hounds.
They arrived at the circus. The permanent viewing stands, built of travertine, were elegantly appointed but quite small. These had been supplemented by the erection of temporary wooden stands that completely encircled the track and could accommodate tens of thousands of spectators. The stands were already about half filled, and more people were arriving at every moment.
The litter came to a halt before the travertine structure adjoining the circus. Nero and his party stepped out. The emperor and Poppaea abruptly disappeared – Titus was not sure where they went – while Titus and his family were escorted directly to the imperial box. Titus was flushed with excitement. He could see that his wife and wide-eyed son were equally elated. Never before had the Pinarii been invited to be the personal guests of the emperor at a public entertainment. Not only would they view the proceedings side by side with the emperor, but they would be seen beside him, in his company, perceived to be among the most elite of the imperial circle. This was an important day for the Pinarii – not just for Titus and his immediate family, but for all who had borne the name Pinarius in the past or would bear it in the future.
The box was lined with purple draperies bordered with gold and surrounded by a cordon of Praetorians. Titus and his family were the first guests to arrive and were shown to couches at one corner of the box. A slave offered them a choice of wines and set out a tray of delicacies for them.
Directly before them, in the centre of the spine that bisected the oval racing track, loomed a towering Egyptian obelisk made from solid red granite. The obelisk had been brought to Roma by Caligula from the city of Heliopolis in Egypt. The four sides were strikingly plain, without hieroglyphs. A gilded ball was set atop the obelisk, balanced on the very tip. The obelisk was a landmark visible from many places in the city. Titus had previously seen it only from a distance and was awed by its height.
The Vestal virgins and members of various priesthoods had been seated in the front rows to the left of the imperial box. To the right of the box was a large section reserved for senators. Out in the arena, to warm up the crowd, musicians played while acrobats tumbled, walked on their hands, and formed human pyramids. Laughter and applause swept through the stands, but many people continued to talk and move about while waiting for the main event.
More guests arrived in the imperial box. Leading the party was Seneca. Since the death of Agrippina, he had become more powerful than ever, though Titus had heard rumours of growing discord between the emperor and his chief adviser; the strains of dealing with the aftermath of the fire were taking a toll on everyone. Arriving with Seneca was his wife, Paulina; now that he was in his sixties and she was nearly forty, the gap in their ages was not as striking as it once had been.
Also with Seneca was his handsome nephew. Lucan was two years younger than Nero and their shared love of poetry had made them close friends. Like Nero, Lucan had bloomed early. At the age of eleven he had created a sensation with his first poem, about the combat between Hector and Achilles, and at twenty-five he was the city’s most famous poet. On this occasion, he wore an augur’s trabea. Nero had seen fit to induct Lucan into the college well ahead of the prescribed age, just as previous emperors had done for Titus and his father.
Lucan was accompanied by his wife. Polla Argentaria was almost as famous as her husband, thanks to the verses he had written praising her. She was the daughter of a wealthy senator and, like Seneca’s wife, had received an unusually extensive education for a woman. Argentaria was said to be her husband’s muse and amanuensis, and perhaps even his collaborator, as she tirelessly helped him revise and perfect his verses.
Gaius Petronius was next to arrive. The emperor’s arbiter of elegance was not quite forty and had flecks of silver in his hair. Titus found it impossible to put his finger on what set the man apart from all others; Petronius wore a toga about which there was nothing extraordinary, and his grooming, while impeccable, was not in any way unusual. Still, the man cast a spell by his very presence. Perhaps it was the effortless grace with which he moved, or his inscrutable expression. Even when he was most serious, there were flashes of amusement in his pale grey eyes.
Titus felt privileged to be in such illustrious company, but he also found it rather stressful, since he had difficulty keeping up with the conversation, which revolved largely around the three men’s literary projects and was full of puns and allusions and double entendres, many of which Titus couldn’t decipher. Lucan, he gathered, was about to publish the next volume of his epic poem about the civil war between Caesar and Pompeius, a work full of violent action and scenes of epic grandeur. Seneca, who had been reading the work in progress, thought that his nephew sided perhaps too much with Pompeius and the Republican cause against the Divine Julius, a point of view sure to stir controversy.