The piper, who stood offstage, was performing a piece called “Lucretia’s Tears,” one of Nero’s best-known compositions. He played louder and faster.

Held down on the bed by Asiaticus, Sporus made such a plaintive cry that Epictetus pulled free of his master and began limping towards the stage. One of the Praetorians immediately blocked his way.

Lucius watched in dismay as Asiaticus knocked Sporus about and turned her this way and that. Throwing back his head and laughing, Asiaticus positioning Sporus on all fours, facing the audience. He hitched up her tattered gown, exposing her thighs, and pretended to mount her from behind. He was clearly enjoying himself, grinning broadly as he raised his hand to slap the eunuch’s buttocks. Sporus looked so terrified that for a moment Lucius thought an actual rape was taking place before his eyes.

But no – when Asiaticus, after a great deal of thrusting and grunting, finally feigned a climax and drew back, smirking and sticking out his tongue, and Sporus, dishevelled and shaken, crumpled to the bed, Lucius could see that the act was simulated after all.

Vitellius applauded. Mimicking his father, Germanicus likewise clapped his hands and made a braying noise. Galeria toyed with the pearls on her gown and looked bored.

“Very good,” said Vitellius. “Very good, indeed! Very much what I had in mind. But tomorrow night, I want it to last rather longer than that, Asiaticus. I know how excited you’ll be, but draw it out as long as you can. Take your time. Enjoy yourself. Relish the punishment you’re inflicting on Lucretia. And you must be much more violent – I know you’re capable of that! Remember that you are the brutal, merciless Sextus Tarquinius and this is the rape of Lucretia; her suffering is every schoolboy’s fantasy. Also, make sure you hold the eunuch’s face to the light at the critical moment, so that we can have a good look at her when she gasps and cries out. Let my guests see for themselves what Nero and Otho saw when they mounted the creature. Alright, then, on to the next scene!”

Asiaticus left the stage. Sporus lay motionless on the bed, hiding his face.

“On with it, I said!” Vitellius impatiently slapped the flat side of the sword against the palm of his hand. “Yes, yes, you’re miserable; quite convincing. So miserable that you reach for the dagger under the bed. Go on, reach for the dagger.”

Sporus looked up with a dazed expression. She straightened her twisted gown, pushed back her dishevelled hair, and reached under the bed. The dagger was a stage device made of soft wood. Sporus stared at it. Her brow became twisted and her jaw trembled. A trickle of blood from her swollen lower lip ran down her chin.

“Can you not remember the lines?” barked Vitellius. “‘T have been violated-’”

“I have been violated,” Sporus whispered, staring at the dagger.

“Louder!”

“I have been violated!” Sporus shouted. After a moment, she went on, speaking in a hollow, dull voice. “I cannot bear the shame. The king’s son had taken his vengeance on me for no other crime than my virtue. I call on the gods to witness my suffering. Avenge my death with the fall of the house of Tarquinius-”

“No good! You’ve learned the lines, but you speak without conviction and your voice keeps trailing away. This is the pivotal moment of the play; this is how everyone will remember you. Don’t you care? You’ll have to do better than that tomorrow night. Well, then, we know what happens next. If you need courage, look up at that statue and think of Nero. What was it the last Praetorian to desert the Golden House said to Nero when he begged the man to stay? ‘Is it so hard to die, then?’ Ha! Good words to keep in mind these days.”

Sporus clutched the mock dagger in both hands and pointed it at her breast, staring at it.

“Alright, then,” said Vitellius, “enough of this. Lucretia is dead. The audience is thrilled. Her lifeless body remains on the bed during the rest of the play, while her grief-stricken husband rouses the people to revolt.

Sextus Tarquinius gets his comeuppance, and the chorus delivers the final lines. You needn’t stay for this part, eunuch. You and your friends are dismissed. Go back to your quarters. And practise your lines!”

Her gown torn and her hair in disarray, Sporus managed to stumble across the stage and step down from the dais. The Praetorian who had been blocking Epictetus stepped aside and allowed him to join her. Lucius and Epaphroditus rose from their couches and made their way across the room.

As they stepped into the hallway, Asiaticus suddenly blocked their way. He seized Sporus’s chin in a vice-like grip and flashed a lascivious grin. “Did you enjoy that?” he said. “I know I did.”

Sporus tried to draw back, but Asiaticus held her fast. “Tomorrow night, we do it for real, for everyone to see.”

“Not… in front of an audience!” whispered Sporus

“Of course in front of the audience. That’s the whole point. Exciting, isn’t it? Here, feel how excited I am, just thinking about the things I’ll do to you while everyone watches.” Asiaticus pressed one of her hands between his legs and whispered in her ear, “Feels like a dagger, doesn’t it? And when I’m done with you tomorrow night, when you reach under the bed, you’ll find a real dagger waiting for you, not a toy.” He thrust his tongue into Sporus’s ear. She wriggled and squealed. He bit her earlobe, sinking his teeth into the flesh.

Sporus pulled free. She ran weeping down the hallway.

Lucius and his companions stood speechless. Asiaticus threw back his head and laughed.

Vitellius called to him from the banquet chamber, “Asiaticus! Leave the eunuch alone. You’ll have your way with that disgusting creature soon enough. Get back in here. We need to rehearse your exit speech!”

The Praetorians who escorted them back to Epaphroditus’s apartments did not depart but took up stations in the hallway outside.

Sporus resisted all attempts to comfort her. She withdrew to her bedroom and closed the door.

On a terrace overlooking Nero’s meadows and the lake, Epaphroditus sat and covered his face with his hands. Epictetus muttered and paced, tugging at his beard.

“Can this really be happening?” said Lucius. “Does Vitellius really expect-”

“It’s quite clear what he expects,” said Epaphroditus. “Tomorrow night, before an audience, Sporus will be publicly raped – the consort of two emperors degraded like the lowest prostitute! Then she’ll be given a dagger to commit suicide for the amusement of Vitellius and his friends.”

“Seneca and Nero are responsible for this,” said Epictetus.

“How do you arrive at that conclusion?” Epaphroditus looked up at him wearily.

“Vitellius is merely taking their work one step further. Seneca debased the whole idea of stage plays with those obscene dramas he wrote, playing up the prurient interest and the meaningless horror, making hopelessness and horror the whole point of the play. Nero took the tradition of execution as a public spectacle and raised it to what he and his depraved friends considered art – burning people alive and inducing bulls to rape young girls while the audience in the stands applauded and cheered. Now Vitellius intends to make his vile fantasies take place on a stage while his friends stuff themselves with pike livers and pheasant tongues.”

“Is there no way to prevent this from happening?” Lucius said. “Perhaps Sporus can flee the city.”

Epaphroditus shook his head. “The Praetorians stationed outside the door are there for a reason. If you look below this terrace, you’ll see more guards. Vitellius has no intention of letting his Lucretia run off before tomorrow’s banquet.”

Lucius left them on the terrace and went to Sporus’s room. Through the door, he heard her weeping. He called her name. She did not answer, but after a while the weeping stopped. He called her again and heard only silence. Lucius pushed against the door. It was locked, but the lock was flimsy, intended only to keep slaves from entering when they were unwanted. He pushed against the door with his shoulder. The lock gave way and he stumbled into the room.