Empire - Saylor Steven (читать полные книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗
Epictetus nodded but did not smile.
“There’s something else?” said Lucius.
“Yes. Epaphroditus’s estate included a great many documents, as you might imagine – many capsae full of scrolls and scraps of parchment, some dating back to the days of Nero, some more recent. I’ve slowly been sorting through them, as time allows. Just before I left for Roma, I came across a document that will be of particular interest to you.”
“Yes?”
“It’s a letter written in Epaphroditus’s own hand – or a draft of a letter, as it appears to be unfinished and has no salutation or signature. At first, I had no idea for whom it was intended, but as I reread it, and saw the documents attached to it, I realized it had to be you. Why Epaphroditus never finished the letter, and why he never sent it, I don’t know. Perhaps he intended to wait until Domitian was dead. Perhaps he changed his mind about telling you. I myself have debated whether I should give you the letter. You seem to have attained an enviable state of contentment, Lucius. Why should I give you news that may only disturb your tranquility? But I give it to you, nonetheless.”
Epictetus handed him a small scroll. Lucius unrolled it and peered at Epaphroditus’s familiar handwriting.
There are two things I have never told you.
The first of these is about the one you call Teacher. When I approached the two of you that day, just before the trial, I made a pretense of not knowing him. This was at his request. Forgive me for deceiving you. The Teacher’s ideas are honest and simple, but the dangers of this world require him to be secretive sometimes, even devious. Perhaps you have realized that many of his exploits, which some attribute to magic, are realized through his remarkable ability to control the perceptions of others. I suspect he does this by using the power of suggestion, though how this works I do not know; I do know that it works more readily and more deeply with some people than with others. I seem to be immune to it, but our so-called Dominus is highly susceptible – as are you, my friend. The Teacher’s disappearance that day was effected partly by the use of a device which was secreted on your person by me, without your knowledge, which you handed to the Teacher just before he used it. If you think back, you may recall other occasions when you thought you saw or heard something miraculous, when in fact your senses perceived an illusion planted in your mind by the Teacher. Who is to say this ability of his is not a gift from the Divine Singularity, which he has used not for malicious purposes but wisely, for the benefit of us all?
I hope this knowledge does nothing to damage your respect for the man or for his precepts. Yet, as I begin to think that I have not much longer to live, I feel compelled to confess to you what I know.
The second thing I want to tell you is of a more intimate nature. It is about the woman whom you loved in secret for so many years.
Not long before her tragic end, she asked me to visit her during her incarceration. She knew I was your friend, and she wanted to entrust a secret to me.
She was the mother of your child. You may recall a period of several months when she was away from Roma. Her sisters in Alba knew of her condition and helped to conceal it. That was where she delivered the child. It was a boy. The unwanted baby was “exposed,” as they call this ancient and all-too-common custom – taken to a desolate spot and abandoned to die, unless the gods or some passing mortal should take pity on it.
She kept this a secret from you. For that she felt guilty. Also, she was profoundly struck by the idea that she should die in the same way she condemned her own child to die – abandoned and left to starve. I think this was why she faced her fate so calmly. She believed her end was a punishment from Vesta, and that our so-called Dominus was merely a tool of the goddess.
She left it to me to decide whether or not to tell you this after she was gone. I could not bear to do so, nor did I see any reason to. Until now. For her story so disturbed my own peace of mind that I undertook to discover, if I could, the fate of her child – your son. Our so-called Dominus often holds court at his retreat outside Alba, where I am obliged to follow. I have used my position to obtain information from the local people and from the sisters who concealed the birth.
In recent days, I have found reasons to suspect that the exposed child was rescued – “harvested” (as they say) by a professional scavenger of exposed children and raised as a slave. (I am told such slaves are commonly called “foster children” and that this lucrative practice is widespread.) I have sought to find this boy – a task made possible, perhaps, by a characteristic which distinguished him as a baby: the second and third toes of his right foot are joined to the outermost knuckle. As yet I have not succeeded, but I am hopeful that your son may yet live and that I can locate him – though whether such a discovery would bring you joy or sadness, I do not know.
In the event that this letter should reach you after my death, I attach some of the information which I have thus far uncovered. If anything should
The letter ended with an unfinished sentence.
Lucius put down the scroll. The revelation about Apollonius did not disturb him; he knew that the Teacher was a master of illusion, and he felt privileged to have served him in any capacity, with or without his own full knowledge. But the news about Cornelia and the child struck him like a thunderbolt. In retrospect, the reason for her withdrawal to Alba seemed painfully obvious. Why had he not guessed that she was pregnant? Why had she not told him?
He understood, at last, why she had mouthed “Forgive me” as she descended to her tomb. She was talking about the child.
The love he had felt for Cornelia, which he had so assiduously sought to bury along with everything else from the dead past, suddenly welled up inside him. The knowledge that he had a son changed his perception of the world in an instant.
No matter how long it took or how difficult the task, Lucius was determined to find the child.
AD 100
“When Vespasian saw that the treasury was empty, he filled it up again by looting Jerusalem,” said Trajan. “For us, the obvious solution is the conquest of Dacia. The loot of Sarmizegetusa would be enormous. Imagine what I could build with all that gold!”
The emperor was holding a private conference in one of the more modest reception rooms in the House of the People. He sat alone on the dais. Plotina and Hadrian were seated in their own chairs nearby, one to each side of him. With his marriage to Trajan’s grandniece Sabina, Hadrian was now an in-law of the emperor as well as his cousin, and Trajan frequently included him in his deliberations. Plotina’s participation in all important discussions was taken for granted.
“The gold mines of Dacia and the hoard of King Decebalus are legendary,” said Hadrian. He spoke slowly and carefully, not out of caution but because he was making a concerted effort to get rid of his provincial accent, which a year ago had been even more pronounced than Trajan’s. More than once he had overheard a veteran courtier making fun of the emperor’s Spanish accent. Trajan seemed to have no interest in changing his speech, but Hadrian was determined to speak Latin like a born Roman, and was taking lessons to learn to do so.
They were discussing the treasury and the means by which it could be replenished. Taxes were unpopular. Conquest was the preferred means, and had been throughout Roma’s long history, as Plotina pointed out.
“The great generals of the Republic destroyed Carthage and took Spain and Greece. The Divine Julius conquered Gaul; the gold and slaves he captured made him the richest man in history and helped make him the sole ruler of the empire. The Divine Augustus took Egypt, the oldest and richest kingdom in the world. Vespasian sacked Jerusalem and brought back enough gold and slaves to build his amphitheatre. When one looks at the map” – she gestured to a painting on the wall – “what remains to be taken of any value, except Dacia?”
