Текст книги "Roma.The novel of ancient Rome"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

“So it was done in this instance. A special dictator was appointed-Gnaeus Quinctilius, as I recall. With the Vestals and the priests and all the magistrates in attendance, Quinctilius drove a nail into the tablet, and then, his duty done, he resigned his office. But the ritual brought no relief. The plague continued and the number of victims increased. The people grew more frightened and their leaders more uneasy. I was as concerned as anyone, of course, but as curule aedile it hardly fell to me to devise a proper means of propitiating the gods and dispelling the plague.

“Then, one day, going about my business in my chambers in the Forum, a young woman came to see me. She refused to tell me her name, but from her dress and manner, I could see she was a freeborn servant from a respectable household. She said she had something terrible to tell me, but only if I would promise to shield her from punishment by the state or retribution by those whose crimes she would reveal. Well, I thought this was going to be nothing more dire than a case of a contractor embezzling bricks from the city, or some pipe-layer charging twice for repairing the public sewer. I gave her my assurances, and she proceeded to tell me that the plague that was afflicting the city was of human origin-and perpetrated not by men, but by women. She accused her own mistress, along with some of the most highborn women in Roma.

“On its face, her story seemed preposterous. For what possible reason would so many women resort to poisoning their husbands and other male relatives? One woman might resort to poison, yes; but scores of women, repeatedly, all in the same year? And yet, by that time, hundreds of men had died, and no cause had yet been discovered. I asked for proof. She offered to take me to a house where the poisons were made. If we were lucky, she said, we might catch some of the women in the act of brewing them.

“I had to act and quickly. In that moment, the job I had considered trifling and humdrum suddenly weighed upon me as the world must weigh upon the shoulders of Atlas.” Quintus sighed, but his eyes glittered; relating the grim story clearly gave him great satisfaction.

“And then what happened, cousin Quintus?”

“Speed was essential, yet proper forms had to be observed, or otherwise any evidence might be compromised. I alerted the consuls at once-how old Gaius Valerius blustered when I woke him from a nap in the middle of the day! With the consuls as witnesses, along with their lictors, I went to the house in question, the home of a patrician named Cornelius, one of the first victims of the plague. His widow’s name was Sergia. Her door slave, seeing such a company, blanched and tried to shut us out. I pushed my way inside.

“At the back of the house, we found a room, which must have been a kitchen at one time, but that had been given over entirely to the brewing of potions. Herbs were hung by bits of string from the rafters. Pots were bubbling and steaming. One pot had been set on a wooden rack to cool; lined up beside it was a row of little clay bottles. Sergia was clearly in charge; the other women were merely servants. When she saw us and realized what had happened, she grabbed one of the bottles and raised it to her lips. I knocked the bottle from her hand. It shattered on the floor and spattered my tunic with a green liquid. The lictors restrained her. There was a rage in her eyes that chilled my blood.

“Sergia refused to answer questions, but, with a little persuasion, her slaves spoke readily enough. They led us to more than twenty houses where the products of Sergia’s kitchen might be found. What a day that was, bursting into house after house, witnessing the outrage of the women, the disbelief of their husbands, the fear and confusion of the children. The implicated women were made to appear before the consuls in the Forum, along with the potions that had been seized.

“Before that day, there had never been a public inquest into charges of poisoning. Such matters were rare enough, and when they did occur, they had always been handled entirely within the affected household, with justice dispensed by the paterfamilias. ‘It began beneath his roof, let it end beneath his roof,’ as the saying goes. If a head of household’s wife or daughter, or his son, for that matter, dared to commit such a crime, it was the prerogative of the paterfamilias to determine guilt and exact punishment.

“But this was clearly beyond the scope of any one paterfamilias. There was simply no precedent for such a thing-a vast web of crimes spun by a conspiracy of women! The consuls were fearful of repercussions from the powerful families involved. They were only too happy to allow me, as curule aedile, to conduct the questioning.

“Sergia at last broke her silence. She claimed that her potions were remedies for various ailments, none of them poisonous. If that were so, I said, then let every woman present swallow the potion that was found in her possession. This caused a great stir among the women. There was much weeping, shrieking, tearing of hair. Gradually, the women quieted one another. At last, they agreed to the test. In unison, following the lead of Sergia, the women swallowed their so-called remedies.

Quintus shook his head. “What a sight! What a sound! The death throes of more than twenty women, there before our eyes! Not all the potions were the same, and their effects differed. Some of the women were seized by violent convulsions. Others stiffened and died with a hideous grimace. I was a young man, but I had already fought in several battles-I had killed men and seen men killed-yet I had never witnessed anything as strange and terrifying as the death of those women by their own hands!”

Kaeso gazed at his cousin wide-eyed. The details of the mass poisonings were completely new to him. Kaeso found the tale at once thrilling and repulsive. “Was that the end of it, cousin Quintus?”

“Far from it! The friends and servants of those dead women had much more to tell us. As more women were implicated, we realized that the scale of the conspiracy was larger than anyone could have imagined. In the end, more than one hundred and seventy women were found guilty, and all were put to death. The murder of so many upstanding citizens, the shocking investigation, the executions-all cast a shadow of despair across the city. The truth was too appalling for some to accept. There were those who said I went too far, that my judgment was faulty, that I allowed wicked people to falsely accuse the wives and daughters of their enemies. Well, even the gods are not infallible! I believe my investigation was thorough and impartial, and that no other man could have done better. In any event, the poisonings stopped, and the citizens of Roma rewarded me with election to higher office in the years that followed.”

Kaeso shook his head. “I had no idea the crimes were so widespread, and so bizarre. I’d heard only vague rumors before.”

“I’m not surprised. When the wretched affair was over, people did their best to forget it.”

“But why did those women commit such crimes?”

“The reasons they gave were as varied as the poisons they used: greed, revenge, spite, jealousy. Having committed murder once, many of the women seemed unable to resist doing so again. It was as if a kind of madness spread among them, a homicidal contagion, a compulsion to kill. The root cause of that madness, no one could determine. The only certain cure was death. I put an end to the plague of poisonings, and since that time, it has never recurred.”

“What a fascinating story!”

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely! I should like to know even more. Who were those women? What were their names? Whom did they kill, and why, and when, and-”

Amused and a little flattered by his young cousin’s enthusiasm, Quintus emitted a good-natured grunt that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, young man, as it happens, I kept a very thorough dossier of materials relating to my investigation-for my own protection, if nothing else, so that if called upon later I could show exactly what evidence I had obtained and the circumstances under which I obtained it. All the details are there-names, dates, even the recipes the women used to concoct their various poisons. Quite a few of them were able to read and write, and some of them kept copious notes about the poisons and their effects.”

“Would you allow me to see that dossier, cousin?”

“Certainly. Do you know, no one has ever asked to see it before. And yet, that investigation is now a part of the family’s history, a part of Roma’s history.”

“It shouldn’t be forgotten,” said Kaeso.

Quintus nodded. “Very well. Those materials must be somewhere among my memorabilia. When I have time, I shall locate them, and let you have a look.”

Later that night, alone in his room in his father’s house, Kaeso prepared for bed. By the flickering light of a single lamp, he removed his toga without assistance; getting out of the garment was much easier than putting it on. He carefully folded the toga and placed it on a chair. He stripped off his undertunic and loincloth, and stood naked except for the gift his father had given him that morning, the fascinum which hung from the chain around his neck.

Among the other gifts Kaeso had received that day was a small mirror. A slave had already hung it on the wall. The mirror was round, made of polished silver, and decorated around its border with images engraved in the metal. The images depicted the exploits of Hercules. No doubt the giver, a colleague of Kaeso’s father, had thought the mirror would make a particularly appropriate coming-of-age gift for a young Fabius, as the Fabii considered themselves to be descended from Hercules; but the reflection of his own face, surrounded by images of the demigod, only reminded Kaeso that he was not really a Fabius by blood, only by adoption.

Kaeso stood naked before the mirror and gazed at his shadowy reflection. “Today you are a man, Kaeso Fabius Dorso,” he whispered. “But who are you? Where did you come from? Your grandfather was a foundling among the rubble; was he begotten by a god, or a Gaul? Will you live and die and never know the secret of your origin-or is there an oracle who can answer your question?”

He touched the amulet at his chest. The gold of the fascinum caught the lamp’s flickering light, and Kaeso was dazzled by its reflection in the mirror.

The next morning, Kaeso donned his toga again to pay a formal call upon a man he had never met.

Appius Claudius-the seventh of that name in the line descended from Attus Clausus-blinked in disbelief when his secretary announced his first visitor of the day. “The young Fabius?” he said. “Are you sure you heard the name correctly?”

The slave nodded.

Claudius pursed his lips and stroked his beard, which was still more black than silver. “Very well, show him in. I’ll meet him here in the garden. Turn away all other visitors until we’re done.”

If anything, the garden of Appius Claudius, with its splashing fountain surrounding a statue of three Muses and its terraces of roses, was even more magnificent than the garden of Quintus Fabius. Kaeso was duly impressed, but not surprised. If any man was as powerful and respected in Roma as his cousin Quintus, that man was Quintus’s longtime rival, Appius Claudius.

“I believe that congratulations are in order, young man,” said Claudius, standing to greet him. “Your toga suits you well.”

In fact, Kaeso had dressed himself that morning without the help of a slave, and had not quite succeeded in making the garment hang correctly. He was glad to take the chair which Claudius offered. Sitting disguised the awkward folds of his toga.

“Thank you for receiving me, Censor.” Kaeso addressed his host by the title of the prestigious office he held. In many ways, the censorship was an even higher magistracy than the consulship, and its exalted rank was signified by the purple toga that the censor alone could wear. The censor had the power to fill vacancies in the Senate. He also kept the rolls of citizenship. He could add men to the list, or, with just cause, strike them from it. The censor’s list determined the division of citizens into voting units, a tool the patricians had long used to their advantage. By manipulating the list, the censor could influence the course of elections.

Appius Claudius had also used the powers of his office to gain complete control over two public works projects of unprecedented vastness. This was the reason Kaeso had come to see him.

“If I look a bit surprised, you must understand that it’s been a very long time since any man named Fabius has cast a shadow in this garden,” said Claudius, who smiled as readily as Quintus scowled. Kaeso had heard that the man’s charm was his most notable quality; when the Fabii said this, it was not a compliment. “Whenever a political question arises, it seems that your cousin Quintus leans in one direction and I lean in the other. The two of us can never seem to meet, either on policy or in the flesh.”

Kaeso spoke carefully. “No one holds Quintus Fabius in higher esteem than I do, but I am my own man.”

“Well spoken! I myself am only too well acquainted with the burden of having famous-and infamous-relatives. Fortunately, the worst of them are long dead. But like you, Kaeso, I am my own man. I am no more responsible for the criminal behavior of my great-great-grandfather, the Decemvir, than you are responsible for the dunderheaded, backward-looking politics of your esteemed cousin. We are each his own man, and each man is the architect of his own fortune. Shall we drink to that?”

A slave had appeared with two cups of wine. Kaeso, feeling a bit disloyal to Quintus but eager to ingratiate himself with his host, took a sip. The wine was unwatered and stronger than he was used to. Almost at once he felt warm and a little fuzzy-headed.

Claudius signaled that both their cups should be refilled. “Given the chilly relations between your cousin Quintus and myself, I assume you must have a very good reason for coming to see me.”

Kaeso could feel that the wine was beginning to loosen his tongue; perhaps it would not be so difficult to state his desire, after all. He was just opening his mouth to speak when his host interrupted him.

“But, no-I can tell that you’ve come here on business of some sort, and it’s still too early in the day for me to discuss serious business. Let’s get to know one another a little. Perhaps we have interests in common. Do you read Latin?”

“Of course I do, Censor.”

“And Greek?”

“Well…a little,” said Kaeso.

“By which you mean not at all. A pity! I thought I might show you my library, which is the best in Roma, but since almost all the books are in Greek, it would mean nothing to you. Every Roman should learn at least enough Greek to read the great playwrights-Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides. And of course, the great philosophers-Plato and Aristotle. But your face remains a blank, Kaeso. Do these names mean anything to you?”

“I’m afraid not, Censor.”

“Alas!” Claudius shook his head. “And do you know where thatword, ‘alas,’ comes from?”

Kaeso frowned. “No.”

“And you a Fabius, with family ties to Hercules! ‘Alas’ is a Latinization of a Greek name, Hylas. And who was Hylas?”

Kaeso furrowed his brow and shrugged.

Claudius sighed. “Hylas was a beautiful boy, the beloved of Hercules. The two of them together accompanied Jason and the Argonauts on their quest for the Golden Fleece. When the Argo dropped anchor at the mouth of the river Ascanius, Hylas was sent to fetch fresh water from the springs. But the nymphs were jealous of his beauty, and Hylas was pulled into the water, never to be seen again. Hercules was distraught beyond comforting. For a long time-long after hope of finding the boy was gone-he wandered up and down the riverbank, crying out, ‘Hylas! Hylas!’ And thus we still cry, ‘Alas! Alas!’ when confronted by great sorrow.”

Kaeso raised his eyebrows. Hylas was not among the characters engraved on the mirror he had been given. “I never heard that story before. It’s quite beautiful.”

“There are several versions of the tale of Hercules and Hylas among my books, but you must know Greek to read any of them.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a scholar, Censor. A Roman’s primary duty is to serve the state as a soldier-”

“Indeed! And as a warrior you could surely benefit from reading Homer’s Iliad-or, even better, The Life of Alexanderby Cleon of Corinth. I received a copy only yesterday, by courier all the way from a book vendor in Athens. You haveheard of Alexander?”

“Alexander the Great of Macedonia? Who hasn’t heard of him? First he conquered Greece, and then the whole of the world to the south and east-Egypt, Persia, and faraway lands that lie beyond any map. My father says we’re lucky he didn’t turn his attention to the west, or else we’d have had to fight him on the banks of the Tiber. But Alexander won’t conquer anyone else. He’s been dead for ten years now.”

“Eleven years, actually-but you do indeed seem to know who Alexander was. Very good!” Claudius laughed and shrugged. “One never knows what a young man is likely to know, or not know, given the dreadful state of Roman education. Many a Roman can name his own ancestors going back ten generations-not a hard feat, since they tend to all have the same name-but how many can name the reigning tyrant of Syracuse, or find Carthage on a map?”

Kaeso smiled. “My father says you’re obsessed with Syracuse and Carthage.”

“Indeed I am, because the future of Roma resides in the sea lanes of the Mediterranean, and those sea lanes will be controlled either by Syracuse or by Carthage-or by us.”

“My cousin Quintus says our future lies to the north, not to the south. First we conquer all of Italy, then we look to Gaul-”

“Nonsense! The Gauls have nothing to offer us, not even a god worth worshiping, or a language worth learning. The wealth of the world will belong to whoever controls trade in the Mediterranean. To do that, we shall have to become a sea power, or else make subjects of those who already have a navy-such as the Syracusans and Carthaginians. Your cousin Fabius’s misreading of Roma’s destiny lies at the very heart of the disagreement between us. Ah, but here I am, talking politics, when I was hoping to find common ground between us.” Claudius pensively tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Since you are a Kaeso, I suppose I might ask your position regarding the controversy over the letter ‘K’?”

“Controversy?”

“My own opinion is that it should eliminated altogether from the Roman alphabet. What need is there for ‘K’ when ‘C’ will do just as well? Thus your name would be spelled C-A-E-S-O, and pronounced the same.”

“But-I’m rather fond of the ‘K’ in my name…”

“And what about ‘Z’? I say it is abhorrent and must be gotten rid of!”

“Abhorrent?”

“The sound it represents is uncouth and has no place in a civilized language. ‘Z’ grates on the ear and offends the eye.”

“The eye?”

“Here, observe my face as pronounce it.” Claudius parted his lips, clenched his teeth, and made a prolonged buzzing noise. “There, do you see? A man who makes the sound of ‘Z’ resembles a grinning skull. Hideous! The sound and the letter must be ruthlessly eliminated from the Latin language.”

Kaeso laughed. “You seem very passionate about it!”

“Passion is life, young man. And yes, language is my passion. What is your passion?”

Kaeso abruptly felt quite sober. The conversation had arrived at his reason for coming. “I want to be a builder, Censor.”

Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yes. More than anything! I’m eager to fight for Roma, of course. And if I must enter politics and learn something about the law, I will. I’ll even learn some Greek, if the Greeks can teach me something about architecture and engineering-because what I really want to do is build. It’s been so, ever since I was a child. When I was little, my favorite toys were building blocks. When I grew old enough to go about on my own, instead of watching athletes or chariot races or soldiers drilling on the Field of Mars, for hours I would stand at the site of a new temple or monument, or even at a place where the city walls were being repaired, watching the workmen and the equipment, seeing how the hoists and levers and pulleys were used, observing how mortar was mixed and bricks laid out to make arches and doorways. I admit that I have no special training, but I can draw-I know that a builder must be able to draw-and I’m very good with numbers, much better than I am with letters.”

“I see. And so you’ve come to me.”

“Yes! Men say that the road you’re building, running south to Capua, is like no road ever built before-straight as a ruler, flat as a table, hard as bedrock. And everyone is talking about your brilliant idea for bringing fresh water to the city-tapping the springs near Gabii, ten miles from Roma, running the water underground, then delivering it to the city atop an elevated channel supported by arches. An aqueduct, I think you call it? Amazing! These projects are the most exciting things that have happened in my lifetime-more exciting than battles, or elections, or even stories about conquerors at the far end of the world. I want to be part of them. I know there’s much I’ll need to learn, but I’m willing to work very hard. I want to do whatever I can to help you build your new road and your aqueduct.”

Claudius smiled. “You enthusiasm is flattering.”

“I speak from the heart, Censor.”

“I can see that. Strange! The Fabii have always been warriors, and a few have allegedly been statesmen, but never builders. I wonder how you came by such a trait?”

Kaeso did not care for the question, as it reminded him of his unknown origins, but he tried not to let his vexation show.

“Does your father know that you’ve come to me?”

“Yes, Censor. Although he disapproves of your politics-he calls you a radical populist-”

“Radical? Because I give common citizens well-paid work on public projects that benefit all of Roma? I suppose he calls me a demagogue, as well.”

Kaeso cheeks turned hot. His father had indeed used that despised word, imported from the Greek, for an unscrupulous leader who exploited the unruly passions of the mob. “Despite our political differences, Censor, my father understands how greatly I desire to work for you. He will do nothing to prevent me.”

“And your cousin Quintus?”

“I haven’t discussed it with him. But I don’t need his approval. I am-”

“Yes, I know: You are your own man.” Claudius drummed his fingers on his knees for a while, then nodded and smiled. “Very well, Kaeso Fabius Dorso. I shall find a suitable place for you on one of my projects.”

“Thank you, Censor!”

“And in the meantime, to please me, perhaps you will consider changing the ‘K’ in your name to a ‘C’.”

“Well-if you really think it’s necessary…”

“Kaeso, I’m only joking-alas!”

At dawn the next day, following the instructions of Appius Claudius, Kaeso set out from his home on the Palatine. He walked past the ancient Hut of Romulus and the fig tree called the ruminalis, a descendent of the tree which shaded Acca Larentia when she suckled Romulus and Remus. He descended the winding walkway known as the Stairs of Cacus.

He walked through the Forum Boarium (originally Bovarium, as Appius Claudius had informed him, but the letter ‘V’ had long ago been dropped by common usage). The workers in the shops and markets were just beginning their day. He passed the ancient Ara Maxima, where long ago his ancestors the Pinarii and the Potitii had inaugurated the worship of Hercules. The Potitii still made a sacrifice at the altar each year, but a long decline in the family’s fortunes had reduced their annual feast to a paltry affair. Even with his supposed connection to Hercules through the Fabii, Kaeso was only vaguely aware of the Feast of Hercules that took place at the Ara Maxima each summer, and had no idea that it was the oldest such observance in the city. Of his descent from the Pinarii and the Potitii, he knew nothing.

His destination was a work site at the foot of the Aventine Hill, between the Temple of Ceres and the north end of the Circus Maximus. He knew he had reached the place when he saw the great piles of earth and the network of ramparts that had been built around the excavation. A small army of workers, made up of freedmen and freeborn citizens, had gathered. They milled about, joking and complaining about having to wake up so early.

The sky, growing lighter every moment, was dotted with small clouds, and there was a breeze from the east. “Looks to be an excellent day for working outdoors,” said one of the men. “Too bad we’ll be stuck underground!”

A foremen appeared. The men formed a queue. One by one they were issued shovels and spades, then disappeared into a cave-like hole at the base of the hill.

Kaeso waited until the foreman had a spare moment, then approached him and introduced himself, as Claudius had instructed him to do.

The man was tall and slender, but wiry with muscle. His tunic was spotless, but there was dirt under his fingernails. “So you’re the young Fabius, here to learn about the aqueduct. My name is Albinius. I’m in charge of all aqueduct operations within the city walls, the most interesting part of the project from an engineering standpoint. Do you know where the city gets its water, currently?”

“From the Tiber, I suppose, and from springs here and there inside the city. And some people collect rainwater.”

“That’s right. And so it’s been from the beginning. But the water from the Tiber’s not always as clean as you might like, and some of the springs have dried up, and you can’t always depend on rain. And the bigger Roma grows, the more water her people need. Water for drinking and cooking, of course, and for irrigating crops outside the city, but also for bathing. Most people like to wash a bit of themselves every day, and a lot of people want to wash from head to foot every few days. That requires a lot of water! The demand has grown so great, we’ve reached a point where the city can’t accommodate more people unless we can somehow get more water.

“What to do? ‘We’ll simply bring the water we need from elsewhere,’ said Appius Claudius. ‘What, carry it by the wagonload?’ said the skeptics. ‘No, you fools!’ said Claudius. ‘We shall make the water flow here of its own accord, through the channel I shall build.’ And thus, thanks to the genius of the censor, the aqueduct was born-first of its kind anywhere on earth, and soon to be the envy of every thirsty city on earth. Right here is where the aqueduct will end, with the water pouring into a big public fountain. Do you know where the aqueduct begins?”

“Ten miles west of the city, at the springs near Gabii,” said Kaeso.

“That’s right. The fresh water from those springs will pour into an underground channel lined with stones and mortar. Because it’s downhill from there to here, that channel will carry the water all the way to the city walls, to a point near the Capena Gate. The underground channel is impressive in itself, if only for the amount of labor involved. Ten miles requires a lot of digging! And it’s hardly a straight line; it twists and turns to follow the contours of the landscape and keep the water flowing downhill. But what happens when the water reaches the city will be even more impressive.

“Claudius wants the water to come here, to the place where we’re standing. The natural way to do it-to let the water follow the lay of the land and run downhill-would mean digging a channel straight down the spine of the horseracing track in the Circus Maximus. That would be too disruptive. Instead, Claudius wants the water to make a detour around the Circus Maximus. To accomplish that, we’re tunneling through the Aventine. The channel disappears into one side of the hill and will come out the other, right here. Amazing, no? But that’s still not the most impressive part. Follow me.”

They walked along the foot of the Aventine, crossing the open area to the south of the racing track. As they approached the city wall and the Capena Gate, Claudius’s novel solution for transporting the water loomed before them. To bridge the space between the high ground to the left of the gate and the high ground to the right, a channel was being built atop a series of arches constructed of brick and mortar. The road leading to the gate ran directly under one of these arches.

“To bring the water to Roma, Claudius will not only make it run underground-he’ll make it flow above our heads!” said Albinius. “This elevated part of the aqueduct runs for only a few hundred feet, out of a total distance of many miles. But it’s a brilliant solution-a river in the sky! There’s no reason this kind of construction can’t be repeated elsewhere, and no reason that such an elevated aqueduct can’t be built on an even larger scale, running mile after mile. Water can now be carried from any high point to any low point. All that’s required is to dig and tunnel and, where necessary, to run the channel over a series of arches, as we’ve done here. Since the beginning of the world, men have had to build cities where there was adequate water. Now a city can be built anywhere men wish, and the water can be brought to them. Such a possibility never existed before. The aqueduct will change not just Roma, but the whole world!”

The foreman’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Kaeso was impressed. He would have liked to spend the rest of the day at the man’s side, but, following Claudius’s instructions, he took his leave of Albinius.

Walking under the immense arch of the aqueduct, Kaeso passed though the Capena Gate and beyond the city walls. A brisk walk brought him to the censor’s other great construction project.

The site swarmed with workers busily digging, mixing mortar, and pushing barrows filled with gravel. Kaeso asked for the foreman, a man named Decius, and was taken to the biggest, brawniest man in sight.