Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗
The Romans panicked, broke ranks, and ran. Thousands were pushed into the river and drowned. Thousands more fled into the narrow ravine; those who were not trampled by their own men were slaughtered by the Gauls. Those who survived the battle did so only because Brennus, amazed at the ease of his victory, suspected a trap. He kept his men from advancing as quickly as they might have, which allowed the Romans who threw down their weapons and cast off their armor to outrun their pursuers, saving themselves while shedding every vestige of their dignity. Because it was closer, most fled to Veii, not to Roma. Only a handful made it back to the city with news of the disaster.
The Roman army was destroyed. Its remnants were disarmed and scattered. Elated by their good fortune but exhausted from so much slaughter, the Gauls rested that night. The next day they stripped booty from the fallen dead; so many Romans had been killed that the process took all day.
The next morning the Gauls pressed on toward Roma. When they arrived, at nightfall, they beheld a city with open gates and not a single sentry on the walls. All was silent and still. So eerie was the sight that Brennus camped outside the walls that night, again fearing a trap. He waited until morning to venture into the defenseless city.
Alone in the Temple of Vesta, Pinaria slept. Not even the goddess was present, for the sacred fire of Vesta was gone. Only ashes remained in the hearth.
The previous day, while the others made ready to flee, racing about the House of the Vestals in a panic, Pinaria had been overcome by a desire to spend a few more moments, however fleeting, in Vesta’s temple. She had meant to steal quickly to the temple and just as quickly back again, but the masses of people in the street thwarted her intentions. By the thousands, Roma’s citizens were abandoning her. Some fled on foot with nothing more than the clothes they wore. Some pushed carts loaded high with belongings. Some hitched donkeys to wagons and attempted to take all their possessions with them.
As Pinaria threaded her way through the throng, others, seeing her holy vestments, tried to make way for her, but in many places the crowd was simply too thick. Pinaria was jostled this way and that. The heat of the midsummer day was stifling and oppressive. People moaned in misery. A woman screamed and cried out that her child had fallen and was being trampled underfoot. Pinaria turned to look, but the crowd carried her forward against her will.
At last she reached the temple. She broke away from the crowd and rushed up the empty steps. The doors stood open. There was no one inside. Pinaria closed the doors behind her and took a deep breath.
Why had she come? Vesta was no longer here; wherever the hearthfire was, that was the place where the goddess might be found, and the eternal flame had been transferred to a portable brazier to be transported away from Roma, to a place of safety. The Pontifex Maximus and the Virgo Maxima had overseen the grim ceremony while the Vestals looked on and wept; as long as Vesta’s hearthfire could be preserved, there remained a chance, however slender, that the city of Roma might endure.
The circular sanctum was dark and empty. The chamber was surprisingly quiet; the heavy doors muffled the hubbub of the crowd outside. As she stood alone in the Temple of Vesta, a sense of calm descended on Pinaria.
“What use is prophecy?” she said aloud, though there was no one to hear.
Marcus Caedicius had warned the magistrates and the priests about the Gauls, yet his warning had done no good. Despite their efforts to prevent the coming of the Gauls—indeed, because of those very efforts!—the Gauls were now marching on Roma, with nothing to stop them. The prophecy of Caedicius had proved no more useful than the prophecies of the Trojan princess Cassandra, who foresaw her city’s doom and yet could do nothing to prevent it. Was the fate of Troy to become the fate of Roma?
Pinaria shuddered and shut her eyes. She suddenly felt very weary. She knelt on the floor and leaned against the empty hearth.
She had not meant to fall asleep. Indeed, she would have thought it impossible to do so, considering the overwrought state of both the city and herself. Somnus, the god of sleep, overwhelmed her, accompanied by his son Morpheus, the shaper of dreams.
Pinaria woke. She did so suddenly, with a jarring sense of dislocation in time and space.
Where was she? Blinking, she realized that she was in the Temple of Vesta. She felt a stab of panic. Had she fallen asleep while tending the sacred flame? She looked at the hearth. It was cold and dark, the fire extinguished! Her heart raced and she felt lightheaded, then she remembered: The Gauls were coming. The flame had been removed so that it could be carried to safety.
She sensed that many hours had passed since she entered the temple. The murmur of the crowd no longer penetrated the heavy doors; no sound at all came from outside. It was not nighttime; bright sunlight leaked in from the narrow gap beneath the doors.
Pinaria opened the doors and shielded her eyes, dazzled by bright morning light. The hand of Somnus must have been very heavy upon her, to make her sleep from one day’s light until the next.
Morpheus had visited her as well, for now she remembered a dream that had haunted her sleep. Foslia was in the dream, nattering on and on, showing off her erudition. Everything she said irritated Pinaria and made her more distressed…
“Romulus walked on foot for his triumphs. Do you suppose Brennus will ride a quadriga through Roma, like Camillus? I wonder if Brennus is as handsome…”
There was more, though in the dream Pinaria protested and tried to stop her ears.
“The Trojan women were taken as slaves. Do you suppose we Vestals will become slaves? I don’t imagine the Gauls will allow us to remain virgins for long…”
And though Pinaria howled in protest, still Foslia continued, determined to show off her irrefutable religious logic.
“No city is conquered unless its people have offended the gods. Killing or enslaving the inhabitants of a conquered city pleases the gods. Now the Gauls have conquered Roma. What do you think that means, Pinaria? What does it say about Roma?”
What a terrible nightmare! Pinaria shivered, despite the warmth of the day. As she descended the steps and looked around her, what she saw was as disquieting as the dream, and just as strange.
The street was littered with castoff items, all the things that people had thought they could carry while they fled but had abandoned when panic or common sense overcame them: pieces of pottery, sacks full of clothing, boxes stuffed with trinkets and mementos, toys made of wood or straw, even chairs and small tripod tables. Forsaken wagons and handcarts had been knocked on their sides, with their contents strewn beside them.
Not a single person was to be seen, nor the sound of a single voice to be heard. Pinaria had lived her whole life in the city; she was used to its teeming energy, its loud, brash crowds. To see the city without people was bizarre. Roma was like an empty shell. It was like a tomb without a body.
Even the gods were gone. Before fleeing, the Romans had stripped their temples of every sacred object. The hearthfire of Vesta, statues of the gods, sacred talismans of the kings, the Sibylline Books—all been taken away for safekeeping or buried in secret places throughout the city. Only Somnus and Morpheus remained; perhaps they hovered over her still, for Pinaria felt as though she were walking through the strange, unreal landscape of a nightmare.
She wandered about the Forum, sometimes startled by the echo of her footsteps in the empty public spaces. Rounding a corner, she drew a sharp breath. She was not alone, after all. On a backless chair before the entrance to his official residence sat the Pontifex Maximus. He heard her gasp, gave a start and turned his head, as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
