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

Lucius was awed by the grandeur of this vision. He was flattered that Caesar should confide in him. But Caesar was not finished.

“No such empire has ever existed before; even Alexander’s empire was not as far-flung. And of course, upon his death, the lands Alexander conquered did not remain unified but were divided among his heirs, with a great deal of confusion and bloodshed. Alexander’s general Ptolemy did the best, when he took Egypt; Queen Cleopatra is his direct descendent. But what will happen to Roma’s empire when I die, Lucius? Will it be a single kingdom with a single ruler? Will it be carefully divided into many kingdoms, all closely allied? Or will it be splintered into rival kingdoms, each at war with the other?”

“Might it not become a republic again, Uncle?”

Caesar smiled, as if at a whimsical notion. “Anything is possible, I suppose-even that! No man of my generation could find a way to make the Republic work, but perhaps men of a later day will be able to do so. Meanwhile, I think ahead. I do my best to shape the course of the future. It may be that I will live to be very old and that I will work out a means to pass on my legacy intact; or I may die tonight, as my father and his father died, struck down by the gods without warning. At present, my will provides for my heirs, and of course you are among them, Lucius. But if my power endures and if my plans come to fruition, more complicated arrangements will be required.

“I tell you all this, Lucius, because it may be that the gods have in mind for you a very special destiny. Through your descent from the Julii, you are the offspring of Venus, no less than I myself. Through your father’s line, you carry one of the oldest names in Roma’s history. The Pinarii are very ancient-but you, Lucius, are very young. You’ve accomplished nothing, as yet; but neither have you made mistakes. Prepare yourself. Be loyal to me. Prove yourself in battle. Observe the conduct of other men; adopt their virtues and avoid their vices. I’m thinking specifically of Antonius. I know you feel close to him. But you have it in you to become a far better man than he is.”

Lucius frowned. “You place great trust in Antonius.”

“I do. But I’m not blind to his faults.”

Having been taken so deeply into Caesar’s confidence, Lucius felt emboldened to ask him about the incident a month earlier, when Antonius had three times offered Caesar the diadem during the Lupercalia.

“You were there,” said Caesar. “You saw all that took place. What did you think?”

“I think you staged the incident, like a play, to test the citizen’s reaction to a crown. When you saw that so many disapproved, you reassured them that you had no desire to be their king.”

Caesar nodded. “In politics, reality and appearance are of equal importance. You cannot attend to one and neglect the other. A man must determine both what he is, and what others believe him to be. It’s a tricky business, this matter of crowns and titles. Shall I tell you another secret?”

Lucius nodded.

“Tomorrow, before the debate regarding the Parthian command, one of my loyal senators will make an announcement regarding the Sibylline Books. It appears that the priests in charge of interpreting the verses have discovered a most remarkable passage, which indicates that the Parthians can be conquered only by a king. I refused the diadem that was offered to me by Antonius at the Lupercalia, to the applause of the people. But what if the Senate should implore Caesar to accept a royal title, to ensure the conquest of Parthia?”

“You will become a king, then?” said Lucius. “And this will happen tomorrow?”

Caesar smiled wryly. “This is the plan: The Senate will declare that Caesar is king of all Roman provinces outside Italy, with the right to wear a crown in any place other than Italy, on land or sea. This technicality will satisfy both Caesar’s need for authority and the need of the Senate and the citizens to believe themselves free of a king. Caesar will be king of the rest of the world, on Roma’s behalf.”

Lucius frowned. “Auguries and omens, and the Sibylline Books-are they merely tools for men to use? Do they not truly express the will of the gods?”

“Perhaps both propositions are true. Auguries and the rest are tools, yes; and the man who masters those tools does so because he is favored by the gods. It is a remarkable thing, how frequently divine will coincides with the designs of successful men.” Caesar smiled. “Of course, not every omen is favorable. If I listened to every warning I receive from every soothsayer on every street corner in Roma, I might never leave my house, and I certainly would not venture out to address the Senate tomorrow!”

“Have you received a specific warning?”

“Too many to relate! Shooting stars, goats born two-headed, tears from statues, letters mysteriously formed in the sand-all sorts of portents have been brought to my attention in the last month. Some of these warnings specifically cite the Ides of Martius as a day of ill omen. That’s one reason Antonius has been playing mother hen lately. He thinks I should be surrounded by a bodyguard at all times. But Caesar has decided to ignore these so-called omens and do as he wishes.”

Their quiet conversation was abruptly interrupted by loud voices from a side street. A group of men was heading straight toward them. Caesar seized Lucius’s arm and pulled him into a doorway.

The men began to sing, loudly and badly out of tune. They were obviously drunk. One of them spotted the two figures in the shadows of the doorway and stepped closer, peering at them.

“Numa’s balls! If it isn’t the spawn of Venus himself-our beloved dictator!”

“Who?” shouted one of his companions.

“Gaius Julius Caesar!”

“You liar!”

“No, I swear! Come see for yourselves.”

The men crowded around the doorway. Recognizing Caesar, they were briefly awed, then began a buffoonish mime of bowing and prostrating themselves. “King Caesar!” they cried. “All hail the king!”

Caesar showed no fear. He smiled and graciously acknowledged their gestures with a nod.

One of them staggered back and flung out his arms, miming a crucifixion. “Look at me! I’m a pirate! Oh, great Caesar, have mercy on me!”

Another pulled his tunic up to hide his head. “Look at me! I’m Pompeius after he landed in Egypt! Merciful Caesar, give me back my head!”

“And I’m the Queen of the Nile!” said another, mincing about and putting his fists inside his tunic to mime enormous breasts. “Ravish me, great Caesar! Our baby will be the next king of Egypt!”

They continued with their buffoonery for a while, then seemed to forget what they were doing. Waving good-bye, they moved on and broke into another song. Only when they were out of sight did Caesar relax his grip on Lucius’s arm.

Lucius looked at his great-uncle’s face in the moonlight. Caesar’s eyes glittered with a peculiar excitement. However briefly, Caesar had felt a moment of genuine fear. Its passing seemed to have left him neither angry nor shaken, but exhilarated.

The next day was the Ides of Martius.

Lucius awoke drenched with sweat. His room was dark. The faint blue light that precedes the dawn silhouetted the shutters drawn across his window. Somewhere in the distance a cock was crowing.

He had been experiencing one of those strange dreams in which the dreamer is both participant and observer, aware that he is dreaming and yet unable to stop the dream. In it, Caesar had died. A great multitude had gathered to hear the reading of his will. On the steps of a temple, a Vestal virgin produced a scroll and handed it to Marcus Antonius. Antonius unrolled the document and proceeded to read. Lucius stood at the front of the crowd, but strain as he might, he could not hear the names being read. The roar of the crowd was too great. He wanted to tell the others to be quiet, but he could not open his mouth to speak. He could not move at all. Antonius continued to read, but Lucius could not hear, speak, or move.