Rome’s Fallen Eagle

Начало книги

The rigid, wide-eyed grin of a gaudily painted, comicactor’s mask leered out at the audience; its wearer skipped a short jig, the back of his left hand pressed to his chin and his right arm outstretched. ‘The wicked deed that causes you all this distress was my doing; I confess it.’

The audience roared with laughter at this well-delivered, purposely ambiguous line, slapping their knees and clapping their hands. The actor, playing the young lover, inclined his mask-obscured head in acknowledgement of the appreciation before turning to his partner on the stage, who wore the more grotesque, gurning mask of the villain of the piece.

Before the players could continue the scene, Caligula jumped to his feet. ‘Wait!’

The ten thousand-strong audience in the temporary theatre clinging to the northern slope of the Palatine Hill turned towards the imperial box, jutting out on supporting wooden columns at the exact centre of the new construction.

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