It was the maniacal precision of the game that really got me into chess; the inescapable fatality of it all--the Queens, Bishops, Knights and Rooks in their endless war, the Pawns marching relentlessly to their doom--or to glorious victory as new-born Queens at the far end of the board...but it was the Endgame I lived for, the final dance of death...the most intense satisfaction is to be found there, as a lone King shepherds his last few Pawns across the killing squares, outwitting his equally denuded opponent. If you have watched the series I, CLAUDIUS as many times as I have, you get the same feeling about the series as you do in a game of

ACT ONE, SCENE ONE (EXTERIOR CASTLE--the craggy towers and broken battlements are illuminated by a lightning flash, followed by peal of thunder; distant wails are heard on the rising winds...cut to CASTLE INTERIOR, a high-vaulted gloomy chamber, its walls hung with decaying tapestries and rusted medieval weaponry...enter COUNT MARTROVIUS MARTROVIAN, the gaunt, hollow-eyed scion of an accursed family, the last of his line, clad in dark purple velvet with effete white lace at his throat and sleeve-ends; he staggers to a sideboard, pours himself a flute of Tokay from a crystal decanter, and raises the glass to an immense portrait hanging over a