Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗
Blossius sighed. “How can I answer such a question?”
“I shall restate it. Any action you undertook affecting the Roman state, you undertook at the behest of Tiberius Gracchus. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. One final question: What if Tiberius Gracchus had ordered you to set fire to the Capitoline? Would you have done so?”
“This is madness! Tiberius would never have given such an order.”
“Answer the question!”
Blossius gritted his teeth. “If Tiberius had ordered such a thing, then it would have been the right thing to do, because Tiberius never gave an order that was not in the best interest of the people!”
Nasica sat back and crossed his arms, making a great show of his disgust. “There you have it—the philosopher speaks, and we can see just how corrupt and insidious his ideas truly are! My questioning is done. Is there any man present who wishes to offer testimony on behalf of the accused?” He gazed at the spectators. Lucius lowered his face and hid himself in the crowd.
The judges on the platform conferred briefly, then Nasica rose and addressed the spectators. “We declare that Blossius of Cumae has testified freely and truthfully regarding the recent sedition perpetrated by Tiberius Gracchus. We further declare that Blossius has, by his own words, discredited himself, his teachings, and anyone who was ever his pupil. If he were a citizen, he would be put to death for treason, but since he is merely a foreigner, he will be exiled from the city for life. He is free to depart from this tribunal. He must leave Roma before sunrise, or else face immediate execution. Bring forth the next prisoner!”
“Not a single question about my beliefs! Not a single accusation having anything to do with Stoicism, or the values I taught Tiberius! The arrogance of those men! I, Blossius of Cumae, am too insignificant even to bother executing!”
Blossius had packed his belongings at the house of Cornelia. He had come to Menenia’s house to say good-bye.
“I should go with you. There’s nothing for me here.” Menenia’s voice was dull and lifeless. The terror of Blossius’s arrest, the relief that he had been set free, and then the cruel news of his exile had utterly worn her out.
“Nonsense,” said Blossius. “Your son is here. Did we not conclude, once upon a time, that a woman’s greatest role is to be a mother?”
“That was Cornelia’s conclusion, not mine.”
“Cornelia needs your friendship more than ever. The loss of Tiberius has devastated her.”
Menenia shook her head. “I should go with you.”
“No, beloved. Exile is not for you.”
Lucius stood nearby, saying nothing. He had been right, and here was the proof—Tiberius’s radical politics had ended in disaster for himself and all those associated with him. But being right gave Lucius no satisfaction. He felt only shame and bitterness.
“Where will you go, Blossius?” asked Menenia.
“First, I’ll take a boat downriver to Ostia—”
“In the dead of night?”
Blossius grunted. “That’s when traffic on the river is busiest these days. I won’t be the only man fleeing the city! At Ostia, I’ll board the first ship heading east. There must be some monarch, somewhere in Greece or Asia, who’ll offer me asylum—a man who’s sympathetic to Stoic teachings…a man who’s unafraid of Roma…”
A fool, you mean—like you, thought Lucius. But he bit his tongue and said nothing.
129 B.C.
Lucius Pinarius took the letter from his mother’s trembling hand. It was written in Greek, on parchment of the highest quality. Lucius read slowly, paying careful attention to every word.
From Blossius to Menenia, greetings and deepest affections:
What a comfort your letters are to me, like salve on a wound!
Any day that a messenger arrives with a missive from you is a day of celebration for me.
I am glad to hear that you and Lucius are both in good health. I am glad that your son’s business prospers. There must be much money to be made as a state contractor, especially in the building trade.
Thank you for sending news of Cornelia. That she remains in mourning, three years after the death of Tiberius, is, in my opinion, entirely fitting. The nature of her son’s death, the desecration of his body, and the outrageous aftermath all justify a longer period of mourning than is customarily considered seemly.
But Tiberius’s brother, you say, no longer wears black. Well,
Gaius is a young man and must get on with his life. I have mixed feelings about his apparent decision to withdraw completely from political life, and to devote himself (like Lucius) entirely to money-making. In some ways, Gaius’s potential as a leader actually surpassed that of his brother. What a waste, that he should forgo the Course of Honor! But after seeing what was done to Tiberius, who can blame him for pursuing a different destiny?
I wonder, though, whether Gaius will not eventually find himself drawn back to public life. The lure of politics is so strong in his blood!
As for my career, I am proud to report that King Aristonicus takes me deeper into his confidence every day. Yes, I proudly call him King, though the Romans refuse to recognize his status and brand him a rebel. The will of the late King Attalus was rendered null and void when General Aristonicus claimed the throne of Pergamum by both force of arms and moral authority. How peeved the Roman senators must be, to see their dreams of laying hands on the treasury of Pergamum dashed; their greed for that treasure was one of their reasons for murdering Tiberius.
King Aristonicus is a remarkable man. I have every confidence that, with my counsel, he will attain the Stoic ideal of a just king. We speak often of the new capitol he dreams of founding—we will call it Heliopolis, City of the Sun—in which all men of all classes, including slaves, shall be free.
Aristonicus is also a military genius, thank the gods! He will boldly defend his claim to the throne of Pergamum against Roman arms. When he is seen to prevail, there is hope that other leaders across Asia and Greece will rise up and break the grip of Roma and its corrupt republic. The only hope for the rest of the world is to resist Roma’s domination at every turn.
But here I am, rattling on about politics! Forgive me, my love. Without you beside me, I have little else to think about. My life is out of balance; the part of me that is most essentially alive—a corporeal man capable of love, desire, tears, and laughter—is shriveled and withered, like a once sturdy vine ripped from the rich, moist earth. How I miss you! Your words, your face, the music of your voice, the warmth of your body! Perhaps, someday—in Heliopolis?—we shall be together again. But that time is not yet, alas!
As always, I urge you to destroy this letter immediately after you read it. Resist any temptation to save my letters for sentimental reasons. Burn them! I do the same with every letter I receive from you, though afterward my tears fall among the ashes. This is for your safety, not mine. We have seen, to our sorrow, just how ruthless the enemies of virtue have become, and how they can turn the words of the virtuous against them.
All my love to you….
Lucius lowered the parchment with a shudder. He was not sure which offended him most—the Stoic’s snide, backhanded compliment on Lucius’s money-making pursuits, his typically self-satisfied fawning over the upstart Aristonicus, or his salacious metaphors regarding himself and Menenia. A sturdy vine ripped from the rich, moist earth, indeed!
“Promise me, Mother, that you’ve done exactly as he’s instructed you—that you’ve destroyed every letter he’s ever sent you.”
Menenia looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She drew her eyebrows together. She shrugged with one shoulder.
“By Hercules and Hades! You didn’t burn them, did you? You’ve kept them.”
