Текст книги "Roma.The novel of ancient Rome"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“I think not,” said Kaeso brusquely. “I’m quite sure there’s no family connection between us.”

“Kaeso, your face is as red as a roofing tile!” said Claudius.

“I feel warm,” muttered Kaeso. “It must be the wine I drank at cousin Quintus’s house.”

“Ah, well; the resemblance is merely a coincidence, then,” said Potitius, but he continued to stare at Kaeso. At last he lowered his eyes, only to stare at the fascinum that hung on a chain around Kaeso’s neck. Kaeso had decided to wear it that morning to mark the occasion of his betrothal.

“What’s that?” said Potitius.

Kaeso stepped back, irritated by the man’s scrutiny. “It’s a family keepsake. The famous Vestal Pinaria gave it to my grandfather on his toga day. Surely you’re seen a fascinum before.”

“Such trinkets are usually made of cheap metal, not gold, and this one appears to have sprouted wings-most unusual! Yet it seems oddly familiar. Yes, I’m sure it stirs some memory, but of what?” Potitius scratched his head.

Kaeso was beginning to seriously dislike the old man. Claudius deftly took Potitius’s arm and steered him toward the vestibule. “I’m sure you must be eager to get back to your family and tell them of the success of your proposal,” he said. “Farewell, Titus Potitius. The door slave will see you out.”

“Farewell, Censor, and thank you!” The old man took Claudius’s hands and squeezed them. Before he turned away, he shot a last, curious gaze at Kaeso and the amulet he wore.

“An unpleasant fellow,” said Kaeso, after Potitius was gone.

“A bit scatterbrained, but harmless,” said Claudius.

Kaeso winkled his nose. “He imagines we’re related.”

Claudius shrugged. “I’m related to him myself, if rather distantly. The connection goes back to the early days of the Republic. A daughter of the very first Appius Claudius married a Potitius, but the fellow turned traitor and fought against Roma with Coriolanus. For a long time there was bad blood between our two families. But all that is ancient history now, and the Potitii have fallen on such hard times that one can only pity them. But come, Kaeso, let’s speak of happier things! Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve come to share some good news.”

Kaeso told him of his betrothal. As the two of them celebrated with a cup of wine, Kaeso pushed the unpleasant encounter with Titus Potitius from his mind.

“What a large vestibule!” declared Kaeso’s mother, stepping inside the front door of the little house on the Aventine.

“Mother, this isn’t the vestibule. There is no vestibule. This is the house itself.”

“What? Only this one room?”

“Of course not. There’s a garden in the center of the house-”

“That little plot of dirt, under that hole in the roof?”

“And there’s another room at the back, which serves as a kitchen and pantry. Behind that is a cubby for the slaves to sleep in, though I don’t suppose we’ll keep more than one apiece; they’ll have to sleep on top of each other, as it is.”

“Well, I suppose it won’t take much to furnish the place!” At forty, Herminia was still a pretty woman, but she had a tendency to make unpleasant faces that spoiled her looks. “Really, it’s hardly worth it for you to move out of the family house into such cramped quarters.”

“Nonsense!” said Kaeso’s father. “Cousin Quintus’s wedding gift is very generous. It’s not every pair of newlyweds who can celebrate the ceremony at their own house. It needs a bit of fixing up, to be sure-”

“I hope Galeria likes a challenge!” said Herminia.

“It’s the location I like best of all,” said Kaeso.

“The Aventine?” Herminia made a particularly unpleasant face. “Well, at least you’re on the north slope.”

“Come see the view from this window. Be careful of those loose floor tiles.” Kaeso flung open the shutters. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

“I see a great clutter of rooftops,” said Herminia dubiously.

“No, Mother, look there-between those two houses.” Kaeso pointed.

“Ah, yes-you can just catch a glimpse of the elevated portion of the aqueduct, that eyesore your friend Claudius has inflicted on the city.”

Kaeso’s father cleared his throat. “We have much to do today, wife.”

“Indeed we do! I need to draw up the list of guests.”

“Then perhaps we should run along.”

“I’ll stay here for a while, if you don’t mind,” said Kaeso.

“Very well.” Herminia kissed her son’s forehead and swept from the room.

Kaeso’s father hung back for a moment. He tapped his foot against the loose floor tiles. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll find the money to fix the place up.”

“You forget that I have my own income, Father. Claudius pays me quite generously.”

“I believe it’s the state that pays you. The censor merely fixes your salary.”

“Of course, Father. Hadn’t you better join Mother before she grows impatient?”

Kaeso was left alone. His mother’s caustic remarks did nothing to deflate his buoyant mood. The gods were smiling on him. His work for Appius Claudius was more fascinating than ever, his wedding day was fast approaching, and the gift of a house from his cousin Quintus had not only surprised him, but had deeply moved him. He recalled one of Claudius’s favorite aphorisms, and said it aloud: “Each man is the architect of his own fortune.” Kaeso gazed out the window at the distant aqueduct. “If that’s true, then I must be a very fine architect, indeed!”

“I’m sure you are,” said a voice behind him.

Kaeso spun about. His father must have left the door ajar. An old man in a shabby tunic stood in the middle of the room. Kaeso stared at him for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “Titus Potitius?”

“So, you remember me?”

“I’m afraid I do. What are you doing here?”

“Your tone is very harsh, young man. That’s no way to address an elder-especially an elder kinsman.”

“What are you talking about, old man?” Kaeso drew back his shoulders, but in his chest he felt a sinking sensation.

“You and I have much to talk about, Kaeso.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Potitius cocked his head and peered at him. “You’re not wearing the fascinum today.”

Kaeso touched the empty spot at his breast. “I wear it only on special occasions.”

“Do you know where it comes from?”

“The Vestal Pinaria gave it-”

“But before that? Do you know from whom she obtained it?”

“No. But I know it’s very ancient.”

“It is, indeed-as ancient as the Potitii themselves.”

“What are you saying, old man?”

“I’m the paterfamilias of all the Potitii. I’m also the family chronicler and historian. I understand your cousin Quintus serves much the same function for the Fabii-keeping scraps of parchment and scribbled notes about who was married to whom, and the names of their offspring, and who did what and when and how. Our families are so very old, and our ancestors accomplished so many things-great and small, wonderful and terrible-it’s hard to keep track! Sometimes I think it would be a relief if we all turned to dust, so the rest of the world could simply forget us and go on about its business as if we never existed.”

“I don’t think Quintus Fabius feels that way.”

Potitius made a croaking sound, which Kaeso took for a laugh. “I daresay you’re right. But imagine the things he must know! A family chronicler becomes privy to all sorts of secrets. He knows the things that no one must ever speak of-mysterious deaths, babies born out of wedlock, bastards sired on slave girls…”

“If you have something to say, say it!”

“Very well. You and I are kinsmen, Kaeso. You are a descendent of the Potitii.”

Kaeso’s mouth was suddenly parched. “How do you know this?”

“First of all, I could tell simply by looking at you. You favor my cousin Marcus more than anyone else, but with those eyes, that chin, and the shape of your mouth, you could pass as a son or brother to any number of my cousins. At first, I thought perhaps old Marcus had spilled his seed outside his marriage bed, but as I began to track down the truth, I realized that the connection was far more complicated and went much further back in time. Just now, as he was leaving, I took a good look at your father. He, too, has the look of a Potitius, but his features are less distinctive. For some reason, the gods decreed that the family traits should resurface full-blown in you.

“It was your precious fascinum that provided the key. Somewhere in the family chronicles, I knew I had seen a reference to a winged fascinum made of gold. It was worn by an ancestor of mine, also named Titus, who lived in the days of the Decemvirs. After that Titus, there is no further reference to the golden, winged fascinum, which disappears from the family history. However, according to family legend, Titus sired a child out of wedlock, and that child became a slave. As you can imagine, this is seldom talked about. But slaves are property, and Romans keep very thorough records of property, as thorough as their genealogical records! Through diligence, and a lot of pestering, and a bit of guesswork, I was able to trace the descent of that bastard child down to a slave called Pennatus. Have you heard of him?”

Kaeso swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “It was a slave called Pennatus who found my grandfather among the ruins left by the Gauls.”

“So it was! Did you know that this same Pennatus was trapped for several months atop the Capitoline with the Vestal Pinaria, who somehow came into possession of the golden fascinum, and, for reasons never explained, felt obliged to pass it on to your grandfather when he came of age? Now you wear the fascinum, Kaeso-and you are the very image of a Potitius! Do you begin to see how all these things connect?”

“Guesswork! Innuendo! You slander the memory of a pious Vestal! You have no proof of anything!”

“The gods know the truth about you, Kaeso. And now, so do you.”

Kaeso felt faint. The room seemed to pitch and sway around him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Isn’t it always better to know the truth?”

“No!”

“What was it I heard you say, as you looked out the window? Something about being the architect of your own fortune? How can you build a lasting monument, a life of virtue and accomplishment, unless you begin with a firm foundation of self-knowledge?”

“You’re a stupid old man, Titus Potitius! You and your third-rate family have squandered whatever good fortune ever accrued to you. You’ve offended the gods by selling your birthright to the Ara Maxima. How dare you come to me with such a lie, suggesting my grandfather was the bastard of a Vestal and a slave!”

Potitius sighed. “This has gone badly. I never intended to offend you. Don’t worry, Kaeso. I’ll be discreet. What I’ve discovered is for your ears only. I haven’t even told any other members of the family.”

“Shout your lies from the rooftops, if you dare to! You’ll only make yourself a greater laughingstock than you already are.”

Titus Potitius shuffled toward the door and disappeared. Kaeso violently kicked at the floor and sent a loose tile flying against the wall.

That night, sleep was slow to come. When it did, Kaeso was haunted by nightmares more vivid and disturbing than any he had previously experienced.

One dream jarringly led into the next. In each of them he felt heartwrenchingly alone and bereft, the object of other men’s ridicule and disdain. At one point, naked and covered with sweat, he sat bolt upright in his bed and reached up to discover that he was wearing the fascinum, though he had no memory of having put it on. Angry and distraught, in tears, he tore the chain from his neck and cast the amulet into the darkness, only to see it come flying back at him! He shrieked in terror-and only then awoke, realizing that he had still been dreaming.

His mother and father stood at his door, staring at him; his screams had awakened them. He felt embarrassed to be naked before his mother, but there was nothing with which to cover himself. He looked again, and in his father’s place he saw Titus Potitius, clucking his tongue. “There, there, my child,” said the old man, “don’t be afraid of the truth…”

Kaeso was still dreaming.

When at last he did awake, he felt utterly exhausted. He squinted suspiciously at the sunlight that leaked around the shutters, afraid he might yet be asleep, trapped in another nightmare.

He rose from the bed. On trembling legs he shambled across the room and opened the box where he kept the fascinum. The sight of it repelled him. He should throw the awful thing away! But his father would expect him to wear it on his wedding day. To get rid of it now would only call attention to its absence. He slammed the box shut.

On the day before his wedding, Kaeso went to the house on the Aventine to make sure that all was ready to receive him and his bride the next day. In preparation for the ceremony, an altar had been erected before the front door for the sacrifice of the sheep and the taking of the auspices. Inside the house were the ceremonial chairs for the bride and groom, ready to be taken into the street for the open-air celebration. Both chairs were stacked high with dried garlands that would be used to decorate the doorway. Between them was the sheepskin rug upon which he would set Galeria after he carried her across the threshold, as if she were his captive Sabine. Kaeso’s heart sped up as he considered the momentousness of the looming event. By this time tomorrow, he would be a married man.

The house was sparsely furnished, but the floor tiles had been fixed and the whole house had been scrubbed clean. The little garden had been planted with new shrubberies and flowers, and the kitchen had been stocked with pots and pans. He saw the bed that had been placed against the wall, near the window-a new bed, larger than the one in which he was used to sleeping alone-and he felt a quiver of erotic anticipation. Galeria grew more beautiful every time he saw her; soon he would see her naked, and would be naked with her, and would possess her. Any hesitation he felt about the ceremony faded when his thoughts turned to the carnal pleasures that awaited him. He crossed the room, wanting to take a closer look at the bed.

A voice that was almost a whisper said: “The house looks very nice.”

Kaeso spun around. “What are youdoing here? Get out!”

Titus Potitius stood in the doorway. “Can a kinsman not visit a kinsman on the day before his wedding, to wish him well?”

“You’re a madman. The gods have made you mad, as a punishment for selling your birthright.”

“Then we sold it for too little.”

“Appius Claudius should have thrown you out when you came begging. He shouldn’t have given you so much as a copper coin.”

“It’s curious that you should mention money. Along with paying my respects, that’s one of the reasons I’ve come to see you.” Potitius stood with his hands clasped before him and his eyes downcast. “Galeria’s family is wealthy. I presume she comes to you with a substantial dowry. As well, I think the censor must have arranged a very generous salary for you. You even own your own house! You are a most fortunate young man, to be of independent means at such an early age.”

“And you are an old fool, to have squandered everything at your age.”

“The travails of the Potitii began long before my time. How typical of our misfortunes, that one of the most gifted young men of his generation, who should be the scion of the family, does not even bear the name Potitius! Still, in a time of trouble, I am hoping that young man will hear the call of the blood in his veins and will help his kinsmen.”

Kaeso clenched his teeth. “What do you want from me?”

“A loan. Only that. A small loan, from one kinsman to another.”

“Why now? Why must you spoil a day when I should be thinking of nothing but my wedding?”

“My request has nothing to do with your marriage-although I’m sure the bride’s father would be shocked to learn that she is about to marry the descendent of a slave and a tarnished Vestal.”

Kaeso’s legs grew unsteady. He sat on the bed.

Potitius’s voice was gentle. “It’s a curious thing, that you should be a builder. Your ancestor Titus Potitius, the friend of Coriolanus, was a builder, too-did you know that? He was also the first to bring shame on the family. It would be a pity, if you should take after him in that regard, as well.”

“How much do you want?”

Potitius named a sum. Kaeso drew a sharp breath, appalled at the man’s greed but relieved he had not asked for more. It was agreed that Potitius would come to him in two day’s time and that Kaeso would pay him then.

Amazingly, despite his excitement at his impending wedding and the anxieties aroused by his unwanted visitor, Kaeso slept like a stone that night. He experienced no nightmares. He woke early, before the first cockcrow, feeling clearheaded and refreshed. He lit a lamp.

Some time earlier he had finished reading all the documents loaned to him by his cousin Quintus. He had been meaning to return them, but in the rush of getting ready for the wedding had neglected to do so. He reached for them now. He found himself rereading certain of the documents, occasionally nodding and humming.

After a while he set the documents aside, extinguished the lamp, and slept for another hour, as men do when they have made an irrevocable decision and are at peace with the gods and themselves.

When Titus Potitius next came to call, it was ostensibly to pay his respects to the newlyweds. Kaeso received the visitor in his new home without a trace of rancor. He even spoke warmly to him, and apologized for his earlier harsh words, then introduced him to his new bride.

To Potitius, it seemed that a night of marital bliss had done wonders to correct Kaeso’s attitude. And why not? As he saw it, there was no need for Kaeso to be unfriendly. Having convinced himself that selling the family’s rights to the Ara Maxima was acceptable, Potitius had further convinced himself that his request for assistance from Kaeso was entirely reasonable. They were kinsmen, after all. Kaeso had plenty of money, and Potitius was in dire straits. The gods smiled on generosity. There was no reason the transaction should be unpleasant. Indeed, Kaeso should be proud to help an elder kinsman in need.

With his head full of such rationalizations, and his guard down, Potitius thought nothing of it when the bride offered him a portion of the traditional dish of beans left over from the wedding feast, and he did not notice that it was Kaeso who actually put the bowl in his hands. He was hungry, and the beans were delicious. Kaeso discreetly slipped him a small bag of coins, then hurried him out the door. Potitius took no offense at being dismissed so quickly. It was only natural that the groom was eager to be alone with his bride.

Patting the money bag that hung from his waist, humming a happy tune, Potitius crossed the Aventine, heading for his house on the less fashionable south side of the hill. Walking in front of the Temple of Juno Regina, he saw that one of the sacred geese had escaped its enclosure and was strutting across the porch, craning its neck this way and that. Potitius smiled, then felt a sudden tingling in his throat. His mouth was very dry; he should have asked for something to drink to wash down the beans.

Abruptly, a flame seemed to run down his throat all the way to his bowels. The sensation was so intense and so peculiar that he knew something was seriously wrong. He had reached that advanced age when a man might die at any moment, suddenly and without apparent cause. Was that happening now? Had the gods at last chosen to end the story of his life?

Without knowing how he got there, he found himself lying flat on his back on the ground in front of the temple, hardly able to move. A crowd gathered around him. People stooped over and peered down at him. Their expressions were not encouraging. Men shook their heads. A woman covered her face and began to weep.

“Cold,” he managed to say. “Can’t seem…to move.”

As if to contradict him, his arms and legs began to twitch, a little at first, and then so violently that people drew back in fright. The alarmed goose honked and flapped its wings.

Potitius realized what had happened. He hardly thought of it as murder, but rather as yet another misfortune to befall the Potitii. How the gods must hate his family! It never occurred to him to accuse Kaeso with his dying breath; to admit his extortion would only blacken his own name and further humiliate the family. His convulsions ceased, along with his breathing.

Titus, reigning paterfamilias of the Potitii, died swiftly and in silence.

Two lictors sent by the curule aedile arrived to look after the body until a family member could claim it. The lictor who took an inventory of the dead man’s possessions recognized Potitius and expressed surprise that the old fellow should be carrying such a substantial amount of money on his person. “The Potitii are always crying poverty, but look at all these coins!”

“Maybe it’s what left of that settlement the censor gave him for selling the rights to the Ara Maxima,” said his companion. “No good could come of such sacrilege.”

“No good’s already come to this poor fellow!”

To Kaeso’s eye, Titus Potitius, the son of the deceased paterfamilias, looked only slightly younger than his father.

“So you see,” said Potitius, “as far as I was able to figure out, you must have been one of the last people to see him alive. Papa told one of the slaves he would be stopping here on his way home, but he didn’t say why. It’s a bit of puzzle how he came to have so much money on him. No one has a clue as to where he got that bag of coins.”

The two of them sat in the tiny garden of Kaeso’s new house. There was no innuendo or suspicion in Potitius’s voice; he sounded like a bereaved son who simply wanted to learn all he could about his father’s final hours. Still, Kaeso felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. He chose his words carefully and spoke in what he hoped was a suitably commiserating tone of voice.

“It’s true, your father paid us a brief visit that day. He and I had met briefly once before, at the house of Appius Claudius. It was very considerate of him to come by and congratulate us on our nuptials.”

“Such a nice old fellow,” remarked Galeria, who sat nearby with her spindle and distaff, spinning wool with the assistance of her slave girl. Galeria had many old-fashioned virtues, but keeping silent was not one of them, and the house was too small for Kaeso to conduct a conversation out of her hearing. “He seemed very fond of you, Kaeso.”

Potitius smiled. “I can see why Papa might have taken a liking to you. You probably reminded him of cousin Marcus.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the resemblance is quite striking. And Papa was very sentimental. And…he wasn’t above imposing on people. He didn’t…” Potitius lowered his eyes. “He didn’t by any chance ask you for money, did he? I’m afraid Papa had a bad habit of asking for loans, even from people he barely knew.”

“Of course not!”

Potitius sighed. “Ah, well, I had to ask. I’m still tracking down his unpaid debts. Where he acquired that bag of coins may remain a mystery.”

Kaeso nodded sympathetically. Clearly, the younger Titus Potitius knew nothing of his father’s scheme to extort money from him. And yet, the man’s fretting over the bag of coins, and his remark about Kaeso’s resemblance to a kinsman, made Kaeso uneasy.

Kaeso took a deep breath. The flutter in his chest subsided. As had occurred in the early hours of his wedding day, a resolution came to him, and with it a sense of peace.

He looked earnestly at Potitius. “Like my dear friend Appius Claudius, I’m moved by your family’s plight. That one of Roma’s most ancient families should have dwindled so greatly in numbers and fallen into such poverty should be a cause for concern to all the city’s patricians. We of the old families squabble too much among ourselves, when we should be looking out for one another. I’m only a young man, and I have very little influence-”

“You underestimate yourself, Kaeso. You have the ear of both Quintus Fabius and Appius Claudius. Not many men in Roma can say that.”

“I suppose that’s true. And I should like to do what I can to help the Potitii.”

“I would be very grateful for any assistance you can give us.” Potitius sighed. “The duties of paterfamilias weigh heavily upon me!”

“Perhaps I can help to relieve that burden, if only a little. Upon my recommendation, my cousin Quintus might be able to secure positions for some for your kinsman, and so might the censor. You and I should meet again, Titus, over a bit of food and wine.”

“I would be honored,” said Potitius. “My house is hardly worthy to receive you, but if you and your wife would accept an invitation to dinner…”

And so Kaeso began to insinuate himself into the household, and into the trust, of the new paterfamilias of the Potitii.

311 B.C.

The new fountain at the terminus of the aqueduct was not merely the largest fountain in all of Roma, but a splendid work of art. The shallow, elevated pool into which the water would spill was a circle fifteen feet in diameter. In the center, from the mouths of three river sprites magnificently carved from stone, water would continuously jet into the pool.

Many of the city’s most distinguished citizens had gathered to witness the inauguration of the fountain. Chief among them was Appius Claudius, smiling broadly and looking resplendent in his purple censor’s toga. Quintus Fabius was also there, exhibiting his perpetual scowl. He had agreed to attend only begrudgingly, and Kaeso felt obligated to stand next to him.

The auspices had been taken; the augur had spotted several river-fowl wheeling over the nearby Tiber, a sure sign of the gods’ favor. There was a lull in the festivities while the engineers made ready to open the valves. Quintus began to grumble.

“So this is your friend Claudius’s excuse for hanging on as censor, well past his legal term-a fountain!”

Kaeso pursed his lips. “Claudius argued that his work on the aqueduct and the road is too important to be interrupted. He asked to continue as censor. The Senate agreed.”

“Only because Claudius has packed the Senate with his minions! He’s as devious and headstrong as his ancestors and just as dangerous. For his own selfish ends, he’s caused a political crisis in the city.” Quintus shook his head. “These so-called grand projects of his are merely a diversion while he continues to press for the implementation of his radical voting schemes. He won’t rest until he’s made the Roman republic into a Greek democracy ruled by a demagogue like himself-a disaster that will never happen as long as I have a breath in my body.”

“Please, cousin! We’re here to celebrate a feat of Roman engineering, not to argue politics. Surely the aqueduct is something we can all be proud of.”

Quintus grunted in reply. His frown abruptly softened. “How is the little one?”

Kaeso smiled. Galeria had become pregnant very soon after their wedding, and had recently given birth to a son. Kaeso knew that Quintus would be pleased, but he had been surprised at how avidly his cousin doted on the baby.

“Little Kaeso is in good health. He loves the gourd rattle you gave him, and all the other toys.”

Quintus nodded. “Good! He’s very bright and alert, that one. With those lungs of his, he’ll make a powerful orator someday.”

“He can certainly make himself heard,” agreed Kaeso.

Claudius mounted a platform and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Citizens! We are almost ready to fill the fountain. But first, if you will indulge me, I should like to say a few words about how this marvelous feat of engineering was achieved.” He proceeded to discourse on the importance of water to the growing city, recalled the flash of insight that had inspired him to commence planning the aqueduct, and recounted a few anecdotes about the construction. His speech, delivered from memory, was full of puns and clever turns of phrase. Even Quintus grunted an involuntary laugh at some of his witticisms.

“There are many, many men who must be thanked for their contributions to this great enterprise,” said Claudius. “Lest I forget a single one of them, I have written them down.” Claudius proceeded to read the names. Kaeso was flattered that he was mentioned early in the long list.

As Claudius continued to read, Quintus whispered to Kaeso, “Why is he squinting so?”

Kaeso frowned. Quintus had touched upon a matter of growing concern to him: the censor’s eyesight. Quite abruptly, Claudius’s vision had begun to deteriorate, to such a degree that he practically had to press his nose against his beloved Greek scrolls to read them. The list he was now reading had been written in large letters, yet still he had to narrow his eyes to make out the names.

Quintus saw the worry on Kaeso’s face. “The rumor is true, then? Appius Claudius is going blind?”

“Of course not!” said Kaeso. “He’s merely strained his eyes from working so hard.”

Quintus raised an eyebrow. “You know what people are saying, don’t you?”

“People are fools!” whispered Kaeso. He had indeed heard the vicious rumor being put about by Claudius’s enemies. They said the censor, who so loved the pleasures of reading and writing, was being punished with blindness by the gods, for having allowed the transfer of religious duties at the Ara Maxima from the Potitius family to temple slaves. “Whatever you may think of his politics, cousin, Appius Claudius is a pious man who honors the gods. If his eyesight is failing, it’s not because the gods are punishing him.”

“And yet, the gods punished those other unlikely friends of yours, the Potitii, did they not? And most severely!”

Kaeso drew a sharp breath, but did not answer. In his dealings with the Potitii over the last year, Kaeso had been acting in his own self-interest, to obliterate the secret of his origins and to safeguard the future of his offspring. But might the gods have taken a part, making him the instrument of their wrath against an impious family ripe for destruction?

“Do you doubt that the terrible end of the Potitii was the result of divine judgment?” said Quintus, pressing him. “What other explanation could there be for such an extraordinary sequence of deaths? In a matter of months, every male in the family grew sick and died. Not a single Potitius is left to pass on the name. One of Roma’s oldest families has become extinct!”