Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 36 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

AD 100

“When Vespasian saw that the treasury was empty, he filled it up again by looting Jerusalem,” said Trajan. “For us, the obvious solution is the conquest of Dacia. The loot of Sarmizegetusa would be enormous. Imagine what I could build with all that gold!”

The emperor was holding a private conference in one of the more modest reception rooms in the House of the People. He sat alone on the dais. Plotina and Hadrian were seated in their own chairs nearby, one to each side of him. With his marriage to Trajan’s grandniece Sabina, Hadrian was now an in-law of the emperor as well as his cousin, and Trajan frequently included him in his deliberations. Plotina’s participation in all important discussions was taken for granted.

“The gold mines of Dacia and the hoard of King Decebalus are legendary,” said Hadrian. He spoke slowly and carefully, not out of caution but because he was making a concerted effort to get rid of his provincial accent, which a year ago had been even more pronounced than Trajan’s. More than once he had overheard a veteran courtier making fun of the emperor’s Spanish accent. Trajan seemed to have no interest in changing his speech, but Hadrian was determined to speak Latin like a born Roman, and was taking lessons to learn to do so.

They were discussing the treasury and the means by which it could be replenished. Taxes were unpopular. Conquest was the preferred means, and had been throughout Roma’s long history, as Plotina pointed out.

“The great generals of the Republic destroyed Carthage and took Spain and Greece. The Divine Julius conquered Gaul; the gold and slaves he captured made him the richest man in history and helped make him the sole ruler of the empire. The Divine Augustus took Egypt, the oldest and richest kingdom in the world. Vespasian sacked Jerusalem and brought back enough gold and slaves to build his amphitheatre. When one looks at the map” – she gestured to a painting on the wall – “what remains to be taken of any value, except Dacia?”

“Or Parthia,” said Trajan, stroking his chin and gazing at the vast empire that dominated the far-eastern portion of the map.

“There are dangers, of course,” said Hadrian. “Even the Divine Augustus was thwarted when he tried to make slaves of the Germans. And no Roman has yet succeeded in taking Parthia; the empire is simply too big and too powerful. Dacia seems ripe for the picking, but that, too, presents a risk. Domitian did his best to get the better of King Decebalus and repeatedly failed.”

“That’s because Domitian was a military genius only in his imagination,” said Plotina.

Hadrian nodded. “Certainly, Caesar is a far better military man than Domitian, but is he not also a better diplomat? Rather than attack King Decebalus head-on, perhaps the best strategy would be to win over the king’s neighbours and allies, using statecraft to isolate the Dacians before directly confronting them.”

“The less blood shed by Romans, the better,” Plotina agreed. “Never forget what becomes of Roman soldiers when they’re captured by the Dacians. They’re handed over to the Dacian women, and the tortures inflicted on those poor men are the stuff of nightmares. If the way of conquest can be made easier by diplomacy, all the better.”

“Might we not also send agents to tamper with the Dacians’ religious ceremonies?” suggested Hadrian.

“How would that be of use?” asked Trajan.

“The Dacians’ most important religious ceremony is an event held every five years, at which a youth is sacrificed to their god, Zalmoxis.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” said Plotina.

“Nor have most people outside Dacia,” said Hadrian. “Zalmoxis was once a man, a Dacian who became a slave and then a disciple of the Greek philosopher Pythagoras. After Pythagoras freed him, Zalmoxis returned to Dacia and became a healer and religious teacher in his own right. He died but was resurrected, and preached to the Dacians about the immortality of the soul before he finally left this world for the next.”

“Don’t the Christians also worship a man who became a god?” said Trajan. “Or is it a god who became a man?”

“There are similarities in the two religions,” acknowledged Hadrian, “but the worship of Zalmoxis is much older. The most important ceremony is held once every five years in a cave in the holy mountain of Kogaionon, where Zalmoxis spent three years in seclusion. A chosen youth is cast onto the points of three lances. His mission is to die, and then to deliver the requests of the Dacians to Zalmoxis in the other world. But sometimes the youth fails to die. If that happens, the messenger is deemed unworthy and another is chosen, but the omen is very bad.”

“When does the next such ceremony take place?” asked Trajan.

“According to our spies, the next five-year ceremony will take place in just a few months. This has caused me to wonder, Caesar, if Roman agents inside Dacia might somehow sabotage the ceremony, and by doing so spread doubt and dissension among the Dacians.”

Trajan laughed heartily and slapped his knee. “Little Greek! Only you could sift through all that foreign gibberish and find a way to use it to our advantage. Perhaps that endless education of yours will turn out to be more useful than I thought. I love this idea! By all mean, yes, instruct our agents in Dacia to make a shambles of the upcoming ceremony.”

“And if they should be uncovered?” asked Plotina.

“We’ll disavow any knowledge. Decebalus will assume the agents originated from enemies within his own court.”

“While the Dacian women have their way with the poor agents,” said Plotina.

“Such men know the risks they take in return for the generous rewards I give them,” said Trajan. “Ah, but this discourse on Zalmoxis reminded me of the Christians.” He waved to a secretary, who brought him a scroll. “I’ve been asked by a provincial governor for official instructions on what to do about the Christians. Their refusal to pay allegiance to the imperial cult – indeed, to worship any of the gods – makes them a menace to society.”

“But their numbers are quite small, are they not?” said Plotina.

“One of my ministers estimates they account for five per cent of the population,” said Trajan.

“Respectfully, Caesar, I think that estimate is much too high, even in the Eastern cities where their numbers are concentrated,” said Hadrian. “The aggravation they cause is out of all proportion to their actual numbers. Most people see their flagrant atheism as a clear threat to the security of the Roman state, which has always depended on the favour of the gods. When a pious, law-abiding citizen – in Antioch, say – discovers that a Christian is living next door, that citizen is likely to demand that a magistrate do something about it.”

“And if the magistrate acts?”

“The Christians are arrested, incarcerated, and given a choice: recognize the emperor and the gods by the simple act of burning incense on an altar, or be executed.”

“And some of these fools actually choose to be executed?”

“These people are fanatics, Caesar.”

“What if the magistrate does not act?”

“People take the law into their own hands. Christians have been burned out of their homes and driven off, even stoned to death by angry neighbours. As you can imagine, that sort of thing causes a huge headache for the authorities in charge of keeping the peace.”

Trajan rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “But such incidents are rare, are they not? In my experience, whether one is in Antium or Antioch, most people try to get along with their neighbours and mind their own business, even if the neighbours are Christians.”

“And what of the legions?” said Hadrian.

“Surely a Christian soldier is a contradiction in terms,” said Plotina. “I thought these people were opposed to killing.”

“Nonetheless, there are reports of Christians being found among Caesar’s soldiers, where they greatly upset morale. A legionary who refuses to sacrifice to the gods before battle poses a clear danger to his comrades. No pious soldier of Roma wants to serve beside such people in combat.”

Trajan shook his head. “It seems to me that an official policy of aggressively seeking out and punishing this tiny cult would be a waste of resources, more trouble than it’s worth, likely to make people anxious and upset for no good reason. I certainly don’t want to reward these death-worshipping fanatics with the attention they crave. And I am determined not to follow the example of Domitian, who was ready to believe that anyone was a Christian if an informer told him so. Such an accusation became an easy way to blackmail or get rid of an enemy, which is one reason our estimate of the number of Christians may be inflated – there are more people accused of being Christian than there are Christians!”

Trajan waved to the secretary, who brought a stylus and wax tablet, and began to dictate. “Notes for my response to a query from a provincial governor in regard to the Christians: These people are not to be sought out. If brought before you and found guilty, they must be punished. But even to the last minute, if such a person should repent and consent to worship the gods, he should be pardoned. Anonymous accusations must play no role in any prosecution; such practices are a discarded relic of a previous time. The official policy regarding the Christians, in a nutshell, may be summed up thusly: ‘Ask not, tell not.’”

He turned to Hadrian. “There, what do you think of that?”

“Caesar is like a father who wishes to keep peace between his children, even the worst of them.”

Trajan was amused. “Speak freely, Little Greek! What do you really think?”

“I think that Caesar is perhaps tolerant to a fault. But that is the opinion of a man much younger and less experienced than Caesar.”

“Don’t rub it in!” Trajan laughed. “Erudite, pious, and clever is our Little Greek.”

“And don’t forget handsome,” said Plotina with a smile.

Hadrian nodded to acknowledge the compliment, but touched his fingers to one acne-scarred cheek.

“What else is on the agenda?” said Trajan. The secretary handed him another document. “Ah, the new census I commissioned. Can you believe that Roma has a million inhabitants? So many people!”

“And so much misery,” said Plotina. “I took a walk yesterday through the Subura. The squalour was shocking; so many children, dressed in rags and running wild.”

“The growing number of the destitute is not just a problem in Roma,” said Hadrian, “but in every city of the empire.”

“Domitian did nothing about the problem, of course,” said Trajan, “but Nerva instituted a system of financial relief for the children of the poor, and also for orphans. I intend to continue that relief. Perhaps we can even expand the system, if we can fill the treasury.”

“One hears there are more abandoned infants now than ever before,” said Plotina, “newborns left to die, not on remote hillsides but just outside the city walls. The situation is so common that people travelling along the roads think nothing of seeing the corpse of an infant lying in the gutter. Where do these unfortunate children come from, in such great numbers?”

“I was just reading a discourse by Dio of Prusa on that very topic,” said Hadrian. “He speculates that slave women, impregnated by a master or by another slave, often abort children, or else hide their pregnancies and then abandon the infant.”

“But abandoning one’s child to die – how could even a slave do such a thing?” said Plotina. After many years of marriage, she herself remained childless.

“Dio says that such a slave woman gets rid of her baby so as to escape the added slavery of having to raise a child that will simply become another slave for her master’s use.”

“What a vexing situation,” said Plotina. “So many problems, so much suffering.”

“And so very little we can do about it,” said Trajan.

“All the more reason, husband, that we must do whatever we can.”

Trajan smiled ruefully. “Speaking of Dio of Prusa, cousin, I almost regret introducing myself to the man. He’s taken the liberty of sending me a lengthy piece with the title ‘Oration on Kingship.’ He seems to expect me to read the thing and send him a reply. I don’t think he realizes that a man engaged in actually running the world hardly has time to read a long-winded compilation of helpful suggestions, however well intentioned.”

“And are his suggestions helpful?” said Plotina.

“Honestly, I tried to skim the thing, but it’s so full of high-flown phrases and obscure literary allusions that I couldn’t make any sense of it. Perhaps, cousin, you could read Dio’s oration and prepare a brief summary for me? Then I can send the fellow a suitable reply.”

“I’ve already read it,” said Hadrian.

Trajan raised an eyebrow. “He sent you a copy?”

“I think he sent copies to just about everyone he could think of. He’s distributed the oration far and wide.”

“The nerve of the man!”

“Dio wishes to have an influence on the world. To do that, he must influence the emperor. To influence the emperor, he uses the tool he knows best: words.”

“Words can be very powerful,” said Trajan.

“Indeed they can. Which is why it is better for Caesar to have these philosophers as friends rather than enemies. In point of fact, much of his advice is quite sound. I’ll read his oration again and prepare a summary which Caesar can read at his leisure.”

“Leisure!” Trajan laughed. “I have precious little of that. Well, we’ve talked enough of the great problems of the world. Let’s see if we can actually get something done this morning. What sort of petitions are on the agenda?” He gestured to the secretary, who brought him a list of the citizens who were awaiting an audience, along with a description of their requests.

“What’s this one?” Trajan peered more closely at the list. “Lucius Pinarius: the name sounds vaguely familiar. Have I ever met this fellow?”

“I don’t think so,” said Hadrian. “I looked at the list earlier, and I also noticed the name. The Pinarii are an ancient patrician family, cousins of the Divine Julius and the Divine Augustus, but this bearer of the name is a man of no particular importance – not even a senator – though he does appear to possess considerable wealth.”

Trajan grunted. “According to these notes, his request is linked to an issue we were just discussing. This Lucius Pinarius desires to redeem a foster child from slavery; he claims the child is his offspring and he wants to have the boy legally recognized as such, so that the boy’s name and citizenship are restored. That’s not the same as manumission, is it? Legally, it would be saying that the boy was born a citizen and so was never a slave, despite the fact that he was raised as one.”

“There are plenty of precedents for such cases,” noted Hadrian, “but legal technicalities invariably arise that must be decided on a case-by-case basis. For example, should the foster child’s current master be paid for the child’s upbringing, or should the master relinquish the child to its lawful parent without payment?”

Trajan nodded thoughtfully. “How old is the boy?”

The secretary consulted his notes. “Fifteen, Caesar.”

Trajan raised an eyebrow. “Ah! Well, let’s have look. Show them in.”

Dressed in his best toga, Lucius Pinarius entered the room and stood before the emperor. His demeanour was humble but confident, and he glanced about the room in a way that suggested he was not unfamiliar with the surroundings. The wide-eyed boy who accompanied him, on the other hand, was obviously dazzled by the magnificence of the room.

Trajan and Hadrian exchanged brief but knowing glances. Both had an appreciative eye for male beauty, and the boy was extremely good-looking. With his dark blonde hair and flashing green eyes, he did not much resemble his reputed father.

Trajan took the secretary’s notes on the case and read them, then passed the notes to Hadrian. He looked at Lucius Pinarius.

“It would appear, citizen, that your claim of paternity for this boy is flimsy at best. You won’t reveal the identity of the mother, for one thing. Why not?”

“My relationship with the boy’s mother was irregular, Caesar.”

“In other words, a cause for scandal.”

“Had it not been kept secret, it would have caused a scandal, yes,” said Lucius. “That is why I wish her identity to remain a secret, even though she is no longer alive. But I swear by the gods that she was a freeborn woman, and thus so was our child.”

“You’re certain the boy was your offspring, and not that of another man?”

“I am, Caesar.”

Hadrian looked up from the notes. “If this account is correct, the boy was abandoned shortly after birth in the vicinity of Alba. He was harvested by a scavenger and sold as a slave, then passed though several hands before he was acquired by his current master. You’ve clearly documented all the steps you took to track him down, yet how can you be certain this individual is in fact the boy you seek?”

“By an unusual physical characteristic.”

Hadrian glanced again at the notes. “Ah, yes, I see: his webbed toes.” He looked at the boy and smiled. “His face is perfect, yet the gods have given him a hidden flaw. It’s like a poem by Theocritus.”

Trajan laughed and shook his head. “Little Greek! Was there ever a pretty boy who did not suggest to you a poem by someone or other? But what of the boy’s current owner? Show him in.”

The man who entered was dressed not in a toga but in a brightly coloured tunic. That he was not a Roman citizen became evident when he spoke with a cosmopolitan Greek accent. “My name is Acacius, Caesar. I live in Neapolis. This boy is my property.”

Trajan looked at the man’s feet. “Your sandals are covered with dust.”

“Marble dust, Caesar. I’m a sculptor. I acquired this boy because his previous owner noticed that he had a skill for shaping things with his hands, and offered to sell him to me. I’ve had him for five years. His talent is considerable. No, more than considerable: he has a gift from the gods. Thanks to the education I’ve given him, he’s become a very skilled artisan, and I think he might eventually become a true artist, maybe even a great one. The slave represents a substantial investment of my time and money, Caesar, and if he’s as gifted as I think, I stand to make a great deal of money from his skills in the future. I don’t want to give him up.”

Trajan rubbed his chin. “I see. You may all withdraw from the room while Caesar deliberates.”

“But, Caesar,” said Lucius, “I feel I’ve hardly had a chance to plead my case-”

“The facts are all in the notes, are they not? You may withdraw.”

After the litigants were gone, Trajan ordered a slave to bring wine. “To settle this matter, I think we will need the inspiration of Bacchus,” he said, then threw back his head and emptied his cup. “Well, cousin, what do you think? Is Lucius Pinarius a devoted father who’s performed a labour worthy of Hercules in tracking down his long-lost son? Or he is simply a lusty old goat trying to get his hands on another man’s slave?”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Hadrian.

“Oh, the two of you!” said Plotina. “Must you always view the world through the lens of your own proclivities? Not every fifty-year-old man wants to sleep with pretty boys.”

Trajan sipped from his second cup of wine, and smirked. “Plotina, dear, the man has never even been married. Do you seriously think he has no interest in boys?” He suddenly laughed out loud, so long and hard that he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m remembering something one of my servants once said. This was back when my father was governor of Syria and I was serving under him as a tribune. I was retiring to my quarters one evening after a particularly stressful day, and the man asked me if he could bring me anything. I said, ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind if you could bring me a couple of fifteen-year-old Syrian boys.’ And the servant relied, with a completely straight face, ‘Certainly, Master; but if I can’t find two fifteen-year-olds, shall I bring you one thirty-year-old?’ What a wit that fellow had!”

Even Plotina laughed. She had long ago accepted her husband’s proclivities and tended to be amused by them. She was glad that he had a sense of humour and could laugh at himself. Young Hadrian, on the other hand, took such matters very seriously. He was wont to declaim about the philosophical and mystical properties of desire, while Trajan simply wanted to have a good time.

“So,” said Trajan, “what do we know about this Lucius Pinarius?”

Hadrian was reading the notes. “According to this, the fellow once fought a lion before Domitian. Can you imagine that? There’s no note about what happened to the lion, but Pinarius obviously survived.”

“A lot of people got on the wrong side of Domitian,” said Plotina. “Even senators ended up in the arena as a punishment. That it happened to Pinarius is no mark against him. That he survived may indicate the favour of the gods.”

“His father was closely tied to Nero,” noted Hadrian. “The elder Pinarius performed auguries in furtherance of some of Nero’s more disreputable schemes.”

“Nero had many sycophants, some more willing and culpable than others,” said Plotina. “A son shouldn’t be held accountable for his father’s mistakes.”

“But look at this!” said Hadrian. “This should have been at the beginning of the notes, not at the end. The fellow has character references from Dio of Prusa and the philosopher Epictetus. Both have written glowing testimonials to his virtue and honesty.”

“That’s where I met him!” said Trajan, slapping his knee. “On the day we entered Roma, and you sent me to say hello to those two in the Forum. Lucius Pinarius was with them. Ah, well, if Dio and Epictetus speak well of him, I think that settles the matter, don’t you, Plotina?”

Trajan called for the litigants to return.

“Lucius Pinarius, Acacius of Neapolis, this is my decision: this boy will be recognized as Pinarius’s son. Though the boy was raised as a slave, he shall be considered as born free; he is not a freedman, but under the law was born and has always been a free person and the son of citizens. However, in consideration of the uncertainties involved in this case, no fault whatsoever shall accrue to you, Acacius, and in recognition of your lost investment, Lucius Pinarius will pay to you a sum adequate to purchase a similarly educated slave to replace the boy.”

The sculptor protested. “Caesar, the boy is irreplaceable. I shall never find another boy as talented.”

“If you think talent is too rare, complain to the gods, not to me,” said Trajan.

“But, Caesar-”

“My judgement is final. Be gone!”

The unhappy sculptor withdrew. Lucius and the boy stood before the emperor.

Trajan leaned forward and smiled. “What are you called, boy?”

“My various masters have called me various names,” said the boy, daring to look the emperor in the eye. “My master Acacius called me Pygmalion.”

“Did he? And do you know the tale of Pygmalion?”

“He was a Greek sculptor who made a statue so beautiful he fell in love with it. Venus brought the statue to life, and Pygmalion married her.”

“A Greek tale with a rare happy ending,” noted Hadrian.

“And what will you call the boy, Lucius Pinarius?” asked Trajan. “Will you give him your own first name?”

“No. If I may, Caesar, in your honour and with your permission, I will give him the name Marcus.”

“My own first name,” said Trajan, smiling broadly. “Caesar is pleased.”

Lucius turned to the boy. “Then from this moment forward, my son, you shall be Marcus Pinarius.” Saying the name aloud for the first time, Lucius was overwhelmed by the reality of the moment. At fifteen, his son had not only been found and restored to him but was of age to put on the toga of manhood. On a sudden impulse, Lucius did something he had never dared to hope would be possible. With the emperor himself as witness, he took off the necklace he was wearing and placed it over his son’s head. As countless generations of Pinarii had done before him, Lucius passed the fascinum to his heir. Father and son embraced.

Trajan caught only a brief glimpse of the golden amulet. Puzzled, he crooked a finger to summon Hadrian and whispered in his ear, “Is that a cross? And is a cross not a Christian symbol?”

Hadrian frowned. “Our intelligence said nothing to indicate Pinarius might be a Christian. If he were, would that have influenced Caesar’s verdict?”

Trajan held out his cup to be refilled. He allowed his gaze to linger on the cup-bearer, who happened to be attractive, though not as beautiful as young Marcus Pinarius.

“Does Caesar wish to retract his judgement and question Pinarius about his religious beliefs?” asked Hadrian.

“Certainly not,” said Trajan, sipping his wine. “You know the official policy: ask not, tell not!”