“And all the while the emperor sits in his box,” said Epaphroditus, “accompanied by that creature with a too-small head. Is it a child? A dwarf? Is it even human? The two of them whisper to each other and giggle.” He shuddered. “Nero loved beauty and perfection, and his taste in all things was impeccable. Domitian loves excess – too much decoration, too much ornament – and he surrounds himself with human oddities. His behaviour at the games is appalling. Do you remember the day the sky turned black and a tremendous storm blew up? The wind and rain were so fierce that the awnings were useless, and people began to leave the amphitheatre. Domitian ordered his soldiers to block the exits. People weren’t even allowed to take shelter in the stairwells and passages. All Roma sat there and endured the deluge. And when a roar of complaint filled the amphitheatre, the emperor angrily demanded silence – and got it, after enough of the offenders had been thrown into the arena to join the convicts about to be gored by a herd of rampaging aurochs.”

Lucius nodded. “What a bizarre moment that was, sitting in the pouring rain with fifty thousand others, and no one saying a word, while thunder rumbled and lightning tore the sky and men screamed and died down in the arena. Say what you like, it was unforgettable, a day like no other – just what people crave when they go to the amphitheatre. The games are more popular than ever.”

“Because Domitian has reduced the Roman people to the level of dogs. They remain faithful even when their master beats them, as long as he also feeds them.”

“He has the loyalty of the legions as well,” said Lucius, “and that’s where true power lies. It was only when Nero lost control of the legions that he came undone. Nero never led the legions into battle, as Domitian has. And those legions are as loyal to Domitian as they were to his father and his brother. He pays the soldiers well and exempts the veterans from paying taxes.”

“But his wars in Germania and Dacia have ended in stalemates, at best. The death of his general Fuscus and the loss of an eagle standard to the Dacians was a catastrophe.”

“Which Domitian turned to his advantage,” said Lucius. “Just when the threat from Germania had grown stale, the Dacians became the new enemy for Romans to fear and despise. And despite his limited success, he still staged triumphs for himself, parading through the Forum as a conqueror.”

“Though no one is quite sure what he’s conquered. Did you hear the rumour about the supposed captives who were paraded in chains in the German triumph? A source in the imperial household told me they were actually the biggest and brawniest slaves from the palace, dressed in leather pants and blond wigs to look like Germans.”

“That’s the problem with Domitian, isn’t it?” said Lucius. “We never know what’s real and what’s not. All the city is a stage. Everything that happens is a spectacle put on by the emperor. One wonders if he himself knows any longer what’s real.”

“He now signs official letters with the title Dominus and Deus,” said Epaphroditus. “That makes him the first emperor since Caligula to demand to be addressed as the people’s master, and also the first since Caligula to consider himself a living god. He renames months in his honour. We celebrate his birthday not in October but in Domitianus, which is preceded not by September but by Germanicus, in honour of his German triumphs. He goes everywhere accompanied by a huge bodyguard of lictors and wears the costume of a triumphing general on formal occasions, even when he addresses the Senate and should be dressed in a toga, as the first among equals. The laurel wreath hides his baldness.”

“But how can he afford all this – the spectacles, the generous pay for his soldiers, the massive construction projects?”

“That’s a bit of a mystery,” said Epaphroditus. “My sources tell me he manages the treasury himself, obsessively scrutinizing even the smallest expenditures; not a nail is bought without Domitian’s approval. As you can imagine, the accountants and bursars are terrified of him. There’s a good side to that: Domitian has put an end to the corruption and self-enrichment that were so rampant in the flush, freewheeling years of his father’s reign. But my old friends at the treasury believe that the state is headed for bankruptcy, and when that happens, the emperor will hold them to blame. They’re like men awaiting a death sentence, watching sand run through the hourglass – only in this case it’s sesterces running through the emperor’s fingers. They were all hoping that Fuscus might actually conquer Dacia and capture King Decebalus’s treasure, but now there seems no likelihood of that happening.

“Master and God he may call himself, but Domitian fears his underlings as much as they fear him. He sees conspiracies everywhere. Senators are put to death for chance remarks that only a madman would find suspicious. He’s become deeply superstitious: he fears not just daggers and poisons, but enchantments. Did you hear about the woman who was executed because she was seen undressing before a statuette of the emperor? Presumably she was trying to bewitch him, using sex magic.”

Epaphroditus placed his hands upon the sarcophagus of Nero, feeling the coolness of the polished stone. The last bit of incense on the altar had turned to ash, but its fragrance lingered on the air.

“Curiously,” he said, “Domitian now has something in common with Nero that none of us expected: he’s in love with a eunuch.”

“No!”

“Oh yes. Remember the disdain he used to show for his brother’s coterie of eunuchs, and the one laudable achievement of his campaign for morality, his ban on castration? Now Domitian has quite openly fallen in love with a eunuch. The boy’s name is Earinus and he comes from Pergamum. A slave trader unsexed him here in Italy when he was very young, using the hot-water method.”

“What is that?”

“The child sits in a vat of steaming water that softens the scrotum, then his testes are pressed between a finger and thumb until they’re crushed. The method leaves no scar, which many owners find pleasing. The boys subjected to this method must be very young, and they subsequently develop fewer masculine attributes than those who are castrated later in life; some owners find that pleasing, also. A few years ago, Earinus was acquired by the imperial household, where all the most beautiful eunuchs end up. He has a face like Cupid. His hair is a very light blonde, like white gold. He can sing, as well.”

Lucius shook his head. “Imperial eunuchs are always said to have some talent, other than the purpose for which they were made.”

“In the case of Earinus, the boy apparently has a true gift. When he sang for the emperor, Domitian fell for him at once. He dotes on Earinus shamelessly, showering him with gifts, dressing him in the costliest garments, anointing him with the rarest perfumes. For his seventeenth birthday, Domitian manumitted him and gave him a very generous endowment. To mark the occasion, Earinus sent a lock of his blonde hair to a temple in Pergamum. It’s a Greek custom for boys to donate a lock of hair to a temple in their native city when they attain manhood. You may remember that Nero did something of the sort, when he donated a clipping from his first beard to the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline.

“When Earinus sent off the lock of his hair, the court poets fell over one another in the rush to commemorate the event. Our dear Martial wrote some lines comparing Domitian to Jupiter and Earinus to Ganymede – no surprise there – but for sheer sycophancy his rival Statius outdid himself. Statius’s poem is a veritable Aeneid of eunuch-worship. Listen to this.”

Epaphroditus cleared his throat and declaimed.

All previous favourites and flocks of servants stand back

As the new one carries to the mighty leader