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With a snigger he flung out his bejeweled right hand to point at me.
 Cassius Flamma  sell your horse. 
The ancient command had the effect of a thunderclap on the mob. Shocked
exclamations rippled out like waves on the sea. The leader of the Praetorians
behind the throne glanced down the line of his men, as if signaling. I said,
 May I know why the Emperor gives that order?
Evil mirth filled his bulbous eyes.  Because, Cassius Flamma, I do not deem it
fitting that our second highest noble order should number among its members 
among its members   He began to stutter then, his lips shining with the
spittle of rage.   among its members the murderer of our  our exalted
Praetorian Prefect Ofonius Tigellinus.
The sunlit Forum swam dizzily around me. I tried to brazen it out.
 Emperor, this false accusation  
From behind the Praetorians, his armor polished to a gold luster, stepped the
tribune Gaius Julius.
 The accusation is not false, he said.  I saw you kill him.
The ranked Praetorians swarmed forward, dragged me down from horseback and
began raining blows on me while they stripped off the toga with the narrow
purple stripe. I was dragged up before the podium. Julius kicked my belly
once, hard.
 Vermin! When you pitched me down the stairs, perhaps you thought I died. I
did not. I fell one flight and crawled the rest. A pack of looters attacked
me. Stripped my helmet and armor after they knocked me down. But just in time,
the vigiles arrived and I escaped.
A scene danced in my mind: a blackened body; armor littered in a burning
tenement room. The corpse of a looter; not Julius s after all. He had been
hiding all these days, waiting for a fitting time to denounce me.
The Emperor thrust the tribune aside, screaming,  I accuse this man Cassius
Flamma of the willful murder of Ofonius Tigellinus.Arrest him! 
A hundred thousand throats roared, hatefully crying my name, demands for my
death. The Praetorians hustled me away from the podium. I thought suddenly of
Acte, waiting and waiting in Ostia.
Waiting now for a man who would never come.
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Chapter XXII
IWAS THRUST into a sour, dark cell on the lowest level of the Imperial prison.
There I heard the Emperor s sentence.
Not instant death at the hands of one of his questionarii, paid torturers and
executioners; a last appearance as a bestiarius in his Circus, at the special
night games beginning the day after the review.
When the turnkey brought me this word, my hopes rose. Then I realized the hope
was false. Clearly Gaius Julius had remained in the background after his brush
with death only because he and the Emperor wanted to plan a suitable
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denunciation and death for me. My appearance was probably meant to be a kind
of public execution.
All next day I sat in the gloom, not touching the rotted food the turnkey
brought in. A little of my strength returned, and determination too. At least
I need not lie down and die like a coward. In whatever event I was scheduled
to fight  the turnkey knew, but refused to tell me  I would make as decent a
showing as I could before the end came.
I begged the turnkey to help me send a message to Acte. Again he refused.
At nightfall I was taken from the cell, given a cheap clout to wear and thrust
inside a wooden cage cart drawn by two mules. Like an animal on exhibit, I was
carried through streets where drunken citizens jeered and hurled rocks. I
watched impassively from behind the bars. On buildings I saw scrawled
inscriptions likeDeath to Cassius the killer andThe gods give murderer Cassius
the cruel fate he deserves.
As I stared at the written taunts, I thought a bit on the strange ways the
world worked. How my name had once been scribbled on walls along with terms of
praise. Somehow I preferred what was written about me now than all the false
and empty plaudits of the past.
Nor did I have any hatred for those sneering faces outside my cart. When I was
dead, some new object of the Emperor s wrath would receive their witless
screamed denunciations, and I would be forgotten. Probably before the next sun
rose.
The imposing Circus of Nero glowed with lights. The cart rattled across a
Tiber bridge and creaked down a long tunnel beneath the stands. The tunnel, by
contrast with the array of torches along the outer walls, seemed unnaturally
dark. Drunken shouts from thousands of spectators rang in the night. The
interior of the amphitheater seemed strangely black too.
I asked a handler,  Where are the tiers of torches to light up the sand?
He chuckled.  Different torches are being used tonight. Come to think of it,
you might enjoy watching before we lock you up to await your turn on the
program.
Under guard, I was taken to the tunnel mouth. A few lanterns gleamed here and
there in the stadium, but apart from those, the packed masses sat in virtual
darkness.
Musicians sounded the opening call of the festivities. Lights were struck in
the Emperor s box half way down the right-hand balustrade. A torch was lighted
from the puffs of tinder, and passed to a man on the sand below the box. He in
turn lit torches in the hands of a dozen slaves grouped around.
The light increased. The crowd surged to its feet, applauding. The slaves
fanned out across the arena. In the glow of the firebrands, it was possible to
suddenly see tall wooden crosses arranged at intervals around the great oval.
On the crosses naked human beings had been nailed up.
At first I refused to believe what I saw. I told myself the black stuff
smeared on the feet and legs of the crucified men and women was not what it
smelled like. A torch boy reached the cross nearest Nero s box, flung his
torch hand high. A young girl of twenty or so hung there. She shrieked when
the black pitch smeared on her legs ignited.
All around the amphitheater, a great rosy light sprang up, making the sand
bright as day, flashing off the armor of Praetorians in the stands, and off
the gilt garland on the head of Nero, who rose to acknowledge the applause.
One by one, the human torches blazed up.
 The Christians make splendid illumination, don t they? the handler asked.
 Lock me up, I snarled.  It makes me sick.
He gave me a boot in the spine.  I hardly think we have to worry about the
opinion of a condemned murderer. If the Emperor approves, surely the gods
must. Move along! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]