Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven (книги онлайн полные версии бесплатно .TXT) 📗

Lucius scanned the faces quickly. He thanked the gods there was no one he recognized.

Looming above and beyond the Rostra, high on a tall pedestal, was the Forum’s newest ornament, a statue of a general on horseback. The gilded statue gleamed with red fire in the light of the dying sun, so brilliantly that it hurt Lucius’s eyes to look at it. The sculptor had captured to perfection the confident posture and bold features of the dictator, Lucius Cornelius Sulla. The statue appeared to be gazing out over the severed heads with a placid, self-satisfied smile.

Above and beyond the statue of Sulla loomed another reminder of the desperate pass to which Roma had come: the craggy summit of the Capitoline Hill, upon which the ancient temples stood in charred ruins. Two years ago, a great fire had swept across the Capitoline, destroying everything in its path, including the ancient Temple of Jupiter. The fire had been an ill omen, portending the unspeakable terrors of civil war and the victor’s gruesome vengeance.

Lucius turned away from the Rostra. He hurried on until he came to the posting wall. A group of men had gathered to read the latest lists. Proscription lists, they were called, because they contained the names of those who had been officially denounced as enemies of the dictator Sulla. A proscribed man could be killed with impunity, by anyone, even in his own home. His head was worth a bounty. His property was summarily confiscated and auctioned by the state.

Reading the new lists, some of the men sighed with relief. A few stifled cries of despair. Most kept their faces hidden. Lucius did likewise, pulling the hood low across his brow as he made his way to the front of the crowd to scan the lists.

The name Lucius dreaded to see, that of his wife’s younger brother, was not there. Lucius touched the fascinum and whispered a prayer of relief.

“What’s this?” A man behind him leaned forward and squinted at the list over Lucius’s shoulder. He spoke in an unnaturally loud voice. “Can it be? I see they’re posted the name of a certain…Lucius Pinarius!”

Lucius spun about, his heart pounding. He recognized the speaker, but only barely-the man was a friend of a friend whose name escaped him. Seeing the look on Lucius’s face, the man let out a ghastly laugh.

“I’m only joking!” he said.

“It’s not funny-not funny at all!” snapped Lucius, his voice breaking. “To say such a thing, even in jest-I might have been killed, you fool! Murdered where I stand, before I could say a word!”

It was true. Such atrocities occurred every day. A man came to the posting board to read the latest list, discovered to his horror that his name was on it, gave himself away with a cry of dismay, and then, within moments, was murdered by assassins who lurked nearby, waiting for the opportunity to kill one of the dictator’s enemies and claim the bounty.

Lucius elbowed his way out of the crowd and hurried across the Forum, walking as fast as he dared; walking too fast might attract attention. The straight, steep path behind the Temple of Castor took him quickly to the crest of the Palatine. From there it was only a short walk to his house.

Lucius turned down a narrow street. He gave a start. One of his neighbors was being dragged out of his house by a gang of rough-looking men. The man clutched the doorframe, clinging to it desperately with his fingernails until they pulled him clear and threw him down in the street. From within the house came the screams of his family.

The few bystanders in the street turned and fled at once, except for Lucius, who was too startled to move. He watched in horror as the assassins proceeded to stab the man to death. The sound of metal tearing flesh was nauseating. The man’s wife and children ran outside just in time to see the killers hack off his head.

The leader of the group held up the severed head. Lucius recognized the killer, a notorious henchman of Sulla’s named Cornelius Phagites.

“Can you believe it?” said Phagites to his companions. “This one’s been on the list for more than a month. Kept out of sight ever since, until today, when he dared to come home. Thought he could slip past Phagites, the stupid bastard! There’s a special premium for men who’ve been on the list that long. This head will be worth a small fortune when we deliver it to Sulla!”

Phagites grinned, showing crooked teeth with a gap in the middle. He saw Lucius watching and curled his upper lip, giving him a look of such malice that Lucius thought he might loose control of his bladder.

“What are you looking at, citizen?”

Lucius said nothing and hurried on.

He arrived home badly shaken. The slave who admitted him quickly barred the door behind him. His wife stood in the atrium beyond the vestibule, holding their newborn son to her breast. A nursemaid stood nearby, waiting to put the child to bed. Seeing Lucius, and the terrible look on his face, Julia pulled the baby from her breast. She kissed the child’s forehead, then handed him to the slave. She waited until the girl had disappeared before speaking.

“It’s bad news, isn’t it? Please, Lucius, tell me at once!”

“It’s not what you think.” He rushed to embrace her, as much to comfort himself as to reassure her. “I saw something…terrible…on the way home. Terrible! But the new list-”

“Was Gaius on the list, or not?” Julia pulled away from his embrace. Her fingers dug painfully into his arms.

“No, Julia, no! Calm yourself. His name wasn’t there.”

“Not yet,” said a rasping voice from the shadows. “But they will post my name any day now. So my informers tell me.”

Julia released her grip on Lucius and hurried to the hunched figure in the shadows. “Little brother, what are you doing out of bed? You’re much too ill to be up.”

Gaius Julius Caesar was only eighteen, but his face was haggard and he moved like an old man, stiff and bent.

He was unshaven, and his matted, unkempt hair made a mockery of his name; generations ago, his branch of the Julius family had taken the cognomen Caesar, meaning “possessor of a fine head of hair.”

“I’m feeling much better, sister. Really, I am. The fever’s broken. The chills are gone.”

“They’ll be back. That’s how the quartan ague runs its course. It comes and goes until it’s entirely spent.”

“Are you my physician now, as well as my sister?”

Julia kissed his forehead. “You are cooler than you were before. Do you think you could swallow some broth? You must keep up your strength.”

In the dining room, Lucius held up a small silver dish with both hands. He bowed his head, and intoned a prayer.

“Asylaeus, we offer the best morsels of the meal to you-you, who were especially worshipped by Father Romulus; you, patron of vagabonds, fugitives, and exiles; you, whose ancient altar on the Capitoline offered a place of sanctuary to those who could find it nowhere else. Keep safe this cherished visitor in my home, my brother by marriage, young Gaius. Grant him asylum here in the shelter of my house. To you, Asylaeus, I make this prayer.”

“Asylaeus, protect my brother!” said Julia.

“Protect us all,” whispered Gaius.

Lucius reclined on the couch next to Julia. He picked at bits of roasted pork on a silver dish. His stomach was empty, but after the horrors he had seen that day, the sight of charred flesh revolted him. Julia likewise had no appetite, but Gaius quickly finished one cup of broth and started on another.

Gaius saw that Lucius was staring at him. He managed a weak smile. “You did a brave thing today, brother-in-law, going down to the Forum to read the new list. I thank you for it.”

Lucius shrugged. “I did it for my own peace of mind. As long as you’re not officially on the list, Julia and I can’t be punished for keeping a wanted man under our roof.”