A Song for Nero [Hardcover]

Thomas Holt provides us, in A Song for Nero, with one of the more ingeniously unlikely what-ifs of the modern historical novel: what if the body rebel troops found and dishonoured was not that of the deposed emperor Nero, but that of his official double, Callistus? A decade later, he and Callistus's mouthy younger brother Galen are still wandering the provinces of the empire, living hand to mouth and scam to scam--in some ways, a more inventive punishment for a tyrant than any court could imagine.

Holt's Nero is a fascinating set of contradictions, a fairly likable man in recovery from the total corruption of absolute power and keen to deny his worst crimes, or at least play them down. The petty crook Galen is the ideal foil for him, someone who cannot quite believe that his companion once did those things. And then their problems start. Not everybody thinks Nero is really dead, and there are all sorts of people with a use for him.

Like Holt's other historical novels, this one combines some of the inventive wit of his fantasies with real knowledge of the Classical period and a dark sense of irony; its principal weakness--some very routine thriller plotting--does not diminish the effectiveness of this distinctive tone of voice. --Roz Kaveney

Holt's comic-historical novel begins with an irresistible premise: that Nero, ex-Emperor of the Romans, is now traipsing round the ancient world with a 'tickler' of bath houses (where clothes are stolen via a long pole and a hook), a down-at-heel con man. Add a large supporting cast and the search for some lost treasure and the result is very entertaining - even if the main plot takes a while to get going. Holt's conversational style, arguably sometimes distracting in its knowing manner, has great immediacy and charm, carrying the reader swiftly through a series of events, comic and fantastic. Characteristically, the author wears his period research lightly throughout. Nero and his travelling companion Galen are an excellent fictional duo, making this a highly recommendable book.

'A fascinating, gripping, moving story'

'This is a very funny book; like most great humour it bites deeper than would a sombre book on the same theme'

The new historical novel from the acclaimed author of THE WALLED ORCHARD, ALEXANDER AT WORLD'S END and OLYMPIAD. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

History tells us that in 69AD, at the ripe old age of 32 and on hearing that General Glaba's forces were closing in, Nero fled his palace in Rome. He stabbed himself in the throat with a pen and was trampled to death by horses in a muddy ditch. His last words were, 'What an artist dies with me'. But there is another possibility: Nero did not die in that ditch, but somebody who looked very much like him did. This gives Nero the opportunity to start a new life in pursuit of his first love: music. But there's a problem - Nero is being pursued by two people who have reason to suspect he is still alive - one wants him dead, the other is a passionate fan of his dreadful music and wants his genius recognised .

Tom Holt is the author of such comic fantasy classics as WHO'S AFRAID OF BEOWULF?, EXPECTING SOMEONE TALLER and OVERTIME, and of historical fiction, including THE WALLED ORCHARD and ALEXANDER AT THE WORLD'S END.

So there we were in the condemned cell in Damascus – which is in Syria, and believe me, you don’t want to go there, it’s scalpingly hot and the people are not friendly – waiting for the soldiers to come back and take us off to be crucified.
I tapped him on the shoulder (he was huddled in the corner, sulking) and I said to him, ‘Lucius Domitius, can I ask you a question?’
‘Piss off,’ he grunted, so I tapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘We’ve been going around together now for, what is it, seven years or is it eight, I lose track, and all this time I’ve been wanting to ask you—’
‘Ask me what?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, it’s a bit personal and you know how uptight you get talking about the old days. But any minute now they’re going to take us out and kill us, so I thought, it can’t do any harm. So?’
‘What?’
‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’
He didn’t turn round, but his shoulders sort of wobbled. ‘Yeah, why not? What did you want to know?’
‘Is it true you murdered your mother?’
‘For God’s sake, Galen.’ This time he did turn round. ‘Of all the things to come out with at a time like this.’
‘Yes, all right,’ I said. ‘Keep your hair on. I’d just like to know, that’s all.’
He sighed. ‘You’d just like to know.’
‘That’s right. Come on, just to please me. Like I said, we’ve been friends a long time now.’
He was wearing that words-fail-me expression. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Ah, right,’ I said. ‘Only, everyone says you did.’
‘Then everyone’s wrong,’ he replied. ‘Not for the first time,’ he added. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you overhear at the bathhouse.’
‘Fine,’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘I believe you. If you say you didn’t do it, you didn’t do it. Only you must admit – killing your own mother, it’s not the sort of thing people make up out of their heads. Usually, when people say things like that, you generally find there’s a grain of truth in it somewhere.’
He scowled at me. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You mean, probably I murdered her just a little bit?’
I sighed. ‘There you go again,’ I said, ‘being hostile. Every time I ask you about the old days, you get hostile. You know, a lot of people would be offended by that. Lucky for you I’m hard to offend.’
‘I know,’ he said, in a funny sort of a way.
‘Well, there you are. And if you’re telling me you didn’t kill your old mum, I believe you, not a moment’s hesitation. So, what about your wife?’
He stared at me as if I wasn’t making sense. ‘What about my wife?’
‘Did you kill her?’
‘No I bloody well didn’t,’ he snapped. ‘Either of them,’ he added.
I peered in the water jug, just in case someone had crept in while our backs were turned and filled it up since I last looked, two minutes before. Let me tell you, Syrian prisons are the worst place on earth, hot as hell and they give you one piddly little jug of water to last you all day. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘that’s all I wanted to know. Only, you do hear all those stories, and you can’t help wondering. Well, you know.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t. What’s the matter, does the thought of being locked up with a psychotic killer bother you?’
I laughed. ‘Never has in the past. And you think I’m kidding, I was in a cell with a murderer once. Real nasty piece of work he was, stole a slave boy from a barracks on one of those big country places, cut him up into little bits, fried him in oil and ate him. Said he was hungry, apparently, and he didn’t have the price of a plate of whitebait. Anyway, I was in this cell with him – Beneventum, I think it was, or maybe it was Ancona, anyway, it doesn’t make any odds – and a nicer man I never spent time with. We scratched a chequers board on the floor and made the pieces out of little pellets of bread from our rations.’
He frowned, like he was thinking about something. ‘So what happened to him in the end?’
‘Oh, they executed him,’ I replied. ‘Well, you can see their point. Can’t have a vicious bastard like that roaming the countryside. But he was really pleasant to me.’
He turned round again and faced the wall. ‘I’d like it if you’d shut up now. We’re going to be dead soon, and it’d be nice to take a little time to compose my thoughts.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me asking, it’s just curiosity. Are you sure about the wives, by the way?’
He made a funny noise; I couldn’t quite make it out. ‘Pretty sure,’ he said.
‘Only,’ I went on, ‘your first wife – gods, what was she called?’ Memory like a colander. Olympia? Orfitia?’
‘Octavia.’
‘That’s right, Octavia. Wasn’t she executed or something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, so you did—’
‘No, I did not.’ He was rubbing at his eyes with his thumbs. He tended to do that when he was upset about something. ‘She was found guilty of adultery and the court sentenced her to death. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. In fact, I was horrified when they told me. All right? Or do you want me to swear an oath or something?’
‘No, no, I believe you,’ I told him. ‘After all, why would you lie to me? Especially now, when we’ll both be dead in two shakes. I mean, what’d be the point?’