Many of the floors, inside and out, were decorated with mosaics. Beautiful pictures were framed by multiple borders made from dizzying geometric designs. The mosaics showed sailors catching fish, harvesters at work in fields of grain, gladiators in the arena, charioteers in the circus, scholars in their libraries, women dancing, priests offering sacrifices, children at play. The tiles shimmered, catching the light at many different angles, so that the images seemed to live and breathe beneath one’s feet.
As Titus moved from garden to garden, from building to building, from room to room, he was struck by the utter stillness. The entire palace seemed deserted. The quiet was unnerving. At last, after descending the stepped terraces on the Forum side of the Palatine, he entered a building and heard a noise from the next room. Before Titus could decide whether to conceal himself, a lion came striding towards him through the doorway.
Nero kept an extensive menagerie in one of the gardens at the far side of the Golden House, at the foot of the Esquiline. Evidently the beast keepers had fled along with everyone else, and someone had left the cages open.
The big cat paused for a moment. It stared at Titus, twitched its whiskers, and flicked its tail. It was a magnificent specimen, with a fine tawny pelt and a magnificent mane.
Titus stood frozen to the spot. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine. He reached reflexively to touch the fascinum, which was not there. He had given it to Lucius.
The lion cocked its head, shook its mane, then appeared to reach a decision. It sauntered straight towards him.
Titus resisted the urge to run. He had seen condemned criminals run from lions in the arena. The result was never good. It occurred to him that he might try shouting at the animal, to see if he could frighten it, but he found himself unable to speak.
The lion reached him, tilted its head forward, and rubbed its face against Titus’s thigh. The beast emitted a noise that Titus first took for a growl, then realized was a purr. The lion looked up at him with large eyes, then rubbed its face against his other thigh.
His hand trembling, Titus dared to touch the lion’s mane. The creature stuck out its long, rough tongue and licked his hand.
Slowly, Titus turned and backed through the doorway, keeping his eyes on the lion. The creature watched him with a quizzical expression but made no move to follow. It threw back its head, opened a mouth full of sharp fangs, and yawned.
As soon as he was out of the lion’s sight, Titus began to walk very quickly, and then to run.
Rounding a corner, he collided with a pair of middle-aged household slaves, the first people he had seen since he had entered the Golden House. The male slave tumbled onto his backside and dropped the bulging sack he was carrying. The sack burst open. There was a great deal of clanging as silver cups and plates and serving implements went flying across the marble floor.
The female slave steadied herself and clutched the bulging, makeshift sack she was carrying, which appeared to be a bedsheet gathered at the corners. The woman stared at Titus, her eyes wide.
Titus caught his breath. Before he could speak, the female slave blushed a deep red and blurted out, “Polished! We were taking them… to be polished!”
All the scattered pieces had come to rest except for a small plate. With a ringing noise of metal against marble, the plate rolled on its edge in an ever-decreasing spiral. At last it tipped to one side and settled with a rhythmic clatter. The pieces of silver gleamed brightly on the floor, unsullied by the least hint of tarnish.
Titus ignored the slave’s obvious lie. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
The woman shrugged. “Gone their separate ways.”
“And your master? Where is the emperor?”
“We saw him in the grand courtyard a while back. Sitting at the foot of the Colossus. It’s straight ahead-”
“I know where it is,” said Titus. He hurried on. Behind him he heard the two slaves squabbling as they gathered up the scattered silver.
Entering the grand courtyard, whether for the first time or for the hundredth, inevitably produced a sensation of awe and vertigo. Everything was beyond human scale. The surrounding portico was suitable for giants, with soaring marble columns that alternated between black and white, as did the oversized marble paving stones underfoot. Zenodorus had convinced Nero that simple black and white would make the most striking yet at the same time the most harmonious showcase for the gigantic gilded statue that stood in the centre of the courtyard, towering higher than any other object in sight.
From the neck down, the naked statue, with its ideal physique, certainly did not resemble Nero, who had a protruding belly and spindly legs. But Zenodorus had done a splendid job of capturing Nero’s face, which was instantly recognizable even at a great distance. The statue represented the emperor in the guise of Sol, with sunbeams radiating from his head.
Titus spotted four tiny figures at the base of the Colossus. One of them, recognizable by his purple-and-gold robes, was Nero, who seemed to be lying flat on his back. He was also singing, if it could be called that, emitting long notes that echoed across the vast courtyard.
Of the three other figures, one, apparently male, was pacing back and forth, while the other two, a male and a female, stood close together, talking. All three stopped what they were doing and looked up as Titus approached, peering at him with trepidation. Eventually Titus drew close enough to recognize Epaphroditus, Nero’s personal secretary, and Sporus, with whom he had been conferring. The pacing figure was one of Nero’s most trusted freedman, Phaon. The three of them recognized Titus and sighed with relief.
At their feet lay Nero. Two metal plates, fastened together by leather straps, lay across his chest. He was holding a note for as long as he could, practising a lung-strengthening exercise. His breath smelled of onions. When Nero was in training for a singing contest he ate a special diet consisting of olive oil for his throat and onions to clear his nose and open his lungs.
Titus looked up at the Colossus and then down at the prostrate Nero. How large one was, and how small the other! The note Nero was singing went on and on, until at last his lungs gave out and he drew a deep breath, defying the metal plates on his chest. When his lungs were full, with his chest raised high in the air, Nero began to sing another note, higher than the last.
Titus looked at Nero’s companions. Epaphroditus was a highly educated Greek freedman, clean shaven with a touch of grey at his temples. As a reward for his key role in uncovering the conspiracy of Piso, Epaphroditus had been made Nero’s personal secretary and chamberlain of the court. No one knew more about the day-to-day operations of the Golden House than Epaphroditus, and within the immensely complex imperial bureaucracy, nothing of consequence could be accomplished without his knowledge and approval. He was a student of philosophy and famous for remaining calm in a crisis.
Sporus’s hair and make-up and elegant stola made him look uncannily like Poppaea. So did his posture, as he stood with one foot slightly in front of the other, hands on hips and chin held high. But when Sporus turned his head, Titus saw that the eunuch had an ugly bruise across one cheek. Sporus saw Titus looking, touched the bruise, and averted his face.
Pacing rapidly back and forth, the freedman Phaon seemed to be at his wit’s end. He was younger than Epaphroditus, but his rise under Nero had been rapid. For his loyal services, Nero had rewarded Phaon with many choice properties, including an estate near the city off the road to Nomentum.
The long-held note trailed into silence as Nero’s lungs were once again exhausted. Titus thought the emperor might pause in his exercises to give him some sign of acknowledgement, but instead Nero took a deep breath, heaving against the metal plates, and produced another note, this one very low.