Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 92
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He found the alley he was looking for. The dank passage was so narrow he could touch both walls at once. No torches were set in the walls, and no moonlight penetrated the gloom; the way was very dark. Kaeso arrived at his destination. He knocked on the crudely made door.
A peephole opened. An eye peered at him. Kaeso spoke his name. The slave opened the door at once.
Kaeso stepped into a crowded room where the atmosphere was very different from the staid, patrician decorum that reigned at the house of Maximus. In one corner, a musician was playing a lively tune on a flute, but he could barely be heard over the din of conversation. A mixed assortment of guests of all ages-some richly attired, some in shabby tunics-sat close together on couches or on rugs on the floor; there were even a few women present.
Every hand held a cup. The host-a portly, bearded man in his thirties-was going about pouring wine from a clay pitcher with a cracked handle. Titus Maccius Plautus looked up from his duties, saw Kaeso, smiled broadly, and stepped toward him, sloshing wine onto one of his guests, a frail-looking youth who shrieked with laughter.
Plautus found an abandoned cup, pressed it into Kaeso’s hand, and poured him some wine. “There you go, boss! Medicine for your melancholy.”
“What makes you think I’m melancholy?”
“That frown on your face. But we shall get rid of that soon enough, boss.” Plautus patted Kaeso on the back with avuncular familiarity.
“Don’t call me that, you silly sybarite.”
“But you are my boss! I am a playwright, and you own a substantial share of the theatrical troupe. That makes you my boss, does it not? And the boss of every fellow here. Well, the actors, anyway. Not their admirers.”
Kaeso looked around the room. Although the presentation of plays was sponsored by the state, as part of various religious festivals, acting was not a profession for reputable citizens. Most of Plautus’s performers were slaves or ex-slaves of various national origins. The ones who played heroic roles or girls tended to be quite young, and some were very handsome. All were extroverts; there was little evidence of shyness in the room.
One of the actors, a swarthy Spaniard, abruptly jumped up from the floor and began to juggle a cup, a copper brooch, and a small clay lamp. The spectators put down their cups and began to clap in time with the flute music. The juggler was barely sober enough to keep the objects in the air. He made a great show of staggering about and putting those nearby in peril. His companions roared with laughter every time he came near to missing one of the flying objects.
Watching this raucous buffoonery, Kaeso heaved a deep sigh and felt himself slowly relax. How much more at home he felt here than in the house of Maximus! Kaeso’s eye fell on one of the younger actors, a newcomer with chiseled features and long blond hair. The youth reminded him a little of Scipio.
“I can’t blame you for staring at the Greek boy,” said Plautus in his ear, “but the fellow we need to impress this evening is the one sitting over there, wearing the very expensive-looking toga.”
“Who is he?”
“None other than Tiberius Gracchus, scion of a very wealthy plebeian family. He’s been elected curule aedile, so he’ll been putting on the annual Roman Games coming up in September. Along with the religious procession and the Feast of Jupiter, and the chariot races and boxing matches, there will of course be a day of comedies to entertain the masses. As Gracchus is footing the bill, and because he’s an aficionado of the theater, he’s taken a personal interest in picking the program.”
“I presume you’ve submitted a script for his approval?”
“Yes, indeed-a thigh-slapper I call The Swaggering Soldier. Adapted from a Greek original, as is the fashion, but I think I’ve managed to give the material a decidedly Roman twist. Gracchus came here tonight to return the script and give me his comments.”
“And?”
“He loves it! Said he fell off his couch laughing. He sees the buffoonish woman-chaser of the title as a lampoon on our bellicose consul Varro; says the play is both timely and hilarious. A good thing, since I’m asking a bigger fee for this production than I’ve ever dared ask before.”
“Your work is worth it, Plautus. You have the best actors of any troupe in the city, and you write the wittiest dialogue of any playwright alive. What Ennius is to poetry, you are to comedy.”
Plautus rolled his eyes heavenward. “And to think, I was raised a poor country boy in Umbria. Had to make my living as a baker when I first came to Roma; thought I’d never get the flour out of my hair. For years, I was just another starry-eyed, would-be actor with a funny stage name-yes, they called me Plautus on account of my flat feet, but I figured it was a name no one would forget. But Fortuna’s wheel turns round and round, and Plautus the clown is the best playwright in town. Boss, you make me blush.”
“Don’t call me that!”
They were both distracted by a sudden crash. The juggler had dropped everything at once. The lamp shattered against a wall. The cup skittered across the floor. The copper brooch struck one of the actors in the forehead. The fellow jumped to his feet and lunged at the juggler, fists flailing. The flute player trilled a shrill, discordant tune, as if to encourage them. Plautus hurried to break up the fight.
Kaeso heard a chuckle behind him. “I saw that coming! Got out of the way just in time. You’re Kaeso Fabius Dorso, I believe.”
Kaeso turned. “Yes. And you’re Tiberius Gracchus.”
“I am.” It was hard to judge the man’s age. His hair was turning silver at the temples, but his sunburned skin had few wrinkles. He had a powerful jaw and strong cheekbones, but the ruggedness of his features was softened by a mischievous glint of amusement in his gray eyes. If he was drunk, he didn’t show it. He carried himself with a graceful dignity that seemed entirely natural.
Kaeso and Gracchus conversed. Gracchus did much of the talking, mostly about the challenges of mounting the Roman Games and the fine work Plautus had done on The Swaggering Soldier. Gracchus had a remarkable memory. He recounted long stretches of dialogue verbatim, and his deadpan delivery make Kaeso laugh out loud. There was no talk of Hannibal or duty or death. Such weighty topics would have seemed out of place in the house of Plautus.
After a while, Kaeso’s eyes fell upon the young newcomer he had noticed before. The Greek youth smiled back at him.
“I believe his name is Hilarion,” said Gracchus, following Kaeso’s gaze.
“Is it?”
“Yes. Hilarion means ‘cheerful’ in Greek. The name fits him. Why don’t you try your chances with the boy tonight, before everyone else has him?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Kaeso.
Gracchus smiled knowingly. “Sporting with catamites was not the sort of thing our staid ancestors approved of, although I suspect they did their share of such things, whether it was spoken of, or not. Nor, I daresay, would your staid cousin Maximus approve even nowadays. But we live in a new age, Kaeso. We inhabit a much bigger world than did our ancestors-a bigger world than men like Maximus have eyes to see. The Spartans, who are renowned as great warriors, consider nothing more manly than the love of two soldiers; on her wedding night, a Spartan woman must cut her hair and put on a boy’s tunic, to coax the groom into desiring her. The Athenians put the love of an older man and a younger man at the very center of their philosophy. Carthaginian generals make love to their young officers before allowing them to marry their daughters. Jupiter had his Ganymede, Hercules his Hylas, Achilles his Patroclus, Alexander his Hephaestion-or perhaps it was the other way around, as Alexander was the younger partner. Nature gives us appetites; appetites must be fed. If your eye should fall on a handsome and available Greek slave, why not do something about it? So long as you maintain the dominant role, of course. The Roman male must always dominate.”
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