Empire - Saylor Steven (книги без сокращений TXT) 📗

They approached the same entrance to the palace at which Lucius had arrived for his dinner in the black room. He felt a surge of panic and looked to Apollonius for guidance. The Teacher did not appear to be impressed by the grand entryway, or fearful of what might lie beyond.

“Teacher, do you understand what’s happening?”

“I think so. At long last, I am to meet the emperor.”

“Forgive me, Teacher. If I had been on my guard, if Hilarion had given us more warning-”

“Then what? Would you expect me to avoid the opportunity to meet Domitian? This is why I came to Roma.”

“But, Teacher-”

“Let us be grateful that these men arrived when they did. Had they come later, they might have arrested all those visitors you were expecting, and that would have been most inconvenient for everyone concerned. Imagine such a crowd, being herded into the House of the Flavians. This way, we may hope to have the emperor’s undivided attention.”

They were taken through a maze of corridors, arriving at last in a small but opulently decorated reception room. In an ornate chair atop a dais, Domitian sat with his chin cupped in one hand, looking bored. A eunuch secretary was reading aloud to him from a scroll. When Apollonius entered the room, Domitian waved aside the secretary, who put down the scroll and took up a wax tablet and stylus to take notes.

“I’ve been listening to the charges against you, magician,” said Domitian.

Apollonius looked at him blankly.

“Have you nothing to say?”

“Are you addressing me?” said Apollonius. “I thought you were speaking to some magician, though I see no such person among us.”

“Do you deny that you practice magic, Apollonius of Tyana?”

“Does magic exist? Our ancestors believed that there were two means of obtaining favours from the gods. The first is by propitiation, whereby a mortal sacrifices an animal and begs the gods for their blessing. The second is by magic, whereby a mortal casts a spell and compels the gods to do his will. Now, the traditional method of propitiation is surely a mistake, since the gods cannot be expected to delight in the destruction of a creature they themselves imbued with life. As for magic, can it be possible to force the gods to act against their will? Such a thing would violate the order of nature.”

“That is why we call it magic, and make it a crime,” said Domitian.

Apollonius shrugged. “As I said, I see no magician here.”

“Then what do you call yourself? You dress like a beggar. You put on airs and wear long hair and a beard, like a philosopher.”

“I call myself Apollonius, which is the name I was given at birth.”

“And you, Lucius Pinarius. You would be a dead man today, but for my mercy. What excuse can you make for consorting with this magician?”

Lucius summoned his courage. “I see no magician, Dominus.”

Domitian scowled. “I see the magician has turned you into his puppet. Did he cast a spell over you, or are you such a fool that you follow him by your own choice? Never mind. Shave off their beards.”

The Praetorians converged on them with shears and blades. Apollonius did not resist. Lucius followed his example. Their hair was roughly shorn and their beards were cut. They were stripped of their tunics but allowed to keep their loincloths. Lucius was wearing the fascinum on a thin chain around his neck. He was touching it when one of the guards seized his hands and pulled them before him. Shackles were fastened around his wrists; the metal was so heavy that Lucius could barely lift his arms. More shackles were fitted around his ankles. Lucius saw that the same thing was being done to Apollonius, who in his unclothed state looked very thin and frail.

“Now this is a curious thing,” said Apollonius. “If you think me a magician, what makes you think you can fetter me? And if you can fetter me, what makes you think I practice magic?”

Domitian was not listening. A fly had landed on an arm of his chair. The emperor motioned to the secretary to hand him his stylus. Domitian touched a fingertip to the point of the sharp instrument, held it poised above the fly for several heartbeats, then struck, transfixing the fly. He held up the skewered insect and smiled. “I learned to do that as a boy. Instead of using my stylus to copy Cicero, I spent whole afternoons hunting down the little pests and impaling them. It requires considerable skill.”

Apollonius shook his head. “When I met your brother in Tarsus, a fly landed on his finger. Do you know what he did? He blew the fly away, and we both laughed. Any man can end a life with a weapon, but not every man can spare a life with a puff of breath. Which man is more powerful?”

Domitian gritted his teeth. “Lucius Pinarius – you must appreciate the skillful use of a weapon. You’re a huntsman, aren’t you?”

“Not any longer, Dominus,” said Lucius. “All life is sacred. I kill nothing if I can help it.”

Domitian shook his head in disgust. He called to the Praetorians. “You, bring me a bow and a quiver of arrows. And you, go stand against that far wall, facing it. Extend your arm parallel with the floor. Press your hand against the wall with your fingers spread wide apart.”

Domitian tested the string of the bow, then notched an arrow. “This is another skill I taught myself. Observe, huntsman. I shall fire four arrows. Watch the spaces between the fingers.”

Domitian took aim. Lucius saw that neither the Praetorians nor the emperor’s secretary appeared apprehensive. This was a feat Domitian had performed many times before.

In sudden quiet, Lucius heard a low murmur. He could not make out the words, or where the sound came from. The murmur faded away. No one else seemed to have noticed. Lucius wondered if he had imagined it.

Domitian let fly four arrows in rapid succession. Each made a sharp sound like the buzzing of a wasp. With a grin of satisfaction, he lowered the bow.

“What do you think of that?” he said. “One arrow in each of the spaces between the man’s fingers. Titus could never have done such a thing-”

With a loud groan, the Praetorian collapsed against the wall, slid down, and lay crumpled on the floor. The secretary shrieked and dropped his wax tablet.

All four arrows had landed squarely in the Praetorian’s back, shot with such force that they had pierced his armour. Some of his comrades cried out and ran to help him.

“What is this?” shouted Domitian. His voice quavered. “This is your doing, magician!”

“I shot no arrows.” Apollonius held forth his shackled wrists to show that his hands were empty.

“Get the magician away from me! Lock them both away!”

“But what is the charge against me?” asked Apollonius.

“The secretary has written down everything you’ve said. Your own words will condemn you. You blasphemed the gods by ridiculing the practice of animal sacrifice. And you repeatedly offended my majesty by failing to address me as Dominus.”

“So a man can now be condemned for what he does not say, as well as for what he says? Your brother punished no man for speaking freely; you would punish a man for saying nothing.”

Domitian threw the bow against the floor, so hard that it broke and the string went flying.

Apollonius was unfazed. “And what are the charges against Lucius Pinarius?”

“Is he not your accomplice?”

“I would prefer to call him my friend. I have many friends. Will you arrest them all?”

“Wait and see, magician!”

Apollonius sighed and shook his head as the Praetorians attached chains to their manacles and pulled them from the room. The heavy shackles bit into Lucius’s ankles and wrists. The polished marble floor was cold against his bare feet.

They were taken to a subterranean cell lit only by grated openings in the ceiling. The stone walls seemed to sweat. Heaps of straw provided the only bedding. The place had a foul smell. For the disposal of wastes, there was a single bucket attached to a rope that could be pulled upwards through one of the openings.