Empire - Saylor Steven (книги без сокращений TXT) 📗
Lucius stood naked at the centre of the cosmos, stripped of all earthly pretense – naked except for the fascinum, which caught the sunlight and glittered brightly.
Where did he find the sense to do what he did next? An old slave, the scarred survivor of many dangerous hunts over a long lifetime, had once advised Lucius on the best way to comport himself should he ever encounter a deadly animal in the wild without the advantage of a weapon: “You must be as wild and fierce as the beast. No – wilder, fiercer! Jump, flail your arms, scream and shout like a madman.”
“Pretend to be dangerous?” Lucius had asked.
“No pretending,” said the slave. “You must find inside yourself the part of you that truly is as savage as the beast.”
“And what if there is no such part of me?” said Lucius.
“There is,” the slave had answered.
Lucius had quickly forgotten this exchange, but he remembered it now, as the lion ran towards him.
He heard a shrieking noise so bloodcurdling that even he was unnerved by it, though he knew he must be producing it himself. His body was in motion, but he had no conception of what his movements must look like. Perhaps they were comical, like the writhing of a mime, for he heard laughter from the stands. But the lion did not seem amused by his screaming and stamping and flailing. The beast stopped in its tracks and sprang back, looking startled. Lucius sensed that he had the advantage and pursued it. He did what no sane man would have done: he charged the lion.
What would he do if the lion stood its ground? He would have no choice but to leap onto the beast and wrestle it. The idea was absurd, but there was no turning back.
He heard gasps of disbelief and screams of excitement from the spectators. The lion crouched, flattened it ears, lifted a paw, and bared its fangs. Lucius continued his headlong rush, screaming at the top of his lungs, waving his arms and gaining speed as he drew closer. Just as he was about to leap, the beast turned and began to run.
Lucius chased the lion. The roar from the crowd was deafening. He perceived a vast upward movement all around him. The spectators, in unison, had risen to their feet.
The lion ran for a short distance, then stopped and looked back at him with flattened ears, made ready to fight, then lost its nerve and began to run again, staying low to the ground. The beast seemed as perplexed by its own craven behaviour as it was by Lucius’s headlong advance. The predator was not used to being pursued.
Lucius could not continue to scream and run for long. He was weak from imprisonment. He had managed to find within himself an unexpected reservoir of energy and had released it in a great burst of noise and action, but already he was flagging.
In the blink of an eye, his strength was gone. He stopped running. He could scream no longer. He gasped for air. He could barely stand.
The lion ran until it reached the far side of the arena. It spun around and peered at Lucius, then sat on the sand like a Sphinx and snapped its tail this way and that.
They stayed like that for a while, man and lion, peering at each other across the sand. Eventually, a gate opened. Attendants with long poles ran onto the sand and poked at the lion, trying to goad it into attacking Lucius again. But the cat turned on the attendants instead, spitting and batting its claws at them. Eventually the attendants retreated. The lion sat on the sand again, panting and showing its tongue.
No longer able to stand, Lucius sat. Nearby he noticed a bloody spot on the sand. Amid the blood lay a lump of flesh. Most likely it was from a human being, one of the day’s previous victims, but it was so bloody and torn that it looked like a cut of meat from a butcher’s shop. Lucius wrinkled his nose and felt a twinge of nausea.
For a while Lucius and the lion sat on the sand, resting and keeping their distance. Then the cat roused itself. It stood and began to walk very slowly towards Lucius. The crowd murmured in anticipation. A stone’s throw from Lucius, the lion came to a stop and sat again, Sphinx-like, staring at him.
Lucius summoned his last vestige of strength to crawl on his hands and knees to the lump of bloody flesh on the sand. What would Apollonius think of his intention? Apollonius believed that men should not eat animals, but Lucius had never heard him express the opinion that animals should not eat men. It was in their nature, and they could not be reasoned out of it.
Grimacing with disgust, Lucius grabbed hold of the lump of flesh and flung it at the lion. The beast scrambled back, then poked its head towards the flesh and sniffed at it. It leaped onto the bloody lump, seized it with both paws, and attacked it with its powerful jaws.
The lion relished its meal. When it was done, it rose to its feet and sauntered towards Lucius, who stayed where he was, too exhausted to do anything except shut his eyes. He breathed deeply and awaited what was to come. As the lion drew nearer, Lucius heard its footsteps on the sand and smelled the gore on its breath.
Something rough and wet touched Lucius’s hand. He opened his eyes and saw that the cat was licking the blood from his fingers. The lion took its time and did a very thorough job, then sat beside him and closed its eyes, seemingly content.
From the stands came a strange mixture of sounds – applause and laughter, but also angry jeers and cries of scorn. Some of the spectators were enthralled by the scene they had just witnessed and hailed Lucius’s bravery. Others felt cheated of the thrill of seeing a man torn apart, and suspected that some trickery was afoot.
Lucius looked at the imperial box. Domitian was on his feet. Catullus was beside him, speaking into his right ear. Epaphroditus was speaking into his left ear. Domitian waved them both aside and gave an order to another courtier in his retinue. A few moments later, the attendants with long poles again appeared in the arena. One of the poles had a bit of meat tied to the end. They lured the cat to one of the openings and through the gate, which clanged shut after them.
A courtier beckoned to Lucius from the imperial box. Somehow, Lucius rose to his feet and staggered in that direction. Domitian stood at the parapet, looking down at him.
The emperor raised his hand. The spectators fell silent.
Domitian flashed a chilly smile. Thanks to the extraordinary acoustics of the amphitheatre, he barely had to raise his voice to be heard by Lucius. “I think, Lucius Pinarius, that you are the luckiest man I have ever met. More than once I have intended to do away with you. More than once I have changed my mind.”
“Caesar is merciful,” Lucius managed to say. His throat ached and his voice was hoarse from screaming.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps Caesar is mindful of some powerful magic about you. Did the magician from Tyana teach you to cast that spell on the lion?”
“I am always mindful of the Teacher’s example, Dominus. But he did not teach me any spells.”
“Then perhaps that amulet you wear is responsible for your good fortune. It must possess a powerful magic.”
Lucius touched the fascinum.
“You are pardoned and released, Lucius Pinarius. The property that was to be confiscated from you is hereby returned. Epaphroditus, see to the details.”
“But, Dominus-” protested Catullus, before Domitian cut him off by pressing a finger to the man’s lips.
Attendants assisted Lucius from the arena. They were strong men, and for that Lucius was glad. His legs had turned to water and the attendants practically had to carry him out.
AD 96
The weather was unusually stormy all through the summer months and into September – or Germanicus, as the month had been renamed by Domitian. As one violent tempest followed another, even casual observers noted the unprecedented occurrence of lightning. Lightning struck the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. Lightning struck the Temple of the Flavians, causing damage to the statue of Vespasian in the sanctuary. Lightning struck the imperial palace on several occasions, including, it was said, a strike that caused a small fire in the emperor’s bedchamber. There was widespread speculation on what so many omens from the sky could mean.
