Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗
“Above every other concern, the will of the gods must be considered. When we follow divine guidance, all goes well. When we neglect it, the result is disaster! A voice from the heavens announced the coming of the Gauls to Marcus Caedicius—a clear warning to mind ourselves—and yet, soon after, one of our ambassadors to the Gauls flagrantly violated sacred law and took up arms against them. Instead of being chastised by the people, the offender was rewarded. Soon after, the gods punished us by allowing the Gauls to take our beloved Roma.
“But during the occupation, acts of such great piety occurred that the favor of the gods was restored to us. Against impossible odds, Gaius Fabius Dorso performed a miraculous feat. To honor the divine founder of the city, he left the safety of the Capitoline and walked to the Quirinal, unarmed and oblivious to danger. So overwhelming was the aura of sanctity that shielded him that he returned unscathed! And though the defenders of the Capitoline suffered terribly from hunger, they left the sacred geese of Juno unmolested—an act of piety that resulted in their salvation.
“How lucky we are to possess a city that was founded by Romulus with divine approval. Those who followed filled it with temples and altars, so that gods dwell in every corner of the city. Some fools will say, ‘But surely the gods can be worshiped just as well at Veii as here in Roma.’ Nonsense! Blasphemy! If the gods wished to live in Veii, they would never have allowed it to be conquered. If they did not wish to dwell in Roma, they would never have allowed us to retake the city. The divine favor of a place is not something you can pack in a trunk and take with you!
“Yes, Roma is in ruins, and for a time we must endure discomfort. But even if we must all live in huts again, what of it? Romulus lived in a hut! Our ancestors were swineherds and refugees, yet they built a city in a few years, out of nothing but forests and swamps. We shall look to their example and rebuild the city better than it was before.
“This disaster of the Gauls is no more than a brief episode. Roma has a great destiny. Her story has only just begun. Have you forgotten how the Capitoline received its name? A human head was exhumed there, which the priests declared to be a mighty omen: In this place would reside one day the head and supreme sovereign power of the world. That day has not yet come—but it will! Abandon Roma, and you abandon your destiny; you consign your descendents to oblivion.
“Look to your hearts, Romans! This is your heartland. Let me tell you, from my own experience, nothing is worse than to pine with homesickness. In my exile, I never ceased to dream of these hills and valleys, the winding Tiber, the views from the summits, the endless sky beneath which I was born and raised. Here I belong. Here you belong. Here, and nowhere else, now and forever!”
The crowd was deeply moved, but remained undecided. They responded to Camillus’s final words with a prolonged, uneasy silence.
Just at that moment, a company of soldiers returning from guard duty arrived at the far end of the Forum. The soldiers scheduled to relieve the company were late. The exasperated commander ordered his men to halt. “No point going elsewhere,” he said. “We might as well settle right here.”
The acoustics of the Forum were such that his words rang out loud and clear to Camillus’s listeners, almost as if they came from the sky. People looked at one another in wonder. There was nervous laughter and cries of amazement.
“It’s an omen!” someone shouted, “an omen from the gods! The voice spoke to Marcus Caedicius before this whole affair began. Now the voice speaks to us again! ‘We might as well settle right here.’”
“Settle right here!” the people chanted. “Settle right here! Settle right here!”
The crowd broke into an uproar of cheering, laughter, and tears of joy. Camillus, who could see to the far side of the Forum and knew exactly where the voice came from, was acutely chagrinned. For all his eloquence and passion, it was a chance remark from an anonymous soldier that tipped the scales.
Standing in a place of honor, maintaining their composure despite the uproar of the crowd, were the Vestals. The Virgo Maxima stood stiffly upright, allowing herself a faint smile. Foslia, more smitten than ever by Camillus, gazed raptly at the dictator. Her hand sought Pinaria’s and squeezed it tightly.
“Oh, Pinaria!” she whispered. “We’ve been through so much—you, more than any of us. And yet, all shall be well again. Vesta never ceased to watch over us, and now her servant Camillus will guide us back to virtue!”
Pinaria did not answer. The loss of her baby and her parting with Pennatus had plunged her into deep sorrow. The resumption of her day-today duties as a Vestal brought her no comfort. Her contemplation of the sacred hearthfire only filled her with doubt. During its hiatus from Roma—so the other Vestals assured her—the fire had never wavered in the least, but burned as steadily as ever. How could that be, when Pinaria had repeatedly broken her vow of chastity? Her transgressions should have extinguished the flame altogether!
What did it mean, that Pinaria had sinned and yet no consequence had followed? Was the goddess oblivious, or forgiving, or did she simply not exist? If a sin had been committed, Pinaria should be dead. If there had been no sin, then she should never have been separated from her baby!
Foslia squeezed her hand and gave her a commiserating smile; poor Pinaria had suffered so much in captivity, it was no wonder that she should weep! When Pinaria bowed her head and clutched her breast, Foslia thought her sister Vestal was suffering a pain in her chest, not knowing of the talisman that was hidden beneath Pinaria’s vestments.
373 B.C.
The citizens voted to demolish Veii and to rebuild Roma. In celebration, a temple was built on the spot where Marcus Caedicius had received the divine warning. It was dedicated to a new deity called Aius Locutius, the Announcing Speaker.
Camillus also decreed an annual ceremony to honor the geese for saving the Romans on the Capitoline. A solemn procession would be led by a sacred goose of Juno perched in state upon a coverlet in a litter to be followed by a dog impaled on a stake.
The city was rebuilt in hurried and often haphazard fashion. Neighbors built across each other’s property lines. New construction often encroached on the public right-of-way, pinching streets into narrow alleys or blocking them altogether. Disputes over property would continue for generations, as would complaints that sewer lines that originally ran under public streets now ran directly under private houses. For centuries to come, visitors to Roma would remark that the general layout of the city more closely resembled a squatters’ settlement than a properly planned city, like those of the Greeks.
The son of Pinaria and Pennatus—who unknowingly carried the patrician bloodlines of both the Pinarii and the Potitii—was duly adopted into the almost equally ancient family of the Fabii. Dorso named the boy Kaeso, and raised him as lovingly as if he had sprung from his own loins. If anything, young Kaeso received greater favor than his siblings, for he was a constant reminder to Dorso of the best days of his own youth. No other time of his life would ever be as special to Dorso as those months of captivity atop the Capitoline, when nothing seemed impossible and every day of survival was a gift from the gods.
Pennatus lived out his life as the loyal slave of Gaius Fabius Dorso. His cleverness and discretion got his master out of many scrapes over the years, often without Dorso ever knowing. Pennatus especially looked after young Kaeso. Friends of the family ascribed Pennatus’s special affection for his young charge to the fact that he had discovered and rescued the foundling. To see the two of them walking across the Palatine, Pennatus doting on the boy and the boy gazing up at the slave with complete trust, was a touching sight.
