'Now, kids, stick with your mother,' said Demetrius to the children. 'This isn't a Greek theatre. Your dad, Cleopas, and the other men will have to go in another door.'

Argyros screwed his (well-scrubbed) face into a puzzled expression. 'But, Uncle Demetri, we wanted to sit with you.'

Radu, too, looked confused. 'Can't we be a family group?'

Demetri shook his head. 'Romans are all about what's done and not done. Separate sections for men, women and children, slaves, citizens, and patricians.' He shrugged.

'Oh, well, kids,' said Radu. 'When in Rome – or in this case, Potentia. . . ' For compensation, he gave the youngest member of their household a piggyback ride all the way to the small theatre, which was over by the east wall of the modest city. Demetrius took Chryssa by the hand, while Cleopas and Telly escorted Ermione in case of stray men offering unwanted kamaki¹. Cleo and Kiki followed, arm-in-arm, chatting and greeting acquaintances among the slaves and small shopkeepers along the way. It was a cheery crowd on a warm evening, and the whole town seemed to be underway. That was all right: the theatre was only 'small' in comparison to an arena. It could hold pretty much the whole population.

At the theatre, the group split up and went to their separate entrances. Chryssa and Argyros waved goodbye reluctantly. Demetrius and Radu, dressed in their best togas and resigned to the company of their alleged peers, entered with the other members of Potentian 'society': the officials, military types, leading citizens, and patricians.

'Remind me again why we have to pass for patricians?' muttered Radu.

'Because humans are dangerous if you don't have leverage,' Demetrius hissed back. 'Now behave yourself and look gracious. Everybody will be watching you.'

'Everybody will be –? Why?' Radu soon saw why. The elite were being seated in what used to be, in times more ancient, the orchestra pit. Big orchestras were out of fashion now, and the musicians were positioned on the stage. The circular area in front of the scaenae was reserved for the elite theatregoers, the ones who came to see and be seen. And they would be seen.

Radu sighed.

As they took their seats, a familiar voice was heard. 'Salvete, amici! Well met on such a festive night!' It was old Pertinax, of course, looking none the worse for wear in spite of his encounter with the psychedelic torpedo fish. The Gheorghenis stared – not at Pertinax, who didn't look any odder than usual, but at the vision accompanying him.

The young man, who resembled Pertinax a bit around the nose, eyes, and hairline, was tall, muscular, and handsome enough by Mediterranean standards to have starred in a dozen Hercules movies, if Cinecittà had been in operation. Unfortunately, the movie giant wouldn't open for business for nigh-on a couple of millennia, so the young man had obviously had to pick another profession. Demetrius guessed he was in the army.

That boy is a whole recruiting poster by himself, he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, 'Ave, Pertinax! And whom have we here to share our festive evening?' He punched Radu in the ribs before he could snigger.

Pertinax beamed like rosy-fingered Dawn as he presented his son Manius. The old man was positively bursting with pride, a fact that the younger Pertinax seemed to accept as merely his due. He shook hands with Demetrius and Radu with a grip obviously designed to intimidate. He smiled broadly at them both, revealing a set of perfect teeth.

'Manius is on his way to join the VII Claudia in Dalmatia,' Pertinax informed them proudly. 'He's a centurion and fast gaining a reputation as a warrior!' He patted his son's bulging bicep.

Manius lowered his voice. 'Father, perhaps we shouldn't discuss troop movements or my reputation in a public place. There might be spies in the crowd.' He looked incredibly pleased to be shown off, however. Demetrius and Radu managed to make suitably complimentary remarks without choking.

To Demetrius' vast relief, a tinny trumpet sounded, indicating that the play was about to begin. The four took their places: Manius on his father's right, with Demetrius carefully placing himself between Radu and Pertinax the Elder. They made themselves as comfortable as possible on the canvas folding chairs as a single actor walked out on stage.

'No programmes?' whispered Radu, as Demetrius rolled his eyes. 'What is this play about, anyway?'

'This actor is about to tell us.'

The actor cleared his throat. 'People of Potentia, tonight we will present a comedy – the Miles Gloriosus of Titus Maccius Plautus!'

Under the enthusiastic applause of a relieved audience who'd feared a Greek tragedy, Radu muttered, 'Bring on the lovers, liars, and clowns!' Demetrius chuckled.

Pertinax nodded approval. 'You can't go wrong with the classics,' he commented, flapping his toga to show his appreciation for the selection of the fabula palliata.

When the applause had settled down, the actor proceeded to deliver the Argument – essentially setting the stage for the action that followed. Since of course there were no programmes, it was necessary to introduce all the characters and explain their backstories. Thus it was that the audience learned about the cast and tale.

Captain Pyrgopolynices (The 'Much-Conquering Tower') has abducted the beautiful meretrix Philocomasium ('Party Girl') and taken her to Ephesus to be his mistress. She didn't really want to go, but he wouldn't take no for an answer and he had a big sword. . .

While the audience was chortling at the names, Radu whispered, 'I've been to Ephesus. They have this awful statue of Artemis. . . '

'I've seen it,' replied Demetrius grimly. 'Don't remind me.'

Philocomasium's boyfriend Pleusicles ('Young Man in Love') follows her to Ephesus to get her back. His former slave, Palaestrio ('Gym-Boy') has also been captured and sold to Pyrgowhat'shisface. As a servant in Pyrgo's house, Palaestrio makes a hole in the wall that allows Philia and Pleusicles to meet in secret. Alas, another servant in the house of Pyrgo, one Sceledrus ('Leg'), happens to be climbing around on the roof of old Periplectomenus ('Roundly Pounded'), the next-door neighbour.

Now what, you ask, was Sceledrus doing on Periplectomenus's roof? As well you might. . .

'Is he going to tell us the whole plot?' whispered Radu under the laughter.

'Quite probably,' Demetrius said.

'Won't that sort of spoil the whole thing?'

'You obviously fail to properly appreciate classical theatre.'

Sceledrus was looking for an escaped monkey.

Guffaws. The actor shrugged as if to say, What did you expect? I didn't write this stuff.

Palaestrio, a quick thinker. . .

'Of course,' whispered Demetrius, 'He is the servus callidus, the clever servant.'

. . . convinces Sceledrus that he can't believe his own eyes. Besides, Philia has an identical twin. . .

Radu groaned, softly. Demetrius punched him in the ribs.

Periplectomenus is persuaded to help out by pretending that the meretrix Acroteleutium ('Sloppy Seconds') is his wife – who, however, is supposedly madly in love with Pyrgopolynices. Together they fool the braggart soldier, make off with a lot of loot, and allow the lovers and Palaestrio to escape back to Athens.

'Hurrah!' The audience applauded this plot summary and settled down to enjoy the action. Radu rolled his eyes. 'The suspense is going to be killing me.'

Pyrgopolynices strode out, resplendent in fake armour.

Take ye care that the lustre of my shield is more bright than the rays of the sun are wont to be at the time when the sky is clear; that when occasion comes, the battle being joined, 'mid the fierce ranks right opposite it may dazzle the eyesight of the enemy. But, I wish to console this sabre of mine, that it may not lament nor be downcast in spirits, because I have thus long been wearing it keeping holiday, which so longs right dreadfully to make havoc of the enemy².

It was at this point that Demetrius began to become uneasy. From the argument and the way the actor was portraying the 'glorious soldier' as a vicious braggart – he was now reckoning up his personal body count to his sycophantic drinking buddy – Demetrius could tell that the military was not going to be flattered here. He worried that Pertinax and his son might be offended. Not that he cared if they were offended. But offended Romans tended to take it out on the lower classes, which included actors, a downtrodden lot at best, some of whom were slaves. He sneaked a peek at his theatre companions.

Both of them were laughing their heads off. That was a relief, though puzzling.

For the two hours it took for the head servant to be sufficiently fooled and the miles gloriosus to be bamboozled and receive his comeuppance, everybody in the place laughed uproariously and applauded wildly. The comedy was as big a hit as it had been in Plautus' day – as big a hit as its predecessor was in more ancient Athens, the one Plautus nicked it from. It will be a big hit again in 2000 years, thought Demetrius, on Broadway, only with better jokes and better music. Also girls. For, of course, men and boys were playing all the parts.

Everybody enjoyed the play – except for Radu, who fell asleep. At least he didn't snore. Demetrius amused himself by singing Everybody Oughta Have a Maid in his head.

Afterwards, as they were filing out, Demetrius located Cleopas and slipped him a bag of coins. 'Take this to the chief of the histriones,' he said quietly. 'And do not let anyone know.'

Cleopas' eyes widened, but then he nodded understanding. Demetrius was known to appreciate art – and to have a soft spot for foreigners. All actors were foreigners, no Roman would do it. The Romans were weird about it, in Cleopas' view. He hurried away.

Demetrius saw Radu with the children, and waved. They were chattering happily about the play, which they had obviously enjoyed. Now Radu was enjoying it, too, seen through their eyes. He scooped up the others and began walking them back home as Demetrius joined his neighbours in their dignified stroll.

'Hahae, that was quite a good play,' was Pertinax's jocular but judicious
assessment. 'The actors behaved with admirable restraint and taste. Not at all like that lot a couple of years ago. Why, one actor pointed at a citizen from the stage! He was whipped and exiled, of course.'

'Of course,' murmured Demetrius, then to Pertinax Filius, 'You didn't mind the subject matter?'

'Why in the world should I?' The young soldier seemed surprised.

'Why, because the butt of the humour was a military man.'

The young colossus threw back his head and laughed. 'Why, him? No harm in the world. It was just a bunch of silly Greeks. And you know how they are.'

'I see,' commented Demetrius. For the rest of the walk home, he let old Pertinax tell him all about how Pompey the Great managed to fool the Senate into approving Rome's first permanent theatre building while Julius Caesar was out of town.

From somewhere in front of them, in the darkness, he heard singing.

Nothing with gods, nothing with fate;

Weighty affairs will just have to wait³!

DG

22.04.24 Front Page

Back Issue Page