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

The ceremony was concluded. Lucius and Claudius received the congratulations of their fellow augurs, and then the members began to head to the imperial residence. The banquet following the induction of new augurs was usually held in a private home, but on this occasion Augustus was playing host. He had certainly made a point of reminding everyone of his kinship to Claudius. The fact that Lucius Pinarius was a cousin had not even been mentioned.

During the short walk, which took them past some of the finest houses in the city, Lucius walked beside Claudius and told him how impressed he was by the vulture sightings. “That was very bold of you. I would never have dared to choose an avian augury. I did the safe thing and went with lightning. The smart thing as well, or so I thought, since lightning auguries are usually more highly respected. But you outshone me today, Claudius!”

Claudius pursed his lips, nodded, and hummed thoughtfully. His head twitched to one side. “Yes, well, I suppose I did, even though, as you say, lightning augury is the most highly esteemed of all forms. Why do you suppose that is?” With the examination behind them, his stutter had momentarily abated.

“As the magister taught us, lightning and thunder come directly from Jupiter,” said Lucius.

“Ah, but birds are the messengers of Jupiter, so why should avian augury not be as prized? No, I think lightning augury is more impressive because a flash of lightning cannot possibly be fabricated by mortal men, while anyone might arrange to release certain birds from a certain area at a certain time.”

Lucius frowned. “Are you saying those vultures were deliberately released?”

“Oh, not for Romulus, surely, and certainly not for Great-Uncle. But for me – who knows?” Claudius shrugged. “Thanks to my obvious shortcomings, Great-Uncle can foresee no higher station in life for me than to be an augur. I twitch too much to find glory as a warrior. You saw me drop my lituus today; imagine me dropping a sword on the battlefield! I st-stutter too much to make impressive sp-sp-speeches in the Senate.” He flashed a sardonic smile; was he stuttering on purpose? “Since this is as far as I shall go, Great-Uncle is determined that everyone should acknowledge my competence at augury, if at nothing else. Three vultures would have sufficed, don’t you think? Great-Uncle always overdoes these things! When the two vacancies opened in the college, why do you suppose he chose to allow you to enlist, Lucius?”

“I know my father did everything he could to promote me and to win the emperor’s favour. He was surprised he succeeded, considering my youth-”

“Ha! Great-Uncle approved of your admission to the college for only one reason: he wanted to make me an augur, and so be done with me, and he wanted another candidate my age to enter alongside me, so that I shouldn’t stand out so much. You weren’t made an augur despite your age, Lucius, but because of it! But the important thing, cousin Lucius, is that our examinations are over, and now we are augurs. Augurs for life! But what is that you’re wearing?”

Claudius referred to the amulet on Lucius’s necklace. It had slipped outside his trabea and the gold shone brightly against the purple wool.

“It’s a family talisman.”

“Where did it come from? What does it symbolize?”

“I don’t really know,” Lucius confessed, with some chagrin. Claudius was such a scholar and so steeped in his own family’s history that he was never at a loss to explain even the most arcane bits of ancestral lore.

Claudius came to a halt, reached for the amulet, and studied it closely. Lucius had seen such a spark in his friend’s eyes before, during their studies together – the excitement of the devoted antiquarian in the presence of an intriguing puzzle. “I think, Lucius – yes, I th-th-think I may have s-some idea of what this is. I’ll have to do a bit of research…”

“Come along, my fellow augurs,” said Lucius’s father, catching up with them. “We’re almost there.” Like Lucius, he had never been inside the imperial residence, and he was flushed with excitement.

They entered a courtyard first, no grander than that of any house of moderate wealth, except for the trophies on prominent display in the center of the yard. On a wooden stand was displayed the emperor’s personal armour, including his sword, ax, helmet, and shield.

“See how they gleam,” whispered Lucius, “as if they’ve just been freshly burnished!”

“Yes, I believe there is a slave who performs that duty daily,” said Claudius.

As the augurs filled the courtyard, waiting for the massive bronze entry doors to open, Lucius looked up at the giant laurel crown carved into the marble lintel above the doors.

“The laurel crown is traditionally awarded to a soldier who saves a comrade’s life in battle,” noted Claudius, following his gaze. “Can you guess why the Senate voted to award that stupendous image of a laurel crown to my uncle?”

“I suspect you can tell me.”

“It was awarded to him in honour of his victory over Cleopatra and my grandfather Marcus Antonius – whom I never knew, of course, since he died by his own sword twenty years before I was b-b-born. By winning that war, you see, Augustus saved us all from being enslaved by the Egyptian queen, the entire citizenry of Roma and all the generations to come – and thus he deserved a laurel crown of suitable splendor.”

The booming noise of a thrown bolt resounded from within the house, and then the great bronze doors began to slowly open inwards.

Flanking the doorway, Lucius noticed, were two flourishing laurel trees. As lightning flashed over their heads and a peal of thunder shook the courtyard, he saw several of the augurs break sprigs from the trees and slip them into their trabeas. It was a well-known fact that the laurel tree was lightning-proof, of all trees the only one never struck. Would carrying a sprig of laurel protect a man from lightning? Many people thought so.

Rather than being opulent or ostentatious, the interior of the imperial house was decorated with great simplicity. The columns were of travertine, not marble. The floors were paved with black-and-white tiles in simple geometric patterns, not decorated with colourful mosaics. The walls were painted in solid colors, not with the amazingly realistic landscapes Lucius had occasionally seen in the houses of his wealthier acquaintances, such as the Acilii. The several dining rooms that opened onto the central garden were spacious enough to accommodate a great many guests, but the dining couches themselves were as humble as those in Lucius’s house.

The meal was simple, as well. When asparagus was served as the first course, dipped in boiling water for just a moment so that it was cooked but still crisp, Claudius, reclining next to Lucius, snapped a stalk in two and quipped, “‘Quick as boiled asparagus’ – just the way Great-Uncle likes it!”

Lucius had never seen his friend in such high spirits. “I’m a little surprised at how simply the imperial residence is furnished,” he said. “Even the house of Acilia’s father is more opulent. Are the private quarters equally austere?”

“More so! Great-Uncle sleeps on a bed of straw and will have only backless chairs in the house. ‘A Roman’s spine should be sufficiently stiff to hold him upright,’ he says. He believes in setting an example by practising old-fashioned virtues of decorum and restraint. He expects his family to do the same. When Julilla, his granddaughter, built a mansion for herself on too grand a scale, Great-Uncle had the whole thing d-dd-demolished. I can’t remember, was that before or after he banished poor Julilla to that island for committing adultery? And then, when she b-b-bore her lover’s child, Great-Uncle ordered that the baby be abandoned on a mountainside to die.” Claudius bit a stalk of asparagus, chewed loudly, and swallowed. “He’s banished Julilla’s mother as well, his own daughter, likewise for scandalous conduct. And his only surviving grandson, Agrippa – he, too, failed to meet Great-Uncle’s standards and so ended up on an island somewhere. So you see, these Spartan surroundings are not a pretense. They are a genuine reflection of my uncle’s temperament.”