Empire - Saylor Steven - Страница 16

“Ah, yes, the baby shoes my brother sent as a keepsake. Little Gaius has grown since then. He’s big for a four-year-old, and quite the warrior. Germanicus tells me the boy has his own pair of miniature army boots, the caliga worn by soldiers. How the troops love to see the boy on parade. Caligula, they call him, ‘Little Boots.’”

“Your older brother has done well. He’s lived up to his name.”

“He has, indeed. His first task was quelling the unrest in the ranks when Uncle Tiberius reneged on the bonuses promised by Augustus; only Germanicus’s popularity with the troops prevented a wholesale uprising. We learned a lesson there, about where the real p-p-power behind the emperor lies – not with the Senate, but with the legions. Germanicus not only rallied the troops on the Rhine, he led an invasion deep into German territory and avenged the disaster of the Teutoberg Forest. Two of the lost eagle standards were retrieved, and he’s vowed to take back the other as well, even if he has to pry it from the dead hand of Arminius.”

“Everyone in Roma is talking about his success.”

“The people now love him as much as his troops do. Almost certainly Tiberius will have to award Germanicus a triumph when he returns to Roma. Imagine the pomp and glory, all the German slaves and captured b-b-booty on display, the acclamation of the legions, and little Caligula riding beside his father in the chariot, wearing his tiny army boots!”

Lucius touched the fascinum at his breast. “And beneath the chariot will be the sacred fascinum of the Vestals, to ward off the gaze of the envious.”

“The envious in this case being Tiberius,” said Claudius under his breath.

Lucius lowered his voice. “Does he see Germanicus as a rival?”

“Who c-c-can say?”

“If Tiberius feels threatened by your brother, what does that mean for you, Claudius?”

“Perhaps I should c-consult my horoscope.”

Lucius suddenly felt uneasy. For many years, under Augustus, power in Roma had been a settled affair; whether a man liked it or not, everyone knew his place. But in the aftermath of Augustus’s death, the future of the city and the individual destinies of its people seemed uncertain.

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?”