Titus at last arrived at the entrance he was seeking, the original forecourt built by Augustus. The armour of the Divine Augustus was still in place, as were the original bronze doors and the marble lintel above them with its relief carving of a laurel crown. But, to Titus’s dismay, the two laurel trees that flanked the doors, which had been there since Livia had planted them and had miraculously escaped the Great Fire, were naked and withered. He reached for one of the branches. The brittle, black wood snapped off in his hand.
A comment Titus had once made to Nero and Poppaea echoed in his head: “I believe those two laurel trees will survive as long as there are descendants of the Divine Augustus.” Now the trees were dead. Titus shuddered, more unnerved by the sight of the withered trees than by the roving gangs in the streets.
The huge bronze doors were shut. Titus pushed on one of them. It was very heavy and at first refused to budge, but at last he managed to push it open just far enough to slip through the gap.
What had once been the vestibule of Augustus’s modest home was now a garden open to the sky. There were cherry trees and grapevines, roses and other fragrant flowers, and shrubberies shaped to look like animals. Beyond this garden lay a meadow planted with grass, where an artificial stream cascaded down to rocky waterfalls. Hallways and rooms lay beyond, and then more gardens, and more rooms.
As he rambled through the house, seeing and hearing no one, Titus was sometimes inside and sometimes outside; to pass from interior to exterior was a kind of magical act in the Golden House, so perfectly did its design bring the two together. Inside, Titus often felt that he was in the heart of nature, surrounded by lush paintings of greenery, shimmering green mosaic floors, bubbling fountains, and high windows open to the blue sky. Outside, Titus often felt as if he were in the most beautifully furnished room imaginable, surrounded by marble columns and ivory lattices, sumptuous draperies, and furniture made of stone and elegantly wrought metal and strewn with plush cushions.
Decorating both the gardens and the room were a great many statues.
Nero had plundered the whole empire to find enough pieces to decorate his vast house; from Delphi alone he had taken 500 statues. Some depicted the gods and some mortals, some were quaint and some erotic, some were remarkably realistic and others boldly heroic. Some were new and some old, but all were freshly painted, so convincingly that they looked as if they might move or speak at any moment.
The painters who had decorated the Golden House were the best in the world. Along with the statues, virtually every wall was painted, as were the enormously high ceilings. To create borders and frames, the painters had used geometric patterns and medallions and images from nature – leaves, shells, flowers – while they filled the larger spaces with illustrations that depicted the great stories of mankind and the gods. The colours were incredibly rich and vibrant; the compositions were exquisite. There were so many rooms – hundreds of them – that Titus, as often as he visited, had never been in the Golden House without finding himself in a room he had never seen before, filled with paintings entirely new to him, each more beautiful than the last.
Equally dazzling were the floors and walls covered in marble and the soaring marble columns. There was rich green marble from Sparta, yellow marble veined with black from Numidia, and regal porphyry from Egypt, but these were only the more common types. There were colours and patterns of marble in the Golden House that Titus had never seen anywhere else, brought to Roma in great quantities and at enormous expense from all over the world.
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.