"The games," I said. "How charming." I intended my remark to be neutral, but Julia took it as irony. She laughed.
"One does not have that much concern for the games," she said. "One goes to see, and to be seen, and to discover less common amusements." She glanced at Sempronius. "You will learn, perhaps." She turned from me then, and called to the others, some of whom had stepped out of their litters to stretch their legs. "Who would share his seat with Ovid, the poet of love, who writes of those things to which you have dedicated your lives?"
Arms waved from litters, my name was shouted: "Here, Ovid, ride with us-my girl needs your advice!" "No, I need your advice!" And there was much laughter. I finally chose a litter in which there was room for me, the bearers hoisted their burdens, and we made our way slowly through the crowded streets toward the Circus Maximus.
We arrived at noon, just as the hordes of people were streaming out of the stands for a hasty lunch before the resumption of the games. I must say, it gave me an odd feeling to see those masses, recognizing the colors of our litters, part before our advance, as the earth parts before the advance of a plow. Yet they were gay, and waved to us and shouted in the most friendly manner.
We debarked from our litters; and with Julia, Sempronius Gracchus, and another whom I did not know leading our band, we made our way among those arcades that honeycomb the Circus toward the stairs. Occasionally from the doorway of one of these arcades, an astrologer would beckon and call to us, whereupon someone in our party would shout: "We know our future, old man!" and throw him a coin. Or a prostitute would show herself and beckon enticingly to one who seemed unattached, whereupon one of the ladies might call to her in mock terror, "Oh, no! Don't steal him from us. He might never return!"
We mounted the stairs; and as we approached the Imperial box there were shushings and calls for quiet, out of deference for the presence of Octavius Caesar. But he was not in the box when we arrived; and I must say that, despite the pleasure I was having in the company of this most delightful troop, I found myself a little disappointed.
For as you know, Sextus, unlike you-not being an intimate of Maecenas, as you are, nor needing that intimacy-I have never met Octavius Caesar. I have seen him from afar, of course, as has everyone in Rome: but I know of him only that which you have told me.
"The Emperor is not here?" I asked.
Julia said, "There are certain kinds of bloodshed that my father does not enjoy." She pointed down at the open space of the course. "He usually comes late, after the animal hunt is over."
I looked to where she was pointing; the attendants were dragging away the slain animals and raking over the earth that was spotted with blood. I saw several tigers, a lion, and even an elephant being dragged across the ground. I had attended one of these hunts before, when I first came to Rome, and had found it extremely dull and common. I suggested as much to Julia.
She smiled, "My father says that either a fool is killed, or a dumb beast, and he cannot bring himself to care which. And besides, there are no wagers to be made on these contests between hunters and beasts. My father enjoys the wagering."
"It's late," I said. "He will be here, won't he?"
"He must," she said. "The games honor his birthday; and he would not be discourteous to anyone who so honors him."
I nodded, and recalled that the games were being presented to him by one of the new praetors, Julius Antonius. I started to say something to Julia; but I remembered who Julius Antonius was, and I checked my speech.
But Julia must have noticed my intention, for she smiled. "Yes," she said. "In particular, my father would not be discourteous to the son of an old enemy, whom he has forgiven, and whose son he has preferred to some who are his own kin."
Wisely (I think), I nodded, and did not speak more of the matter. But I wondered about this son of Marcus Antonius, whose name, even these many years after his death, still is honored by many of the citizens of Rome.
Yet there is little time to wonder about things ofthat sort in such gay company. The servants brought tidbits of food on golden plates, and poured wine into golden cups; and we ate, and drank, and chattered as we watched the crowd straggle back to their seats for the afternoon races.
By the sixth hour, the stands were filled, and it seemed to me overflowing with a good part of the population of Rome. Then suddenly, above the natural noise of the crowd, a great roar went up; many of the populace were standing, and were pointing toward the box where we reclined. I turned around, glancing over my shoulder. At the rear of the box, in the shadows, stood two figures, one rather tall, the other short. The tall one was dressed in the richly embroidered tunic and the purple-bordered toga of a consul; the shorter wore the plain white tunic and toga of the common citizen.
The taller of the two was Tiberius, stepson of the Emperor and consul of Rome; and the shorter was, of course, the Emperor Octavius Caesar himself.
They came into the box; we rose; the Emperor smiled and nodded to us, and indicated that we should seat ourselves. He sat beside his daughter, while Tiberius (a dour-faced young man, who seemed not to want to be where he was) found a seat somewhat removed from the rest of the party, and spoke to no one. For several moments the Emperor and Julia talked together, their heads close; the Emperor glanced at me, and said something to Julia, who smiled, nodded, and then beckoned me to join them.
I approached, and Julia presented me to her father.
"I am pleased to meet you," the Emperor said; his face was lined and weary, his light hair shot with white-but his eyes were bright and piercing and alert. "My friend Horace has spoken of your work."
"I hope kindly," I said, "but I cannot pretend to compete with him. My Muse is smaller and more trivial, I fear."
He nodded. "We all obey whatever Muse chooses us… Do you have any favorites today?"
"What?" I said blankly.
"The races," he said. "Do you have any favorite drivers?"
"Sir," I said, "I must confess that I come to the races more nearly for the society than for the horses. I really know very little about them."
"Then you don't wager," he said. He seemed a little disappointed.
"On everything but the races," I said. He nodded and smiled a little, and turned to someone behind him.
"Which do you pick in the first?"
But whoever it was to whom he spoke did not have time to answer. At the far end of the race course, gates opened, trumpets sounded, and the procession entered. It was led by Julius Antonius, the praetor who had financed the games; he was dressed in a scarlet tunic, over which he wore the purple-bordered toga, and carried in his right hand the golden eagle, which seemed almost ready to take flight from the ivory rod which supported it; and upon his head was the golden wreath of laurel. In his chariot drawn by his magnificent white horse, I must say he was an impressive figure, even at the distance from which I saw him.
Slowly the procession went round the track. Behind Julius Antonius walked the priests of the rites, who attended the statues, thought by the ignorant to be the literal embodiments of the gods; then came the drivers who were to race, resplendent in their whites and reds, and greens and blues; and at last a crew of dancers and mimes and clowns, who cavorted and tumbled upon the track while the priests relinquished their effigies to the platform around which the racers would drive their chariots.
And then the procession made its way to the Emperor's box. Julius Antonius halted, saluted the Emperor, and gave him the games in dedication of his birthday. I must say, I looked at Julius with some curiosity. He is an extraordinarily handsome man- his muscular arms brown from the sun, his face dark and slightly heavy, with very white teeth and curling black hair. It is said that he closely resembles his father, though he is less inclined to fat.