Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven (читать книги онлайн полностью .TXT) 📗

“I’m not sure he has all his wits,” said Potitia’s father.

“We shall wake tomorrow to find his dead body lying at the foot of the hill,” grumbled Pinarius.

“What terrible things to say! I think you’re both wrong,” said Potitia. She smiled at the ox-driver, who smiled back.

Pinarius exchanged a sidelong glance with his cousin and lowered his voice. “On many important things we disagree, Potitius, but I think one thing is evident to us both. Your daughter is smitten by this stranger.”

“He is impressive,” said Potitius, looking the man up and down. “How do you think he came by that lion’s skin he wears? If Potitia finds him suitable-”

Pinarius shook his head and spat. “It shall come to grief. Mark my words!”

The afternoon became sweltering as the midsummer sun beat down upon the ruma. A warm breeze, smelling of mud and decay, rose from the marshes and followed the Spinon down to the Tiber. The droning of cicadas filled the meadow, where the oxen lay dozing in the shade.

As the settlers believed there were numina in places and objects, so they also believed that numina informed certain phenomena, such as sleep. Like other numina, those of sleep could be friendly or unfriendly. Sleep could heal the weary and the sick and give comfort to the grieving. Sleep could also render even the strongest man utterly helpless.

That afternoon, the numina of sleep descended upon the settlement like a hand upon the brow of an infant, shutting the eyes of the settlers whether they wished to close them or not. Men fought to stay awake, and lost the battle without even knowing it.

The oxen slept. The dog slept. The ox-driver also slept, leaning back against the tree where Potitia had first seen him.

Potitia did not sleep. She sat in the shade of an oak tree and studied the stranger, wondering what the future might hold for her.

There was another who did not sleep. With his long arms and immense strength, Cacus had found a way to climb down from the cave that even Potitia did not know about. Brambles kept him hidden at almost every point as he descended. If he exercised great stealth and did not cause a single leaf to tremble or a shard of stone to give way underfoot, his movement down the face of the cliff was very nearly invisible. Even if the boy who had been set to watch the cave that day had not been dozing, Cacus probably would have descended unseen.

Cacus was not aware of the coming of the stranger, but he had heard the lowing of the oxen. He had not eaten beast-flesh in many days.

Across the meadow, he caught sight of the oxen. He took no notice of the ox-driver or Potitia. Both were nearby, but both were very still, and obscured by the dappled shade of the trees. He chose the smallest of the oxen and made his way toward it. Not a single twig broke beneath his feet; it was a remarkable thing that a creature so large and ungainly could move so quietly upon the earth. Nonetheless, the ox sensed danger. It swished its tail, rose to its feet, and uttered a low bleat. The beast saw Cacus, took a step back, then froze.

When he reached the ox, Cacus did not hesitate. He clamped his fists together, raised them in the air, and landed a hammer-like blow upon the ox’s forehead.

The ox snorted once, shuddered, and fell dead. It struck the earth with a heavy thud. The other oxen stirred and began to mill about. The dog’s ears twitched, but he remained asleep.

Potitia, who had just nodded off, gave a start. She opened her eyes and saw that the monster was no more than ten paces away. She sucked in a breath and would have screamed, but her throat was suddenly so tight that no sound would come out.

She jumped to her feet. Her first thought was to wake to the ox-driver, but to do that, she would have to run past the monster. She turned and ran in the other direction, away from the settlement, toward the cave.

Cacus’s eye was drawn by the movement. He caught a glimpse of her amid the high grass, and recognized her at once. He ran after her.

His legs were mismatched, but very long and powerful. When it suited him, he could run with incredible speed. The flies that had been buzzing about the oxen followed after him in a swarm, drawn by the odors of blood and rotting flesh that clung to him.

Potitia’s foot struck an exposed root and she went flying. Perhaps it was as the elder Pinarius said: All the numina of the ruma had turned against them, and even the roots of the trees were conspiring with the monster. What a fool she had been to think that the arrival of the ox-driver was a sign of a better times to come! As she tumbled against the hard, sun-baked earth, she reached up to touch Fascinus at her neck, and whispered a prayer that the monster might kill her swiftly.

But Cacus had no intention of killing her.

The ox-driver slept, dreaming of the faraway land of his childhood. It was a dream of sunshine and warm meadows, lowing oxen and singing cicadas.

Then, in an instant, he was awake.

One of the oxen stood over him, urgently pressing its cold, wet snout against his cheek. The stranger grunted with disgust, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and looked about.

At once he saw the cause of the ox’s distress. One of its companions was lying in the grass nearby, utterly still and in a most unnatural position. Where was the dog? He saw it curled up on the grass not far away. The dog yawned, briefly opened its eyes, then shut them again and resettled itself more comfortably.

The ox-driver cursed and jumped to his feet.

He heard a muffled sound that might have been a woman’s scream and ran toward it.

What he saw first was a swarm of flies above a depression in the high grass. Then he caught a glimpse of bare, hairy flesh-the hunched back of Cacus, moving up and down and this way and that. The ox-driver moved forward more cautiously, not sure what sort of man or beast he was approaching. Punctuating the gasps and groans and slavering noises was a curious, guttural sound: Cacus…cacus…cacus!

Then he heard a sound that chilled his blood-the scream he had heard before, from a woman in great distress.

The ox-driver gave a shout. The hunched back suddenly ceased moving. A face, shockingly hideous, rose above the high grass and peered at him. The creature snarled, gave a cry of indignation-“Cacus!”-then rose to its full height. That the creature was male became evident by the virile member displayed between its legs. Beneath the creature, still hidden by the grass, the woman let out a plaintive sob.

The ox-driver was not used to encountering anything that walked on two legs that was as big as himself; this creature was bigger. Nor had he ever encountered a creature as loathsome to look at as Cacus. Revulsion rose in his throat, and an unaccustomed emotion washed over him-the cold prickle of fear. The lion whose skin he wore he had killed with his bare hands, but a lion seemed a minor menace compared to Cacus.

The ox-driver braced himself and gave another shout, challenging the creature to fight. A moment later, with a deafening roar, Cacus hurtled toward him.

The sheer mass of the creature struck the ox-driver with bruising force, knocking him to the ground. The stench of the creature’s breath filled his nostrils. The taste of the creature’s foul sweat mingled on his tongue with the bitter flavor of dirt as they tumbled on the ground. The flies that swarmed around the creature buzzed in the ox-driver’s ears and flew into his nostrils and eyes, tormenting and distracting him.

With the creature atop him, crushing him, the ox-driver frantically reached for anything that might serve as a weapon. His hand closed on a fallen branch. He swung it with all his might. A shuddering impact ran through his arm as the branch broke against the creature’s skull. The piece that remained in his fist was jagged and sharp; he stabbed it against the creature’s flank. A scream pierced his ears. Hot blood ran over his hand, causing him to lose his grip on the weapon. The creature bolted up and away from him.