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'Little one, Freya's child, you must come with us. The Augusta has ordered it. We knelt before her this morning. We have taken the oath. You must come with us, you are to be her guest in the imperial box. You are not to meet Murranus. Little one,' he pleaded, noting Claudia's angry expression, 'Murranus has to fight. He must not be weakened or distracted. You are to come with us and stay with us until…' Burrus shrugged, 'until the end…'
'Salve! Salve! Salve Impeiator!' The crowd packing the Flavian amphitheatre rose as a man to greet their Emperor as he entered the imperial box, which was draped in purple, cloth of gold, painted ivy and silver-coated laurel leaves. Constantine, at least three cups of wine down him, was in a jovial mood, resplendent in his purple-edged snow-white toga, a gold-encrusted victory wreath around his head. He lifted his hand and returned the salute of his devoted people.
'Ave atque salve!' he roared back before lowering himself into the gorgeous peacock throne overlooking the red-gold sand of the amphitheatre. On each side of him stood the imperial standard-bearers, heads and shoulders covered with wolf pelts, bearskins and the hides of other animals. They raised their standards, each boasting the glorious golden eagle with outstretched wings, the sacred emblem of Rome's power. Constantine abruptly remembered himself, and rose to gesture to the throne beside him, as his mother, the Empress Helena, took her seat. Again the crowd roared. Helena acknowledged this with a flick of her hand. Others filed in: the Vestal Virgins in their old-fashioned robes and Greek hairstyles, the officers and flunkies of the court, together with personal guests, Senator Carinus, his daughter Antonia, and other parents whose children had been abducted. The imperial box had been extended and lavishly furnished with imitation walls, its high ceiling festooned with all the signs and symbols of victory: carvings of champions, victorious athletes, gladiators with raised swords, laurel crowns and palms of victory. The corners were draped in purple and silver cloths. Along the sides stood a range of tables from which slaves served tasty morsels of fish, spiced meats, honey cakes, iced fruits, as well as cups of chilled wine and crushed fruit juice. Despite the fan-bearers with their pink ostrich flabella drenched in perfume, the air was hot and close.
Claudia, sitting at the far end near the door, where Burrus could keep an eye on her, fa
The trumpet blare was repeated. The games were about to begin. The white-robed patricians in the lower tiers forgot about their hampers, their chilled wine, honey cakes and sugared plums and figs. They bellowed at the slaves to bring their parasols closer. Men, women and children dabbed the sweat on their necks and faces with cold scented cloths, all eyes on that cavernous gateway leading into the arena. Above these, the wealthy ones of Rome, swarmed the plebeians in multicoloured tunics. These grasped their tickets, carved shards of bone, and fought to regain their seats, no longer caring for the traders selling hot spiced sausages, balls of meat, slices of fruit and pa
The Gate to the Underworld, as it was called, opened, and figures from Hades, grotesque in their horrid masks, entered the arena to the roar of the crowd. Charon, Lord of Hell, and all his associates, garbed in black, paraded to a cacophony of trumpets and cymbals around the arena, brandishing their instruments of torture: spikes and mallets, fire-hot blades and iron-tipped whips, implements they would use to spur on laggards who didn't want to fight, as well as to test whether a fallen man could stand to fight again.
Once they had processed out of the arena, the combatants entered. The Egyptians were led by a standard-bearer, the green ba
Another blast of trumpets and Murranus came out of the gateway to be greeted by acclamations which suddenly faded as the gladiator stumbled and limped forward. Claudia stared horrified. Murranus was garbed in his usual arena armour, a thick loincloth, knotted at the front, with a broad gold braided belt, quilted leg and arm paddings but no metal greaves to protect either leg or arm. What, Claudia wondered, did he intend? Surely he'd left himself exposed? Moreover, he carried the old-fashioned short stabbing sword and an oblong shield with a silver boss in the middle. Would this be protection enough? Murranus' head and face were hidden by a rimmed, visored helmet with a pouncing panther on top displaying a blueish-black horsehair crest. He too stopped before the imperial box and stared up. Claudia was sure he had glimpsed her; she could only stand frozen with fear.
The Emperor raised his hand, the trumpets brayed again. The gladiators lifted their swords and shouted their salutations,- once more the trumpets shrilled to the clash of cymbals. Constantine lifted a piece of white cloth and let it flutter to the sand. The crowd cheered as the fighters separated. Claudia stared round the box. Everyone was absorbed. Urbana, Cassia, Leartus, Carinus, the slaves, the standard-bearers sweating under their animal pelts, the guests and their families, all stared down at the macabre dance about to begin in the arena below.
Claudia hated such spectacles. She recalled the lines of the poet Juvenal: Today our rulers stage shows and win applause by the turn of a thumb against those whom the mob order them to kill. Murranus, her beloved, was down there, his life at the whim of the mob, not to mention the savagery and skill of his opponents. She watched as the gladiators drew slowly apart. Murranus called it the ritual of recognition, as adversaries assessed each other's strength and weaknesses. Sesothenes and his companions formed an arc, closing in on Murranus, who stood in an attitude almost of defeat, shield down, sword half raised. He seemed to be uncertain, fumbling with the straps of his shield. The Egyptians edged closer. Murranus faced forward, only to hastily retreat. The crowd hissed. Murranus kept backing away. The Egyptians edged forward. Murranus broke into a run, fleeing towards the far end of the arena. The mob rose, yelling and booing. The Egyptians, caught off guard, hesitated, then two of them broke into furious pursuit, ru