Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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But for himself, at least in the short term, Lucius could foresee only happiness. The opportunity to serve Augustus had made him a wealthy man and delivered to him the bride he had longed for. His friendship with Claudius had brought him into the outer circles of the imperial family, close enough to enjoy certain privileges but not so close as to provoke the fear and jealousy of powerful men. To be sure, his study of astrology had led him to a dead end, but his love of augury was greater than ever. What did it matter that the new emperor placed his trust entirely in astrology?

The current fascination with Babylonian stargazing might be only a passing fashion, while augurs would always be needed and respected in Roma.

At last, after much celebration, the last of the guests departed. The slaves disappeared into their rooms for the night. While Acilia withdrew to the bed chamber to make ready, Lucius walked alone from room to room, taking inventory of his surroundings. Claudius had said the house was lovely, and it was. Lamplight softly illuminated the walls, freshly painted with images of peacocks and gardens, and fell softly on all the beautiful objects Lucius had purchased to make the house worthy of Acilia: the lamps and tables, the chairs and rugs, the dining couches and draperies. What a great deal of furniture was required to fill a house, and how expensive it all was! How could anyone who had not received an inheritance afford it? Lucius knew he was a very lucky man.

He entered the bedroom where Acilia awaited him. With trembling fingers, he untied the Hercules knot that secured the purple sash around her waist and removed her bridal robe. Beneath, she wore a brief gown made of shimmering fabric so sheer that he could see right though it. She unpinned her hair, and the honey-coloured tresses fell almost to her waist. He stood rooted to the spot, simply gazing at her, wishing he could stop time. What moment could be more perfect than this, balanced between the deep satisfaction the day had brought him and the exquisite pleasures of the night to come?

He stroked the golden hair that framed her face, then he touched the shimmering fabric and felt the warmth and solidity of her flesh.

“My Lucia!” he whispered, uttering the name only he was allowed to speak as he covered her mouth with his.

AD 19

To walk across the Forum on a crisp October day, dressed in his trabea and carrying his lituus, gave Lucius a wonderful sense of belonging and self-worth. At the age of twenty-nine he was not just a citizen of the greatest city on earth, he was a husband and the father of twin boys (how Augustus would have approved!) and a highly respected member of the community.

The augury he had just performed had gone very well. A new tavern was about to open on one of the less disreputable streets in the Subura and the owner wanted to determine the best day to begin serving customers. The to-and-fro flight of seagull, a bird seldom seen so far inland, had clearly indicated the day after tomorrow. The ceremony was hardly a momentous occasion, but part of an augur’s duty was to make the auspices available to all citizens, for all sorts of purposes. The tavern owner had paid him the standard fee; Lucius patted the full coin purse tucked inside his trabea. The man had also offered to supply Lucius with food and drink free of charge any time he wished to drop in. Lucius had feigned gratitude, but it was unlikely that he would ever take up the offer. He had grown used to vintages superior to any the humble tavern had to offer, and except for official purposes he rarely visited the teeming, noisome streets of the bustling Subura. His usual places to dine and drink were located on the lower slopes of the Aventine and the Palatine, in neighborhoods where men of a better class tended to congregate.

He was considering a visit to his local favourite, a charming hideaway just down the street from his house, when he ran into Claudius. He was about to invite Claudius to come along, then saw the look on his friend’s face.

“Claudius, what’s happened?”

“T-t-terrible news. T-t-terrible!” There were tears in his eyes. He seemed unable to speak for a moment, caught on some stubborn consonant, then he blurted it out: “G-Germanicus is dead! My dear brother. Dead!”

“Oh, Claudius, this is terrible news.” Lucius wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale wine. His friend was drunk. Lucius took his arm, but Claudius was rooted to the spot, trembling and blinking back tears.

A year before, Lucius’s father had died. The elder Pinarius had not suffered much; he developed a terrible headache one day, fell into a coma that night, and two days later was dead, without ever regaining consciousness. The sudden loss had shaken Lucius. Claudius had been a comfort to him in the days of mourning, and Lucius would do his best to return the favour to his distraught friend.

“Did he fall in battle?” asked Lucius. After his grand triumph in Roma, Germanicus had been posted by Tiberius to Asia, where he had enjoyed even greater success, defeating the kingdoms of Cappadocia and Commagene and turning them into Roman provinces. Lately there had been talk of granting Germanicus a second triumph. Only the greatest commanders in Roma’s history had received more than one.

“No, he died in his b-b-bed.”

“But Germanicus was so young.”

“Barely thirty-five – and in the b-b-best of health until he fell ill. The physicians blame some mysterious wasting disease – but there are rumours of p-p-poison, and m-m-magic spells scrawled on lead tablets.”

“But who would have dared to murder Germanicus?”

Claudius took a deep breath and steadied himself. “In the days of Augustus, we wondered who might p-p-poison the emperor. Now we wonder whom the emperor might p-poison! And in both cases, the culprit is the same.”

Lucius looked up and down the street. There were few people in sight, and no one close enough to overhear them. Still, Lucius lowered his voice. “You mustn’t say such a thing, Claudius.”

“At least my nephew is well, as far as we know. P-p-poor little Caligula, an orphan! Surely no one would p-poison a seven-year-old boy.”

“Surely not,” agreed Lucius, thinking of his own sons, who were barely a year old. He reached up to touch the vacant spot at his breast; on this day he was not wearing the fascinum. He felt an urge to hurry home. “Come with me, Claudius. Acilia will want to hear the news. My mother will cook us dinner. You can spend the night with us.”

“No, no, no. I have too much to do. P-p-people to tell. Arrangements to m-make.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” said Lucius, trying to hide his reluctance.

“No, no, Lucius, you belong with your family. Go to them now. I shall be quite all right. No one would ever want to p-poison or put a spell on p-p-poor Claudius.” He turned away and hurried down the street.

Lucius looked after him until he disappeared around a corner, then headed home.

Even before he entered the house, he knew something was wrong. The door stood wide open. Where was the slave who minded the entrance? From within he heard the twins, Titus and Kaeso, crying loudly. Then he heard more-disturbing sounds: a man barking orders, the stamp of booted feet, the sound of furniture being overturned, a shriek from Acilia.

Lucius rushed inside. In the vestibule, the wax effigies of his ancestors were askew in their niches, as if someone had been rifling among them; the effigy of his father had fallen to the floor. He ran into the reception hall, from which he could see into the surrounding rooms. Soldiers had invaded his house and were busy ransacking it. From their imperial insignia he knew that they were Praetorians, the elite corps of centurions stationed in a fortified garrison just outside the city. The Praetorians were charged with guarding the emperor’s person and with apprehending the emperor’s enemies. What were they doing in his house, tearing the furniture apart, shaking out rugs, knocking holes in the walls?

“Stop this at once!” Lucius shouted.

The soldiers looked at him and paused. Two of them ran to him. While one held his shoulders, the other searched his person.

“No weapons!” the soldier shouted. They released him and carried on with what they were doing.

Acilia appeared, carrying Kaeso and Titus, one in each arm. The boys were red-faced and wailing. Their mother was ashen. She ran to Lucius’s side.

Following closely behind her was a tall man with a commanding presence. At his approach, the twins fell silent. Lucius recognized him: Sejanus, prefect of the Praetorians and right-hand man to Tiberius. The man’s steely gaze made Lucius’s blood run cold.

“What is the meaning of this?” said Lucius. “Why are these men looting my house?”

“Looting?” Sejanus smiled grimly. “Later, if an order of confiscation is issued, your possessions will be removed in an orderly fashion. But for now, Lucius Pinarius, my men are not here to rob you. They are here to search for evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“We shall know that when we find it.”

One of the soldiers approached. He held an unrolled scroll in his hands. “Prefect, I found this among the documents in that room over there.” He nodded towards Lucius’s study.

Sejanus took the scroll, blew dust off it, and studied it. His face grew long. “What have we here? By Hercules, I believe this is a horoscope that was cast for the emperor. What possible excuse can you give me for possessing such a document, Lucius Pinarius?”

Lucius opened his mouth but did not speak. Sejanus held the copy of a horoscope cast by Thrasyllus that Claudius had given him years ago as an example for him to study, when Lucius had tried and failed to master the science of astrology.

“No answer?” snapped Sejanus. “Where did you obtain this?”

Should he tell the man that the emperor’s own nephew had given it to him? Surely that would absolve him of whatever suspicion Sejanus harboured. Or would it? Claudius’s brother had just died, and Claudius clearly thought that Tiberius was responsible. Doddering, stuttering Claudius had always been considered outside the circle of those who might pose some threat to the emperor, but Claudius now had more motive than ever to hate his uncle. Telling Sejanus that Claudius had given him the horoscope might endanger Claudius. It might also endanger Lucius, making it look as if he were conspiring with his friend.

“I bought it from a vendor in the Subura, years ago, when I made a stab at learning astrology. I had no idea what it was. Look in my study, you’ll see a few works about astrology, and some other horoscopes as well, none of any importance. I haven’t looked at them in years. You saw yourself that this one was covered with dust.”

Sejanus glared at him. “I didn’t become prefect of the Praetorians without learning to tell when a man is lying to me. No matter. A new imperial order decrees that all practising astrologers, except those expressly retained by the emperor himself, are to be exiled from Italy. I would say that this document and the others you admit to possessing are ample evidence that you are among the class of persons to be banished.”

“But that’s ridiculous! I just told you, I haven’t even looked at those documents in years.”

“And if I examine these materials closely, will I find astrological calculations and horoscopes executed in your own handwriting?”

Lucius’s face became hot. “Perhaps. Years ago, I cast a few horoscopes, simply as exercises. But I am not and have never been an astrologer. I am an augur, as you can see by what I’m wearing.” Lucius impotently waved his lituus in the air.

Sejanus stepped closer, looming over him and looking down his nose. He was so close that Lucius could feel the man’s breath on his forehead.

“What sort of fool are you, Lucius Pinarius? Can’t you see that I’m offering you a way out?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most enemies of the emperor have no choice about the charges brought against them, but I am giving you a choice.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a nice fellow,” said Sejanus sweetly. “Because I love babies.” He glanced at the twins, who stared back at him in wide-eyed silence. “Because one way is more work for me, and the other way is less, you fool! Now, here are your choices.

“First choice: a charge of unauthorized possession of the emperor’s horoscope – a treasonable offense. If I bring that charge against you, there will necessarily be a very extensive investigation, and no one can say where that might lead; think of your friends, Pinarius. And the penalty is not only death for you, but confiscation of your estate; think of your wife and sons.

“Second choice: a simple charge of practising astrology without the emperor’s knowledge. In that case, you will be exiled from Italy, your destination to be determined by me, and only those materials that relate to the practice of astrology will be confiscated from you.”

Lucius looked at Acilia. She gazed back at him, trembling and terrified. Titus and Kaeso, sensing her distress, began to wail again.

“This is outrageous!” Lucius whispered. “My father was a senator. My grandfather was a nephew and heir to the Divine Julius, a cousin of the Divine Augustus-”

“While Tiberius was merely the stepson of Augustus? Is that what you’re saying? Are you questioning the legitimacy of the emperor’s claim to power? Are you asserting that you have a better claim?”

“No!”

“Is that why you possess a copy of the emperor’s horoscope? To discover on which days he is most vulnerable, so that you can plot his downfall and take his place?”

“Of course not! I told you already…” Lucius fought to control his shaking. “I’ve never been disloyal. I’ve never spoken against the emperor.”

“Never! Why did you come here today? What made you think you’d find something incriminating?”

“You were on the list,” said Sejanus.

“What list?”

“The list of men to be watched.”

“But why? For what reason?”

“For knowing too much, I suspect. That’s usually the reason. And sure enough, here in your house we have found the means for gaining knowledge that might be used against the emperor.”

“But this is madness. I told you, I’m not an astrologer. I am a respected member of the college of augurs, a public servant of the Roman state. I loyally serve Tiberius, just as I served Augustus-”

Lucius fell silent. Suddenly he understood. He had answered his own question. Why was this happening? Because he was an augur; because he had served Augustus; because of the lightning omen. His role in that singular event had seemed to bring Lucius a happy destiny – confirmation of his skills as an augur, closer friendship with Claudius, an inheritance from the emperor that had changed his life. But now his part in that singular event had led to this catastrophe. Had Augustus died on the appointed day because of Fate – or because of human intervention? Livia and Tiberius must have known of the prediction: they knew everything that happened in the imperial house. Lucius had long suspected that one of them, or both, had a hand in Augustus’s death. He had never spoken of such a possibility, not even to Claudius. But Tiberius was no fool. The emperor was taking drastic action to eliminate every possible threat to his rule – his rival Germanicus, every astrologer in Italy, the unfortunate men on the mysterious list mentioned by Sejanus – and Lucius was among those who might know too much.

Sejanus was right: Lucius should consider himself lucky if he could escape with his life and his fortune intact.

He stared at the document that Sejanus clutched in his hands. Why had he not burned the incriminating horoscope of Tiberius long ago? Lucius had been a fool to keep it. But would burning it have made any difference? If Sejanus had not discovered the astrological documents, he would have found some other way to incriminate Lucius.

“You finally seem to have run out of words,” said Sejanus. “Have you anything more to say? No?” He raised his voice. “Lucius Pinarius, you are guilty of practising astrology without the authorization of the emperor. You have ten days to settle your affairs in Roma. After that, you will board a ship and leave Italy, under penalty of death. If you wish, you may take your wife and children.”

“And my mother?” Lucius looked about. Where was his mother? Probably in her bed; she had been in poor health ever since Lucius’s father had died.

“And your mother,” said Sejanus sweetly. “Do you have a preference for your destination?”

Lucius felt numb with shock. The twins wailed. “My grandfather had friends in Egypt. I have investments in Alexandria,” he said dully.

Sejanus nodded. “Egypt is good. Egypt is a possession of the emperor, rather than a province under senatorial jurisdiction. It will be easier for my agents to keep an eye on you there.”

Sejanus rolled the scroll tightly and handed the horoscope back to the Praetorian who had brought it to him. “Burn this immediately. Collect all the other documents and take them with you. Call off the search. We’re finished here.”

In moments, the soldiers were gone. Except for the crying twins, the house was silent. Gradually, the slaves began to emerge from their hiding places. The women surrounded Acilia, trying to comfort her and the babies. The men approached Lucius, but he waved them away.

Lucius walked into his study. The room had been stripped of every scroll and scrap of parchment, not just the few items pertaining to astrology but all his business documents as well. How was he to settle his affairs without his financial records? Even his small collection of plays and poetry had been taken. He found himself staring at the row of empty pigeonholes that had contained the many scrolls that made up his copy of Titus Livius’s history, a gift from Claudius, which he had never read. How was he ever to read it now? Of course, there would be copies of Livius’s work in Egypt. Alexandria was famous for its books; Alexandria was the home of the Great Library…

He shook his head in disbelief. The last few moments had destroyed his life, yet already he had begun to accept his Fate.

He walked through the house like a man in a dream. He found himself in his bedroom – the place where he had first coupled with Acilia, where Kaeso and Titus had been conceived, where Acilia had given birth. Even this room had been ransacked. The trunks and cabinets had been thrown open, the clothing scattered across the floor. The bed had been overturned. The cushions – into which he had sighed with pleasure when coupling with Acilia, wept with joy at the birth of his sons, breathed the essence of his dreams while he slept – had been cut open, as if Sejanus thought they might contain some terrible secret.

On the floor lay a silver box with its lid pried open. Among the scattered pieces of jewellery was the gold fascinum.

Lucius knelt and picked it up. He clutched it tightly. He whispered a prayer to the ancient god who had watched over his family from its very beginnings.

“Fascinus, god of my ancestors, watch over me. Watch over my sons. Bring us back someday to Roma.”

Ten frantic, tormented, sleepless days later, Lucius was ready to leave the city.

True to his word, Sejanus had not confiscated his property, but had insisted that Lucius sell his beloved house. Lucius had done so at a considerable loss. His financial records, after being thoroughly scrutinized, had been returned to him, as had his copy of Titus Livius’s history, along with several other valuable scrolls. The documents had all been tightly rolled and carefully packed away in round leather book-boxes of the sort called capsae.

Lucius stood with his family and the slaves they were taking with them on a dock at the riverfront, waiting to board the boat that would take them down the Tiber to Ostia, where he had secured passage on a trading vessel bound for Alexandria. The smell of the waterfront reminded him of the tavern where Euphranor had arrived with news of Augustus’s death. Where was that tavern? Not far, he thought. Turning around and looking beyond a stack of crates filled with his family’s belongings, he saw the entrance to the tavern from where he stood. How long ago that day seemed!

Even as he looked at the tavern, the door opened. A figure emerged and began walking towards the dock, weaving this way and that and nearly colliding with the stack of crates. It was Claudius.

Claudius averted his eyes as he approached. Lucius stepped forward to meet him and opened his arms. The two men embraced.

“Lucius, I’m so sorry. If only I had never g-g-given you those horoscopes!”

“No, Claudius, this is not your fault.”

“But it was I who insisted that you c-come with me that night, when lightning struck Great-Uncle’s statue-”

“No, Claudius, you’re not to blame. Nor is Sejanus; nor is Tiberius. If Fate exists and cannot be altered, then this moment had to arrive, and the next step in my life’s journey is already predetermined, as is the next, and the next, and the next, until the moment I die.”

“And if there is no Fate? If chance and free will rule the cosmos?”

“Then it was I who failed to win the favour of the goddess Fortune. It was I who made the wrong choices.”

“What a philosopher you’ve b-b-become!”

“Sometimes the consolations of philosophy are all that a man has,” said Lucius bitterly. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. I have Acilia. I have the twins. I have my mother.” He looked at Camilla, who was holding one of the boys – Kaeso, he thought, though it was hard to be sure – cooing and clucking her tongue. She looked very old. She had been in low spirits and poor health since his father had died; the disaster had dealt her a tremendous blow. A sea voyage in October was no place for a woman of her years, but she had insisted on coming, to stay close to her grandchildren.

Acilia was holding the other twin. How miserable she looked! Through all the agony of the last ten days, she had not said a word against him. Her father and brother had not been so kind. The two of them had arrived at the house the morning after Sejanus’s visit, first anxious and alarmed at the rumours they had heard, then furious and full of recriminations against Lucius. Acilius said hurtful words of the sort that could never be taken back, about the worthlessness of Lucius’s patrician blood and the shame he had brought upon the Acilii. He had argued that his daughter and grandsons should remain in Roma with him, and Lucius had wavered, trying to imagine his exile in Alexandria without them. It was Acilia who had silenced her father, saying that she had no intention of abandoning her husband or of taking her sons from their father. Acilius had left in a rage and they had not seen him since. He had not even come to see them off.

No one had come. No one wanted to be seen saying farewell to an exiled enemy of the imperial house – no one except Claudius.

The twin held by his mother began to cry. Yes, it was Kaeso, as Lucius had thought; he could recognize the boys more readily by their cries than by their faces, which were truly identical.

Slaves began to load the crates into the cargo hold of the boat. Lucius and Claudius were in the way. They stepped to the edge of the dock and stood side by side, staring at their distorted reflections in the water.

“It may be that your exile is a g-good thing. Who can say?”

“A good thing? To leave the only city I know, the only home I’ve ever had? The idea of raising my sons anywhere else is unspeakably bitter to me, almost unbearable.”

“No, Lucius, hear me out. Tiberius is increasingly detached. He gives more and more authority to Sejanus. The situation in Roma can only grow worse. For the first time in my life, I’ve begun to fear for my own survival. The atmosphere around Tiberius is so clouded with suspicion, even a fellow as harmless as myself m-m-might become a target.”

“What will you do, Claudius?”

“I intend to disengage from public life as much as p-p-possible. Grow root vegetables at my country house. P-p-pursue my antiquarian studies. Get drunk with my low-life friends. As soon as you leave, I intend to head back to the tavern and get even drunker than I already am.”

The stack of crates had vanished. Packed inside one of them was Lucius’s trabea and his lituus.

The boat was ready to cast off.

His mother stumbled on the gangplank. When Lucius caught her, he was shocked at how little she weighed. He wondered how she could survive the journey.

Claudius stood alone on the dock and waved as they departed, then turned around and went back to the tavern.

Lucius gazed at the buildings passing by. He knew every street and rooftop of this part of the city, between the Tiber and the Aventine, though he was more used to looking down from the top of the hill; the view was strange, looking up from the river.

Scanning the skyline, he happened to spot his house, high on the crest of the Aventine. But it was not his house any longer; the new owners were standing on one of the balconies, waving to their neighbours across the way. Lucius gazed at the sight and knew how the lemures of the dead must feel, watching the living from the shadows.

Titus and Kaeso both began to cry. Would they cry all the way to Alexandria?

The boat sailed on. On the shore, temples and houses gave way to warehouses and rubbish heaps, and then to open fields. The city disappeared from view.

As clearly as if a god had whispered the knowledge in his ear, Lucius knew he would never see Roma again.