Depressed by the devastation in Rome, they went back to the country. So they missed, and were glad to miss, Nero's retaliation against the Christians whom he chose to blame for starting the fire. Sabinus, who was still City Prefect, saw it: the wholesale massacres in Nero's Circus on the Vatican Plain, the men and women torn apart by wild beasts, the human torches burning all night in the Palace Gardens. He heard the screams; he smelled the pitch and seared human flesh. He possessed the Flavian capacity for intense private feeling. He said little, but was deeply affected.
Nero's rebuilding of Rome typified the contradictions of his reign. The city itself was newly planned, with its monuments restored, while new building regulations specified ways in which private householders must guard against fire. The measures were sensible. The new street plans were elegant (though everyone hated them). Much of the cost was subsidized by the Emperor.
At the same time, this was Nero's opportunity to build the massive new palace complex that he called his Golden House. It enclosed whole farms, vineyards, and a monstrous lake—all in the center of Rome. In fact, the heart of the city was completely taken over by his new residence. The grounds contained a colonnade a third of a mile long. The interior contained a revolving dining room, and other suites, both private and public, of breathtaking magnificence. The decor included some of the most exquisite painted frescoes ever accomplished, with delicate trails of flowers, fauns, cherubs, swags, and latticework, created with meticulous artistry in the freshest colors, and even executed on corridors so tall that it was impossible to pick out the fine detail with the naked eye. There were marble vestibules, ceilings of fretted ivory, lavish use of gold leaf, and incredible encrustations of jewels. Outside the opulent entrance the Forum was dominated by the Colossus, a gilded statue of the Emperor wearing a sunray crown, which was one hundred and twenty feet high.
The total cost of the Palace would be enormous; even more bitterly resented was the fact that to create this phenomenon Nero dispossessed many other landowners, who had already lost their property in the Fire; their anger contributed much to his downfall. When he had created his flagrant affront to the austere Roman tradition, he crowed that at last he could begin to live.
Vespasian said the good thing about the Golden House was that it was so amazing it took your mind off the appalling food and the length of the public dinners, some of which went on from noon to night. Also (said Caenis), it stopped you wondering what potions from the poisoner Lucusta the Emperor might have slipped into your drink.
This Emperor was not mad as Caligula had been mad. He was extravagant, vicious, self-obsessed, murderous, and vain. But Nero was in command of his wits. Caenis judged him the worse for it; he lacked any excuse of delusion or dementia.
It was two years after the Fire that his interests in chariot racing and public singing contests brought Nero to Greece. He was to maintain that only the Greeks appreciated his voice; that bore out many Romans' low opinion of the Greeks. After one abortive attempt to arrange a visit, which he canceled on some whim, he finally arrived to tour the main cities, which sponsored musical events. In fact he also toured those whose contests were not due that year, compelling the festivals to be brought forward to accommodate his appearance, whatever disruption it caused to the formal calendar.
By the time he came home he would have collected more than a thousand victory wreaths, including one for a chariot race in which he fell out and never even completed the course. Nero grew so adept at announcing his own victories that he even put himself down for the competition for heralds—which of course he also won. Greek judges demonstrated a keen understanding of imperial requirements. The Emperor was doing his best. He followed a rigorous professional training program. He lay down with weights on his chest to strengthen his voice. He complied with every rule of etiquette, suffered agonies of stage fright, and awaited the judges' verdicts with a solemnly bowed head even after it had become blatantly apparent what the verdict would always be.
Those who accompanied him entered the spirit too—if they wanted to avoid strict penalties. Everyone of consequence was expected to attend imperial recitals, and once they turned up they were forbidden to leave until the end. Spies were stationed to check not just who was there, but whether they appeared to be enjoying themselves. Caenis endured this better than most; apart from the fact she had a well-trained face, she chatted to the spies about their work. Others were not so adept at survival. Men were arrested climbing out of the stadium over the back wall. Women gave birth. People died; people pretended to have died in order to obtain the relief of being carried out.
It was, therefore, doubly unfortunate when a prominent member of the Emperor's own retinue displayed a clear reluctance to applaud. Sometimes at private functions he got up and left the room. Sometimes he never turned up in the first place. Even in Italy he had already been in trouble when he began to nod at one of Nero's earliest recitals and was only saved by a reprimand from a freedman who generously woke him up with a sharp prod.
But character will out. And at one of Nero's endlessly dreary public recitations in Greece, Vespasian went soundly to sleep.
THIRTY-FIVE
Vespasian was dismissed from court. They had to flee to the hills. As Titus said later, it seemed a drastic way to work up a good suntan ready for the desert.
In fact the situation was desperately serious, and Vespasian became unusually upset. In case he doubted what might happen, Nero had just recalled the great general Corbulo from Armenia, having him greeted the moment he landed in Greece with a suggestion that since he was about to be executed he might want to commit suicide. And that was the reward for too much success.
Faced with a harpist in a huff, Vespasian had tried to restrain himself, but after his disgrace there were splendid scenes outside the audience chamber, culminating with the overwrought Vespasian crying to a supercilious chamberlain, "What can I do? Where shall I go?"
"Oh, go to Hades!" responded the chamberlain. He was having a trying time arranging this tour without ludicrous ex-consuls maddening the imperial musician with sheer bad manners.
Vespasian ruled out Hades; he decided on a family holiday, which he grumbled would be just as bad. Knowing that his unguarded drowsiness had this time placed him in danger of his life—and could have damaged his son too—he whisked Caenis and Titus to a remote mountain village. The village was, however, not so remote that he would be out of reach of the court if anybody wanted him back.
* * *
They had a wonderful holiday, even though Vespasian was daily expecting Nero's order for him to commit suicide. Titus suffered the most, and was given to outbursts of mild frustration at breakfast: "Ah, Greece! Its monuments are fabulous, but its mountain villages are pretty poky! You should have been there with him, Caenis. He never nods off if he knows you're in the top tier keeping an eye on him. For one thing, he keeps turning around to wink at you."
Caenis listened for a moment to the clunk-clunking of the goat bells, the tireless cicadas, the sporadic whistling of shepherds in the distance and, nearer at hand, a few contented hens. "Titus, I am a music-lover! It was a dangerous fiasco, and I am not sure I could have kept my temper with anyone—including your fool of a papa. How fortunate that my uncharacteristic headache had compelled me to stay in my room."
Titus grinned happily. "Well, I knew he wasn't safe. I remember when I took up the harp myself, he told me that from then on I was on my own in life—and by the way, I never want to see another little dish of hard green olives."