Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗
Many of the city’s most distinguished citizens had gathered to witness the inauguration of the fountain. Chief among them was Appius Claudius, smiling broadly and looking resplendent in his purple censor’s toga. Quintus Fabius was also there, exhibiting his perpetual scowl. He had agreed to attend only begrudgingly, and Kaeso felt obligated to stand next to him.
The auspices had been taken; the augur had spotted several river-fowl wheeling over the nearby Tiber, a sure sign of the gods’ favor. There was a lull in the festivities while the engineers made ready to open the valves. Quintus began to grumble.
“So this is your friend Claudius’s excuse for hanging on as censor, well past his legal term—a fountain!”
Kaeso pursed his lips. “Claudius argued that his work on the aqueduct and the road is too important to be interrupted. He asked to continue as censor. The Senate agreed.”
“Only because Claudius has packed the Senate with his minions! He’s as devious and headstrong as his ancestors and just as dangerous. For his own selfish ends, he’s caused a political crisis in the city.” Quintus shook his head. “These so-called grand projects of his are merely a diversion while he continues to press for the implementation of his radical voting schemes. He won’t rest until he’s made the Roman republic into a Greek democracy ruled by a demagogue like himself—a disaster that will never happen as long as I have a breath in my body.”
“Please, cousin! We’re here to celebrate a feat of Roman engineering, not to argue politics. Surely the aqueduct is something we can all be proud of.”
Quintus grunted in reply. His frown abruptly softened. “How is the little one?”
Kaeso smiled. Galeria had become pregnant very soon after their wedding, and had recently given birth to a son. Kaeso knew that Quintus would be pleased, but he had been surprised at how avidly his cousin doted on the baby.
“Little Kaeso is in good health. He loves the gourd rattle you gave him, and all the other toys.”
Quintus nodded. “Good! He’s very bright and alert, that one. With those lungs of his, he’ll make a powerful orator someday.”
“He can certainly make himself heard,” agreed Kaeso.
Claudius mounted a platform and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Citizens! We are almost ready to fill the fountain. But first, if you will indulge me, I should like to say a few words about how this marvelous feat of engineering was achieved.” He proceeded to discourse on the importance of water to the growing city, recalled the flash of insight that had inspired him to commence planning the aqueduct, and recounted a few anecdotes about the construction. His speech, delivered from memory, was full of puns and clever turns of phrase. Even Quintus grunted an involuntary laugh at some of his witticisms.
“There are many, many men who must be thanked for their contributions to this great enterprise,” said Claudius. “Lest I forget a single one of them, I have written them down.” Claudius proceeded to read the names. Kaeso was flattered that he was mentioned early in the long list.
As Claudius continued to read, Quintus whispered to Kaeso, “Why is he squinting so?”
Kaeso frowned. Quintus had touched upon a matter of growing concern to him: the censor’s eyesight. Quite abruptly, Claudius’s vision had begun to deteriorate, to such a degree that he practically had to press his nose against his beloved Greek scrolls to read them. The list he was now reading had been written in large letters, yet still he had to narrow his eyes to make out the names.
Quintus saw the worry on Kaeso’s face. “The rumor is true, then? Appius Claudius is going blind?”
“Of course not!” said Kaeso. “He’s merely strained his eyes from working so hard.”
Quintus raised an eyebrow. “You know what people are saying, don’t you?”
“People are fools!” whispered Kaeso. He had indeed heard the vicious rumor being put about by Claudius’s enemies. They said the censor, who so loved the pleasures of reading and writing, was being punished with blindness by the gods, for having allowed the transfer of religious duties at the Ara Maxima from the Potitius family to temple slaves. “Whatever you may think of his politics, cousin, Appius Claudius is a pious man who honors the gods. If his eyesight is failing, it’s not because the gods are punishing him.”
“And yet, the gods punished those other unlikely friends of yours, the Potitii, did they not? And most severely!”
Kaeso drew a sharp breath, but did not answer. In his dealings with the Potitii over the last year, Kaeso had been acting in his own self-interest, to obliterate the secret of his origins and to safeguard the future of his offspring. But might the gods have taken a part, making him the instrument of their wrath against an impious family ripe for destruction?
“Do you doubt that the terrible end of the Potitii was the result of divine judgment?” said Quintus, pressing him. “What other explanation could there be for such an extraordinary sequence of deaths? In a matter of months, every male in the family grew sick and died. Not a single Potitius is left to pass on the name. One of Roma’s oldest families has become extinct!”
“Some said they died of plague,” said Kaeso.
“A plague attacking only one family, and only the males?”
“That was what the Potitii themselves believed.”
“Yes, and in their desperation they convinced the Senate to appoint a special dictator to drive a nail into the wooden tablet outside Minerva’s sanctuary, to ward off pestilence. It did no good. At least they had the comfort of a steadfast friend—you, Kaeso. Others turned their backs on the Potitii, fearful of being contaminated by their bad fortune. But you, having just befriended them, remained loyal to the very end. You never stopped visiting the sick and comforting the survivors.” Quintus nodded sagely. “Once, long ago, we Fabii were almost extinguished, as you well know. But that was honorably, in battle, and the gods saw fit to spare one of our number to carry on the line. History shall reflect very differently upon the fate of the wretched Potitii. Be proud of the name you have passed on to your son, Kaeso!”
“The name means more to me than life itself, cousin.”
Appius Claudius finished reading the list. Amid applause, he raised his hand to order the opening of the valves. “Let flow the aqueduct!”
From the mouths of the three river sprites issued a great rush of air, as if they groaned. The gurgling sound reminded Kaeso of the death rattles of his victims.
What a great deal of ingenuity and cleverness and sheer hard work had been demanded of him, to win the trust of the Potitii and make sure they never suspected him! From Appius Claudius he had learned the arts of charm; from his cousin Quintus he had learned everything there was to know about poisons. Once it began, his quest to eradicate the Potitii had become all-consuming. Each new success was more exhilarating than the one before. Kaeso had almost regretted killing the last of his victims, but when it was done, he felt an indescribable sense of relief. His secret was safe. No man would ever tell Kaeso’s son the shameful truth of their origins.
The groaning of the river sprites grew louder. The noise was so uncanny that the crowd drew back and gasped. Then water began to jet from all three mouths at once. It was a spectacular sight. Foaming and splashing, the torrents began to fill the pool.
Claudius shouted above the roar. “Citizens, I give you water! Fresh, pure water all the way from the springs of Gabii!”
The crowd broke into rapturous applause. “Hail Appius Claudius!” men cried. “Hail the maker of the aqueduct!”
279 B.C.
Before the Senate, the aged Appius Claudius, now called Appius Claudius Caecus—“the Blind”—was delivering the greatest speech of his life. More than two hundred years later, the orator Cicero would declare this speech to be one of most sublime exercises in the Latin language, and Appius Claudius Caecus would be revered as the Father of Latin Prose.
