How I longed to be a part of that inner circle! The next time such an assembly gathered, surely Antipater of Sidon, the world’s most renowned poet and a loyal servant of the king, would be seated among the other luminaries of the court.
At some point I turned and looked behind me, craning my neck to gaze up to the highest tier of seats. The great amphitheater at Pergamon is said to have the steepest seating of any theater in the world, and to accommodate more than ten thousand spectators. On this occasion it was filled to capacity. What wonders and marvels had Mithridates devised to entertain such a huge audience?
At first we were treated to some trifling amusements-parades of jugglers and acrobats, dancing boys, female contortionists, men who swallowed coals and belched out flames, and so on. These entertainers were the finest of their sort, but they only served to warm up the crowd.
The main attraction commenced with a crier who read out the names of the cities that Mithridates had liberated from Roman oppression. Banners representing each city were paraded on the stage before us-Ephesus, Tralles, Adramyttion, Caunus, and many more. The list ended with Pergamon. When a statue of the city’s patron goddess, Athena, was wheeled across the stage, ten thousand people rose to their feet, cheering wildly-everyone except the queen and Mithridates, who remained seated on his throne but raised both arms to acknowledge the accolades of the crowd.
There followed a parade of spoils taken in battle from the Romans, including not only weapons and armor, but also catapults and spear-launchers. The crier shouted the details of where each of the spoils had been taken, recounting the number of Roman dead or captured at each battle.
There was also a parade of chariots from Mithridates’s own army, notable for the long, sickle-shaped blades that projected from the axles. The scythed chariot was a weapon of legend, invented by Cyrus the Great but not seen for generations. Mithridates had surprised the Romans with his own version of this terrible weapon, which mowed through their lines like a scythe mowing grass.
There followed a parade of captives. This included many notorious collaborators, Greeks who had aided and abetted the Romans. These scoundrels had grown rich, profiting from the misery of their fellow citizens. They were rich no longer, but reduced to rags and bare feet as they trudged before the people of Pergamon, who jeered and shouted curses.
At the end of this parade appeared one of the most striking duos I have ever seen.
The first was a man dressed as a Roman general-an actor, I thought at first-with a plumed helmet and a red cape and a full kit of armor, including a brightly polished breastplate with an image of Medusa and matching greaves with more Gorgon images to cover his shins. I was struck by the man’s proud bearing, for he walked with his shoulders back and his chin up.
In fact, the man was no actor but an actual Roman generaclass="underline" Quintus Oppius, captured at Laodicea. And he held his shoulders back and chin up not from pride but because he could not do otherwise. The posture was imposed on him by the fact that his hands were chained together behind his back, and a thick iron collar was snugly fitted around his neck. Bolted to this collar was a thick chain; its further end was clutched in the fist of the largest mortal I have ever seen, a veritable Colossus dressed in animal skins and wearing a necklace made of bones and fangs. He was a grim, hulking figure with straw-colored hair and gaunt features. The barbarian’s real name was unpronounceable; Mithridates called him Bastarna, which was the name of his race, the Bastarnae, a tribe on the northern shore of the Euxine Sea who had sworn loyalty to Mithridates.
At the sight of Quintus Oppius, the jeering rose to a deafening pitch. I covered my ears, the din was so great. I glanced up to see that Queen Monime was staring at me with any icy look in her eyes. My face grew hot and I quickly uncovered my ears.
As the roar of the crowd subsided, the crier with great relish detailed the humiliating defeats suffered by Quintus Oppius and the details of his capture. Oppius was led to one side of the stage, where Bastarna handed the chain to another barbarian. The giant then crossed the stage and disappeared in the wings, apparently on his way to bring out another captive.
The crowd grew quiet with anticipation.
It was at this moment that I first smelled smoke. It was not the homey, comforting smell that comes from an oil lamp or a hearth flame. It was the sharper, more disquieting smell that comes from a red-hot oven or kiln. I looked about, slightly alarmed. Behind me I heard an uneasy rustling in the crowd.
The sight that suddenly bolted onto the stage was so unexpected and so bizarre that many in the audience gasped. Others shrieked with laughter. Then all other sounds were surpassed by the loud braying of the donkey that bounded onto the stage, as if goaded by a sharp and sudden poke.
On the donkey’s back was the most wretched excuse for a human being I had ever seen. Following the donkey and rider was Bastarna, who carried a switch in one hand and a spear in the other. To drive the donkey, he alternately beat it with the switch and poked it with the spear. He did the same to the rider, who barely responded to this mistreatment.
King Mithridates rose to his feet. He put his hands on his hips and made a show of looking perplexed. He spoke at an orator’s pitch, so that everyone in the theater could hear him. “Bastarna, what is this sorry sight you’ve brought to show us? Who rides on the back of this braying donkey?”
“He can tell you his name, Your Majesty.” Bastarna spoke with a thick barbarian accent.
“Can he? Speak up, then, wretch. Who are you? What is your name? Surely even a creature like you has a name!”
Bastarna planted his spear in the stage. He grabbed the prisoner’s hair and jerked up head up. “Speak!” he commanded. “Answer the King of Kings!”
The man on the donkey emitted a weak, unintelligible series of croaks. The crowd laughed uproariously.
“Speak louder!” commanded Bastarna, pulling the man’s hair and striking him with the switch.
“I am Maniac … Maniac Aquillius, son of Maniac Aquillius!”
“Did you hear that?” shouted the crier. “He calls himself Maniac!” There were screams of laughter.
“What else are you?” said Bastarna.
“I am a filthy Roman!” the man croaked.
“Have you ever seen anyone filthier?” asked the crier. The crowd roared.
“What else are you?” demanded Bastarna.
“I am a murderer! And a liar! And a thief!”
“And so was your father?” Bastarna prompted. The switch whistled through the air and struck flesh.
“And so was my father!” The words emerged in such a hoarse, plaintive wail, it was hard to imagine that another word could be forced from that distended throat.
The crier stepped forth and began a long recitation of the crimes committed by both father and son.
Meanwhile, Bastarna removed the shackles of Manius Aquillius and pulled him from the donkey. Too weak to stand, Aquillius collapsed at the giant’s feet. Bastarna pulled the chain taut, forcing Aquillius to hold up his head.
At the same time, from the wings at either side, slaves wearing only loincloths wheeled two curious contraptions onto the stage. One of these devices was a rack for securing a prisoner, made of iron bars with manacles attached. The other was a sort of furnace on wheels, its iron bottom filled with coals. Nestled in the coals, mounted so that it could be tilted, was a red-hot crucible. The slaves who pushed this infernal conveyance onto the stage were sweating profusely. Sitting in the front row, I could feel the heat that radiated from the crucible on my face, so hot was the thing. Then another conveyance was wheeled onto the stage, a small pushcart containing a heap of golden coins.