“What has been decided?” asked Agrippina.
“There will be no games,” said Nero.
Nero was the sixteen-year-old son of Agrippina, and was her favorite because he had inherited the manly bearing and the handsome features of his father. His black eyes were bright and quick, and his face was expressive of joy and kindness.
“But I had already told thee that out of respect for thine uncle’s death the games might be prevented,” said Agrippina.
“I had thought they might be postponed,” said Nero, in a disappointed tone.
“Who has told thee?” asked Agrippina.
“Sejanus,” answered Nero. “Instead, gratuities will be given the people.”
“Strive higher, O my son, than to amuse the people,” gently advised Agrippina. “Aim for the greatest distinction that the Roman can bestow,—the triumph. There is no more glorious picture than that of a hero marching with his captives along the Via Sacra towards the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. Such honors did thy ancestors enjoy. Be a true descendant of the Divine Julius and the Divine Augustus. Be a true son of thy father.”
“Verily, I will try,” said Nero.
“Dost thou remember thy father’s triumph, O Drusus?”