Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 32

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“If he’d become king the old-fashioned way, by election, then no one could complain. They say the senators of old had to go down on their knees and beg King Numa to take the job; cousin Tarquinius has senators begging him not to take their property! Even the wise Numa needed the Senate to advise him, but not Tarquinius; he has a higher source of knowledge. Whenever there’s a question about public policy, whether it’s making war on a neighbor or fixing a crack in the Cloaca Maxima, Tarquinius whips out the Sibylline Books, picks a verse at random, reads it aloud in the Forum, and declares that it’s proof that the gods are on his side. Tarquinius the Proud, indeed! My mouth is awfully dry. Could we have more wine?”

“Perhaps you’d rather drink some water,” suggested Titus’s grandfather.

“I can’t imagine why, when you have such good wine in this house. Ah, there’s the serving girl. By all means, fill it to the brim! Excellent; this tastes better than the last. Now what was I saying? Ah yes-the Sibylline Books. Well, at least the king paid the Sibyl for those, fair and square, even if he did get the bad end of the bargain. Usually he just takes whatever he wants, even from members of his own family. Look what he’s done to his nephew, Brutus. People love Brutus; in whispers they’ll tell you that he would have made a far better king than his uncle. He’s one of the few men Tarquinius doesn’t dare to destroy outright. Instead, he’s gradually stripped Brutus of all his wealth, bit by bit, reducing him to a pauper. Yet Brutus has endured every indignity without saying one word against his uncle the king. People respect him all the more for showing so much fortitude and restraint.”

Collatinus’s speech was slurred and his eyelids drooped; he abruptly seemed to run out of energy. Titus’s grandfather, who felt that too much had already been said, saw an opportunity to bring the evening to a close. He began to rise, but before he could wish his visitors farewell, Collatinus spoke again.

“Cousin Tarquinius could take everything from me, as well, just as he took everything from Brutus. He could do it like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Quick as a thunderbolt from Jupiter! Ruinous as an earthquake sent by Neptune! I could lose everything, except the one thing-thank the gods! — that the king and his sons can never take from me, the most perfect and most precious of all my possessions: my Lucretia!”

All though the evening, she had listened to him patiently, laughed softly at his jokes, shown no embarrassment when he spoke too loudly, and blushed sweetly when he complimented her. Now she graciously took his hand in hers and rose to her feet, bringing him with her. She had seen that it was time to go, and effortlessly assisted her inebriated husband to make a graceful exit.

Titus, observing her, thought that she must be very wise and very loving, as well as beautiful.

A few days later, Titus, with his friends Publius and Gnaeus, sat on an outcropping of stone near the Tarpeian Rock, watching the workers on the scaffolding that surrounded the new temple. Titus was explaining how the quadriga with Jupiter would be hoisted atop the pediment-Vulca had described the procedure to him at length-when Gnaeus abruptly interrupted. Gnaeus had a habit of changing the subject when he grew bored.

“My mother says there’s going to be a revolution.”

“What do you mean?” said Publius, who was also bored by Titus’s talk about the temple.

“The days of King Tarquinius are numbered. That’s what my mother says. People-at least the people who count-are fed up with him. They’ll take his crown and give it to someone more worthy.”

“Oh, and I suppose Tarquinius will humbly bow his head so that they can remove his crown?” Publius snorted. “What does your mother know, anyway? She’s just a woman. My great-grandfather says quite the opposite.” Publius was proud of the fact that his great-grandfather was still alive and had all his senses, and was very much the paterfamilias of the Pinarius family. “He says that Tarquinius has cut the legs off of anyone who might have opposed him-men like his nephew Brutus-and we’d better get used to the idea that one of his sons will take his place after he’s gone. ‘There may be a Tarquinius on the throne for as long as there’s a Pinarius tending the Ara Maxima’-that’s what my paterfamilias says. How about your grandfather, Titus? When you’re not putting him to sleep with talk of temple construction, what does the head of the Potitii say about our beloved king?”

Titus didn’t like to admit that his grandfather avoided talking to him directly about such serious matters. While he had some idea of his grandfather’s opinions, he also knew that his grandfather wouldn’t want him to discuss them openly with the loose-tongued Publius. “My grandfather would probably say that boys our age shouldn’t indulge in dangerous gossip.”

“It’s only gossip when ill-informed women like Gnaeus’s mother are talking. When it’s men of affairs like ourselves, it’s a serious discussion of politics,” said Publius.

Titus laughed and was about to say something scornful about Publius’s inflated ego, when Gnaeus abruptly threw himself onto the other boy.

Publius was no match for Gnaeus, especially when caught by surprise. In the blink of an eye, he was on his back on the ground, his limbs flailing helplessly.

“You will apologize for insulting my mother!” demanded Gnaeus.

Titus tried to pull him off, but his friend’s arms were as unyielding as stone. “Gnaeus, let go of him! How can he say anything while you’re squeezing his throat? Gnaeus, let go! You’ll choke him to death!” Titus was genuinely alarmed. At the same time, he couldn’t help laughing. Publius’s face was as red as the king’s toga, and the sputtering noises he made sounded as though they should be coming out of the other end of his body.

Titus laughed harder and harder, until his sides ached. Gnaeus, trying to keep a scowl on his face, suddenly burst out laughing and lost his grip. Publius jerked free and rolled away. He clutched his throat and glared at Gnaeus. Between coughing and wheezing, he managed a croak of protest. “You’re mad, Gnaeus Marcius! You could have killed me!”

“I should have killed you, for insulting my mother and impugning my honor.”

“Your honor!” Publius shook his head. “There should be a law forbidding a plebeian like you to even lay a finger on a patrician like me.”

Gnaeus did not fly at him, but stood absolutely still. His face turned crimson. “How dare you say such a thing to me?”

“How dare I call you a plebeian? It’s what you are, Gnaeus Marcius! Only a fool can’t accept his fate, that’s what my paterfamilias says.”

Titus shook his head. Why was Publius still taunting Gnaeus? Did he want to be thrown from the Tarpeian Rock? Titus was wondering whether he should run to find help, when he heard a noise from the city below.

“What’s that?” he said.

“What?” Publius kept a wary eye on Gnaeus.

“That sound. Don’t you hear it? Like a great moan…”

“Or a roar. Yes, I hear it. Like the sound you hear from inside a seashell.”

The noise distracted even Gnaeus from his rage. “Or a sob,” he said. “The sound of a great many women all sobbing at once,” he said.

“Something’s happened,” said Titus. “It’s coming from the Forum.”

Together, they strode to the verge of the cliff and looked down. The workers on the temple had also heard the noise. Men climbed from the scaffolding onto the roof of the temple to get a better view.

A great crowd had gathered in the Forum. More people were arriving from all directions. A group of senators, dressed in their togas, stood on the porch of the Senate House. Among them, even at such a great distance, Titus recognized the king’s gaunt-faced nephew. Instead of a toga, Brutus wore a ragged tunic hardly fit for a beggar-a demonstration of the poverty to which the king had reduced him. He was speaking to the crowd.

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