After the punishments, there was an intermission. Acrobats once again ran onto the sand floor of the arena. Lucius and his friends went to the vestibule for refreshments and then to relieve themselves at the nearest latrina, where the quality of the bronze and marble fixtures was the finest Lucius had ever seen in a public facility. Martial joked that he felt unworthy to relive himself amid such splendour.
While his friends lingered in the vestibule, Lucius returned to his seat. Down in the arena, the lifeless body of an acrobat was being carried off.
“What that’s about?” he wondered aloud.
“The poor fellow was walking across a tightrope when he lost his balance and fell.” The voice came from the row in front of him. All the Vestals had left for the intermission except one. She turned in her seat and looked straight at him.
Lucius stared back at Cornelia. He could think of nothing to say.
The Vestal finally broke the silence. “He was hardly more than a child. I think they should use nets, don’t you?”
“I believe they practise with nets,” Lucius said. “But they never perform with them. That would eliminate the suspense.”
“It would still display their skill. I for one have no desire to see a tightrope walker die. What’s the point? Such a death is simply an accident, not a punishment or the outcome of a ritual combat. They’re acrobats, not murderers or gladiators. What’s your name?”
The question was so abrupt, he simply stared at her.
“It’s not a difficult question, surely.” She laughed. There was nothing malicious in her laugh. The sound of it gave him pleasure.
“Lucius Pinarius,” he said. “My father was Titus Pinarius.”
“Ah, yes, I know the name, though there don’t seem to be a great many of you about these days.”
“There was a time when the Pinarii were quite prominent,” said Lucius. “More than one Pinaria was a Vestal. One was rather famous. But that was a long time ago.”
She nodded. “That’s right, the Vestal Pinaria was among those trapped atop the Capitoline Hill when the Gauls sacked the city. We still talk about her, and pass down the story to the new sisters. That’s why your name is so familiar.” She looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing a senator’s toga. Not a politician, then. Nor are you a military man, I think. How did you merit such a choice seat on opening day?”
“You’re awfully forthright,” said Lucius.
“When you’re a Vestal, there’s really no point in being circumspect. I say what I mean and I ask what I want to know. Perhaps it’s different for other women.”
“I don’t know a lot about women,” he admitted.
“Now who’s being forthright?”
“Here come my friends,” he said. “One of them is a poet. The emperor likes his work; that’s why we have such good seats. Martial will write verses to celebrate the inaugural games.”
“Ah, I wondered who that fellow was, constantly chattering and scribbling on his wax tablet.”
“I’ll introduce you, if you like.” Lucius stood to let Martial pass. When he looked back, Cornelia had turned away. The other Vestals had returned to their seats.
The programme recommenced with a series of animal exhibitions. First, a brightly decorated elephant with a trainer on its back ascended a ramp to a platform, then walked down a tightrope. While the spectators were still crying out in amazement, the elephant sauntered towards the imperial box, emitted a trumpet-like cry from its trunk, then folded its forelegs and dropped forward, making a very dignified bow to the emperor. The spectators responded with the first standing ovation of the day.
Hunting exhibitions followed. All manner of creatures were released, chased, and slain – boars, gazelles, antelopes, ostriches, the huge wild bulls of the Germanic lands called aurochs, and even the spindly-legged, long-necked creatures from farthest Africa called cameleopards, because they had a face like a camel and spots like a leopard. The hunters stalked their prey on foot and on horseback, using various weapons – bows and arrows, spears, knives, nets, and even nooses. Lucius, who enjoyed hunting boars and stags on his country estates, watched the exhibitions with interest and a bit of envy, especially when the hunters pursued the rarer or more dangerous animals, since he himself would probably never have the opportunity to bring down a cameleopard or an aurochs. As the slaughter continued, attendants with wheelbarrows and rakes covered the pools of blood with fresh sand.
There were also exhibitions in which animals were pitted against each another. The audience thrilled to see a leopard stalk and fell a cameleopard by leaping onto its huge neck. “Like a siege tower brought down by a catapult,” muttered Martial, searching for a metaphor.
A tigress had less luck pursuing an ostrich. The absurdity of a bird unable to fly was obvious, but the creature could run with amazing speed. The tigress eventually gave up the chase and crouched, panting, on the sand. The spectators laughed and shouted mockery at the feline, disgusted by a cat unable to catch a flightless bird. But when the tigress’s mate was unleashed, the same spectators fell silent and watched in fascination as the two cats appeared to use a coordinated strategy to trap the ostrich. The bird ran this way and that as the cats closed in.
“My old friend Pliny, not long before Vesuvius put an end to him, wrote that the ostrich hides its head in a bush when attacked and thinks its whole body is concealed,” said Martial. “See how the attendants have placed bits of shrubbery all around the arena, so that the bird may demonstrate its foolish behaviour?”
But the ostrich did not hide its head. Eventually, in desperation, it used its long, powerful legs to kick furiously at the nearest tiger. This gained the ostrich a brief respite, but the bird was quickly exhausted, while the tigers seemed to find fresh strength. The ostrich at last resorted to lying flat on the ground with its long neck and head pressed against the earth. In the rippling haze of heat that rose from the sand, the bird looked like a lifeless mound of earth, and for a while the cats were confounded. They circled the prostrate, motionless bird, sniffing the air and growling. At last the tigress began to paw at the ostrich, which gave a twitch, whereupon the feline pounced and seized the ostrich’s long neck in its powerful jaws. The two cats hissed at each other and fought over the carcass for a while, much to the amusement of the audience, then settled down to share the feast. When they were done, attendants plucked the huge feathers from the dead bird and handed them out as souvenirs to the nearest spectators, who used them to decorate their clothing or fan themselves.
To see an animal hunted, whether by a man or by another animal, thrilled the audience. But far more exciting was the spectacle of seeing one fearsome beast pitted against another in equal combat. For the inaugural games, the emperor had arranged a pairing that had never been seen before. First a wild aurochs was released into the arena. The gigantic bull had huge horns and a fiery temper, as was demonstrated when trainers behind wooden enclosures taunted the creature by throwing red balls at it. The aurochs charged at the cloth balls and managed to spear one of them on his right horn. The clinging ball angered the creature even more. He snorted and tossed his head furiously until the ball went flying into the stands. Spectators leaped to their feet, shoving and struggling against one another to claim it.
Next, a creature that many of those present had never seen before was released into the arena. This was the rare rhinoceros, a beast whose iron-coloured flesh appeared to be made of plated armour and whose enormous nose terminated in a formidable pair of horns, one large and one small. As fearsome as the aurochs might be, it was clearly a relative of the domesticated bull familiar even to the city-dwellers of Roma, and was a creature of grace and beauty, but the rhinoceros was like no other animal, an exotic being from the ends of the earth.