Empire - Saylor Steven (читать полные книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗
Kaeso nodded. “A follower of Christ must be ready to reject all the attachments of the material world in favour of spiritual rebirth-”
“You don’t have to explain the words to me. I understand them well enough,” said Titus in disgust.
A bit of light happened to reflect off the fascinum, drawing Titus’s attention to it. “You dare to wear the fascinum of our ancestors – you, who do nothing to honour our ancestors, who profess to despise all they accomplished and handed down to us! You, who would profess to hate our father and to hate me, merely to please your god?”
Kaeso smiled and touched the fascinum. “This amulet is not what you think it is, Titus. It is a symbol of Christ’s suffering and a promise of his future resurrection, of the resurrection of all who believe-”
“No, Kaeso, it’s a link to the past, a talisman handed down to us from a time before Roma was founded. You would pervert it into something else entirely, with your hatred of the gods and your hatred of Roma!”
“The gods you worship are not gods, Titus. If anything, they’re demons, though I tend to believe that in fact they do not exist at all, that they never did exist-”
“Fool! Atheist! The gods have always been and always will be. They are of the world and in the world. They made the world. They are the world. If mortals fail to comprehend them, it is because we are so small and they are so vast. What a tiny world you imagine, the plaything of a single god who wants his worshippers to be as poor and stunted and miserable as he is! Can you not see the beauty, the majesty, the mystery of the gods all around you? Yes, they baffle and confound us, and their will is difficult to discern. But I do what I can. I practise the rituals of our ancestors, who were here before us and encountered the gods before we did. I revere their wisdom. You spurn it! You never visit my house. You never come to pay respect to the wax effigies of the Pinarii. You turn your back on our ancestors. You are disrespectful, impious, unworthy to be called a Roman!”
“But I don’t call myself a Roman, Titus. I call myself a Christian, and what you call the wisdom of our ancestors means nothing to me. I have no use for the sins and follies of the past. I look ahead to the bright, perfect future.”
“A future in which you will be utterly forgotten, because you have created no descendants. All memory of you will vanish, Kaeso, because you have broken the link passed down from one generation to the next. The only immortality a man can achieve is to be remembered, to have those who come after him recall his accomplishments and speak his name with honour.”
“Just as you imagine men of some future age will speak of Nero? The fratricide, the matricide? And if you’re lucky, they’ll mention that Senator Titus Pinarius was Nero’s friend – the friend of a mother-killer! Is that your idea of immortality, brother?”
Titus stared at the fascinum. He could barely resist ripping it from his brother’s neck.
“I came here today out of respect to our father. I feel a duty to his shade, to do what I can to look after you. But this is the final stroke, Kaeso. I won’t come to see you again.”
AD 61
Titus stayed true to his word: he did not call on his brother again. When next the brothers met, two years later, it was because Kaeso came to call on Titus.
Titus was in his study, completely absorbed in an old text on augury given him years ago by Claudius, when a slave tapped on the door frame to get his attention.
“What is it?” said Titus without looking up.
“You have a visitor, Master.”
Titus looked up, squinting a bit. Reading had begun to tire his eyes, a complaint not uncommon for a man of forty-three. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Hilarion, Master. The new doorkeeper.”
“Ah, yes.” Titus peered at the boy, who seemed hardly old enough to serve as a doorkeeper. There were so many slaves in the household these days, Titus couldn’t keep them straight. Chrysanthe insisted that they were all needed to run the place, but it seemed to Titus he would soon need to buy a larger house just to accommodate so many slaves. To be sure, he was at all times well attended and never had to do anything for himself: slaves tended to his chamber pot in the morning, carried his things to and from the baths, washed him, massaged him, shaved him, dressed him, took his dictation, fetched whatever he needed, carried messages to friends and business associates, taught his children, read aloud to him when his eyes were tired, did all the shopping, prepared and served his food, sang to him during dinner, and turned down his bed at night. Slaves tended to his sexual needs as well. After more than twenty years of marriage and four children, he and Chrysanthe seldom performed the act any more, but he loved her and had no intention of taking another wife, so he felt no compunction about using the comeliest slaves when he felt the urge. They never seemed to mind, since Titus was not the sort to take pleasure from violence or abuse, and he took his enjoyment discreetly, never in a vulgar, public way that caused a slave shame or embarrassment. Not all masters were so considerate.
“Who is it?” said Titus.
“The visitor says he’s your brother.” Hilarion sounded doubtful.
Titus stared into the middle distance for a long moment. “Show him in. No, wait. I’ll go to the vestibule to meet him.”
Titus rose and walked through the house, past the lush garden with a newly installed marble statue of Venus, across the reception hall with its newly laid mosaic floor, and into the vestibule. Sure enough, there was Kaeso, looking like a ragged beggar off the street. He was standing face-to-face with the wax effigy of their father.
“Have you come to pay your respects at last?” said Titus.
Kaeso jumped a bit, taken by surprise, and looked at him blankly.
“If you wish to burn a bit of incense before his effigy, and perhaps say a prayer, I would be happy to join you,” said Titus. “And I’m sure our ancestors would be delighted.” He gestured to the other effigies in their niches.
“You know that’s not why I’ve come,” said Kaeso quietly.
“I have no idea why you’ve come,” said Titus. He noticed that Kaeso was wearing the fascinum. The effrontery, to flaunt his possession of the family talisman in front of the ancestors! Titus took a deep breath, determined to be civil.
“I have a request to make of you,” said Kaeso. He sounded almost meek.
Titus nodded curtly. “I’m expecting visitors soon – a senator receives so many callers asking for favours – but I suppose I have time to see you now. Follow me to my study.”
As he led his brother through the house, he wondered what Kaeso must make of the place. Since Kaeso had moved out years ago, Titus had made continual improvements, investing in costly furnishings and exquisite works of art. His study was one of the loveliest rooms of all, with beautiful images from the Metamorphoses of Ovid painted on the walls and custom bookshelves made of oak. A mosaic on the floor depicted Prometheus giving light to mankind; the naked Titan carried a giant fennel stalk containing a glowing ember stolen from the fiery chariot of Sol, with a circle of awestruck mortals surrounding him. Titus imagined Kaeso must be quite impressed, but his brother’s only reaction was to shake his head and mutter, “So many slaves you have!”
“Slaves?”
“All over the house. We passed at least ten between the vestibule and this room.”
“Did we? I hardly notice them. Except when I need one and can’t find him!” Titus laughed.
Kaeso looked grim.
“Would you like some wine?” Titus was determined to treat his brother no differently than any other visitor. He clapped his hands. A passing slave girl at once stepped into the doorway, awaiting instructions. Titus smiled at her. She was a lovely young redhead, one of his favourites. What was her name? Eutropia? Euthalia?
