Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗

“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…”

“If you have something to say, say it!”

“Very well. You and I are kinsmen, Kaeso. You are a descendent of the Potitii.”

Kaeso’s mouth was suddenly parched. “How do you know this?”

“First of all, I could tell simply by looking at you. You favor my cousin Marcus more than anyone else, but with those eyes, that chin, and the shape of your mouth, you could pass as a son or brother to any number of my cousins. At first, I thought perhaps old Marcus had spilled his seed outside his marriage bed, but as I began to track down the truth, I realized that the connection was far more complicated and went much further back in time. Just now, as he was leaving, I took a good look at your father. He, too, has the look of a Potitius, but his features are less distinctive. For some reason, the gods decreed that the family traits should resurface full-blown in you.

“It was your precious fascinum that provided the key. Somewhere in the family chronicles, I knew I had seen a reference to a winged fascinum made of gold. It was worn by an ancestor of mine, also named Titus, who lived in the days of the Decemvirs. After that Titus, there is no further reference to the golden, winged fascinum, which disappears from the family history. However, according to family legend, Titus sired a child out of wedlock, and that child became a slave. As you can imagine, this is seldom talked about. But slaves are property, and Romans keep very thorough records of property, as thorough as their genealogical records! Through diligence, and a lot of pestering, and a bit of guesswork, I was able to trace the descent of that bastard child down to a slave called Pennatus. Have you heard of him?”

Kaeso swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “It was a slave called Pennatus who found my grandfather among the ruins left by the Gauls.”