Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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As far as Lucius could determine, no other wise man, whether philosopher or religious savant, had ever declared universal chastity to be a virtue. At first, Lucius was dubious of following this example, but in fact he was already practising it. Since the death of Cornelia, he had withdrawn from seeking intimacy with anyone else. It required no real change on his part to emulate Apollonius, and once he made a conscious decision to do so, he felt a great sense of freedom and relief.

Apollonius held the great and powerful in no special esteem. Nor did he fear them. During his first visit to Roma, in the reign of Nero, he had attracted the attention of the emperor’s henchman Tigellinus, who had put a watch on him. Apollonius gave the informers no cause to arrest him, until he happened to hear Nero sing one day in a common tavern. The emperor was incognito, wearing a mask, but there was no doubt that it was him. Tigellinus was in the audience, also in disguise, wearing a hooded cloak and an eyepatch. After Nero’s performance, he asked Apollonius’s opinion.

“Was it not fit for the gods?”

“If the gods like it, we must strive not to think less of them,” said Apollonius.

Tigellinus was incensed. “Do you realize who that was? You’ve just heard Caesar sing one of his own compositions. Was it not divine?”

“Now that it is over, I do feel closer to the gods.”

“Stop speaking in riddles and say what you mean! I say the singing was wonderful. What do you say?”

“I say I have a higher opinion of the emperor than you do.”

“How is that?”

“You think it is wonderful if he sings. I think it is wonderful if he simply remains silent.”

Tigellinus charged Apollonius with impugning the dignity of the emperor and arrested him. As the trial approached, he realized that he needed stronger evidence than the ambiguous statements made by Apollonius. He put an informer up to writing a series of charges against Apollonius and had the charges notarized, so that when they were produced in court they would appear to come from an outside witness. All sorts of false statements were imputed to Apollonius, of a nature seditious enough to have him put to death.

In the court, before Nero and the magistrates, Apollonius was called forth. Tigellinus produced the sealed scroll upon which the accusations were written and brandished it like a dagger. But when he unrolled the scroll, his jaw dropped and he stood speechless.

Nero demanded to see the scroll for himself. “Is this a joke?” he asked Tigellinus. The parchment was completely blank. Nero ordered Tigellinus to set Apollonius free, with the stipulation that he should leave Italy at once.

“Nero thought I was a magician,” explained Apollonius. “He feared that I would exact a supernatural revenge if I were to be imprisoned or executed.”

“But, Teacher,” asked Lucius, “how did it happen that the scroll Tigellinus produced was blank? Had the original scroll been taken and another substituted? Had the scribe been given a special ink, which faded away? Or did you call upon some supernatural power to make the lies on the parchment vanish?”

“I can think of another possibility,” said Apollonius. “What if those who looked at the scroll simply did not see the writing that was there?”

“But, Teacher, how could that happen?”

“Very often, when a thing is inexplicable, it is simply a matter of seeing or not seeing. Just as it is possible to open a man’s eyes to what is before him, simply by directing his attention, so there are ways to make a man blind to what is before him.” That was as clear an explanation as Apollonius would give.

Apollonius had also met Vespasian. This was when Vitellius was emperor. Legions supporting Vespasian were marching on Roma, but Vespasian himself was in Alexandria. Uncertain about the future and eager for advice, Vespasian had solicited the counsel of the most prestigious astrologers and philosophers in a city renowned for its learning. In his first meeting with Vespasian, Apollonius described a vision in which he beheld the final days of Vitellius, including the burning of the Temple of Jupiter and the narrow escape of Domitian. Vespasian was dubious, but a messenger brought news of these events to Alexandria the very next day. Vespasian was greatly impressed. “Either this fellow truly has visions of far-off events,” he remarked, “or else he has information-gathering capabilities superior to my own. Either way, I want his advice!”

“I took advantage of that the opportunity to encourage Vespasian in his ambitions,” Apollonius told Lucius. “I could see he was a man of equable temperament, and the most likely candidate to restore peace and order to the chaotic state of the empire. But later, when he wrote me letters beseeching me to come to Roma to advise him, I refused.”

“Why, Teacher?”

“Because of his treatment of the Greeks. Nero had many faults, but he loved Greece and Greek culture; he bestowed many privileges on the Greek cities, allowing them a degree of dignity and freedom no emperor had granted them before. But Vespasian saw fit to revoke every one of those privileges. He deliberately and systematically returned the Greeks to their subservient state. He was a great disappointment to me. Whenever he wrote to me, I wrote a scolding letter back to him.”

“No!”

“Oh yes.”

“What did you say in these letters?”

“This was my final letter to him. ‘Apollonius to the Emperor Vespasian: A bad man redeemed himself by freeing the Greeks. A good man tarnished himself by enslaving them. Why should any man desire the company of a counsellor to whom he will not listen? Farewell.’”

Given a letter of introduction by Vespasian, Apollonius had also met Titus. This was in Tarsus, after Vespasian returned to Roma as emperor and entrusted affairs in the East to his son.

“I liked Titus,” said Apollonius. “He was surprisingly modest and had a wonderful sense of humour. And at thirty, when many fighting men let themselves go, he kept himself very fit. Titus had a very stout neck, like an athlete in training. Once I grabbed him by the back of the neck and said, ‘Who could ever force such a sturdy bull neck as this under a yoke?’ And Titus laughed and said, ‘Only the man who reared me from a calf!’ His deference to his father was endearing, yet he had the makings of a better ruler than his father. Alas, we had the father for ten years and the son for only two.”

“Is it true that you foretold Titus’s early death?” said Lucius.

Apollonius smiled. “Sometimes, I know, I seem to speak in riddles. But about this I shall be as clear as I can. Imagine that you enter a dark cave. You strike a spark, and for just an instant you see the extent of the place. The details are uncertain, and the shape of the cavern is vague, but you grasp at once if the cave is large or small. So it is, sometimes, when I first meet a person. In a flash I sense whether their time on this earth will be long or short. I knew from the moment I met him that Titus would not live to be as old as his father. He was like a lamp that burns more brightly than others but for a shorter time.”

“And his brother?”

“I haven’t met Domitian. But to me it seems he is not like a lamp at all. He is an extinguisher of lamps. He brings darkness, not light.”

“I wonder how much longer his reign of darkness will last.”

Apollonius shrugged. “The man is only forty-two.”

“That was the age at which Titus died.”

“Yes, but Vespasian lived to be sixty-two.”

“Twenty more years of Domitian!” exclaimed Lucius.

“Perhaps,” said Apollonius. “Or perhaps not.”

Lucius reclined on his couch in the garden, his eyes shut, smelling the flowers, thinking of how his life had changed in the year since he had met the Teacher.

He felt the warmth of the sun on his bare feet. Apollonius had taught him to go barefoot. What need had a man for shoes in his own house? Sometimes Lucius even went to the Forum barefoot. Others stared at him as if he were mad.

“Are you dreaming?” said Apollonius. He had excused himself for a moment to empty his bladder in the small latrina off the garden. The Teacher had a body just like those of other men, and was subject to the same needs to ingest and expel as dictated by the endlessly repeating cycles of mortal flesh.

“The others will arrive soon,” said Lucius, wishing it were not so. He treasured time alone with the Teacher, listening to his stories, asking him questions, simply enjoying his tranquil presence. But Apollonius had many friends, and it sometimes fell to Lucius to play host to the others in his home. He was expecting perhaps fifty men and women. They would be of all social ranks, from freedmen to patricians like himself. There would probably be a few senators among them, but also shopkeepers and artisans and bricklayers. No one who wished to hear Apollonius speak was turned away.

Lucius looked at the Teacher and smiled. To a careless observer, Apollonius might appear to be nothing more than a doddering old man. But such were the illusions of the material world: appearances meant nothing. Emulating Apollonius, Lucius had begun to eschew the services of his barber. His hair had never been so long, and never before had he sported a beard. At the age of forty-six, Lucius had only a few touches of silver in his hair, but someday he might hope to have a beard as fleece-white as that of the Teacher.

“What story will you tell the gathering today?” asked Lucius.

“I was thinking I might talk about my time in Ethiopia.”

Lucius nodded. The Teacher’s stories about Ethiopia were among Lucius’s favourites.

“I thought in particular I might tell the story of my encounter with the satyr, since most people nowadays have never seen a satyr and have various misconceptions about the creatures.”

Lucius sat upright. “You met a satyr in Ethiopia? I’ve never heard that story.”

“Could it be that I never told you?”

“Never! I’m sure I would have remembered.”

“Well, then. It was during my journey to the see the great lake from whence the Nile originates. On its shores one finds a colony of the naked sages, who are wiser than Greek philosophers but not quite so wise as the sages of India, to whom they are kin. They welcomed me heartily, but I could see they were in distress, and I asked the cause.

“Nightly, they were plagued by the visitations of a wild creature, a being that was goat-like from the waist down, with shaggy hind legs and hooves, and man-like from the waist up, but with goat horns and pointed ears. From their description I deduced it was a satyr, a being previously unknown in those parts. This satyr interrupted the sleep of the sages, tramping outside their huts and bleating in the middle of the night. When they confronted the satyr and complained, the creature made rude noises and obscene gestures. When they attempted to apprehend him, he proved to be swifter than even the swiftest among them, leaping and careening and causing them to trip over one another and make fools of themselves.

“The sages took me to a nearby village, where the elders informed me that the satyr’s incursions there were far more serious. At least once a month, always by night, he intruded upon the comeliest and most nubile of the women, muttering incantations in their ears while they slept, putting them under a spell and luring them into the woods. A few of the women had awakened from this spell and dared to resist him, whereupon the creature physically attacked them, strangling them and trampling them with his hooves. Two women had been killed in this way, and others had been seriously injured. The villagers were terrified of the satyr.”

“What did you do to help those people, Teacher?”

“I recalled my studies of a rare book left to us by King Midas, who was known to have a bit of satyr blood in his own veins, as could be seen by the shape of his ears. Occasionally his satyr relatives imposed on Midas’s hospitality, making chaos of his court with their wild behaviour. But as a child Midas had been told by his mother of a way to deal with satyrs, which he put to the test. Wine has a peculiar effect on them. When a satyr imbibes, he becomes intoxicated, as men do, and eventually he falls fast asleep, snoring loudly, as men do. But when the satyr awakens from this drunken stupor, his animal nature has departed from him and he is as harmless as a child. Such a tame satyr is capable of being taught to speak and even to reason. The widespread reformation of satyrs is no doubt one reason they are so very rarely seen nowadays, since such satyrs are more afraid of humans than are humans of them.

“But a wild satyr has a great aversion to wine, so the challenge is to trick him into drinking it. The villagers had reason to think this satyr drank at night from a particular cattle trough. The chief of the village had a jar of Egyptian wine left over from a recent festival. At my instruction, every drop of wine was emptied into the trough one night. In the morning it could be seen that a substantial part of the mixture of water and wine had been drunk.

“The satyr was asleep in his lair, no doubt, but where was that? I traversed the area all around the village, pricking up my ears, listening for the sound of snoring. At last I heard a faint noise. I followed it to a place the locals called the Grotto of the Nymphs. There, lying on a mossy stone amid the reeds, snoring loudly, lay the satyr, fast asleep and stinking of wine.

“The villagers were eager to awaken him, but I thought it best that he should be allowed to come to his senses in his own time. An hour later, quite abruptly, he ceased snoring, rubbed his eyes, and stood upright. The villagers were of a mind to stone him, and even began to gather up suitable rocks, but I shielded him with my own body and told the villagers they must do no harm to the creature, for now he was a changed satyr and his days of mischief were behind him. That night, at a blessedly sober festival – for all the wine was gone – the naked sages danced for the villagers, and the satyr joined them, leaping and somersaulting in the air.”

Lucius smiled. The scent of jasmine under the hot sun was intoxicating. “If I heard such a tale from any other man, I wouldn’t believe it for a moment,” he said. “But from you, Teacher-”

Hilarion rushed into the garden. From his look of alarm, he was not there to announce the arrival of the guests.

“Praetorian Guards!” he said. “They refused to wait in the vestibule-”

Armed men entered the garden.

“You must be Apollonius of Tyana,” said an officer. “I’d think this hairy fellow was your son, if I didn’t know better,” he said, smirking at Lucius. “I should think a well-born patrician could find a better teacher to model himself on, or at least one who was better groomed. But don’t worry, we’ll relieve you both of those ridiculous beards soon enough.”

Lucius was snatched up by the guards and dragged from his house. He and Apollonius were marched barefoot through the streets, towards the imperial palace, while his neighbours, alerted by the commotion, looked on. Some were aghast, but others looked smugly pleased. Lucius’s disdain for social functions, his eccentric new appearance, and his disreputable-looking visitors had caused a scandal among his well-connected neighbours on the Palatine.

They approached the same entrance to the palace at which Lucius had arrived for his dinner in the black room. He felt a surge of panic and looked to Apollonius for guidance. The Teacher did not appear to be impressed by the grand entryway, or fearful of what might lie beyond.

“Teacher, do you understand what’s happening?”

“I think so. At long last, I am to meet the emperor.”

“Forgive me, Teacher. If I had been on my guard, if Hilarion had given us more warning-”

“Then what? Would you expect me to avoid the opportunity to meet Domitian? This is why I came to Roma.”

“But, Teacher-”

“Let us be grateful that these men arrived when they did. Had they come later, they might have arrested all those visitors you were expecting, and that would have been most inconvenient for everyone concerned. Imagine such a crowd, being herded into the House of the Flavians. This way, we may hope to have the emperor’s undivided attention.”

They were taken through a maze of corridors, arriving at last in a small but opulently decorated reception room. In an ornate chair atop a dais, Domitian sat with his chin cupped in one hand, looking bored. A eunuch secretary was reading aloud to him from a scroll. When Apollonius entered the room, Domitian waved aside the secretary, who put down the scroll and took up a wax tablet and stylus to take notes.

“I’ve been listening to the charges against you, magician,” said Domitian.

Apollonius looked at him blankly.

“Have you nothing to say?”

“Are you addressing me?” said Apollonius. “I thought you were speaking to some magician, though I see no such person among us.”

“Do you deny that you practice magic, Apollonius of Tyana?”

“Does magic exist? Our ancestors believed that there were two means of obtaining favours from the gods. The first is by propitiation, whereby a mortal sacrifices an animal and begs the gods for their blessing. The second is by magic, whereby a mortal casts a spell and compels the gods to do his will. Now, the traditional method of propitiation is surely a mistake, since the gods cannot be expected to delight in the destruction of a creature they themselves imbued with life. As for magic, can it be possible to force the gods to act against their will? Such a thing would violate the order of nature.”

“That is why we call it magic, and make it a crime,” said Domitian.

Apollonius shrugged. “As I said, I see no magician here.”

“Then what do you call yourself? You dress like a beggar. You put on airs and wear long hair and a beard, like a philosopher.”

“I call myself Apollonius, which is the name I was given at birth.”

“And you, Lucius Pinarius. You would be a dead man today, but for my mercy. What excuse can you make for consorting with this magician?”

Lucius summoned his courage. “I see no magician, Dominus.”

Domitian scowled. “I see the magician has turned you into his puppet. Did he cast a spell over you, or are you such a fool that you follow him by your own choice? Never mind. Shave off their beards.”

The Praetorians converged on them with shears and blades. Apollonius did not resist. Lucius followed his example. Their hair was roughly shorn and their beards were cut. They were stripped of their tunics but allowed to keep their loincloths. Lucius was wearing the fascinum on a thin chain around his neck. He was touching it when one of the guards seized his hands and pulled them before him. Shackles were fastened around his wrists; the metal was so heavy that Lucius could barely lift his arms. More shackles were fitted around his ankles. Lucius saw that the same thing was being done to Apollonius, who in his unclothed state looked very thin and frail.

“Now this is a curious thing,” said Apollonius. “If you think me a magician, what makes you think you can fetter me? And if you can fetter me, what makes you think I practice magic?”

Domitian was not listening. A fly had landed on an arm of his chair. The emperor motioned to the secretary to hand him his stylus. Domitian touched a fingertip to the point of the sharp instrument, held it poised above the fly for several heartbeats, then struck, transfixing the fly. He held up the skewered insect and smiled. “I learned to do that as a boy. Instead of using my stylus to copy Cicero, I spent whole afternoons hunting down the little pests and impaling them. It requires considerable skill.”

Apollonius shook his head. “When I met your brother in Tarsus, a fly landed on his finger. Do you know what he did? He blew the fly away, and we both laughed. Any man can end a life with a weapon, but not every man can spare a life with a puff of breath. Which man is more powerful?”

Domitian gritted his teeth. “Lucius Pinarius – you must appreciate the skillful use of a weapon. You’re a huntsman, aren’t you?”

“Not any longer, Dominus,” said Lucius. “All life is sacred. I kill nothing if I can help it.”

Domitian shook his head in disgust. He called to the Praetorians. “You, bring me a bow and a quiver of arrows. And you, go stand against that far wall, facing it. Extend your arm parallel with the floor. Press your hand against the wall with your fingers spread wide apart.”

Domitian tested the string of the bow, then notched an arrow. “This is another skill I taught myself. Observe, huntsman. I shall fire four arrows. Watch the spaces between the fingers.”

Domitian took aim. Lucius saw that neither the Praetorians nor the emperor’s secretary appeared apprehensive. This was a feat Domitian had performed many times before.

In sudden quiet, Lucius heard a low murmur. He could not make out the words, or where the sound came from. The murmur faded away. No one else seemed to have noticed. Lucius wondered if he had imagined it.

Domitian let fly four arrows in rapid succession. Each made a sharp sound like the buzzing of a wasp. With a grin of satisfaction, he lowered the bow.

“What do you think of that?” he said. “One arrow in each of the spaces between the man’s fingers. Titus could never have done such a thing-”

With a loud groan, the Praetorian collapsed against the wall, slid down, and lay crumpled on the floor. The secretary shrieked and dropped his wax tablet.

All four arrows had landed squarely in the Praetorian’s back, shot with such force that they had pierced his armour. Some of his comrades cried out and ran to help him.

“What is this?” shouted Domitian. His voice quavered. “This is your doing, magician!”

“I shot no arrows.” Apollonius held forth his shackled wrists to show that his hands were empty.

“Get the magician away from me! Lock them both away!”

“But what is the charge against me?” asked Apollonius.

“The secretary has written down everything you’ve said. Your own words will condemn you. You blasphemed the gods by ridiculing the practice of animal sacrifice. And you repeatedly offended my majesty by failing to address me as Dominus.”

“So a man can now be condemned for what he does not say, as well as for what he says? Your brother punished no man for speaking freely; you would punish a man for saying nothing.”

Domitian threw the bow against the floor, so hard that it broke and the string went flying.

Apollonius was unfazed. “And what are the charges against Lucius Pinarius?”

“Is he not your accomplice?”

“I would prefer to call him my friend. I have many friends. Will you arrest them all?”

“Wait and see, magician!”

Apollonius sighed and shook his head as the Praetorians attached chains to their manacles and pulled them from the room. The heavy shackles bit into Lucius’s ankles and wrists. The polished marble floor was cold against his bare feet.

They were taken to a subterranean cell lit only by grated openings in the ceiling. The stone walls seemed to sweat. Heaps of straw provided the only bedding. The place had a foul smell. For the disposal of wastes, there was a single bucket attached to a rope that could be pulled upwards through one of the openings.

They were not alone. It took Lucius’s eyes a long time to adjust to the dimness of the place, but gradually he counted more than fifty fellow prisoners, most of them huddled against the walls. Occasionally, Lucius heard something rustle in the straw and heard the squeak of a mouse.

Lucius felt faint. He steadied himself against a wall. He touched his forehead and found that it was as clammy as the stones against which he was leaning.

“Are you unwell?” said Apollonius.

“This place…”

“You’re thinking of her, and imagining the hole underground in which they confined her.”

“Yes.”

“Push all such imaginings from your mind, Lucius. Think only of this moment, and the place in which you find yourself. See it for what it is, nothing more and nothing less.”

“It’s horrible!”

“It’s certainly not as comfortable as your garden. And yet, we are able to breathe, and to move about. We have enough light by which to see each other, and more importantly, we are together, sharing each other’s company, and the company of these new friends with whom we find ourselves. I’m guessing they have many stories to tell. As long we possess curiosity, we shall not be bored.”

Lucius managed a rueful laugh. “Teacher, this is a prison.”

“Lucius, we mortals are in a prison every moment we live. The soul is bound inside a perishable body, enslaved by all the cravings which visit humanity. The man who built the first dwelling merely surrounded himself with yet another prison, and made himself a slave to it, for any dwelling must be maintained, just like the human body. I think that the man who lives in a palace is more surely a prisoner than the men he puts in chains. As for the place where we now find ourselves, we must reflect that we are not the first to be confined in this way. Many a wise man, despised by the mob or hated by a despot, has had to endure such a fate, and the best have done so with serene resignation. Let us strive to do the same, so that we may not be inferior to those who set an example before us.”

Some of the other prisoners, hearing him speak, drew closer.

“You’re Apollonius of Tyana, aren’t you?” said one of the men.

“I am.”

“I heard you speak once. I recognized your voice. But I’d never have known you otherwise. Your hair’s been cut, and so has your beard.” The man shook his head. “I never thought to see those snow-white tresses be shorn like fleece from a lamb! Who would have thought that Apollonius of Tyana could be put in chains?”

“The person who put me in chains thought of it, for otherwise he wouldn’t have done it,” said Apollonius.

The man laughed. “Truly, you are Apollonius. But those fetters must be causing you great pain. Look how the rough iron chafes the skin.”

“I hadn’t noticed. My thoughts are on more important things.”

“But how can you be in pain and not think about it? A man can’t ignore pain.”

“Not so,” said Apollonius. “The mind attends to what the self deems important. If there is injury, a man may choose not to feel pain, or order the pain to stop.”

The man pursed his lips. “But why are you still here? You’re a magician. Why don’t you just walk out?”

Apollonius laughed. “Like the man who me put me here, you accuse me of being a magician. Well, let us suppose that it’s true. In that case, it must be that I am here among you because I wish to be.”

“Why would any man wish to be here?” said another man, stepping forward and crossing his arms.

“Perhaps I can serve a purpose. Perhaps my words can give comfort or courage. How did you come to be here, friend?”

“The plain truth? I have too much wealth.”

Lucius saw that the speaker was dressed in a fine tunic and cloak, though his clothes were filthy from long confinement in the dank cell. His face was haggard, but folds of flesh hung from his chin, as if he had once been fat but had lost weight very quickly.

“Who put you here?” said Apollonius.

“Who do you think? The same man who put us all here.”

“He covets your wealth?”

“He told me to my face, before he sent me here, that an excess of wealth is dangerous for a common citizen. Money makes a man insolent and prideful, he said. As if trumping up charges against me, throwing me in this hole, and trying to extort my money was all for my own good!”

“Did he offer you a way out?”

“As soon as I’ll admit to false charges of evading taxes and hand over my fortune, I shall be released.”

“Then why are you still here? The money is doing you no good. Its only value is to buy your way out of this place.”

“I won’t give it up!”

“Your wealth landed you here, my friend, and your wealth will purchase your release. More importantly, paying the ransom will free you from the money itself, for wealth is also a prison. The man who takes it from you will only increase his bondage.”

“This is nonsense!” The man mumbled an obscenity and turned away.

Apollonius spoke in a low voice to Lucius. “I think that fellow is not quite ready to receive my message.”

“What about me?” said another man, stepping forward. He was tall and solidly built but his hands trembled. “I could use some courage. They’re taking me to face the emperor this very afternoon. I think I shall die from fear before that happens.”

“Take heart, my friend. I myself just came from the emperor’s presence, yet you can see that I emerged unscathed.”

“But everyone knows you’re fearless. How do you do it?”

“I thought of an example I would not be ashamed to follow. You can do the same.”

“But what example did you think of?”

“I remembered Odysseus and the peril he faced when he entered the cave of Polyphemus. The Cyclops was gigantic, and far too strong for even a hundred men to overmaster. With its single eye, the creature was almost too hideous to look at, and its booming voice was like thunder. Strewn all around were human bones, the remains of past meals, for the Cyclops was an eater of human flesh. But did Odysseus take fright? No. He considered his situation and asked himself how to get the better of an opponent too powerful to be overcome by force and too vicious to be reasoned with. Yet, Odysseus left the lair of the Cyclops alive, and with most of his companions alive.”

The first man who had spoken, who had asked Apollonius about the shearing of his hair and the pain caused by his shackles, spoke up again. “Are you comparing our emperor to the Cyclops? Are you saying he should be blinded?”

Apollonius whispered in Lucius’s ear, “I suspect this fellow is an informer. His previous comments were not to commiserate with me, but to goad me into speaking ill of Domitian.” Apollonius answered the man, “What do you think, my friend, of the man who put you here among us?”

The man shrugged. “I have nothing good to say about him.”

“Would that every man could have such a mild temperament! Have you no harsh words for the man who confines other men to such a foul place, who cuts their hair and puts them in shackles, who extorts their wealth, whose famous cruelty causes them to tremble when they’re called before him?”