By Thomas Holt
Historical past tells us that during sixty nine advert, Nero fled his palace in Rome, stabbed himself within the throat with a pen, and was once trampled to dying by means of horses in a muddy ditch. yet here is one other chance: Nero didn't die in that ditch, yet a person who seemed a great deal like him did. this provides Nero the chance to begin a brand new existence in pursuit of his first love—music. yet Nero is being pursued via those that have cause to suspect he's nonetheless alive—one desires him useless, the opposite is a passionate fan of his dreadful tune and needs his genius well-known.
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Extra resources for A Song for Nero: A Novel
No, I won’t let you. Don’t even say such a thing, it’s horrible—’ Callistus slapped him round the face, put a lot of wrist into it. It worked. Lucius Domitius stopped squealing and stared at him in horror. ‘That’s settled, then,’ Callistus said. ’ He held out one of the little daggers. ‘Come on, then, we don’t know how long we’ve got. It’d be best if you can scuff my face up a bit, not so much that they won’t recognise me, just enough to blur the edges a bit. ’ But Lucius Domitius was sliding down the wall like a slug and sobbing helplessly He wasn’t going to be any use.
Phaon tore his eyes off the thing on the ground and looked up at me. ’ he said. ‘Now you go out and meet the cavalry,’ I said. ’ I don’t know who was saying all this stuff. It sounded like the sort of thing Callistus would say, only it was my voice I could hear, but when was I ever that bright or that resourceful? ‘You tell them,’ I went on, ‘that the slave who did this was Epaphroditus—you know, that evil little wanker who used to write his letters for him. This is very important: Galen and Callistus were never here, you never saw them tonight, it was Epaphroditus the secretary who killed him, and he ran off before you got here.
Hundreds of ‘em he put in there, thousands even, and not more than one in twenty made it past the first year, or so they reckon. All the rich and powerful Roman lords who pissed him off, or else he was after their money and trumped up some phoney charge against them. ’ ‘I remember,’ I said with a sigh. ’ ‘Too bloody right. Anyhow,’ he went on, spilling some of the wine as he poured it, ‘one of the things that creep Nero did was, he’d hold these parties for all the high-up Romans, and when he’d got them trapped in that huge palace of his in Rome, he’d make ‘em all sit there for hours and hours while he played his harp at them and sang.
A Song for Nero: A Novel by Thomas Holt