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

“You can be very proud of him.”

“I am. He was a fearsome warrior. Men say he killed more of the enemy in that campaign than any other soldier in the legion. My father took a fierce delight in bringing death to the invaders.”

“Bloodlust has its place on the field of battle,” declared Claudius. “Your father’s joy in killing redounded to the glory of Roma and the honor of our gods.”

Kaeso reached up to touch the talisman at his neck-the golden fascinum he had retrieved it from his father’s corpse on the battlefield. The amulet had failed to protect its wearer against the spear that killed him, but it was a cherished heirloom nonetheless. Kaeso wore it in memory of his father.

“Tell me, Kaeso, how old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“And your father, when he died?”

“He was fifty.”

“Can so many years have passed, so swiftly?” Claudius shook his head. “But what’s that, young man? Do I hear you weep?”

“Only a little. I’m very honored, sir, to hear my father praised by a man so renowned for noble speech.”

“Indeed?” Claudius beamed.

His slave eyed Kaeso suspiciously and spoke into Claudius’s ear. “Master! The fellow is a Fabius.”

“So he is. But his father was different from the rest of them. Perhaps the son takes after the father. He seems respectful enough.”

“I assure you, Senator, I hold your achievements in the highest regard. That’s why I approached you today. I was hoping you might honor a request.”

“Perhaps, young man, though I’m very busy. Speak.”

“My father was always quoting your aphorisms. Sometimes it seemed that half his sentences began, ‘As Appius Claudius so wisely put it…’ I was hoping, in honor of my father, that you might assist me to make a collection of those sayings. I know many of them by heart, of course, but I should hate to get a single word wrong, and there must be some I’ve forgotten, and some I’ve never heard. I was thinking that you could dictate them to me, and I could write them down, and we could group them according to subject. We might even attempt a translation of the Latin into Greek.”

“You know Greek?”

“Well enough to have served as my father’s translator, for the messages we intercepted from Pyrrhus’s couriers.”

“The son of Kaeso not only has a literary bent, but has mastered Greek! Truly, each generation improves upon the last.”

“I can never hope to be the man-killer my father was,” said Kaeso humbly.

“Come, walk with me. The day is mild and I need the exercise. We shall walk up to the Capitoline, and you shall describe to me the recent adornments which, alas, I am unable to see with my failing eyes.”

They ambled up the winding path to the summit, where in recent years the city had indulged its fervor for grand public works. The barren hilltop where once Romulus had set up his asylum for outcasts had become a place of lavish temples and magnificent bronze statues.

“This new statue of Hercules,” said Claudius. “Is it as impressive as men say? I’ve touched the thing, but it’s so big I can do no more than grasp its ankles.”

To Kaeso the statue hardly seemed new-it had been there since he was a boy-but perhaps time was measured differently by the much older Claudius. “Well, of course, my family is descended from Hercules-”

“Ah! You Fabii never miss a chance to remind us of that claim.”

“So I have a tendency to favor any image of the god, and the bigger the better. Actually, the bronze workmanship is quite good. Hercules wears the cowl of the Nemean lion and carries a club. His expression is quite fierce. Should the Gauls ever dare to come back, I think his image alone might scare them away from the Capitoline.”

“How does it compare to the colossal statue of Jupiter, over by the temple?”

“Oh, the Jupiter is much taller than the Hercules, as I suppose the father should be. People can see it all the way from Mount Alba, ten miles down the Appian Way!”

“You know the story of the statue’s creation?”

“Yes. After Spurius Carvilius crushed the Samnites, he melted their breastplates, greaves, and helmets to make the statue. The god’s enormous size represents, literally, the magnitude of our victory over our old enemy. Out of the bronze filings left over, the consul made the life-sized statue of himself that stands at the feet of the Jupiter.”

“You need not describe that to me. I remember quite clearly how ugly Carvilius is! And atop the Temple of Jupiter-is the quadriga as magnificent as they say? It used to be made of terra cotta, you know, an expressive but rather delicate material. It was repaired from time to time, but some parts were as old as the temple, and probably made by the hand of the artist Vulca himself. But now the terra cotta has been taken down and replaced with an exact duplicate, done entirely in bronze.”

“I remember the original terra cotta,” said Kaeso. “Believe me, the bronze is much more impressive. The details of Jupiter’s face, the flaring nostrils of the steeds, the decoration of the chariot, are all remarkable.”

“Alas, if only I still had eyes to see! The bronze replacement for the quadriga was done by my dear colleagues Gnaeus and Quintus Ogulnius, you know. It heartens me to see men of a younger generation take up the populist banner. In the year both Ogulnius brothers served as curule aediles, they put the worst of the rich moneylenders on trial and convicted them. Out of the confiscated property, the Ogulnii paid for that new bronze quadriga. They also paid for that new statue of Romulus and Remus over on the Palatine, which has become such a shrine for the common people of the city.”

“Do you know, I’ve never seen it.”

“Really? Neither have I, but blindness is my excuse. How your cousin Quintus must detest the Ogulnii and their politics!”

“We call my venerable cousin ‘Maximus’ nowadays,” said Kaeso.

“I suppose he’s deliberately kept all the Fabii from paying homage to the Ogulnii’s great monument. We must go at once, so that you can finally see it.”

They descended the Capitoline, crossed the Forum, and ascended the Stairs of Cacus. The slave barely needed to assist Claudius, who knew the way by heart. At the foot of the fig tree not far from the Hut of Romulus, the statue of the Twins had been erected upon a pedestal. It was not colossal in size, but the image was striking: Beneath a standing she-wolf, two naked babies squatted and turned up their faces to suckle the animal’s teats.

“Well, what do you think, young man?”

“It’s remarkable. Very powerful. Very beautiful.”

“Do you suppose the founder of the city and his unfortunate brother were literally raised by a wolf?”

“So legends tell us.”

“And do you never question legends? Some believe the she wolf to be a metaphor, or perhaps a too-literal interpretation of a tale passed down by word of mouth. The same word, after all, can refer to a woman of the she-wolf variety-a prostitute. Is it not more likely that the Twins were raised by such a woman, rather than by a wild animal?”

Claudius was unable see the younger man’s expression, but from the silence that ensued he could tell that Kaeso was taken aback. Claudius laughed good-naturedly. “Forgive my outspokenness. Obviously, such ideas are not spoken in the staid households of the Fabii!”

“Some of your ideas…are novel to me,” admitted Kaeso. “My father said you often challenged his ways of thinking, but that you also inspired him. Thank you for showing me the statue of the Twins and the she wolf.”

Claudius smiled. “We’re not far from my house. Would you like to see my library? It’s grown considerably since the days when I tried to teach your father Greek. New scrolls arrive every month. I can’t read them myself, of course. Someone must read them aloud to me. You have a very pleasant voice, Kaeso.”

“Senator, I would be honored to read aloud to you.”