Empire - Saylor Steven (читать полные книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗

The heavy goblet of crystal and agate,

Making the wine sweeter by the touch of his soft white hands.

Boy dear to the gods, chosen the first to drink the vintage,

Blessed to touch so often that mighty right hand

Whose sway the Dacians yearn to know -

Epaphroditus broke off and made a retching sound. “Even Martial never stooped to writing anything as awful as that, though he’s come perilously close.”

“It’s curious,” said Lucius, “how a man as vicious as Domitian can lavish so much affection on a harmless, mutilated boy. It’s almost as if Earinus were a pet.”

“Earinus means ‘springtime’ in Greek. Domitian is almost forty now. Statius says Earinus restores Domitian’s youth, though I imagine the boy only reminds him of it. But you put your finger on something, Lucius. They say the empress is quite aware of Domitian’s passion and that she, too, is quite fond of Earinus. Why not? Better for her if Domitian spends his time courting a eunuch rather than the wife of some senator, or worse, an unmarried girl of childbearing age who might pester him to divorce his wife. The empress has yet to give Domitian another heir to replace his dead son; as long as he spills his seed with a eunuch, no one else will do so. For dynastic purposes, a eunuch is no rival at all. Earinus is more like a pet, as you say, a pretty creature whose company both of them can enjoy.”

“Domitian! What do we make of the man?” said Lucius. “He’s obsessed on the one hand with bureaucratic minutiae, but on the other with a morbid fear of plots and magic. He was once a promiscuous adulterer and now dotes on a eunuch, but he’s determined to criminalize the ‘bed-wrestling’ of others. And this is the man who shapes every facet of the world we live in. He’s in the very air we breathe.”

Epaphroditus sighed. “Enough about the emperor. What about you, Lucius?”

Lucius shrugged. “Nothing in my little world ever changes.”

“Does that mean you’re still seeing her?”

Lucius smiled. “We’re like an old married couple nowadays – if you can imagine a couple married in secret who see each other only a few times a year. The passion is still there, but it burns more steadily, with a lower flame.”

“Like the flame in Vesta’s hearth?”

“If you like. She has even less time to see me, now that she’s become the Virgo Maxima.”

“At such a young age! How old is she now?”

“Thirty-two. And more beautiful than ever.”

Epaphroditus laughed. “You don’t sound like a married man to me. You still sound like a lover.”

“I’m a very lucky man, to know such a woman. Ah, don’t give me that look, Epaphroditus. You need not lecture me again about the risks. I believe I was blessed, not cursed, when Fortune led me to her. I would never have found a love like hers anywhere else.”

“Truly, spoken like a lover. How do you spend the rest of your time?”

“When I’m not hunting at one of my estates, enjoying the fresh air and the thrill of the chase, I do what I must to maintain my fortune. Dealings in real estate and trade aren’t exactly respectable activities for a patrician – large-scale agriculture or state service would be more suitable – but you know I’ve never been a status seeker. Hilarion does most of the actual work. He takes so much pleasure in moving numbers from one column to another, dictating letters to merchants, and issuing instructions to lawyers.”

“Still no politics or public service for you, then?”

“Certainly not! More than ever, it seems to me that the only sensible strategy for a Roman citizen is to attract as little attention to himself as possible. So far, I’ve managed to stay beneath the notice of the emperor. I intend to keep it that way.” Even as Lucius said these words, he felt that he was tempting Fate. He reached inside his toga and touched the fascinum.

Epaphroditus opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to change his mind.

“What is it?” said Lucius.

“I was wondering if you had heard about Catullus?”

Lucius drew a breath. “The emperor’s henchman – the one who led the investigation against the Vestals?”

“And many other investigations in recent years. That seems to be his special gift, an ability to ferret out every secret act and utterance that could bring destruction to another mortal. How Domitian prizes him for it! But now a bit of misfortune has befallen Catullus. He fell gravely ill with a fever and almost died. He’s back on his feet, completely recovered, but he’s completely blind.”

Lucius remembered what Cornelia had said about the man: Everything about Catullus is as cold as ice, except his eyes. I thought his gaze would set me on fire.

“But this is happy news,” Lucius said, though his expression was grim. “Catullus – blind! You should have told me right away.”

Epaphroditus pursed his lips. “Epictetus says that to feel joy at the suffering of another is a sin, like hubris; it invites the retaliation of the gods.”

“Really? All Roma watches and applauds when thousands die in the arena, or when captives are strangled at the end of a triumph, and the gods seem to approve. Why should I not take a little satisfaction at the much-deserved downfall of a monster like Catullus?”

“I’m not sure that blindness has put an end to Catullus. Domitian still counts him among his closest advisers. They say the infirmity has only made him more dangerous.”

Again Lucius felt a superstitious chill. He was reaching to touch the fascinum when they heard the jangling of a key in the lock. The gate opened and an attendant looked inside.

“I shall allow them to enter in a moment,” the man said. “You might want to pay your last respects.”

They turned their attention back to the sarcophagus. While Epaphroditus stood in silence with his hands folded and his eyes downcast, Lucius burned a bit of incense and placed the flower the girl had given him on the altar. He was not really thinking of Nero as he prayed, but of his father, and of Sporus.

They made their way to the gate. The attendant shouted at the crowd to make way for them. As Lucius stepped through the crush, surrounded by the smell of flowers, a hand gripped his arm.

It was the red-haired girl. “Don’t forget,” she cried. “Nero is coming, any day now. Oh, yes, any day now!”

A. D 91

“Did you enjoy your stay in the country?”

“I did, Hilarion.”

“Good hunting?”

“Typical for this time of year. Not much to shoot at but deer and rabbits. Still, beautiful countryside.”

“And did you enjoy sleeping late this morning?”

“I did indeed. I was up at dawn every day in the country, but the journey home tired me out. Fortunately, here in the city a man can sleep until noon and miss nothing.”

“And your visit to the baths this afternoon?”

“Very pleasant. I prefer the afternoon to the morning, especially at the Baths of Titus. It’s less crowded, more relaxed. I actually spent an hour playing some silly board game with a complete stranger in one of the galleries, then took a final hot plunge. I feel quite clean and revived, ready for the rest of the day.”

“There’s not much of the day left, alas. The sun sets quite early. But we may still have an hour of sunlight in the study. I was hoping you might join me in reviewing the accounts from the granary outside Alexandria. There are a few discrepancies to which I’d like to draw your attention-”

“Not now, Hilarion.”

“It won’t take long.”

“I’m off.”

“To where, may I ask?”

“You may not.”

“Perhaps this evening, by lamplight?” With a forlorn expression, Hilarion held up a scroll.

“Probably not, Hilarion. I may not be back until quite late.”

“I see.” Hilarion looked at Lucius’s garments. The master of the house was not wearing a toga, but a brightly coloured tunic short enough to show off his athletic legs and cinched with a leather belt with silver inlays around his waist, still trim at forty-four thanks to his recent regimen of riding and hunting all day and eating only what he could catch. Hilarion shook his head. It was obvious that the master of the house was going to see her – the woman whose existence Lucius had never acknowledged and whose identity Hilarion, very wisely, had never attempted to discover. Hilarion sometimes felt sorry for the old master’s son. He himself was only a freedman, yet he had found a suitable woman to marry and together they had made some wonderful children.