The words sent a chill through them all. The death of Caligula at the hands of treacherous Praetorians had been much on everyone’s mind lately.
“But such a journey would require a great deal of preparation,” said Nero, tapping a forefinger against his lips. “Do you remember the size of my retinue when we travelled through Greece? You kept advising me to cut back, Epaphroditus, yet we found it was impossible for me to travel with fewer than a thousand attendants. Feeding and providing accommodations for all those people-”
“But that was because you were performing almost every night, and providing banquets to the festival organizers,” said Epaphroditus. “The journey we’re now contemplating would be a very different affair. The fewer the people who accompany you, the better. Indeed, it may be advisable for Caesar to travel incognito.”
“Incognito? Unknown?” said Nero. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Think of it as a role, Caesar. Think of wily Odysseus on the occasion of his homecoming, when he assumed the guise of a lowly vagrant to outsmart the suitors of Penelope.”
Nero nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, I see your point. Dressed in tatters, even Caesar will be invisible to his enemies.” Suddenly he broke into song.
And to Odysseus in his rags Athena came.
“Why do you fret? Here is your home,
And there your lady, and your son,
As fine a son as any son could be… ”
While the emperor sang lines from Homer, Titus took Epaphroditus by the arm and spoke in his ear. “Has it come to this? Is there no choice but to flee?”
The chamberlain grunted. “I’ve been trying to steer him to this choice for days! So far he’s refused to leave the Golden House. He says he’d rather die, and he seems to mean it, at least sometimes. Yesterday he actually sent for one of his favourite gladiators to put an end to him, but the man disappeared when he heard what Caesar wanted. Then he called for some poison which he apparently obtained behind my back, but the slaves ran off with the stuff rather than bring it to him.”
“But is it possible to flee?” said Titus. “Are there horses available? Is there a ship for him at Ostia?”
“Not at Ostia, not any more, but it might be possible to cross the mountains and make our way down to Brundisium and hire a ship there, taking the route Pompeius took when the Divine Julius crossed the Rubicon. He would need to be incognito, as I said; we would all need to disguise ourselves. If Caesar can be made to see the necessity, and if he can endure the hardships-”
“But is his life truly in danger? Has it come to this?” Titus suddenly felt as Nero must have felt, pushed to the limit and desperate to defy Epaphroditus’s unassailable logic. “I realize that Caligula was killed by Praetorians, but those were conspirators who plotted in secret. And Claudius later put those conspirators to death! Would anyone dare to do the same to Nero?”
“They won’t have to plot in secret. Caesar’s fate is being discussed openly in the Senate right now.”
“And do you seriously believe the Senate would dare to impose a death sentence on the rightful emperor, the heir of Augustus? Would a majority of senators vote to set such a precedent?”
Epaphroditus shook his head. “The problem is that we have no precedent for an emperor to voluntarily relinquish his position. Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius – all of them died in power. Yes, Caesar has his adherents among the senators, and some of those men are attempting even now to negotiate a way for Caesar to cede his office to Galba without bloodshed. But the prospects are slim. Even if the debate should produce an acceptable outcome, Caesar should flee to some safe haven in the meantime-”
“Eureka!” cried Nero, abruptly abandoning his song, “if I may quote Archimedes.”
“We know how he ended,” mumbled Phaon, still fretfully pacing. “In a pool of blood on the beach at Syracuse.”
Nero did not hear. “It occurs to me that we are overlooking the obvious. I should make my appeal not to the Senate, not to the people, but directly to the legions.”
Epaphroditus sighed. “Unfortunately, Caesar, we have lost the allegiance of the troops in Gaul and of those in Greece as well. You may recall that we discussed this earlier-”
“I mean the legions under Galba, the ones marching this way from Spain.”
Epaphroditus cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Just because those troops are obeying orders from a rebel commander,” said Nero, “that is no reason to assume that the soldiers themselves no longer love their emperor. What if I were to make my appeal directly to them? Yes, what if we gather a theatrical troupe, go out to meet the legions, put up a stage… and I deliver the performance of my life? When they see me next to that shrivelled corpse Galba, the choice will be obvious. What do you say?”
Nero looked from face to face. No one responded, but his enthusiasm was undaunted.
“The soldiers will want to see me play a warrior, naturally. What do you think, would they prefer to see me as Hercules or as Ajax? Hercules is more majestic, of course, but Ajax is more tragic, and thus more sympathetic. And it’s a better singing role; nine times out of ten it’s the voice that wins over the audience. Ah, but as Hercules I could kill the Nemean lion! As you know, Epaphroditus, I’ve been training for that performance for quite a while. The last time I rehearsed with the tame lion, everything came off without a hitch. The beast was practically licking my nose! It will be a shame to kill it, but it’s the authenticity of such a performance that makes it so riveting. I pretend to wrestle the lion, I release a bit of fake blood to make it look as though I’ve been scratched across the back and the face, the spectators gasp, convinced that I may be mauled to death at any moment, and then, in a glorious turnabout, I slay the creature and raise my arms in triumph. Killing it with my bare hands would be best, but I don’t think even that tame beast would allow me to crush it between my arms; I suppose I shall have to use a club. Well, what do you all think? I invoke the divine spirit of Hercules, place my life in his keeping, engage in a death-defying struggle, and then, right before the soldiers’ eyes, I kill the most dangerous creature on earth. Well, does anyone here seriously think those soldiers are going raise a hand against me?”
The others exchanged uncertain glances. The idea was absurd. And yet, Nero’s enthusiasm was compelling. Could such a mad gamble actually turn the tide of events?
Titus cleared his throat. “There may be a problem,” he said quietly. “I think the lion you’re referring to may have escaped.”
“Escaped?” cried Nero.
“I saw such a creature wandering though the Golden House. He licked my hand.”
Sporus nodded. “Someone opened all the cages in the menagerie this morning. Zebras and monkeys are wandering all over the place. Crocodiles are loose in the lake.”
“Then we shall have to catch the lion and put it back in its cage!” insisted Nero. “Where is the lion trainer? And how many stagehands will we need to transport the stage props and put on a show? Oh, and there must be someone to help me select my wardrobe-”
“Caesar, I think we should revert to your previous idea,” said Epaphroditus, quietly but firmly. “We must escape the city at once.”
The fire in Nero’s eyes flickered, then went out. His shoulders slumped. He let out a low moan and lowered his face.
Sporus sighed and smiled sadly. He stepped to Nero and moved to embrace him. Nero jerked back and slapped the eunuch across the face.
Sporus touched his stinging cheek and broke into tears. He staggered back. The slave Epictetus rushed to him, almost falling, but managed to catch him and steady him with an arm around his shoulders.
Phaon abruptly stopped pacing. “Epaphroditus is right. We must flee the city at once. No more hesitation, no more crazy ideas.”