Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“Naturally, I feel as the others here must feel.”

“And how is that? By all means, speak freely,” said Apollonius. “You can say whatever you like in front of me, for I am the last man in the world to inform against another. No? You have nothing to say? As for myself, what I have to say to the emperor, I’ll say to his face.”

“That’s telling him!” said the man who had been fearful of meeting the emperor. There were nods and grunts of agreement. Clearly, many in the cell already suspected the informer.

Apollonius stepped back, as if he were done speaking, but the other prisoners implored him to keep talking. “Tell us more,” said one of them. “The worst thing about this place is the boredom. Tell us about your travels. You’ve been all over the world.”

Apollonius sat on the floor. The prisoners gathered around him. He described rivers and mountains and deserts he had seen. He talked about the people he had met and their exotic customs. The men listened with rapt expressions, some closing their eyes, transported by the Teacher’s narrative to faraway places, freed from their prison cell by the pictures he painted in their imaginations. Lucius closed his eyes and listened with them.

Apollonius spoke of finding the spot, high in the icy mountains of the Caucasus Indicus, where even Alexander the Great had not ventured, where the gods had chained Prometheus for his crime of giving fire to mortals.

“I discovered the very manacles which had held the Titan. Gigantic they were, so big that a man could stand inside one with his arms outstretched and barely touch the sides. The manacles were set into either side of a narrow gorge – thus, one could see just how enormous Prometheus must have been. The Titan himself was long gone. The locals told me that Hercules, on one of his many journeys, came upon Prometheus even as Jupiter’s eagle arrived to perform the daily torment of tearing out the Titan’s entrails. Hercules took pity on Prometheus and shot the eagle out of the sky. In the ravine below, I found the bones of an enormous bird, larger than any other bones I had ever seen. Hercules broke the manacles and set Prometheus free. Indeed, I could see that the metal was severed and twisted, but strangely it was not covered with rust. Vulcan must have forged those manacles of some alloy unknown to mortal men.”

Exhausted by the day’s events and lulled by the Teacher’s voice, Lucius was almost dozing. He chanced to open his eyes, just enough to peer through the lashes, and saw that Apollonius was using each hand to rub the wrist of the other, stretching the tendons and massaging the soreness caused by the manacles – which were gone.

Lucius’s eyes shot open and he uttered an exclamation of amazement. The others, most of whom also seemed to be half dozing, bolted upright and followed his gaze.

“His shackles!” said one of the men. “He’s taken off his shackles.”

“Have I?” Apollonius looked around absentmindedly, as if he had misplaced something. “So I have. Ah, but it would never do for the guards to see me this way. They’d be terribly upset.” He turned his back on them for a moment and engaged in a series of peculiar movements, hunching over and twisting from side to side. When he turned back, the shackles were again around his wrists.

“There, that’s better,” said Apollonius, shaking his manacles so that they made a dull clang. He began a new story, this one about the time he had spent in Babylon in his younger days, where he met the Parthian king, Vardanes, and his Chaldean astrologers.

Lucius looked down at his own manacles. He turned his hands this way and that and tugged against the shackles. There was no way he could possibly take them off. And yet it seemed that the Teacher had slipped out of his manacles without even thinking, as a man might shuffle off a pair of loose shoes. Or had Apollonius only created the illusion of doing so? Or had he never been placed in the manacles at all?

They passed many days in the cell. The accommodations were foul and the food was poor, but the regimen was not harsh; they were not physically harmed or made to do labour. Lucius received a visit from Hilarion, who assured Lucius that everything was running smoothly in his absence. It occurred to Lucius not for the first time that he was an incidental part of his own household, which was entirely capable of running itself without him.

Apollonius also received visitors, including a delegation of distinguished men headed by Marcus Nerva, an elder statesman of the Senate. Nerva looked the part, with his narrow, ascetic face, his high, broad forehead, and his neatly groomed white hair. Lucius knew the senator to be a friend and correspondent of Dio of Prusa.

Nerva asked after the prisoner’s health; Apollonius responded by asking after the senator’s health, since Nerva looked considerably more frail than he did. From their easy manner with each other, Lucius realized that the two were old acquaintances. Lucius never ceased to be surprised at the great number and variety of people Apollonius knew. To know Apollonius, it seemed, was to be only a step or two removed from almost anyone in the world.

Nerva and Apollonius conversed about inconsequential matters – prison food, the weather, and which of them had whiter hair. Apollonius asked Nerva about his hometown, the village of Narnia, which was said to be in the exact center of Italy and was one of the few places Apollonius had never visited; Nerva assured him that it was a charming town. It seemed to Lucius that Apollonius must have given Nerva a sign early on that an informer was present, and that their conversation should be guarded. Or were they conversing in code?

After the visitors left, Lucius expressed surprise that Nerva and the others had dared to pay a call on Apollonius. Domitian was always seeing conspiracies among the senators. Did these men not risk arousing the emperor’s suspicion by visiting a man arrested for disrespecting the emperor’s majesty?

“Not so,” said Apollonius. “By coming to see me so openly, those fellows protect themselves from suspicion. If I were indeed seditious, and if they were colluding with me, would they come to chat with me about the weather? They came here as Roman statesmen, to pay a courtesy call on a man who once counselled the Divine Vespasian and the Divine Titus. Conspirators would not come to see me at all, but would lurk in the shadows. Thus, by their boldness they disarm Domitian’s fear.”

“I see. Nerva didn’t look that clever to me.”

“Don’t let his manner fool you. Nerva is a very canny fellow. I have high hopes for him.”

“High hopes for a frail old senator?”

“To all appearances, there was never a more robust man than Titus, yet those who put their hopes for the future in Titus saw those hopes dashed. So why not look to a frail old man to deliver a brighter tomorrow?”

One day passed into another, until one morning a Praetorian arrived and told them they were to be taken before the emperor, who was ready to try them and pronounce judgement.

Lucius had done his best to prepare for this moment, striving to emulate the Teacher’s equanimity. Still, he felt a thrill of panic.

“Teacher, what will become of us?”

“Lucius, what do you fear? That we shall be tortured and killed? Every living thing must die, and there are things far worse than the suffering of physical pain. How much more terrible if we should comport ourselves disgracefully and lose our self-respect; then we should truly be damaged, and the harm would have been inflicted by ourselves.”

Lucius breathed deeply. “I shall look to you, Teacher. I shall follow your example.”

“And I shall do my best to make that example a good one, Lucius. To know that your eyes are on me will give me strength.”

They were taken first to an antechamber adjoining the reception room. Their shackles were removed. A group of slaves appeared, charged with making them presentable for the trial. Basins of water were brought. Their faces and hands were scrubbed clean. They were dressed in clean tunics. They were also given shoes, but because these were made of leather, Apollonius would not wear them. Lucius followed the Teacher’s example and remained barefoot.

When the attendants were finished cleaning and dressing them, they were put in shackles again.

A figure in the sumptuous robes of an imperial courtier entered the room and approached them. To Lucius’s surprise, it was his old friend and protector Epaphroditus. Lucius had seen him very little since the death of Cornelia. His old friend had aged a great deal.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit you in prison, Lucius,” said Epaphroditus. He kept his distance and maintained a dignified posture, but his voice was thick with emotion. “It wasn’t possible, given my new position. To see you like this, in shackles-”

“You serve Domitian now?”

Epaphroditus flashed a crooked smile. “The emperor called me out of retirement. He insisted that the state required my services. I saw no way to decline his request.”

“You should be flattered, I suppose,” said Lucius. “The emperor could use the help of the man who ran the Golden House.” It seemed that Domitian – who refused to have among his courtiers anyone who had been close to his father or to his brother, and in his fits of suspicion had eliminated many members of his own imperial staff – was now being forced to reach back to the days of Nero to find men of sufficient experience to run the state.

“I would gladly have remained as I was, a retired observer of events,” said Epaphroditus. “Still, there are advantages to my new position. I was able, for example, to persuade the emperor to give me the role of preparing you and your friend for your trial.”

Epaphroditus turned to Apollonius. “Are you aware of the rules of procedure? The trial will take place before a select audience of senators, magistrates, and imperial dignitaries. The charges against you will be read by a prosecutor. You will have a chance to respond to those charges. Then Caesar will render judgement.”

“Caesar will judge me?” said Apollonius.

“Yes.”

“But who will judge Caesar?”

Epaphroditus raised an eyebrow. “Caesar is not on trial.”

“No? I think he has committed many offenses contrary to the teachings of philosophy.”

Epaphroditus sighed. “Caesar is not concerned with philosophy.”

“Ah, but philosophy is very much concerned with Caesar, that he should govern as a wise man.”

Epaphroditus sighed and exchanged looks with Apollonius that left Lucius perplexed. He had presumed that Epaphroditus and Apollonius were strangers – or did they know each other?

Epaphroditus continued. “You’ll have only a short time to give your answers. Look to the water clock. When the water level drops and the lever rises, that means your time is growing short. Finish what you have to say. You won’t be allowed to speak longer than the clock permits.”

“Then I hope that the Tiber itself is connected to this water clock, for every drop of its water will be needed for me to say all I have to say to the emperor.”

“I’m afraid your time will be considerably shorter than that,” said Epaphroditus. “Also, you are not allowed to bring anything with you into the chamber from which you might read or with which you might cast a magical spell. So you may not have on your person any scroll or scrap of parchment or anything at all with writing on it, or any amulet or other magical device.”

“As we were stripped naked and then dressed by servants of the emperor himself, I think that will not be a problem,” said Apollonius.

“Still, it is my duty to make sure there is nothing concealed in your tunics. Raise your arms as high as you can.”

Epaphroditus ran his hands over Apollonius, then did the same thing to Lucius.

Lucius stiffened, for he realized that he was wearing the fascinum beneath the thin tunic. He suppressed an urge to touch it. Epaphroditus ran his hands over Lucius’s chest. He must have felt the talisman, yet he said nothing and stepped back.

Epaphroditus led them into the judgement chamber, a somber but magnificent room decorated with dark marbles and blood-red curtains. Before a towering statue of Minerva sat Domitian. Seated cross-legged on the dais beside him was his small-headed companion. Epaphroditus joined a group of other courtiers who stood to one side. Next to him was the water clock he had mentioned. The inner workings of the device were hidden behind an ornate bronze covering that depicted images of the sun, moon, and stars.

Among the senators in the room, Lucius saw the white-haired Nerva and several others who had visited Apollonius. There were also some faces he recognized from gatherings of Apollonius’s followers – magistrates and even a few imperial courtiers who had dared to attend meetings in private homes where the Teacher spoke. Lucius felt heartened by the sight of these familiar faces, even though not one of them dared to look him in the eye or show any sign of sympathy.

The prosecutor stepped forward. Lucius’s heart sank. It was Catullus. The blind man carried a staff and was assisted by a secretary who frequently whispered in his ear.

“Dominus, the magician Apollonius and his accomplice Lucius Pinarius have entered your divine presence,” said Catullus, “The time has come for them to submit to your judgement. The magician will be tried first. Step forward, Apollonius of Tyana. Look upon our Master and God, address him as Dominus, and beseech him to be just and merciful to you.”

Apollonius stepped forward, but he did not look at Domitian. Instead, he seemed to look everywhere else. He looked at the emperor’s small– headed companion and made a whimsical face, as one might at a child, at which the creature seemed to take fright and started back. He gazed curiously at the water clock next to Epaphroditus. He looked over his shoulder at the spectators and smiled.

Catullus’s assistant whispered furiously in his ear. Catullus struck his staff against the marble floor. “Magician! You will face and address our Master and God!”

“Very well,” said Apollonius with a shrug. He lifted his head and gazed upwards, and raised his shackled hands as high as he could. “Divine Singularity, emanation of perfection whom the Romans call Jupiter, greatest of gods!” he cried. “Reveal your wisdom to us. Render your judgement. Make known to us your will. Tell us, we beseech you, who displeases you more – the man who utters profane flattery, or the man who receives it?”

There were gasps from the onlookers.

Catullus struck his staff against the marble floor, demanding silence. “We can dispense with your formal response to the first charge against you, since, by your actions, magician, you have just given us ample reply.”

“And what was that charge?”

“That you refuse to show proper respect to Caesar and address him as Dominus.”

“You told me to look upon our Master and God, and I did. I looked upward to the Divine Singularity.”

“Don’t try to throw dust in our eyes with a pretense of piety, magician. Is it not true that you believe yourself to be a god? Is it not true that others have called you a god, and that you accepted their worship without objection?”

“Prosecutor, I am impressed,” said Apollonius. “You have done your research. I believe you must be referring to my days in India, when I sought wisdom among the sages of the Ganges. They refer to themselves as gods. When I asked them why, they answered: ‘Because we are good men.’ All creatures, despite their mortal forms, possess divinity, and to be truly good is to be godly. Before I left them, the Indian sages addressed me as ‘god,’ and I was honoured.”

“So a man can become a god simply by being good?”

“To be good is not as simple as you seem to think.”

“But if you meet a good man, you gladly call him ‘god’?”

“I do. If the man you want me to address as a god were a good man, I would gladly do so.”

Again there were gasps from the spectators. Catullus banged his staff repeatedly against the floor.

The small-headed creature was heard to mumble, in a high voice, “He isn’t even wearing shoes!”

“What’s that?” said Apollonius. “Speak up, little one.”

The creature hissed and spat, like a cat with its back up. “You come here barefoot!” he cried. “You show contempt to Caesar!”

“If I had put on the shoes I was offered, I would have shown contempt to the poor animal who provided the hide. I would no more kill a cow, a godly creature, and carve it up, simply to cover my feet, than I would kill and carve you up, my little friend, to make a pair of shoes out of you. The bounty of the soil provides all that I require to eat and clothe myself. If I must protect my feet, I wear shoes made of cloth and bark. I need not resort to the killing of fellow creatures.”

The small-headed creature pressed himself against Domitian’s leg and covered his face.

Catullus smirked. “Is it true, magician, that in your youth you took a vow of silence and did not speak for five years?”

“That is so. Silence is a language unto itself. There is much to be learned by not speaking.”

“Yet it seems that ever since then, you can’t keep your mouth shut. You may regret not keeping silent today, magician. The words you spoke just now lead nicely to the second charge against you: that you have profaned against the gods and imperiled the state by preaching against the institution of animal sacrifice. Do you deny this charge?”

Catullus signaled to Epaphroditus, who touched a switch on the water clock. Water gurgled as it flowed from one chamber to another and the lever that indicated the passage of time began to move.

Apollonius cleared his throat. “Have I said that animal sacrifice is unnecessary? Yes. Have I offended the gods and imperilled the state by doing so? No. To show fitting respect to the Divine Singularity we must offer no victim at all, nor kindle a fire, nor burn incense, nor make promises, nor offer up any sort of trinket or amulet or any other material object. For if there is a god, who is higher than all else and of such perfection that he is unique and distinguished from every other essence, then what use does this god have of our paltry offerings? Far from giving him nourishment, such material offerings can only pollute his purity. And how dare we attempt to bargain with the Divine Singularity by making promises and pleading? We should approach the Divine Singularity using only our highest faculty, which is our intelligence. By thought alone should we strive to make ourselves known to the Divine Singularity, which itself is pure thought. If we desire to make these thoughts manifest for the benefit of other mortals, then we may employ beautiful speech, which is the imperfect servant of thought. A song or an uttered prayer shared among mortals may be pleasing to the Divine Singularity, but bloody carcasses and charred remains can only be offensive to that which is perfection.”

The lever on the water clock reached its upright position, which caused a bell to be struck. The gurgling of water ceased. Apollonius smiled serenely. He had said what he had to say in exactly the allotted time.

Catullus made a face of disgust. “Do I need to state the next charge, Dominus? The accused has already sufficiently incriminated himself. To offer him more opportunities to speak will only subject your majesty to more blasphemy and sedition.”

Domitian, who had been watching the proceedings in silence, stared at Apollonius with a quizzical tilt of his head. “That this man is guilty and worthy of death, there can be no doubt. But surely the third charge against him is the most serious. It should be addressed.”

Catullus stated the next charge. “It is alleged that Apollonius of Tyana practises magic. Witnesses attest that he has had healed sick persons by the use of magical influence, and has even caused the dead to return to life, against the laws of nature. He has used magic to witness faraway events and otherwise obtain knowledge of the movements of others, including even yourself, Dominus. He has used magical powers to look into the minds of others, so that even when they remain silent, his victims cannot conceal their thoughts from him. These uses of magic, which in and of themselves violate the laws of men and gods, also constitute a clear danger to the state and to the person of Caesar. What do you say to the charge, Apollonius of Tyana?”

Again, Epaphroditus touched a switch on the water clock. Its gurgling echoed loudly in the suddenly silent room, for everyone present was intent on hearing what Apollonius had to say.

Apollonius turned to Lucius. His lips did not move, yet Lucius heard him speak. “Do you have the thing Epaphroditus gave you earlier? Give it to me now.”

Lucius was puzzled. Nothing in the room had changed and yet everything suddenly seemed unreal, as if he had entered a dream without falling asleep. What was Apollonius talking about? Epaphroditus had given him nothing earlier. And yet, he found himself reaching into his tunic and pulling out a small sphere made of glass. He handed it to Apollonius.

Again without moving his lips, Apollonius spoke to him. “You are a good friend, Lucius Pinarius. I will miss you. Be strong.”

Apollonius raised the glass sphere and threw it against the floor. There was a blinding flash of light and a loud blast. A cloud of smoke enveloped Apollonius. There was a loud clatter, as of shackles falling to the floor. A peculiar smell filled Lucius’s nostrils. The floor seemed to ripple, as if shaken by an earthquake. Lucius thought that he alone felt these things, but when he looked at the spectators he saw that they, too, were reeling, as if from a blow. Some of them dropped to their knees. Lucius turned and saw that Domitian had risen from his chair. His small-headed companion was clutching the emperor’s leg.

The blind Catullus turned his head this way and that. “What’s happening?” he cried. “What has the magician done?”

The smoke dispersed. Apollonius was nowhere to be seen. His empty shackles lay on the marble floor.

“What trickery is this?” said Domitian. He ordered the guards to search every corner of the room and make sure that every exit was blocked. Apollonius was not to be found.

Domitian glared at Lucius. “The magician looked at you before he vanished. What happened?”

“I don’t know, Dominus.”

“Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know, Dominus.”

“Strip this man!” cried Domitian. Lucius’s tunic was torn from him. “What is that?” said Domitian.

“What is it you see, Dominus?” asked Catullus.

“He wears a talisman of some sort.”

Catullus raised his eyebrows. “How did this happen, Epaphroditus? You were to make sure the prisoners had no magical devices on their persons.”

“I’m as baffled as you,” said Epaphroditus.

Domitian stepped from the dais and approached Lucius. Lucius flinched but stood firm. The emperor reached out and took hold of the fascinum. “What is this? Did this amulet play some part in the magician’s disappearance?”

“It’s a fascinum, Dominus. A family heirloom. I call on it for protection, but I know of no other powers it might possess.”

Domitian frowned. “It looks like a cross.”

Catullus scurried to them, tapping his staff on the floor before him. “A cross, Dominus?” Domitian put the fascinum into the hand of Catullus, who examined it with his fingertips. Lucius cringed at having the man so close to him. Catullus cringed, as well. He released the fascinum with a show of disgust.

“Most certainly this is a magical amulet. I can feel the sorcery in it! Christian magic, I suspect.”

“Christian?” said Domitian.

“They use amulets in the shape of a cross to bewitch their enemies.”

“It’s a fascinum, Dominus, not a crucifix,” said Lucius.

“He lies,” said Catullus. “When I was preparing my dossier on this man, I discovered that his uncle was a Christian, one of those punished by Nero for arson. Can it be a coincidence that he wears a Christian amulet?”

Domitian peered down his nose at Lucius. “This man is follower of Apollonius, and whatever else he might be, Apollonius is not a Christian.”

“We cannot expect the enemies of the gods to be consistent in their blasphemy. This secret Christian has just assisted in the escape of a most dangerous magician, and by means of this amulet he may intend to endanger your divine person. Lucius Pinarius has conspired against you, Dominus. He must be punished.”

Domitian narrowed his eyes. “Yes, but how?”

“His uncle was burned alive in the Circus Vaticanus.”

Lucius felt a sudden prickling sensation all over his body and saw oily spots before his eyes. He tried to emulate the courage of Apollonius, but he swayed and fell to the floor.

Domitian looked down at him. “Are you sure this pitiful wretch poses a threat to me, Catullus?”

Catullus lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dominus, if the magician Apollonius has truly escaped, then this one must be made to suffer in his place. His punishment must be public, and it must be made to fit his crime.”

Domitian nodded. “I know what to do with him.”

Lucius was taken not to the cell where he had previously been held but through a series of narrow underground passages to a much smaller cell, large enough to hold only one prisoner. He was allowed to keep the fascinum. From the whisperings of the guards, Lucius gathered that they had been instructed to take it from him, but they were all too afraid to touch it.

His cell was a bare, windowless cubicle of dank stone with iron bars on one side. Beyond the bars, set too closely for him to stick his head between them, was a curved hallway, dimly lit by indirect sunlight. From somewhere nearby he heard wild animals – the growling of lions, the snorting of aurochs, the yelping of dogs. The air was heavy with the odours of straw, dung, and urine, and the smell of the raw meat that was fed to the carnivores.

From elsewhere he heard the clashing of swords and gruff voices – the sounds of gladiators training – and realized where he must be: in the cells beneath the Flavian Amphitheatre. If he recalled correctly, the next occasion for games in the amphitheatre was five days away.

By the alternation of darkness and light he was able to mark the passage of the days. At night the hallway was unlit and the darkness of his cell was absolute. The blackness of the nights terrified him at first, but in his imagination he sought the company of Apollonius and was comforted. It seemed to him sometimes that the Teacher actually spoke to him during the night, but in such complete darkness he could not tell if he was awake or dreaming, or even if he was alive or dead. “Be calm,” Apollonius said. “Though my body is far away, I am with you.”

On the fifth day, Lucius awoke to a great tumult of sounds from near and far – the blare of trumpets, men shouting and laughing, gates clanging, and the steady hum of a vast crowd, punctuated at intervals by roars of excitement. The amphitheatre above him was filled with people, and the games had commenced.

The punishment of criminals was a part of the games. Lucius had watched such exhibits many times, until he had become a follower of Apollonius and ceased to attend the games. Though he had sometimes imagined himself in the role of the hunters in the arena who stalked exotic prey, he had never imagined himself as one of the wretched criminals forced to fight to the death or to become the prey of savage beasts. And yet, that was to be his fate.

Had Apollonius foreseen this outcome? Why had the Teacher fled, saving himself, only to abandon Lucius to a horrible and humiliating death? Why had he not used his magic to take Lucius with him?

For a brief instant, Lucius fell into despair. Then his spirits suddenly lifted. He felt a sense of lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Even his shackles felt lighter. He decided to surrender himself completely to the Teacher, to trust that Apollonius had foreseen this moment and had sufficiently prepared Lucius to face it calmly and with dignity. All was for the best.

When the guards came for him, they were surprised by his demeanor. They were used to seeing men who cringed, wept, struggled, and begged, or who fell limp or went stiff and stared into space. But Lucius looked them in the eye, nodded to them amiably, and stood up to follow them.

They removed his shackles. His arms and legs felt weak and stiff after such long confinement, but he was glad to be free of the restraints. He stretched out his arms and spread his fingers wide. He kicked out his legs and lifted his knees, testing his control of his body. It was a good thing that in his final moments he would be able to feel like man again, however briefly.

They took off his tattered tunic so that he wore only his filthy loincloth. Around his waist they fitted a leather belt with a sheath; in the sheath was a knife. He pulled it out for a moment and saw that the blade was very dull. They handed him a bow and a single arrow. The bow was weak and poorly strung, and the head of the arrow was made not of metal but of cork. From a distance, the spectators would not be able to tell that the weapons were useless.

As they proceeded down a hallway, the roar of the crowd grew louder. They arrived at a gate made of iron bars. The gate opened. The guards lowered their spears, but there was no need for them to drive Lucius into the arena. He walked barefoot onto the sun-heated sand, squinting at the brightness of the day.

He had beheld the enormity of the amphitheatre from the stands but never from the arena floor. The magnitude of the crowd was staggering. The imperial box looked very small amid the vastness, and the people within it seemed like figures in a picture. Lucius spotted Domitian and the empress, and also the emperor’s small-headed companion. The most highly favoured members of the imperial family were there, including the emperor’s beautiful niece Flavia Domitilla, along with her husband and two of their young sons. Earinus was there, and close to the eunuch, Lucius saw with a slight shock, was Martial. Would he make a poem of what was about to happen? Amid the courtiers, Lucius saw Catullus, and also Epaphroditus.