Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven (книги онлайн полные версии бесплатно .TXT) 📗
“I believe that congratulations are in order, young man,” said Claudius, standing to greet him. “Your toga suits you well.”
In fact, Kaeso had dressed himself that morning without the help of a slave, and had not quite succeeded in making the garment hang correctly. He was glad to take the chair which Claudius offered. Sitting disguised the awkward folds of his toga.
“Thank you for receiving me, Censor.” Kaeso addressed his host by the title of the prestigious office he held. In many ways, the censorship was an even higher magistracy than the consulship, and its exalted rank was signified by the purple toga that the censor alone could wear. The censor had the power to fill vacancies in the Senate. He also kept the rolls of citizenship. He could add men to the list, or, with just cause, strike them from it. The censor’s list determined the division of citizens into voting units, a tool the patricians had long used to their advantage. By manipulating the list, the censor could influence the course of elections.
Appius Claudius had also used the powers of his office to gain complete control over two public works projects of unprecedented vastness. This was the reason Kaeso had come to see him.
“If I look a bit surprised, you must understand that it’s been a very long time since any man named Fabius has cast a shadow in this garden,” said Claudius, who smiled as readily as Quintus scowled. Kaeso had heard that the man’s charm was his most notable quality; when the Fabii said this, it was not a compliment. “Whenever a political question arises, it seems that your cousin Quintus leans in one direction and I lean in the other. The two of us can never seem to meet, either on policy or in the flesh.”
Kaeso spoke carefully. “No one holds Quintus Fabius in higher esteem than I do, but I am my own man.”
“Well spoken! I myself am only too well acquainted with the burden of having famous-and infamous-relatives. Fortunately, the worst of them are long dead. But like you, Kaeso, I am my own man. I am no more responsible for the criminal behavior of my great-great-grandfather, the Decemvir, than you are responsible for the dunderheaded, backward-looking politics of your esteemed cousin. We are each his own man, and each man is the architect of his own fortune. Shall we drink to that?”
A slave had appeared with two cups of wine. Kaeso, feeling a bit disloyal to Quintus but eager to ingratiate himself with his host, took a sip. The wine was unwatered and stronger than he was used to. Almost at once he felt warm and a little fuzzy-headed.
Claudius signaled that both their cups should be refilled. “Given the chilly relations between your cousin Quintus and myself, I assume you must have a very good reason for coming to see me.”
Kaeso could feel that the wine was beginning to loosen his tongue; perhaps it would not be so difficult to state his desire, after all. He was just opening his mouth to speak when his host interrupted him.
“But, no-I can tell that you’ve come here on business of some sort, and it’s still too early in the day for me to discuss serious business. Let’s get to know one another a little. Perhaps we have interests in common. Do you read Latin?”
“Of course I do, Censor.”
“And Greek?”
“Well…a little,” said Kaeso.
“By which you mean not at all. A pity! I thought I might show you my library, which is the best in Roma, but since almost all the books are in Greek, it would mean nothing to you. Every Roman should learn at least enough Greek to read the great playwrights-Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides. And of course, the great philosophers-Plato and Aristotle. But your face remains a blank, Kaeso. Do these names mean anything to you?”
“I’m afraid not, Censor.”
“Alas!” Claudius shook his head. “And do you know where that word, ‘alas,’ comes from?”
Kaeso frowned. “No.”
“And you a Fabius, with family ties to Hercules! ‘Alas’ is a Latinization of a Greek name, Hylas. And who was Hylas?”
Kaeso furrowed his brow and shrugged.
Claudius sighed. “Hylas was a beautiful boy, the beloved of Hercules. The two of them together accompanied Jason and the Argonauts on their quest for the Golden Fleece. When the Argo dropped anchor at the mouth of the river Ascanius, Hylas was sent to fetch fresh water from the springs. But the nymphs were jealous of his beauty, and Hylas was pulled into the water, never to be seen again. Hercules was distraught beyond comforting. For a long time-long after hope of finding the boy was gone-he wandered up and down the riverbank, crying out, ‘Hylas! Hylas!’ And thus we still cry, ‘Alas! Alas!’ when confronted by great sorrow.”
Kaeso raised his eyebrows. Hylas was not among the characters engraved on the mirror he had been given. “I never heard that story before. It’s quite beautiful.”
“There are several versions of the tale of Hercules and Hylas among my books, but you must know Greek to read any of them.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a scholar, Censor. A Roman’s primary duty is to serve the state as a soldier-”
“Indeed! And as a warrior you could surely benefit from reading Homer’s Iliad-or, even better, The Life of Alexander by Cleon of Corinth. I received a copy only yesterday, by courier all the way from a book vendor in Athens. You have heard of Alexander?”
“Alexander the Great of Macedonia? Who hasn’t heard of him? First he conquered Greece, and then the whole of the world to the south and east-Egypt, Persia, and faraway lands that lie beyond any map. My father says we’re lucky he didn’t turn his attention to the west, or else we’d have had to fight him on the banks of the Tiber. But Alexander won’t conquer anyone else. He’s been dead for ten years now.”
“Eleven years, actually-but you do indeed seem to know who Alexander was. Very good!” Claudius laughed and shrugged. “One never knows what a young man is likely to know, or not know, given the dreadful state of Roman education. Many a Roman can name his own ancestors going back ten generations-not a hard feat, since they tend to all have the same name-but how many can name the reigning tyrant of Syracuse, or find Carthage on a map?”
Kaeso smiled. “My father says you’re obsessed with Syracuse and Carthage.”
“Indeed I am, because the future of Roma resides in the sea lanes of the Mediterranean, and those sea lanes will be controlled either by Syracuse or by Carthage-or by us.”
“My cousin Quintus says our future lies to the north, not to the south. First we conquer all of Italy, then we look to Gaul-”
“Nonsense! The Gauls have nothing to offer us, not even a god worth worshiping, or a language worth learning. The wealth of the world will belong to whoever controls trade in the Mediterranean. To do that, we shall have to become a sea power, or else make subjects of those who already have a navy-such as the Syracusans and Carthaginians. Your cousin Fabius’s misreading of Roma’s destiny lies at the very heart of the disagreement between us. Ah, but here I am, talking politics, when I was hoping to find common ground between us.” Claudius pensively tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Since you are a Kaeso, I suppose I might ask your position regarding the controversy over the letter ‘K’?”
“Controversy?”
“My own opinion is that it should eliminated altogether from the Roman alphabet. What need is there for ‘K’ when ‘C’ will do just as well? Thus your name would be spelled C-A-E-S-O, and pronounced the same.”
“But-I’m rather fond of the ‘K’ in my name…”
“And what about ‘Z’? I say it is abhorrent and must be gotten rid of!”
“Abhorrent?”
“The sound it represents is uncouth and has no place in a civilized language. ‘Z’ grates on the ear and offends the eye.”
“The eye?”
“Here, observe my face as pronounce it.” Claudius parted his lips, clenched his teeth, and made a prolonged buzzing noise. “There, do you see? A man who makes the sound of ‘Z’ resembles a grinning skull. Hideous! The sound and the letter must be ruthlessly eliminated from the Latin language.”
