The devastation of the Field of Mars had allowed Domitian to rebuild the area to his liking. As Lucius crossed the flat expanse, he saw the new temples that dominated the skyline, along with a vast stadium for athletic contests and a grand theatre called the Odeum, intended for musical performances, not for plays. Domitian had banned the public presentation of plays altogether.
As Lucius began to ascend the Hill of Gardens, he saw that a number of other people were walking in the same direction. He noticed more people, and yet more, all converging on the same spot, the street that ran in front of Nero’s family cemetery, which was surrounded by a stone wall. Many in the crowd were dressed in black, as if in mourning. Some carried garlands of flowers.
Most of these people were his age or older – in other words, old enough to remember the days of Nero. Having raised no children, Lucius sometimes forgot that a whole generation had come up behind him that knew only the Flavians. But the predominance of people in their forties or older made the scattered younger faces in the crowd stand out all the more. The older people tended to look serious and somber, while the younger ones exuded a buoyant air of celebration.
Seeing his perplexed expression, a smiling young girl seized his arm. Her clothes were worn but she looked freshly scrubbed, as if she had just come from the baths. She had shimmering red hair and carried a garland of daffodils, violets, and poppies. “Smile, friend!” she said. “Have you not heard the good news?”
“What news?”
“He’s coming back!”
“Who?”
“The Divine Nero, of course.”
Lucius cocked his head. “I don’t recall the Senate voting divine honours to that particular emperor.”
“What does it matter, whether or not a bunch of old fools vote to call a god a god? Nothing the Senate says can change the truth that Nero is a living god.”
“Was a living god, you mean?”
“No!” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said? He’s coming back, from the East, where he’s been living all this time. He’ll be here any day now, to reclaim his rightful place as emperor. He shall rebuild the Golden House, and bring about a new Golden Age.”
Lucius stared at her blankly. The girl was quite pretty, even if she was deluded.
She laughed and shook her head. “I see you’re a doubter. Never mind. Put this on his monument today. When he comes, he will know and be pleased with you.” She pulled a daffodil from the garland and handed it to him.
He took the flower from the girl, managed a half-hearted smile, and moved farther into the crowd. Some of the people stood idle and held on to their garlands, waiting for the sepulcher to be opened to the public. Others, who could not stay, were moving as close as they could to lay their garlands against the high wall of stone that surrounded the gravesite. Jostled on all sides, Lucius looked around, hoping to spot Epaphroditus amid the crowd. A wooden gate in the wall opened on creaky hinges and a familiar voice called his name.
Epaphroditus gestured to him from the narrow doorway. Lucius stepped inside. Epaphroditus closed the gate behind him.
“What a crowd!” said Lucius, happy to escape the crush. “Does this happen every year?”
“Yes and no,” said Epaphroditus. “Every year people come to deliver garlands and perform ceremonies of remembrance, but I’ve never seen so many before. It’s because it’s the twentieth anniversary, I suppose.”
They were alone inside the stone enclosure. Nero’s was not the only tomb – this was the family plot of his ancestors on his father’s side – but it was by far the most impressive. The ornate sepulchre containing his ashes was sculpted from rare white porphyry. Before it stood an altar of Luna marble. The exquisite carvings of horses on all four sides were doubly appropriate, since Nero had loved to ride, and horses were a funerary symbol from the most ancient times. Flowers had been laid on the altar, where a smouldering bit of incense overpowered their fragrance with its cloying scent.
“I see you’ve already honored the dead,” said Lucius.
“I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, Lucius. I have my own key to the gate and let myself in. I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive and I wanted to say a prayer before the gate is opened to the public. In a little while, the people out there will be allowed to pass by the sarcophagus and lay their garlands.”
“There are hundreds of people out there.”
Epaphroditus shook his head. “Like most people, they have the ability to believe two things at once. They will gladly tell you that Nero never died, yet here they are, marking the anniversary of his death and bringing garlands to his tomb. Nero is dead, yet Nero lives.”
“And he’s on his way to Roma right now. Someone just gave me the news, and told me I should make ready for his arrival.”
“A young redhead?”
“Yes, quite pretty and carrying a garland.”
“The same girl talked to me earlier. I didn’t have the heart to tell that I was present when Nero died – much less that he died by my hand.” Epaphroditus frowned. “Curiously enough, my contacts in the imperial house tell me there actually is an impostor claiming to be Nero, somewhere in Syria. He’s not the first such pretender, but this one appears to have serious backing from the Parthians, who may actually give the fellow some military support and make an incursion. If that happens, Domitian is worried that this Nero pretender might cause considerable mischief in the Eastern provinces. There are still a great many people, especially in Judaea, who hate the Flavians – the ones Vespasian and Titus didn’t manage to kill or enslave. And people in that part of the world are always talking about the dead coming back to life.”
“Who is this impostor?”
“I have no idea. The people who’ve seen him say he sings like a lark and looks the very image of Nero.”
“But do these people consider that Nero would be in his fifties now?”
Epaphroditus laughed wistfully. “He would be quite fat and bald, I imagine.”
“How can people believe such a thing, so fervently?”
“Because, Lucius, without the discipline of philosophy to give rigour to their thinking, people can and will believe anything, no matter how absurd. Indeed, the more far-fetched the notion, the more likely they are to believe it. People have grown weary of Domitian. They enjoy the fantasy that Nero will return.”
“Bringing with him a new Golden Age?”
“Why not? Some of the older people out there actually remember the reign of Nero, and they’ll tell you how wonderful it was – though I suspect the nostalgia they feel is not so much for Nero as for their own lost youth. And the younger ones have the natural propensity of youth to believe that a Golden Age must have existed somewhere, at some time – most likely just before they were born – so why not in the days of Nero?”
“Does that mean that a generation from now, people will look back to a so-called Golden Age of Domitian?”
“That’s hard to imagine!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lucius. “On the walk here, I saw the hand of the emperor everywhere. His statues, his temples and altars and arches-”
“Arkei!” said Epaphroditus. “People have had enough of Domitian looking over their shoulders.”
“Do you think so? He pleased the people greatly when he added that tier to the Flavian Amphitheatre. You admired the monstrosity before, Epaphroditus, and now there’s more of it to love than ever. No one in Roma need go without a seat.”
“But he banned the public performance of plays,” said Epaphroditus.
“Every actor must suffer for the sin of Paris! But do the people mind? I think not. Why should they wish to see stodgy old dramas and stale comedies when Domitian gives them games instead, and not just games, but the most spectacular ever staged. His marvels eclipse even those his brother presented. He floods the amphitheatre and stages full-scale naval battles, with convicts and slaves fighting for their lives and drowning before our eyes. What play could possibly match such a spectacle? He gives the people freakish delights, like the gladiator shows he holds at night where naked women and dwarves are forced to fight one another by torchlight. What comedy could make people laugh half that much? And from the sky above, figs, dates, and plums rain down on the audience. The spectators think they’ve died and awoken in Elysium.”