Empire - Saylor Steven (читать полные книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗
“Exile is hardly a ‘small action’ if you’re the one who’s banished.”
“True,” she said.
“Nor is losing your head.”
“You’re talking about Flavius Sabinus, the husband of Domitian’s niece. That was most unfortunate, and almost certainly uncalled for. My friends in the imperial court tell me Domitian had no real cause to believe Flavius was conspiring against him; the man was arrested and beheaded nonetheless. Unfortunately for your friend, Dio was often seen in the company of Flavius Sabinus.”
“Was that a crime?”
“Perhaps not, but if Domitian had accused Dio of conspiring against him, your friend would have lost his head along with Flavius. Instead, Domitian banished him. Dio is lucky to be alive.”
“Alive, but exiled from Italy, and forbidden to return to his native Bythinia. That’s a steep price to pay for having been a welcome visitor to the home of Titus’s daughter and son-in-law. Do you know the first thing Dio did after he fled Roma? He went to Greece to consult the oracle at Delphi. The oracle is famous for giving ambiguous guidance, but not this time. ‘Put on beggar’s rags,’ Dio was told, ‘and head for the farthest reaches of the empire and beyond.’ So off he went, beyond the Danube.”
“For a man with Dio’s curiosity,” said Cornelia, “travel to far-off lands must offer a splendid chance to learn more about the world. Think of all the obscure metaphors and allusions he’ll be able to work into those learned discourses of his.”
Lucius smiled. “He used just such a metaphor in his letter, referring to the funeral practices of the Scythians. ‘Just as these barbarians bury cup-bearers, cooks, and concubines along with a dead king, so it is a Roman custom to punish friends, family, and advisers for no good reason when a good man is executed.’”
Cornelia drew a sharp breath. “Did you burn the letter?”
“Of course, after I read it aloud to Epaphroditus and Epictetus.”
“Did you read it to anyone else?”
“To Martial, you mean? How he would have loved it! But no, I didn’t share it with him. Dear Martial – Titus’s fawning poet one day, Domitian’s lapdog the next. He was still working on those poems about the inaugural games when Titus died. What to do with all that hard work? Rewrite the verses to suit the new emperor, of course. The book’s just been published. Domitian is apparently quite pleased, and that pleases Martial, because he says Domitian is a more discerning critic than his brother ever was. But Martial would say that. A poet has to eat.”
“While philosophers starve?” Cornelia stretched her arms above her head and extended her toes. Her body rubbed against his, and Lucius felt a stirring of renewed excitement.
“Dio isn’t starving,” he said. “He says the Dacians are actually quite civilized, despite the fact that they worship only one god. The temples and libraries of Sarmizegetusa can’t have much to offer compared to those of Roma, but King Decebalus is reputed to have one of the largest hoards of gold in the world. Where there’s that much wealth, a celebrated philosopher from Roma needn’t go hungry. There’ll always be some Dacian nobleman willing to feed a man who can bring a bit of wit and erudition to his table.”
Lucius rolled onto his side, facing her. He ran his hand over the sinuous curve of her hip, then trailed his fingers across the delta formed by her thighs. “His letter was actually rather inspiring. Nothing seems to dampen his sprits; he always looks for the good in the bad. Dio says his exile may actually be a blessing, despite the trouble it’s caused him. That’s what the Stoics teach. Every misfortune that befalls a man – poverty, illness, a broken heart, old age, exile – is simply another opportunity for a lesson to be learned.”
“Is that what you believe, Lucius?”
“I don’t know. I listen to my philosopher friends and I try to make sense of what they tell me. Epictetus says it isn’t a given event that disturbs us, but the view we take of it. Nothing is intrinsically good or bad, only thinking makes it so. Therefore, think good thoughts, and find contentment in the moment.”
“Even if you’re ill or hungry or in pain, or far from home?”
“Epictetus would say that even an affront to one’s body, like illness or torture, is an external event, outside our true selves. The self of a man is not his body, but the intelligence that inhabits his body. That self is the one thing no one else can touch, the only thing we truly possess. The operation of our own will is the one thing in all the universe over which we have control. The man who learns to accept this is content, no matter what his physical circumstances, while the man who imagines he can control the world around him is invariably confused and embittered. So you see men who are oppressed by the worst sort of misfortunes, yet who are happy nonetheless, and you see men who are surrounded by luxury and have slaves to carry out their every wish, yet who are miserable.”
“But what if a man is oppressed by others? What if his exercise of free will is constrained by the brute strength of another?”
“Epictetus would say that such a thing is impossible. Other men can have power over one’s body and possessions, but never over the will. The self is always free, if we are but conscious of it.”
“And what about the act of love, or the other pleasures of the body?”
“Epictetus disparages what he calls ‘appetite,’ the drive to satisfy the cravings of the body. Too often appetite controls a man, rather than being controlled by him.”
“But since we have a body, and its bare requirements must be met if we are to exist at all in this world, clearly appetite serves a purpose. A man must eat, so why not take pleasure in food? And what you and I do together, Lucius – does it not give you pleasure?”
“Perhaps too much. There are moments when I’m with you that I forget where I am, even who I am. I lose myself in the moment.”
She smiled. “And isn’t that delicious?”
“Dangerous, Epictetus would say. To lose one’s self in ecstasy is a trap, an exaltation of the body over the will, a capitulation to appetite, an invitation to heartbreak and disappointment, because we have no control whatsoever over the passions and appetites of another. A person may love us one day and forget us the next. Pleasure can turn to pain. But I believe a man needs to touch and be touched, to find union with another, to feel sometimes that he is an animal with a body and cravings and nothing more. I experience that with you, Cornelia. I wouldn’t give up what I share with you for anything.”
“So, do you embrace the Stoic view or not, Lucius?”
“Much of it makes sense to me. But I have my doubts. Is that all there is to wisdom – an acceptance of fate, an acknowledgement that we’re essentially powerless? If the pains and pleasures of the body are separate from the self, and if nothing precedes or follows life, why bother to live at all? But look at me – talking philosophy with a Vestal virgin! Do the gods look down and laugh at us, Cornelia? Do they despise us?”
“If Vesta were displeased with me, she would let me know.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t believe the risk you take by meeting me.” He ran the tip of his forefinger over her breast and watched the nipple grow erect. “Sometimes I can’t believe the risk I’m taking.”
They both knew the law. A Vestal convicted of breaking her vow of chastity was to be buried alive. Her lover was to be hung on a cross and beaten to death.
Cornelia shrugged. “At least since the days of Nero – all through my tenure as a Vestal – our vow of chastity has never been enforced. Some Vestals remain virgins, some do not. We don’t flaunt what we do, and the priests of the state religion don’t look too closely into our lives. They take their cue from the Pontifex Maximus, who is also the emperor. Vespasian never cared what we got up to. Titus also looked the other way. They knew what truly mattered. As long as we keep Vesta’s hearthfire burning without interruption and perform the rituals correctly, Roma will continue to receive the goddess’s blessing.”
