Waki Waltari

The Roman by Mika Waltari

Octavia, the Emperor’s wife, had borne in silence the insult of Nero permitting Acte to watch the show from the Imperial box, even if only through a peephole in a special wall. Agrippina had not been allocated a place, and Nero had let it be known that his mother was not well. Someone in the crowd was said to have shouted out that perhaps she had been eating mushrooms. I myself did not hear this, but Nero was said to have been pleased that the people fearlessly used this opportunity to air their freedom of speech in his presence.

My menagerie had suffered saddening losses, but some basic stock remained of course, which I intended to use as the foundation by which the menagerie could be replenished with wild animals from all corners of the earth. In this way displays in the future would not be dependent on chance, but could be put on whenever Nero felt it necessary to entertain the people. Knowing Nero’s whims, I thought there was good reason to be prepared beforehand for political events which demantled entertain- ment organized to lull the people into forgetting unpleasant things.

The day before, the dead rhinos’ matrices had stiffened into a clear, trembling mass in their African cooking-trenches, where they had been simmering all night. I prepared to take this rare delicacy, which as far as I know had never been seen before in Rome, to the Emperor’s table. Sadly I looked at the empty cages, at the slaves back at their everyday work and at the modest house in which Sabina and I had lived a strenuous but, as I now thought, happy phase of our life.

“Sabina,” I cried gratefully, “without your experience of animals and your indefatigable energy, I should never have accomplished this task with honor. We’re sure to miss these days sometimes, in spite of the setbacks and surprises, when we return to ordinary life.”

“Return?” my wife said briskly, her face stiffening. “What do you mean by that, Minutus?”

“I’ve accomplished my mission to your father’s and the Emperor’s satisfaction, I hope,” I replied. “Now I’m taking a new dish to Nero and our Procurator is settling the finances with the Imperial treasury. Nero has no head for figures and to be honest, neither can I understand such involved bookkeeping, except in round figures. But I think everything is in order and I don’t mind about the money I have lost. Perhaps Nero will reward me in some way, but the best reward to me has been the applause of the people. More than that I do not demand, and anyhow, I could not endure this uninterrupted excitement much longer.”

 

 

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“Which of us has had most to endure?” said Sabina. “I can hardly believe my ears. You’ve only taken the first step. Do you mean to say you are prepared to abandon the lion which now has no trainer, or those almost human giant apes, one of which is coughing horribly and needs care, not to mention the other animals? No, Minutus, you must be tired or in a bad mood. Father has promised that you can keep your present position under my supervision. It saves him a great deal of trouble since he doesn’t have to squabble over the miserly grants from the State.”

Now it was my turn to refuse to believe my ears.

“Flavia Sabina,” I said, “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as a keeper, however valuable and beautiful the animals are. On my father’s side I am descended from the Etruscan kings of Caere, just as much as Otho or anyone else is.”

“Your origins are doubtful, to say the least,” snapped Sabina angrily. “And we’ll not even mention your Greek mother. The wax masks in your father’s house were inherited by Tullia. In the Flavius family there have at least been consuls. We are living in different times. Don’t you see that the superintendent of the menagerie is a political position anyone might envy, even if it is not generally recognized yet?”

“I’ve no desire to compete with horsemen and cittern players,” I protested stiffly. “I can name two elderly senators who already put their togas to their noses when they meet me, as if to protect themselves from the stench of the menagerie. Five hundred years ago the most noble of patricians would boast of smelling of manure, but we no longer live in those times. And I must say, I’m tired of lion cubs in our bed. You’ve more affection for them than you have for me, your husband.”

Sabina’s face turned yellow with fury.

“I haven’t wanted to hurt you by mentioning your capabilities as a husband,” she said, controlling herself with difficulty. “A more intelligent and tactful man would have drawn his own conclusions long ago. We are not carved from the same wood, Minutus. But a marriage is a marriage and bed is not the most important part of it. In your place, I’d be pleased to see my wife finding other interests with which to fill her empty life. But I’ve decided on your behalf that we shall stay at the menagerie. Father thinks the same.”

“My father may also have his views on the matter,” I threatened rather feebly. “His money won’t go on paying for the menagerie forever.”

But that was irrelevant. What hurt most was Sabina’s unexpected reproaches for my failure as a husband.

I had to see to getting the rhino-matrice jelly to Palatine while it was still hot, so our quarrel was interrupted. It was not our first quarrel by any means, but it was certainly the worst one we had had so far, and much the most hurtful.

 

 

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