Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 94

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“I’m worried about my friends. There’s no word yet about cousin Quintus…or about Scipio…” Kaeso wrinkled his brow.

“No news is good news.”

“I suppose.”

“And the best news is that there’s no news of Hannibal marching on Roma. What’s keeping him, I wonder?”

“Maximus made a speech the other day. He said, ‘The hand of Jupiter himself has stayed the Carthaginian monster.’”

Plautus wrinkled his nose. “Is Ennius writing his speeches these day? The masses love that sort of religious hokum. It reassures them, like putting on a festival when the end of the world may be near.” He shook his head. “I have to wonder whether Hannibal isn’t a bit like one of his elephants-huge and destructive, but ultimately rather stupid.”

“Tiberius Gracchus speculates that Hannibal, instead of heading straight to Roma, may want to win over our enemies and lay siege to our allies, so as to secure the whole of Italy while we’re helpless to stop him.”

“But why should he bother to conquer the limbs, one by one, when he could cut off the head? Yet the days pass, and Hannibal does not arrive.”

“Nor does news of Scipio,” whispered Kaeso.

“Look, here comes Tiberius Gracchus-and he does not look happy.”

In fact, Gracchus looked very grim. Without the mischievous glint in his eyes, his face assumed a severe aspect suitable to the Master of the Horse at Roma’s darkest hour.

“Bad news?” said Plautus.

“Bad news and worse news,” said Gracchus.

Plautus sighed. “I’ll have the bad news first, then.”

“After a very long, very unpleasant discussion, the dictator and I have decided that The Swaggering Soldier is not suitable to be presented at the Roman Games.”

“What? No!” Plautus was outraged. “The comedies are cancelled then?”

“No, the plays will go on, but The Swaggering Soldier will not be among them.”

“You’re throwing it out? We have a contract, Gracchus. You signed it as curule aedile.”

“Think, Plautus! The comedy pokes fun at a pompous, philandering military man. Who’s going to laugh at that, after what happened at Cannae?”

“You thought it was funny. You thought it was about Varro!”

“Who barely escaped with his life! People are stunned by Varro’s defeat, they’re appalled by his miscalculations, they’re numb with fury-but no wants to see him made fun of, not after seventy thousand men have died.”

Plautus pinched the bridge of his nose. “All this incessant hammering is giving me a headache. Yes, I see your point. What shall we do, then?”

“You’ll substitute another play.”

“At the last moment? Impossible!”

“You must have something. Think!”

“Well…there is a script I’ve been working on. It’s not nearly as funny as The Swaggering Soldier. It’s called The Casket-a sweet little farce about a girl exposed at birth who’s eventually reunited with her parents. Under the circumstances, I suppose it would at least have the virtue of being inoffensive. But it needs work. Several scenes need to be completely rewritten.”

“You’ll simply have to pull it together,” said Gracchus. “You can do it, Plautus. You’re funny when you write under pressure.”

“No, I get indigestion when I write under pressure. But, if I must…Yes, I suppose it could be done…if Hilarion can play the girl…”

Gracchus’s expression became even grimmer.

Plautus stiffened. “Bad news, you said-and worse news. What is it, Gracchus?”

Gracchus lowered his eyes. What sort of news could cause the Master of the Horse to avert his gaze? Kaeso held his breath.

“Do you remember when the Vestals were accused of breaking their vows?”

“How could I forget?” said Plautus. “For a few days, the whole city was obsessed with the scandal. It took people’s minds off Hannibal even while it gave them someone to blame for what happened at Cannae. As if a couple of Vestals, by losing their virginity, were responsible for so many deaths! If, indeed, the Vestals were guilty. If people wanted vengeance, it’s Varro they should have buried alive instead of that poor girl.”

Gracchus drew a sharp breath. “You forget my position, Plautus. As Master of the Horse I represent the state religion no less than does the Pontifex Maximus. To question the verdict or punishment of the Vestals is tantamount to blasphemy.”

“If you say so. Being a country boy from Umbria, I still find Roman religion a bit puzzling-”

“I’m serious, Plautus. People are in no mood for unpatriotic or irreligious talk. You must watch what you say.”

The playwright clucked his tongue. “Duly noted! But, you were saying?”

“The Vestal Floronia was properly punished, but Opimia escaped her punishment by committing suicide. Auguries were taken. An unfavorable sighting of birds confirmed that the gods had not been fully propitiated. Something must be done to make up for the failure to bury one of the Vestals alive. The Sibylline Books were consulted. A verse was found.”

Gracchus quoted the chosen passage:

A lamb fated for sacrifice dies too soon. Kill two pair of beasts before the next moon, From fields to the north and east of noon.

Plautus wrinkled his nose. “If only my sponsors were as indulgent of my cracked phrasing as was Tarquinius of the Sybil’s! And what was the interpretation of these lovely lines?”

“The priests conferred among themselves. It was decided that, to cleanse the city of the Vestals’ sins, a pair of Gauls and a pair of Greeks must be buried alive.”

Plautus shook his head. “Human sacrifice is a Carthaginian vice! It’s one of the reasons we look down on them as savages.”

“It’s neither your place nor mine to question the dictates of the Sibylline Books.” Gracchus sighed. “The priests came to me for a list of names.”

“To you?”

“A registry is kept by the curule aediles of all foreigners residing in Roma. So is a registry of all slaves, listing their nationality. The priests asked for the lists. I supplied them. How the priests determined which two Gauls and which two Greeks, I don’t know, but they informed me of their decision this morning.”

Plautus snorted. “I own a Gaul or two, myself, and more than a couple of Greeks!” His face fell. “By Hercules! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The cancellation of The Swaggering Soldier was only the bad news. Worse news, you said…”

“One of the Greeks they chose was Hilarion.”

Kaeso, who had listened in silence, let out a gasp.

“You’ll be properly compensated, of course,” said Gracchus hastily, averting his eyes.

“Compensated?”

“For the sacrifice of your property.”

“But…why Hilarion?”

“I don’t know. The priests chose the names. The Pontifex Maximus confirmed their decision.”

“I suppose I have no choice in this matter?”

“None whatsoever. Lictors were dispatched to your house before I came here. I imagine they’ve already taken Hilarion into custody. Workmen began digging the pit in the Forum Boarium last night. The entombment will take place this afternoon.”

“What’s the Old Etruscan adage? ‘Quickly done is best done,’” said Plautus bitterly. He gripped his head. “Oh, that infernal hammering!”

Tiberius Gracchus took his leave and strode away.

Kaeso felt unsteady on his feet. There was a fluttering in his head, such as sometimes preceded his seizures. His vision became blurry. Tears welled in his eyes. He shuddered but he did not weep.

“Madness!” whispered Plautus. “When a horror like Cannae occurs, do men react with compassion, reason, kindness? No! They blame the outsider; they punish the guiltless. And if you point out their madness, they call you a traitor and a blasphemer! Thank the gods I have a vessel into which I can pour my darkest feelings-my comedies! Otherwise, I should go as mad as the rest.”

“Your plays aren’t dark,” said Kaeso dully. “They make people laugh.”

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