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

“I wouldn’t know,” said Marcus. “I’ve never been to Bithynia.”

There was an awkward silence, broken by Suetonius. “I’ve been hard at work, too.”

“Have you?”

“Toiling away on my collection of imperial biographies. I’ve been writing about Domitian lately – that could put anyone in a bad mood. I was wondering, did your father ever talk about those days? In particular, did he ever mention a ‘black room’? Apparently there was a chamber in the imperial palace to which Domitian invited certain guests when he wanted to frighten them half to death.”

“No, I don’t remember any stories about a black room.”

“Ah, well, plenty of others have stories to tell. I have to say, some of the tales I’ve collected about the emperors almost defy belief. They’re quite shocking, and all the more so because they’re true. I rather hate to end my collection with Domitian – such a grim fellow – but one can’t yet write this sort of biography about Trajan or Nerva, the emperor’s father and grandfather by adoption. One never knows what might cause offense. Even the most flattering account might somehow provoke the emperor’s displeasure.”

“Caesar is letting you write whatever you want about the previous dynasties?”

“Amazing, isn’t it? Everyone in a position of authority assures me that I may proceed as I wish. My biggest worry is what the emperor will say about my prose. Hadrian fancies himself a writer, you know. Architect, emperor, author, literary critic – is there nothing the man can’t do? His own specialty is collecting odd bits of information and compiling catalogues of marvellous facts. His book will be forthcoming any day now. Of course he can’t publish such a thing under his own name, so he’s having his creature Phlegon put his name on the book. Trivial, time-wasting miscellany – just the sort of thing everyone’s reading nowadays.”

“Not a work of true merit, like your imperial biographies?”

“Exactly. Perhaps you’d like to read what I’ve written so far. I could profit from the reactions of a fellow like yourself, a man of learning and experience but with no literary pretensions or axes to grind. Shall I have a copy sent to you?”

“Yes, please do,” said Marcus, just to get rid of the man. He was eager to return to the studio, where he could be alone to contemplate his progress on the statue of Antinous.

A few days later, while he was preparing to leave home for the workshop, an imperial messenger arrived with a request for Marcus to come to the House of the People.

“Do you know why I’m being summoned?” said Marcus.

“I’m afraid not,” said the messenger.

Marcus was perturbed. His work on the statue had progressed to a stage that was particularly pleasurable to him – smoothing and polishing the stone and making very small adjustments. Now he would lose the best part of the day, when the light was brightest, and he would have to go through the bother of changing his simple tunic for a toga.

The summons also made him uneasy. If Hadrian was curious about progress on the statue, why did he not simply come to see it? Could it be that Suetonius’s visit to the workshop had been observed and reported to the emperor? Surely Hadrian knew Marcus well enough by now to trust that he would never show the statue to anyone ahead of himself. While he dressed, Marcus decided that he was being unduly anxious. Probably there was some architectural detail about the temple that Hadrian wanted to discuss.

The chamber where Hadrian received him was tastefully appointed with Greek furnishings brought back from his travels; the room had the intimate atmosphere of a private home rather than of a regal reception hall. The slave who escorted Marcus showed him to a couch and brought him a cup of wine. A number of guests were already present, and more continued to arrive. Antinous was there, Marcus noticed; the empress Sabina was not. Some of the guests were senators and magistrates, but more were writers and philosophers. The mood was like that of a literary gathering. Almost all the men sported facial hair, though few could grow a beard as handsome as that of the emperor.

Eventually Hadrian rose and called forth the scholar Phlegon of Tralles, a small, nondescript man whom Hadrian introduced as the author of a new work titled The Book of Marvels. Phlegon stood before the company and read a number of excerpts, all of which he claimed had been verified by scrupulous research, having to do with wondrous things – sightings of live centaurs, appearances by ghosts, incidents of males giving birth, and stories about men and women who had changed their gender. He concluded with several accounts about the discovery of gigantic teeth and bones, the existence of which appeared to prove that huge creatures, now extinct, had once lived upon the earth.

“‘A tooth the size of man’s leg was uncovered by an earthquake in Sicily and shown to the emperor Tiberius,’” Phlegon read. “‘Tiberius called on a geometrician named Pulcher, who concluded that the creature who possessed such a tooth would have been as large as a ship – far larger than any creature known to exist today. Bones of gigantic size were found in a cave in Dalmatia, and equally enormous bones have been excavated in Rhodes, Athens, and Egypt. Some say these objects must be made of a stone which happens to look like bone, or are deliberate hoaxes, but I say we should not disbelieve this remarkable evidence. Rather, consider that in the beginning, when nature was in her prime, she reared everything near to the gods, but just as time is running down, so also living things have become smaller and smaller in stature.’”

Phlegon bowed. Marcus saw that Hadrian was beaming like a proud author. He remembered Suetonius’s claim that the emperor was the true author of the work and joined the others in applauding.

After this bit of amusement, Hadrian moved on to more-serious matters.

“Our attention has been called to the recent death of a citizen, a case of murder, it would appear. A slave is suspected of killing his master.”

There were mutterings of disdain from some of the guests, especially the senators.

Hadrian raised his hand. “As outrageous as such a crime may be, I bring up the matter because I see here an opportunity to reform certain laws handed down to us by our ancestors, specifically those harsh measures which demand the examination, by torture, of all the slaves in a household where such a crime occurs, and, if one of their number is found guilty, the execution of every slave. Marcus Pinarius – ”

Marcus blinked and looked up, surprised at being called on.

“I asked you here today, Pinarius, because your grandfather once made an impassioned speech to the Senate on this very topic, in the reign of Nero. You are aware of that occasion, I presume?”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Yes, Caesar, my father told me something about it.”

“I realize you never knew your grandfather, but you should be proud of what he said. Fortunately, his words were recorded and preserved in the Senate archives. I read them for the first time last night. Phlegon, would you be so kind as to read aloud the section I’ve marked?”

Phlegon took the scroll and stood before them again. “‘These slaves must be known not only to fellow slaves in other households, but to shopkeepers and artisans and all sorts of citizens who have dealings with them. Some are errand boys and messengers, some are seamstresses and hairdressers, some are cooks and cleaners, some are bookkeepers and scribes, highly educated and valuable slaves deserving a degree of respect. Some are near the age of death. Some are newborn, just beginning life. Some are in the prime of life, at the peak of their usefulness and value. Some are pregnant and about to bring forth new life. These victims of the law are not a faceless crowd but are human beings known to their neighbours, and so we cannot be surprised if there are murmurs throughout the city that the law is too harsh.’”