Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗
“He was making a joke,” said Gaius ruefully. “You must admit, Sulla has a wicked wit.”
“He’s as mad as Cassandra!” said Lucius. “The killing never stops. Every day there’s a new list. And anyone who gives shelter to a proscribed man is automatically proscribed as well, even a man’s parents. The sons and grandsons of the proscribed are stripped of their citizenship and robbed of their property. It’s happening not just in Roma, but in cities all over Italy. Men are being murdered every minute of every day, and every killer is given a reward, even a slave who kills his master, even a son who kills his father. It’s madness—an insult to our ancestors, a crime against the gods.”
“It’s a way for Sulla and his friends to accumulate a vast amount of wealth,” said Gaius. “The first men on the list were genuine enemies, men who’d fought against him in the civil war. Then we began to see other names—Equestrians who’d never taken an interest in politics, or wealthy farmers who never even came to the city. Why were they proscribed? So that Sulla could seize their property. The state sells the goods at public auctions, but the dictator’s friends are the only men who dare to bid.”
“It’s as simple as that,” said Lucius. “Men are being murdered for their property.”
“Men are being murdered by their properties,” said Gaius. “I was down in Alba the other day. I rode by a beautiful country house with gardens and vineyards, and the fellow with me said, ‘That’s the estate that killed Quintus Aurelius.’”
Julia groaned. “Gaius, that isn’t funny!”
“Then I don’t suppose you’ll laugh when I tell you that men who’ve committed murder are arranging to have their victims inserted retroactively in the lists. They say Lucius Sergius Catilina pulled that off, after he murdered his brother-in-law. The killing was not only made legal, but Catilina received a bounty for it!”
The grim conversation lapsed for a while. Gaius drank more broth. Lucius pondered the untouched food before him. Julia finally spoke.
“Do you think we can take Sulla at his word, when he promises to lay down his dictatorship and retire to private life? He’ll do so in a year, he says, or at most two years.”
“We can only pray that he’s telling the truth,” said Lucius glumly.
“And what if he is?” said Gaius. “What will have changed, if Sulla steps down? Elections will resume, and the Senate will be in charge again—with all Marius’s men dead and Sulla’s men taking their places. But the state will still be crippled. The things that were broken before the civil war will still be broken, merely patched together with makeshift remedies. Gaius Gracchus, if he’d had the chance, might have sorted things out and breathed new life into the Republic; a petty, vindictive tyrant like Sulla is not the man to accomplish that. It will take someone else to save Roma, someone who can combine the political vision of the Gracchi, the military genius of Scipio Africanus, and a measure of Sulla’s ruthlessness, as well.”
There was a faraway look in Gaius’s eyes, almost as if he were speaking of his own ambitions for the future. That was absurd, thought Lucius. The fever was giving his brother-in-law delusions of grandeur. Gaius should worry about keeping his own head, not daydream about saving the Republic.
“Perhaps,” suggested Lucius, “the man you’re thinking of is Pompeius Magnus.” He referred to one of Sulla’s proteges, a military prodigy only six years older than Gaius. Sulla, who liked pet names—he had dubbed himself Felix, “Lucky”—had taken to addressing young Gnaeus Pompeius, half in jest, half in earnest, as Magnus, “the Great.” The name had stuck.
“Pompeius!” Gaius scoffed. “I hardly think so. He doesn’t have the strength of character to be a true leader.”
“Well…” Lucius raised an eyebrow. He had no affection for Pompeius, but it seemed to him that Gaius was hardly worldly enough to make such a scathing assessment. Gaius read his expression.
“Must I justify the comment? Very well, I need cite only one example to show the fundamental weakness in Pompeius’s character. Other than cutting off heads, what’s Sulla’s most despotic behavior? Arranging marriages for those around him. And not just innocent matchmaking. Against their will, he’s forced women to marry his favorites; that action turns marriage into rape, an offense to the gods. He’s even dissolved existing marriages, forcing spouses to divorce each other and remarry new partners of his choosing.”
“Another symptom of Sulla’s madness,” said Lucius.
“Perhaps. But if Pompeius thinks so, the so-called Great wasn’t great enough to stand up to his master. Sulla told Pompeius to divorce Antistia—a devoted wife, by all accounts—and marry Sulla’s stepdaughter Aemilia, even though Aemilia was already pregnant by her husband! And Pompeius, like the sycophant of some Asian monarch, obeyed without a whimper. This is the man to lead Roma out of the wilderness? I hardly think so!” Gaius shook his head. “I would never submit to such dishonorable, disgraceful behavior to curry favor with another man, no matter what the consequences. Never!”
“Well,” said Julia, seeking to diffuse the tension in the room, “let us pray you never have to face such a dreadful choice. May your marriage to Cornelia be long and fruitful!” She smiled wanly. “When I think of a good marriage, I think of our parents, don’t you, Gaius? They always seemed so happy together. If only the gods had not taken father so swiftly, so suddenly…”
Julia and Gaius had lost their father three years before. To all appearance, the elder Gaius had been a healthy, vigorous man in the prime of life, but one day, while putting on his shoes, he gave a lurch and fell over dead. His own father had also died young, in a similarly sudden fashion. The siblings had felt his loss deeply, and had grown even closer in the years since he died.
Gaius, seeing the look of sadness on his sister’s face, leaned toward her and gently touched her shoulder.
Suddenly, there came a noise from the vestibule, so loud that all three of them gave a start and leaped to their feet. Someone was not merely banging at the door, but was trying to break it down. There was a snap of splintering wood and the shriek of hinges giving way.
Gaius turned to flee, but managed only a few steps. He was too weak to run. He swayed and would have fallen had Julia not rushed to his side.
A gang of armed men barged into the room. Lucius blanched when he recognized their leader: Cornelius Phagites.
Phagites smiled, showing the gap between his crooked teeth. “Ah, there’s the very one I’m looking for—young Caesar!”
Julia stood before Gaius, like a mother protecting her young. Though his knees trembled, Lucius stepped up to Phagites, who was much taller, and raised his chin high.
“You’ve made a mistake. This is my wife’s brother, Gaius Julius Caesar. His name is not on the proscription lists.”
Phagites laughed. “‘Name isn’t on the list!’” he said mockingly. “How often have we heard that one?”
“It’s true! I checked the new lists myself, this afternoon. You saw me when I was coming back from the Forum. Don’t you remember?”
Phagites squinted at him. “Well…if his name’s not on the list yet, it can always be added later,” he said, but in his voice there was a sliver of doubt. Lucius did his best to take advantage of it.
“Taking men on the list is one thing, Phagites. Taking men who aren’t on the list is another. Sooner or later, by his own promise, Lucius Cornelius Sulla will resign his dictatorship. He’s granted himself immunity from prosecution for life, but I doubt that he’s given that sort of protection to you. Well, has he?”
Phagites frowned. “No.”
“Which means that some day there will be an accounting of…of mistakes that were made. This is such a mistake, Phagites. Gaius Julius Caesar is not on the list. He’s a citizen with full rights, not an enemy of the state. You have no right to harm him.”
