Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven (книги онлайн полные версии бесплатно .TXT) 📗
Titus nodded gravely, then frowned. “One thing puzzles me, grandfather. You say the monarchy is not hereditary, but the present King Tarquinius’s father was also king.”
“Yes, but the crown did not pass directly from father to son.”
“I know; Servius Tullius came between. But didn’t Tarquinius kill him, and that’s how he became king?”
The old man drew a quick breath, but did not reply. Titus was old enough to be taught the list of kings and their principal achievements, but not yet old enough to be taught about the political machinations that had brought each king to the throne and the scandals that had attended each reign. To a young man who could not yet understand the importance of discretion, one hesitated to speak ill even of kings long dead; one certainly did not speak ill of a living king. About Tarquinius and the murders that had brought him to the throne, and all the murders that had followed, there was little to say that was fit for the boy’s ears.
Ambitious to become a king like his father, Tarquinius had married one of the two daughters of his father’s successor, Servius Tullius, but when she proved to be more loyal to her father than to Tarquinius, he decided he preferred her more ruthless sister. When Tarquinius’s wife conveniently died, as did the husband of his sister-in-law, and the two bereaved spouses married one another, the word “poison” was whispered all over Roma. In short order, Tarquinius and his new wife murdered her father, and Tarquinius declared himself king, dispensing with the formalities of election by the people and confirmation by the Senate.
Having seized the throne by force, Tarquinius ruled by fear. Previous kings had consulted the Senate on important matters and called upon them to act as jurors. Tarquinius showed only contempt for the Senate. He claimed sole authority to judge capital cases, and used that authority to punish innocent men with death or exile; he confiscated his victims’ property to pay for his grand schemes, including the new temple. The Senate had grown to include three hundred members, but its numbers diminished as the king destroyed one after another of its wealthiest, most prominent men. His sons grew to be as arrogant as their father, and there were rumors that Tarquinius planned to name one of them as his heir, abolishing outright the ancient rules of nonhereditary succession and election by the people.
The old man sighed and changed the subject. “Fetch your stylus and wax tablet. You shall practice your writing skills.”
Titus dutifully took the instruments from a special box in which they were kept. The tablet was a framed piece of flat wood upon which a thick coating of wax had been laid down. The stylus was a heavy iron rod with a sharpened tip, of a circumference to comfortably fit a boy’s hand. The wax had been written on only a few times, then rubbed flat afterward for the next lesson.
“Write the name of the seven kings, in order,” said his grandfather. Writing was a skill the Romans had learned from the Etruscans; the Etruscans had learned it from the people of Magna Graecia-Greeks who in recent generations had colonized southern Italy, bringing with them the advantages of a culture more advanced and refined than those of the native Italians. Writing, especially, had proven to be of great value. Records and lists could be kept, royal proclamations and laws could be written down, corrections and additions could be made to the calendar, and messages could be sent from one place to another. To master the skill required great diligence, and it was best learned at an early age. As a hereditary priest of Hercules, and as a member of the patrician class-a descendent of one of Roma’s founding families-with the prospect of someday becoming a senator like his grandfather, it was very much to young Titus’s advantage to learn to read and to write.
Usually, Titus was very conscientious about forming letters, but on this day he seemed unable to concentrate. He kept making mistakes, rubbing them clear, then starting over. Repeatedly, he looked toward the window. His grandfather smiled. To capture a boy’s imagination, the making of letters in wax could not hope to compete with the construction of the new temple. Titus’s fascination with the project was perhaps not a bad thing; a knowledge of how such a building was made might serve him well someday.
He waited until Titus had painstakingly written the “s” at the end of Tarquinius, then patted him on the head. “Good enough,” he said. “Your lessons are over for today. You may go now.”
Titus looked up at him in surprise.
“Did I not tell you to go?” said his grandfather. “I’m a bit tired today. Being compared to that head discovered on the Capitoline has made me feel my age! Smooth the wax, put away your stylus, and then be off. And say hello to that fellow Vulca for me!”
The afternoon was warm and sunny, with hours of daylight left. Titus ran all the way from his family’s house on the Palatine down to the Forum, then uphill again to the top of the Capitoline. He didn’t stop until he reached the Tarpeian Rock, the sheer summit from which traitors were hurled to their death. The rock also provided a panoramic view of the city below. His friend Gnaeus Marcius loved to play with miniature wooden soldiers, pretending to be their commander; Titus preferred to gaze down at the city of Roma as if its buildings were toys, and to imagine rearranging them and constructing new ones.
Roma had changed much since the days of Romulus. Where once the Seven Hills had been covered by forests and pastures, and the settlements had been small and scattered, now there were buildings everywhere one looked, built close together with dirt and gravel streets running between them. Some citizens still lived in thatched huts and kept animals in pens, but many homes were now made of wood, some rising to two stories, and the houses of wealthy families-such as the Potitii-were grand affairs made of brick and stone with shuttered windows, interior courtyards, terraces, and tile roofs. The Forum had become the civic center of Roma, with a paved street called the Sacred Way running through it; it was the site of numerous temples and shrines and also of the Senate House. The marketplace beside the river was now called the Forum Bovarium, from the word bovinus, referring to its ancient and continuing role as a cattle market; it had become the great emporium of central Italy. The original settlement at the foot of the Capitoline, including the ancestral hut of the Potitii, had long ago been cleared away and built over to make room for the expanding marketplace. At the heart of the Forum Bovarium stood the ancient Ara Maxima, where once a year Titus and his family, along with the Pinarii, celebrated the Feast of Hercules.
Roma under the kings had prospered and grown. Now the grandest sign of the city’s progress was rising on the summit of the Capitoline. Turning his back on the panoramic view, Titus gazed up at the magnificent project which each day drew nearer to completion. Since his last visit to the site, a new section of scaffolding had gone up along the front of the temple. The workers on the top tier were applying plaster to the recessed surface of the pediment.
“Titus, my friend! I haven’t you seen for a while.” The speaker was a tall man with strands of gray in his beard, about the age of Titus’s father. There was plaster dust on his blue tunic. He carried a stylus and a small wax tablet for making sketches.
“Vulca! I’ve been very busy with my studies lately. But my grandfather let me go early today.”
“Excellent! I have something very special to show you.” The man smiled and gestured for him to follow.
Vulca was an Etruscan, famous all over Italy as an architect and artist. King Tarquinius had employed him not only to oversee construction of the temple, but to decorate it inside and out. The building was made of common materials-wood, brick, and plaster-but when Vulca was done painting, it would be dazzling: yellow, black, and white for the walls and columns, red for the capitals and the bases of the columns, more red to trim the pediment, and many shades of green and blue to highlight the small architectural details.
