“So many!” muttered Chrysanthe, leaning forward.
“Oh, this is only a small portion of the arsonists,” said Nero. “There are many more to come. The punishments will go on for quite some time.”
“How could we have had so many of them among us?” wondered Lucan. “What drew these terrible people to Roma in the first place, and how did they seduce decent Romans to join their ranks?”
“All things hideous and shameful from every part of the world eventually find their way to Roma, and inevitably attract a following,” said Petronius. “As a flame attracts insects, as a whirlpool attracts flotsam, so Roma attracts the vermin and filth of the world.”
“Yet, a flame is beautiful,” said Nero, “once the charred insects are brushed aside. And a whirlpool is beautiful, once the flotsam is flushed away. Just so, Roma will be beautiful again, once it has been purified of these vile criminals.” He gazed raptly at the arena below.
Next to him, Poppaea also sat forward in eager anticipation. While it might be true that she had played hostess to Jewish scholars and wise men, she detested the Christians, as Jewish heretics if nothing else.
Lucan looked sidelong at Titus. “My uncle tells me that you had a brother who called himself a Christian.”
Titus stiffened. It was inevitable that the subject would come up, and he was prepared for it. “I have no brother,” he said stiffly. Self-consciously, he touched the fascinum that nestled amid the folds of his toga.
From storage rooms under the stands, an army of stagehands produced a multitude of crosses and laid them on the sand. The Christians were made to circle the racetrack, driven with scourges, then were seized and thrown on the crosses. While they screamed in terror, their hands and feet were nailed in place. Then the crosses were set upright into holes that had been dug ahead of time
Suddenly the circus was filled with a forest of crucifixes. The crowd jeered at the Christians. Spectators with strong arms and good aim competed to pelt them with stones and other objects. Some in the stands had brought eggs especially for this purpose.
“These crucifixions are in imitation of the dead god they profess to worship, who likewise ended up on a cross,” explained Nero in a hushed voice. “While this batch hangs from the crosses, they will witness what happens to their accomplices.”
More Christians were driven into the arena. Their arms were bound and they were wrapped in bloody animal skins, but their heads were uncovered so that their faces could be seen and their screams heard. At the two far ends of the circus, packs of vicious dogs were released. The animals sniffed the air. Within moments, they began racing towards the Christians.
The dogs had a long way to go. The Christians staggered first one way, then the other, trapped between the packs bounding towards them from both sides. The crowd went wild. People jumped to their feet with excitement, anticipating the moment the hounds would reach their prey. Nero smiled. This was exactly the reaction he had hoped for.
The dogs attacked without hesitation and tore their victims to pieces. The barking and screaming and the sight of so much blood and gore excited the crowd to an even higher pitch. Some of the Christians provided considerable sport as they squealed and whimpered for mercy and darted this way and that, trying to elude the dogs. Those among the Christians who died with a degree of dignity, muttering prayers or even singing songs, ignited the fury of the crowd. Such behaviour made a mockery of justice; how dare such criminals continue to taunt their victims even as they were punished?
More Christians were driven onto the racetrack. More hounds were released. Each death was as bloody as the last, but the crowd began to grow restless, bored by the repetition. Nero had anticipated this. At his signal, a new phase of the spectacle began. To revive the spectators’ interest, various familiar stories were re-enacted, using the Christians as props.
For the story of Icarus, boys with wings attached to their arms were driven to the top of a portable tower and made to jump off. One after another they plummeted to earth and lay twitching on the sand. Those who survived were carried to the top of the tower and thrown off again.
To illustrate the story of Laocoon and his sons, tanks filled with deadly eels were wheeled onto the sand and groups of fathers and sons were thrown into the water, where they died screaming and thrashing.
For Titus, the most striking of the tableaux was the tale of Pasiphae, perhaps because Seneca had just related it. A naked Christian girl was first paraded around the track while the crowd jeered and shouted obscenities, then she was forced inside a wooden effigy of a heifer. By some trickery, the animal trainers induced a white bull to mount the effigy. The device was constructed to amplify the girl’s cries rather than muffle them; her bloodcurdling screams could be heard from one end of the circus to the other. The crowd was transfixed. Eventually her screams stopped.
When the bull was finished, the trainers led it away. A few moments later, from a concealed compartment in the bottom of the effigy, a naked boy wearing a calf’s head jumped out and performed a lively dance.
“The minotaur!” people cried. “She’s given birth to the minotaur!”
The crowd went wild with applause and cheering. Nero beamed with pride.
Such tableaux, one after another, took place all up and down the length of the circus.
Eventually, for a climax, men with torches appeared, and all the Christians who lay lifeless or near to death on the sand and all the wooden props were set afire, though the crucifixes were left untouched. The sight of the flames was alarming, as was the stench of the smoke. Some in the audience, reliving the trauma of the conflagration, wept with grief. Others laughed uncontrollably. There were gasps and shrieks from the crowd, but also cheering and applause. The Christians were convicted arsonists, and the legally prescribed punishment for arson was death by fire.
As the scattered flames died down and night began to fall, sturdy poles twice the height of a man were erected in the spaces between the crucifixes. The poles had been soaked in pitch, as was evident from their strong smell. Obviously, another spectacle involving fire was about to be presented. The crowd reacted with cries of mingled dread and fascination. To the top of each pitch-soaked pole a kind of iron basket was affixed, large enough to hold a human body.
Thus far, Titus had watched the spectacle with grim detachment. The auspices had been unequivocally favourable for this event – Titus had watched closely as Lucan performed the augury – and that was a clear indication that the gods were pleased. Watching the gruesome punishments of the arsonists gave Titus no pleasure, but it was his sombre duty as a citizen and as a friend of the emperor to witness the event.
Titus felt the need to empty his bladder. The moment seemed opportune, as there appeared to be an interlude before the next event, so he rose and excused himself. Looking over his shoulder, Nero told him where to find the nearest latrina and then giggled, as if at some secret joke. Titus left the imperial box, glad that the spectacle had put the emperor in such a buoyant mood.
The latrina was in a small building some distance from the stands. A few other men were inside, talking about the spectacle as they went about their business. They were in general agreement that, while some of the punishments had been too repetitious, others had been quite remarkable. There was an enthusiastic consensus that the rape of Pasiphae had been by far the most impressive of the tableaux.
“Not something you see every day!” quipped one man.
“Unless you’re a god, like Neptune, and can make such things happen with a wave of your trident.”