Empire - Saylor Steven (книги без сокращений TXT) 📗

Philosophy, exotic religions, astrology – Lucius had been open to them all, but none had provided him with any sense of purpose or enlightenment. None had relieved the emptiness he felt at the core of his being.

Then, he met the Teacher, and everything changed.

It happened on the first anniversary of the day Cornelia was buried alive.

For a long time Lucius had been dreading that day, knowing that when it arrived he would be able to think of nothing else. That morning he woke early. He had no appetite. He put on a plain tunic and left his house. For hours he walked aimlessly all over the city, lost in memories. Eventually he found himself standing before the house on the Esquiline where he had met with Cornelia so many times over the years. He had sold the house, quickly and for less than its value, only a few days after her interment, thinking that he would never want to step inside it again. Now he stood before it in the street, longing to go in, to stand in the vestibule and remember the sight of her face across the room, to smell again the jasmine in the small garden where they had made love.

The door of the house opened. A mother and her young daughter stepped out, followed by a slave carrying a basket for a trip to the markets. The spell was broken, and Lucius moved on.

Inevitably, he found himself at the Colline Gate, standing exactly where he had stood when he saw her last, before the entrance to the sealed underground chamber. In his hand he held a single rose, the symbol of love, and also of secrecy. He could not remember where he had gotten it; he must have bought it from a vendor. He clutched it so carelessly that a thorn had pricked his palm; he did not feel the wound, but saw a trickle of blood run down his fingers.

The moment felt unreal, dream-like. He found himself kneeling at the very spot where the stone had been covered over. As one might place a garland on a sepulchre, he placed the rose on the beaten earth. Blood dripped from his fingers.

A shadow fell across him. He imagined that he had been observed by some disapproving magistrate and that a lictor stood over him. But the outline of the shadow was not that of a soldier. He looked up to see a small man with a long white beard. The sun was directly behind the man’s head, making his unruly hair into a wispy halo. His features were surprisingly youthful for a man with snow-white hair, and deeply tanned – the sunburned face of a traveller, or a man without a home. His eyes were bright blue and appeared to sparkle; later, Lucius would realized this was impossible, since the sun was behind the man’s head and his face was in shadow. From whence came the light that emanated from his eyes? This was Lucius’s first indication that the man who stood over him was more than an ordinary mortal.

“You’re suffering, my friend,” said the man.

“Yes.” Lucius saw no point in denying it.

“Such suffering is like a flower that blooms. It opens all at once and engages all our senses, but soon enough it fades and falls away. You will remember it always, but it will no longer be present before you. Take heart, my friend, for the time when your suffering will fade and fall away is very near.”

“Who are you?” Lucius frowned. He was still on his knees. Anyone seeing him now would assume that he was kneeling to honour the man before him, despite the fact that the man was barefoot and dressed like a beggar, wearing a threadbare, ragged tunic. Strangely, the idea did not displease Lucius. He stayed on his knees.

“My name is Apollonius. I come from Tyana. Do you know where that is?”

“In Cappadocia, I think.”

“That is correct. Have you heard of me?”

“No.”

“Good. Those who have heard of Apollonius of Tyana often have certain preconceptions about me, which I am not interested in fulfilling. What is your name, friend?”

“Lucius Pinarius. Are you some sort of wise man?” Cappadocia, with its weird desert cities carved from rock, was famous for breeding hermits and seers.

The man laughed. The sound was very pleasant. “I am whatever people choose to call me. When you know me better, Lucius Pinarius, you will decide what I am.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“All men suffer, but no man should suffer in secret, as you do.”

“What do you know of my suffering?”

“You loved a person whom law and religion decreed you should not love, and her separation from you has caused you much pain.”

Lucius gasped. “How can you know this?”

The man smiled. There was no mockery in his smile, only gentleness. “I suppose I could put on airs of mystery and pretend that the stories about me are true – that I can read men’s minds, that I have occult means of gaining knowledge – but the truth is much simpler. I’m a visitor to Roma. Before this morning I never passed though this particular neighbourhood, but even a casual visitor will quickly be told by the locals what happened on this spot a year ago. When I observed a man standing here, clutching a rose and staring for a long time at the ground, I knew you must have had some relationship with the Vestal who was buried here. When you knelt and placed the rose so carefully, heedless of your own bleeding wound, I knew you must have loved her. Anyone with eyes could have seen this, but in such a busy spot, where everyone is passing by in such a hurry, I alone observed your suffering.”

“Who are you?” said Lucius.

“You asked me that already. I am Apollonius of Tyana.”

“No, I mean-”

“Here, why don’t you stand, my friend?” Apollonius offered his hand. “Let’s take a walk.”

Lucius said little. He listened to Apollonius, who spoke of his travels. Apollonius talked about these journeys in an offhand way, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for a man to have gone to Egypt to learn what the priests there could teach him about the hieroglyphs on the ancient tombs, and to Ethiopia to meet the naked sages who live at the source of the Nile, and even all the way to India to consort with the fabled wise men of the Ganges.

A light rain began to fall. They had wandered into an area of fine homes on the Quirinal Hill. Lucius was looking for a tavern or eatery where they might take refuge when Apollonius noticed that the door of a nearby house was open. He cocked his head.

“Do you hear that?” he said.

“I hear nothing,” said Lucius.

“No? I distinctly hear the sound of weeping, coming from that house.” Apollonius walked towards the open door.

“What are you doing?” said Lucius.

“Going inside. Where there is weeping, there is need for comfort.”

“Do you know these people?”

“I’ve never been on this street before in my life. But all streets and all people are the same. Once a man knows that, he is a stranger nowhere.”

Apollonius stepped inside the house. Against his better judgement, Lucius followed him.

Beyond the vestibule, in the atrium, a drizzling rain fell from the open skylight into a shallow pool. Beyond the pool, on the tile floor, lay the body of a young woman. She wore a white bridal gown with a purple sash around her waist. Gathered around the body were several women, all dressed for a wedding. They looked stunned. Some quietly wept. Farther back stood a group of men who looked helpless and confused.

How had Apollonius heard the sound of the women weeping, when Lucius had not? For an old man, his hearing was very acute, thought Lucius.

Apollonius looked down at the young woman. “Is this her wedding day?” he said.

One of the kneeling women looked up. There was an expression of shock on her face. “Yes. This is my daughter’s wedding day – and the gods see fit to strike her down!”

“What happened?” said Apollonius.

The woman shook her head. “We were organizing the procession to set out for the bridegroom’s house. We were in her room and I was tying the sash around her waist, and she complained I was pulling too tight. She said she couldn’t breathe. But the sash wasn’t too tight; I slipped a finger under it to show her. Still, she couldn’t catch her breath. She said her face felt hot. A servant told us it was raining. Without a word she pulled away from me and ran here, to the pool. I thought she wanted to cool her face. I told her she mustn’t get her gown wet, and then… she collapsed. She fell, just as you see her now.”