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

“One of our most ancient families,” said Kaeso, simply to be polite.

“We made our mark on the city in its early days,” said Potitius. “Now it’s the turn of families like the Fabii to make their mark, as I’m sure you will, young man. But I must say…” He peered at Kaeso, squinted, and shook his head. “You do remind me of someone-my cousin Marcus, who died some years ago. Yes, you are the very image of Marcus when he was a young man. The resemblance is uncanny! You even sound like him. I wonder, is it possible that the two of you are somehow related? I recall no marriages between the Potitii and the Fabii in recent years, but perhaps-”

“I think not,” said Kaeso brusquely. “I’m quite sure there’s no family connection between us.”

“Kaeso, your face is as red as a roofing tile!” said Claudius.

“I feel warm,” muttered Kaeso. “It must be the wine I drank at cousin Quintus’s house.”

“Ah, well; the resemblance is merely a coincidence, then,” said Potitius, but he continued to stare at Kaeso. At last he lowered his eyes, only to stare at the fascinum that hung on a chain around Kaeso’s neck. Kaeso had decided to wear it that morning to mark the occasion of his betrothal.

“What’s that?” said Potitius.

Kaeso stepped back, irritated by the man’s scrutiny. “It’s a family keepsake. The famous Vestal Pinaria gave it to my grandfather on his toga day. Surely you’re seen a fascinum before.”

“Such trinkets are usually made of cheap metal, not gold, and this one appears to have sprouted wings-most unusual! Yet it seems oddly familiar. Yes, I’m sure it stirs some memory, but of what?” Potitius scratched his head.

Kaeso was beginning to seriously dislike the old man. Claudius deftly took Potitius’s arm and steered him toward the vestibule. “I’m sure you must be eager to get back to your family and tell them of the success of your proposal,” he said. “Farewell, Titus Potitius. The door slave will see you out.”

“Farewell, Censor, and thank you!” The old man took Claudius’s hands and squeezed them. Before he turned away, he shot a last, curious gaze at Kaeso and the amulet he wore.

“An unpleasant fellow,” said Kaeso, after Potitius was gone.

“A bit scatterbrained, but harmless,” said Claudius.

Kaeso winkled his nose. “He imagines we’re related.”

Claudius shrugged. “I’m related to him myself, if rather distantly. The connection goes back to the early days of the Republic. A daughter of the very first Appius Claudius married a Potitius, but the fellow turned traitor and fought against Roma with Coriolanus. For a long time there was bad blood between our two families. But all that is ancient history now, and the Potitii have fallen on such hard times that one can only pity them. But come, Kaeso, let’s speak of happier things! Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve come to share some good news.”

Kaeso told him of his betrothal. As the two of them celebrated with a cup of wine, Kaeso pushed the unpleasant encounter with Titus Potitius from his mind.

“What a large vestibule!” declared Kaeso’s mother, stepping inside the front door of the little house on the Aventine.

“Mother, this isn’t the vestibule. There is no vestibule. This is the house itself.”

“What? Only this one room?”

“Of course not. There’s a garden in the center of the house-”

“That little plot of dirt, under that hole in the roof?”

“And there’s another room at the back, which serves as a kitchen and pantry. Behind that is a cubby for the slaves to sleep in, though I don’t suppose we’ll keep more than one apiece; they’ll have to sleep on top of each other, as it is.”

“Well, I suppose it won’t take much to furnish the place!” At forty, Herminia was still a pretty woman, but she had a tendency to make unpleasant faces that spoiled her looks. “Really, it’s hardly worth it for you to move out of the family house into such cramped quarters.”

“Nonsense!” said Kaeso’s father. “Cousin Quintus’s wedding gift is very generous. It’s not every pair of newlyweds who can celebrate the ceremony at their own house. It needs a bit of fixing up, to be sure-”

“I hope Galeria likes a challenge!” said Herminia.

“It’s the location I like best of all,” said Kaeso.

“The Aventine?” Herminia made a particularly unpleasant face. “Well, at least you’re on the north slope.”

“Come see the view from this window. Be careful of those loose floor tiles.” Kaeso flung open the shutters. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

“I see a great clutter of rooftops,” said Herminia dubiously.

“No, Mother, look there-between those two houses.” Kaeso pointed.

“Ah, yes-you can just catch a glimpse of the elevated portion of the aqueduct, that eyesore your friend Claudius has inflicted on the city.”

Kaeso’s father cleared his throat. “We have much to do today, wife.”

“Indeed we do! I need to draw up the list of guests.”

“Then perhaps we should run along.”

“I’ll stay here for a while, if you don’t mind,” said Kaeso.

“Very well.” Herminia kissed her son’s forehead and swept from the room.

Kaeso’s father hung back for a moment. He tapped his foot against the loose floor tiles. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll find the money to fix the place up.”

“You forget that I have my own income, Father. Claudius pays me quite generously.”

“I believe it’s the state that pays you. The censor merely fixes your salary.”

“Of course, Father. Hadn’t you better join Mother before she grows impatient?”

Kaeso was left alone. His mother’s caustic remarks did nothing to deflate his buoyant mood. The gods were smiling on him. His work for Appius Claudius was more fascinating than ever, his wedding day was fast approaching, and the gift of a house from his cousin Quintus had not only surprised him, but had deeply moved him. He recalled one of Claudius’s favorite aphorisms, and said it aloud: “Each man is the architect of his own fortune.” Kaeso gazed out the window at the distant aqueduct. “If that’s true, then I must be a very fine architect, indeed!”

“I’m sure you are,” said a voice behind him.

Kaeso spun about. His father must have left the door ajar. An old man in a shabby tunic stood in the middle of the room. Kaeso stared at him for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “Titus Potitius?”

“So, you remember me?”

“I’m afraid I do. What are you doing here?”

“Your tone is very harsh, young man. That’s no way to address an elder-especially an elder kinsman.”

“What are you talking about, old man?” Kaeso drew back his shoulders, but in his chest he felt a sinking sensation.

“You and I have much to talk about, Kaeso.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Potitius cocked his head and peered at him. “You’re not wearing the fascinum today.”

Kaeso touched the empty spot at his breast. “I wear it only on special occasions.”

“Do you know where it comes from?”

“The Vestal Pinaria gave it-”

“But before that? Do you know from whom she obtained it?”

“No. But I know it’s very ancient.”

“It is, indeed-as ancient as the Potitii themselves.”

“What are you saying, old man?”

“I’m the paterfamilias of all the Potitii. I’m also the family chronicler and historian. I understand your cousin Quintus serves much the same function for the Fabii-keeping scraps of parchment and scribbled notes about who was married to whom, and the names of their offspring, and who did what and when and how. Our families are so very old, and our ancestors accomplished so many things-great and small, wonderful and terrible-it’s hard to keep track! Sometimes I think it would be a relief if we all turned to dust, so the rest of the world could simply forget us and go on about its business as if we never existed.”

“I don’t think Quintus Fabius feels that way.”

Potitius made a croaking sound, which Kaeso took for a laugh. “I daresay you’re right. But imagine the things he must know! A family chronicler becomes privy to all sorts of secrets. He knows the things that no one must ever speak of-mysterious deaths, babies born out of wedlock, bastards sired on slave girls…”