Empire - Saylor Steven - Страница 11
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As he was leaving the room, Lucius looked back to see the emperor pick up the baby shoes of his great-grandson and stare at them, ashen-faced and with tears in his eyes.
Euphranor was nowhere to be seen. They found their own way down the steps.
“It’s almost as if he was expecting it,” said Lucius. He felt utterly drained.
“Perhaps he was expecting it. P-p-perhaps it was what he wanted to hear.”
“What do you mean, Claudius? Do you think your great-uncle is contemplating suicide? Or that he fears being murdered? What did Augustus mean, about not being able to control the time and place of his death? ‘That will be chosen by others,’ he said. What others? The gods?”
Claudius shrugged. “He’s an old m-m-man, Lucius. You and I can’t begin to imagine all the terrible things he’s seen, all the terrible things he’s done. Life has brought him a great deal of disappointment, especially in the last few years. So many d-deaths in the family, so much strife.” He drew a sharp breath. “Speaking of which…”
Coming towards them down the hallway, imposing despite her advanced age and the unassuming nature of her dress, was Claudius’s grandmother. The wife of Augustus did nothing to colour her hair or mask her wrinkles, and wore a stola simple enough to please even her luxury-hating husband, yet Livia projected an undeniable aura of privilege and power. Walking beside her, in an equally simple tunic, was her son, Claudius’s uncle, Tiberius, a robustly built man of middle age with a dour expression. By all accounts, Augustus intended to make Tiberius his heir, despite the fact that his stepson was not a blood relation.
Claudius and Lucius stepped to one side, but, instead of passing by, Livia and her son came to a stop before them. Claudius swallowed hard, then began to introduce Lucius, but he stuttered so badly that Livia cut him short with a wave of her hand.
“Never mind, grandson, I know who this is: young Lucius Pinarius.” She looked them up and down and raised an eyebrow. “Curious, that the two of you should still be wearing your trabeas from yesterday. Off to take the auspices, at this early hour? Or did you never go to bed? Yes, from the look of you, I think you’ve been up all night. But doing what? I wonder. Not celebrating, or else you’d smell of wine.”
She stared at Lucius, who was at a loss for an answer. The emperor had explicitly ordered them to speak of the omen to no one.
Livia seemed amused by his discomfort. “Can’t you see that I’m teasing you, young man? Nothing that happens in this house is a secret to me. I’m perfectly aware that lightning struck my husband’s statue last night, not once, but twice. While I’m amazed that he would entrust the interpretation of such an omen to the likes of you two, I’d be curious to know what you came up with. No answer? Ah, well, I shall simply ask him myself.”
Lucius glanced at Claudius. It was obvious that he lived in fear of his grandmother. Tiberius apparently did not frighten him as much, for Claudius dared to reach out and tap the sprig of laurel pinned to the man’s tunic.
“From last n-n-night, uncle? The storm is over and you need the laurel’s protection no longer. But I should think an atheist like yourself had no f-f-fear of lightning.” Claudius turned to Lucius. “Uncle Tiberius has no faith in the gods, and thus no belief in d-divination. If there are no gods, there is no point in trying to discern their will. Uncle Tiberius spurns augury. He puts his faith entirely in astrology.”
Tiberius looked at Claudius glumly. “That is correct, nephew. The stars decide when a man is born and when he dies, and the stars determine the course of his life. The logic is undeniable. Some mechanism unimaginably huge must control the movements of the stars, which in turn control our tiny lives. We mortals are many times removed from whatever primal force animates the cosmos.”
“Then the stars control humanity rather as the m-m-mechanism of a ballista controls the trajectory of its missile,” suggested Claudius, “or the cogs and gears of a water wheel control the m-m-movements of a leaf caught in the channel? Is that all we are, Uncle Tiberius, missiles hurtling through space, or leaves on a torrent?”
“Not bad metaphors, Claudius, especially for someone who believes lightning is an omen.” Tiberius sniggered and shook his head. “Only a fool or a child could believe that lightning is a weapon thrown down by some malicious giant in the clouds. Lightning is a natural phenomenon which occurs according to very precise, if very complicated, rules, just like the movement of the stars. I believe in science, Claudius, not superstition.”
Livia sighed, bored by the turn of the conversation. She took her son’s arm and indicated her desire to move on.
Claudius watched until they disappeared around a corner, gnashing his teeth. “There goes the next emperor.”
“Is it certain he’ll succeed Augustus?”
“There’s always a chance the old man will ch-ch-change his mind about Agrippa. He’s Augustus’s only surviving grandson, after all. And only two years older than you and me – young enough to enjoy a long reign. Agrippa’s banishment was Livia’s doing, I suspect: people who stand in her way have a habit of either dying or disappearing. Uncle Tiberius is the last man standing, so Tiberius is the heir apparent. It’s probably for the best. The bleeding wound of the German frontier is the biggest problem facing the empire right now, and Tiberius is a c-competent general, even if he is an atheist. I fear, Lucius, that our aptitude for divination will not serve us as well under the next emperor as it has under our present one.”
“Served us well? I don’t see how I’ve been well served by any of this!” Lucius snapped, suddenly feeling completely undone by lack of sleep and the strain of meeting the emperor’s demands. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if our prediction becomes known, and the emperor doesn’t die in a hundred days? I shall look like a fool!”
“N-n-ninety-nine days, actually-”
“And if he does die-”
“Then you shall look like a young fellow wise beyond his years.”
“Or will people hold us responsible for his death? What’s that old Etruscan saying? ‘Men blame the soothsayer’.”
“Oh, no, Lucius, if the emperor dies, it’s not you and me whom people will suspect.” Claudius glanced towards the spot where they had last seen Livia and Tiberius. “You might do well to take up a new study, Lucius. How much astrology do you think you can learn in n-ninety-nine days?”
“Perhaps, father, we should go to the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine and pray,” said Lucius.
By his careful reckoning, exactly 105 days had passed since lightning had struck the emperor’s statue. The date on which he and Claudius had predicted that Augustus would be taken by the gods had come and gone, but the accuracy of the prophecy was still uncertain. Augustus was away from Roma, and since news could arrive no faster than the pace of a quick horse, there was no way to know whether something had happened to Augustus or not.
But the latest news, which Lucius and his father went seeking in the Forum each day, was unsettling. Intending to journey to Beneventum, accompanying Tiberius partway on a mission to begin new military operations in Illyria, Augustus had fallen ill. He was said to be recuperating at his retreat on the island of Capri, suffering from a minor irregularity of the bowels. Again, today, Lucius and his father had come to the Forum, anxious for further news of the emperor’s condition.
“Prayer is to be commended,” said Lucius’s father. “But why the Temple of Apollo?”
“Because that was where this all began, the night of the storm.” Lucius recalled the uncanny premonition he had experienced just before Euphranor had come to summon Claudius.
“Ah, but what would we pray for?” His father lowered his voice and looked around. They were not far from the Temple of Vesta, on a busy stretch of the Sacred Way. Several Vestals were leaving the round temple with their attendants, and a group of senators in togas was nearby; some of them nodded and hailed the elder Pinarius before passing on. Father and son retreated to a more secluded spot on the far side of the Temple of Castor.
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