Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 40

A few in the crowd were taken aback at this breach of decorum. Below him, Titus heard Publius Pinarius let out a gasp and mutter, “By Hercules, did you ever see anything so audacious?” But a far greater number of spectators were roused to cheering and even moved to tears, especially when Cominius warmly embraced Gnaeus, then placed Gnaeus’s hand upon the scepter next to his own and raised it high.

“People of Roma, I give you Gnaeus Marcius, the hero of Corioli! All hail Coriolanus!”

“Coriolanus!” the people chanted. The name reverberated around the Forum like rolling thunder.

From the step above, Appius Claudius leaned over and spoke into Titus’s ear. “I always knew that friend of yours would make a name for himself. Today he has, and everyone in Roma is shouting it.” Claudius stood upright, cupped his hands to his mouth, and joined the others: “Coriolanus! All hail Coriolanus!”

“The temple will be dedicated very soon, then?” said Gnaeus Marcius.

Titus laughed. “Yes, very soon. It’s polite of you to inquire, Gnaeus-or should I call you Coriolanus now? But we both know you have very little interest in temples, and even less in architecture for its own sake. We see each other so seldom nowadays, it seems to me that we should speak of matters that interest us both.”

They were dining, alone, in the garden of the house on the Palatine where Gnaeus lived with his mother and wife. The previous day, various citizens had organized private feasts to follow the triumph. The food had been so sumptuous, and Titus had eaten so much, that he had thought he would never be hungry again. Yet, a day later, his stomach was empty again and he found himself craving a simple meal. Even more, he craved the company of his old friend Gnaeus, just the two of them alone, away from the swarms of strangers and well-wishers who had surrounded Gnaeus the previous day with their incessant cries of “Hail Coriolanus!” And so, when Gnaeus invited him to a private dinner to enjoy his mother’s chickpea and millet porridge, Titus had eagerly accepted.

“It’s true that our lives have taken different paths in recent years,” said Gnaeus. “But that may be about to change.”

“How so? Am I to leave the Senate, and the construction projects they’ve entrusted to me, and join you in battle? I was never very good at it. I suppose I could be your spearbearer, or hold open the gate of an enemy city while you rush inside.”

“I mean quite the opposite. I shall be invading your domain.”

“My construction projects?”

“No! I mean the Senate.”

“What are you saying?”

Gnaeus smiled. “Cominius promised me as much, yesterday, after he invited me onto his chariot. As we passed all those cheering people, he whispered in my ear, ‘See how they love you, my boy! Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it! A man like you belongs in the Senate, where you can do even more good for Roma than you did at Corioli. I shall make a special appointment, and for that alone, men will say my year as consul was well spent.’”

“But Gnaeus, this is wonderful! Except that now I truly have no idea what I should call you. Senator? Coriolanus? Senator Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus-that’s a mouthful!”

“Then stuff your mouth with chickpeas and millet instead,” said Gnaeus. He laughed, but a moment later Titus saw that Gnaeus’s lips were silently mouthing his impressive new title, and that it pleased him.

“How the gods must love you! You always said you’d become Roma’s greatest warrior, and so you have. Now you can become Roma’s most beloved politician. Cominius is no fool. He wouldn’t appoint you to the Senate if he didn’t see great potential in you. Appius Claudius sees it, too. Mark my words, in due course, you shall be elected consul.”

“Perhaps. In the meantime, I shall need someone to teach me the ins and outs of the Senate. You’re the man for that, Titus.”

“I hardly think so! Appius Claudius is your man. He took me under his wing when I entered the Senate. It was thanks to his influence that I was put in charge of building the Temple of Ceres. He’ll do the same for you, insofar as such a capable fellow needs to be taken under anyone’s wing.”

“Claudius is a good man to know. But nothing takes the place of a boyhood friend. When the odds are against me, it’s to you I’ll turn, Titus.” Gnaeus put his hand on Titus’s shoulder.

Titus nodded. “Coriolanus honors me.”

Gnaeus leaned back and smiled. “So-how goes the work on the Temple of Ceres?”

“A subject in which you have no interest!”

“No interest as a soldier, perhaps. But as a senator, I may have a great deal of interest in the project.”

“Then tomorrow you shall come and see for yourself. It’s a prominent location, quite spectacular-a spur of the Aventine that looms above the starting gates of the Circus Maximus. It’s in the Etruscan araeostyle, just like the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. Not as large, but it will be quite grandly decorated. Vulca is no longer with us, alas, but we’ve employed the very best Etruscan sculptors for the terra-cotta statue of Ceres. To execute the frescoes and reliefs on the walls, we’ve brought in two Greek artists, Gorgasus and Damophilus. They’re almost done, and their work is amazing! And…” Titus realized that Gnaeus was not paying attention. He was staring into the middle distance with a distracted look.

Gnaeus noticed that Titus had stopped speaking, and flashed a wry smile. “You’re right, Titus. I care nothing about the temple’s architecture or its adornments. But I do care about the politics behind it.”

“Famine,” said Titus bluntly. “It was the famine three years ago that inspired the building of the temple. So many men were called to war that there was no one to sow the crops that year, and the fields that were sown were devastated by more warfare. Roma had insufficient stores in reserve, and people starved-the poorer people, anyway. My father also died that year-not directly from the famine, because our sort never went hungry, but from a fever; disease goes hand in hand with famine, and from a fever no man is safe. The Sibylline Books were consulted. It was decreed that a temple should be dedicated to Ceres. To prevent another famine, we would appeal to the goddess of the harvest. Sometimes the advice of the Sibylline verses actually makes sense!”

“Or was there another agenda?” said Gnaeus. His tone was suddenly grave. “Ceres is a favorite deity of the plebeians. Is it not true that the annual festival to commemorate her temple will be organized exclusively by plebeians, just as the annual festival to commemorate the Temple of Jupiter is organized by patricians?”

“Yes. Thus we’ll have a new plebeian festival to match the old patrician festival. What’s wrong with that?” asked Titus, with a sigh. He knew where Gnaeus’s argument was leading, for he had heard it before, from Appius Claudius; it was really quite amazing, how closely Gnaeus’s attitudes matched those of Titus’s father-in-law. Both men were endlessly suspicious of anything that might advance the political power of the plebeians. Claudius had maneuvered to have Titus oversee construction of the Temple of Ceres not because he approved of the project, but for reasons quite the opposite: “If it must be done, then better we put you in charge of the project, my boy, rather than some sycophant who wishes only to curry favor with the mob!”

Titus himself was largely apathetic about politics; if anything, he was sympathetic to the struggles of the plebs. His chief priorities were to determine the best design for any given project, to employ the best artists and artisans at the best prices, and to see the building progress from imagination to splendid reality.

Gnaeus shook his head. “If the plebeians continue to have their way, Titus, one morning you may wake up in a world you no longer recognize, where the lowest have usurped the highest, and the age-old prestige of a name like Potitius counts for nothing. Can you not see that the new plebeian festival indicates a dangerous shift in the balance of power? Since the birth of the republic, by this means and that, in small ways and large, the plebeian masses have ceaselessly conspired to wrest power from the patricians, always to the detriment of Roma’s security and prosperity.”