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

As it turned out, Martial was mistaken on all counts about Trajan’s mode of transportation. The new emperor did not arrive in a chariot, or on horseback, or in a litter. Trajan entered the city on foot, and he wore not a general’s regalia, as Domitian had done on public occasions, but a toga.

The sight of the new emperor simply walking into the city, like any common citizen, evoked spontaneous cheers and applause. Even on foot, Trajan was easy to spot at a distance because of his height. Walking alongside him was his wife, Plotina, who graciously smiled and waved to the crowd. In their forties, the imperial couple were both quite plain, but physically robust. Their relaxed manner seemed completely unpretentious.

Walking a little behind them was Trajan’s cousin and ward, Hadrian, who was in his early twenties and also of Spanish birth. Like Trajan, Hadrian was tall and powerfully built. He was handsomer than Trajan, but his clean-shaven cheeks were covered with acne scars. Faced with the cheering crowd, he comported himself much more stiffly than the genial Trajan. The cousins were said to be very close; it was young Hadrian, serving under Trajan on the German frontier, who had delivered to him the news of his acclamation as emperor.

In the heart of the Forum, the entire membership of the Senate gathered in groups to greet the new emperor, beginning with the foremost magistrates and senior members. Lucius and his friends happened to be standing in the crowd nearby. As Trajan began to approach the receiving line, Hadrian, looking in the direction of Lucius and his party, whispered in Trajan’s ear. The emperor nodded, turned, and walked directly to them.

Trajan raised his hand in greeting. “Dio of Prusa! Epictetus of Nicopolis! Have you come to welcome this humble citizen to Roma?” His accent was decidedly provincial.

Lucius was startled by Trajan’s approach. He was even more surprised by the casual ease with which his philosopher friends responded.

“Caesar has come home, and his people rejoice,” said Epictetus.

“The House of the People has been empty too long,” said Dio. “Caesar and his wife will fill it with light and happiness.”

Trajan laughed. Seen close at hand, he was even larger than Lucius had thought. His face was homely but pleasant, dominated by a long nose and topped by a thick mop of greying hair.

“Since we haven’t met before, you must wonder how I recognized you. Thank my cousin over there. Young Hadrian is quite the scholar – I call him the Little Greek. He’s too shy to come meet you, but he insisted that I do so. Many a night, in my tent, Hadrian has read your works aloud to me, Dio. I laugh, I cry – if you can imagine tears from a big fellow like me.

Your discourses about Melancomas – delightful! And you, Epictetus – my wife speaks very highly of you, though I think she leans towards the Epicureans rather than you Stoics. I leave the philosophy to Plotina, and believe whatever she tells me to. Much simpler that way. And your companions?” He indicated Lucius and Martial, who stood to one side.

“This is our host in the city,” said Dio, “Lucius Pinarius. And this is Martial, the famous poet.”

Martial eagerly stepped forward. “Welcome, Caesar! The day of your arrival is finally here. Now every citizen and richly clad foreign delegate steps forth to exclaim as one, with joy, ‘He comes!’” He made a small bow.

Trajan looked down his nose for a moment. He worked his large jaw back and forth, then nodded to the philosophers. “Well, I must go say hello to some senators now.” He turned around and headed to the receiving line.

“Astounding!” said Lucius. “He greeted you two even ahead of the magistrates.”

“A good sign, I think,” said Dio. “The new emperor may not be a lover of philosophy, but he acknowledges the contribution of philosophers. I have high hopes for this man.”

“Did you hear his accent?” said Martial, making a face. “He sounded like a Spanish fishmonger.”

“One might almost wish to remain here in Roma, to see what sort of tone Trajan sets for the social life of the city,” said Epictetus.

Martial grunted. “Not me! I can’t wait to get out of this stinking dung heap.”

After Trajan had received the personal greetings of every senator, embracing and kissing many of them, he and Plotina ascended to the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline for a formal ceremony, then returned to the Forum and made their way through the crowd to the grand entrance of the imperial palace. On the steps, Trajan made a brief speech, mostly in praise of Nerva. Like Nerva, he made a vow to kill no senators. He then invited Plotina to say a few words. She made a show of surprise at this and demurred, whereupon a cry went up for her to speak. Without too much prompting, she acquiesced.

“Nerva called this place the House of the People,” said Plotina, “and so we shall call it, for that way, every day, we shall be reminded of who put us here and for whom we toil – the people of Roma. Not long ago, people dreaded to enter this house, and some who entered were never seen again. It is my hope that we can make this a place where every citizen feels safe and welcome. I am a simple woman, the wife of a soldier, a daughter of the house of Pompeius. To reside in the House of the People, with your blessings, is the greatest honor of my life. Your respect is the greatest prize I can imagine. I shall strive to earn it and to keep it.”

“We love you, Plotina!” shouted someone in the crowd. “Never change!”

Plotina laughed. “I don’t intend to. The way I go into this house is the way I hope to be carried out of it.”

This prompted a huge cheer, and with that, Trajan and Plotina gave a final wave and disappeared into the palace.

“What a charming couple,” said Dio.

“What a couple of actors!” said Martial. “Really, they should start a mime troupe.”

“They seem delightful,” said Lucius.

Martial grunted. “Pinarius, the man was downright rude to you. He didn’t say a word when Dio introduced you.”

“That’s quite alright by me,” said Lucius. “I should prefer to remain beneath the emperor’s notice.”

“I’m off,” said Martial. “I need a drink, and someone to drink with, and I know I won’t find that at your house, Pinarius. It was good to finally see you all again.”

After a round of farewells, Martial took his leave, as did Dio, who wished to spend the rest of the afternoon at the baths, relaxing and writing his impressions of the day’s events. Lucius made his way home, walking slowly to accommodate the lame Epictetus.

Back in Lucius’s garden, Epictetus joined him in drinking a cup of spiced water. He grimaced and rubbed his leg.

“If it would help,” said Lucius, “I could have one of the slaves give you a massage.”

“No, please don’t bother. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day to have a moment alone with you.”

“Is there something we need to talk about?” said Lucius. Epictetus had seemed quiet and moody all day. The expression on his face was grave.

“You know that Epaphroditus left his estate to me.”

“Yes, for the establishment of your school. A worthy cause.”

“His wealth has been put to good use. But among the many objects I inherited, there were some of no monetary value. Among them was this.” Epictetus pulled forth a rusty circle of iron.

“What on earth is that?” exclaimed Lucius.

“This note was attached to it.” Epictetus handed him a scrap of parchment.

This manacle circled the wrist of a man from Tyana, but could not restrain him. It should be given to the man who appeared beside him that day.

Lucius picked up the manacle and laughed aloud at the wonder of receiving such a memento. “One of the shackles cast off by Apollonius at his final appearance before Domitian! How remarkable, that Epaphroditus managed to get his hands on it. How thoughtful, that he should have intended it for me.”