Doctor Who_ The Romans - Donald Cotton [4]
Mind you, I do not blame Vicki for this. She is a sensible child; and has never to my knowledge previously been exposed to the compulsive unnecessary expenditure syndrome on which capitalist society is so ludicrously based. So she shall certainly be allowed to be my travelling companion and confidante during the enterprise.
Already, it seems, she has discovered that the present Caesar is the Emperor Nero: and I am convinced that a glimpse of his artistic and cultural achievements will prove to be not only educational but positively stimulating for her.
For my part, I would certainly like to interview the man, for I have always suspected that History has dealt harshly with him. For instance, I have never believed that he fiddled during the famous conflagration; and I base this conclusion on the fact that the violin had not as yet been invented; no, the instrument, if any, must surely have been a lyre. So, if the fiddle be myth, then what of the Great Fire itself? Well, we shall see – for no doubt Nero himself will be able to enlighten me in due course...
Later: hardly had I written the above, when Vicki provided an instant corroboration of my musical speculations.
It appears that, this very morning, she and Barbara encountered in town a quavering ancient who professed himself to be a wandering scholar or bard; and who proceeded to prove this contention for the benefit of such passers-by as he could detain, by the performance of a rambling iambic account of the Rape of Lucretia.
Hardly a suitable subject for a mixed audience, I would have thought; but no matter: the important point is that he accompanied this piece of prurient scurrility upon an instrument which can only have been - from Vicki’s description - a lyre!
So I was right - as always! What a bright child she is, to be sure! And what an amenable amanuensis she will make during my short survey of the foundations of Western Culture...
We shall leave for Rome tomorrow.
DOCUMENT III
First Letter from Legionary (Second Class) Ascaris
Salve, Mater!
I hope you are well as habitual, and as it leaves me also, I am pleased to say.
Well, this new posting is a piece of cake and cushy as they come, so do not worry or fret as I would have expected of you if I’d been sent to bash barbarians in Gaul like my poor eagle-carrying mates.
So, guess what! I have been taken off normal duties, and put on special service to the Empire! So how about that for a bit of all right, eh? What it boils down to, though, is that I am at this moment sitting in a bush waiting to kill a lyre-player - or should that be lyricist? Anyway, it’s a fact, and one on account of which I could not be happier, neither of my ears being in the least musical, as you and Dad have reason enough to know I should think! Well, you can’t have everything, can you? But what I do have is these other homicidal tendencies, which were once a worry to you, but can now be put to good use at the Emperor’s pleasure. For the whisper in the barracks is that my orders come from his very self, the crack-brained twit!
And why, you may ask, should His Imperial Obesity concern himself over the disembowelment of one humble musician, when there are so many other more distinguished persons nearer home who are simply asking for it, many of them relatives, and at least one his wife?
Well, I will tell you: it appears that this particular target is by no means humble, but reckoned to be in the running for the Golden Rose Bowl at the Senate Song Contest for which you will have seen the publicity hand-outs in full colour. And, of course, His Nibs can’t have that, can he?
‘Cause he’s already tagged the trophy for his own purposes, and moreover cleared a space for it on his dining table.
So what I’m required to do is nobble the favourite, thank you, and sharp about it, or else! Would you ever believe artistic licence could go so far? Never mind, I anticipate no difficulty, as they tell me the jazz-singer in question is of an elderly type and not likely