Empire (10 page)

Lucius stared into the middle distance and nodded.

Claudius sighed. “I see by your face, Lucius, that not one word I’ve said makes sense to you.”

Lucius laughed. “To be candid, Claudius, my study of astrology has not gone especially well. It’s not like augury. I didn’t particularly like spending all that time with the magister, but I did enjoy the instruction he gave us, because the science of augury makes perfect sense to me. Augury was perfected by our ancestors, it served them well, and it’s our duty to continue the practice, so as to maintain the gods’ favor for ourselves and our descendants. But astrology . . .” Lucius shook his head. “Naming the planets, categorizing their effects on human behavior, and the rest—it all seems rather arbitrary to me, as if some long-dead Babylonian simply made it up. And as you say, if Fate exists, what point is there in knowing what the future will bring? Unlike you, Claudius, I’m not sure that augury and astrology can be reconciled. I think a man must believe in one or the other.”

“In that respect, at least, you are in agreement with Uncle Tiberius.”

“It was thoughtful of you, Claudius, to obtain the emperor’s birth information for me, as well as those two horoscopes. The older one, cast by Scribonius at Tiberius’s birth, I was able to decipher fairly well. But the more recent horoscope, by Thrasyllus—well, it made no sense to me at all. I simply couldn’t follow his calculations. And his description of Tiberius’s character—a humble man, reluctant but compelled by Fate to assume great responsibility—may be accurate, but I couldn’t see how it followed from the casting.”

“It could be that Thrasyllus, sifting among the d-d-data, delivered a reading in accordance with the image Uncle Tiberius wishes to project.”

“You mean he told the emperor what the emperor wanted to hear.”

“The fact that an astrologer may be devious does not negate the science itself, Lucius. Uncle Tiberius is probably as great a puzzle to Thrasyllus as he is to the rest of us. We have an emperor who refuses to wear the laurel crown, or to take any of Great-Uncle’s titles—no Augustus, no Father of His Country, no Imperator after his name. But neither d-d-does he seem
likely to restore the Republic—he says the whole lot of senators are ‘fit to be slaves.’ Is Uncle Tiberius truly a humble man, thrust into prominence by circumstance, not to mention the ambitions of my grandmother? Or is he merely striking a pose, as Great-Uncle did when he styled himself the humble public servant who wanted nothing more than to serve the state?”

“Studying the stars may give an answer to Thrasyllus, but not to me,” said Lucius. “I simply have no aptitude for astrology.”

“Ah, well, I had thought to set you on the p-p-path, but it was not to be. Smile, Lucius! I just made a joke about Fate.”

“And you had no choice but to make it.”

Claudius nodded and looked across the garden, where Acilia was speaking to her mother. “If free will exists, then you certainly made a fine choice for a bride. Acilia is very b-b-beautiful.”

“She is. And I love her. It’s a curious thing: my father chose to court the Acilii because they had money, but now that’s irrelevant, thanks to the fortune I inherited from your uncle. I am free to marry for love.”

“Lucky man! Nowadays, most people marry for the tax advantages. Great-Uncle was determined that everyone should pair up, settle down, and breed, so he punished the unmarried and childless with taxes. He made life easier for the married man, and easier still for the man with children. You can get started on that tonight!”

Lucius joined him in gazing at Acilia. In her white robe and yellow veil, lit by moonlight and lamplight, she seemed to glow softly.

“At this time next year, I could have a son,” he said, awed by the enormity of it. “Do you remember, Claudius, when Augustus showed us those baby shoes?”

“Baby shoes?”

“When we spoke to him in that upstairs study, he showed us a pair of your nephew’s shoes.”

“Ah, yes, the baby shoes my brother sent as a keepsake. Little Gaius has grown since then. He’s big for a four-year-old, and quite the warrior. Germanicus tells me the boy has his own pair of miniature army boots, the caliga worn by soldiers. How the troops love to see the boy on parade. Caligula, they call him, ‘Little Boots.’ ”

“Your older brother has done well. He’s lived up to his name.”

“He has, indeed. His first task was quelling the unrest in the ranks
when Uncle Tiberius reneged on the bonuses promised by Augustus; only Germanicus’s popularity with the troops prevented a wholesale uprising. We learned a lesson there, about where the real p-p-power behind the emperor lies—not with the Senate, but with the legions. Germanicus not only rallied the troops on the Rhine, he led an invasion deep into German territory and avenged the disaster of the Teutoberg Forest. Two of the lost eagle standards were retrieved, and he’s vowed to take back the other as well, even if he has to pry it from the dead hand of Arminius.”

“Everyone in Roma is talking about his success.”

“The people now love him as much as his troops do. Almost certainly Tiberius will have to award Germanicus a triumph when he returns to Roma. Imagine the pomp and glory, all the German slaves and captured b-b-booty on display, the acclamation of the legions, and little Caligula riding beside his father in the chariot, wearing his tiny army boots!”

Lucius touched the fascinum at his breast. “And beneath the chariot will be the sacred fascinum of the Vestals, to ward off the gaze of the envious.”

“The envious in this case being Tiberius,” said Claudius under his breath.

Lucius lowered his voice. “Does he see Germanicus as a rival?”

“Who c-c-can say?”

“If Tiberius feels threatened by your brother, what does that mean for you, Claudius?”

“Perhaps I should c-consult my horoscope.”

Lucius suddenly felt uneasy. For many years, under Augustus, power in Roma had been a settled affair; whether a man liked it or not, everyone knew his place. But in the aftermath of Augustus’s death, the future of the city and the individual destinies of its people seemed uncertain.

But for himself, at least in the short term, Lucius could foresee only happiness. The opportunity to serve Augustus had made him a wealthy man and delivered to him the bride he had longed for. His friendship with Claudius had brought him into the outer circles of the imperial family, close enough to enjoy certain privileges but not so close as to provoke the fear and jealousy of powerful men. To be sure, his study of astrology had led him to a dead end, but his love of augury was greater than ever. What did it matter that the new emperor placed his trust entirely in astrology?
The current fascination with Babylonian stargazing might be only a passing fashion, while augurs would always be needed and respected in Roma.

At last, after much celebration, the last of the guests departed. The slaves disappeared into their rooms for the night. While Acilia withdrew to the bedchamber to make ready, Lucius walked alone from room to room, taking inventory of his surroundings. Claudius had said the house was lovely, and it was. Lamplight softly illuminated the walls, freshly painted with images of peacocks and gardens, and fell softly on all the beautiful objects Lucius had purchased to make the house worthy of Acilia: the lamps and tables, the chairs and rugs, the dining couches and draperies. What a great deal of furniture was required to fill a house, and how expensive it all was! How could anyone who had not received an inheritance afford it? Lucius knew he was a very lucky man.

He entered the bedroom where Acilia awaited him. With trembling fingers, he untied the Hercules knot that secured the purple sash around her waist and removed her bridal robe. Beneath, she wore a brief gown made of shimmering fabric so sheer that he could see right though it. She unpinned her hair, and the honey-colored tresses fell almost to her waist. He stood rooted to the spot, simply gazing at her, wishing he could stop time. What moment could be more perfect than this, balanced between the deep satisfaction the day had brought him and the exquisite pleasures of the night to come?

He stroked the golden hair that framed her face, then he touched the shimmering fabric and felt the warmth and solidity of her flesh.

“My Lucia!” he whispered, uttering the name only he was allowed to speak as he covered her mouth with his.

To walk across the Forum on a crisp October day, dressed in his trabea and carrying his lituus, gave Lucius a wonderful sense of belonging and self-worth. At the age of twenty-nine he was not just a citizen of the greatest city on earth, he was a husband and the father of twin boys (how Augustus would have approved!) and a highly respected member of the community.

The augury he had just performed had gone very well. A new tavern was about to open on one of the less disreputable streets in the Subura and the owner wanted to determine the best day to begin serving customers. The to-and-fro flight of seagull, a bird seldom seen so far inland, had clearly indicated the day after tomorrow. The ceremony was hardly a momentous occasion, but part of an augur’s duty was to make the auspices available to all citizens, for all sorts of purposes. The tavern owner had paid him the standard fee; Lucius patted the full coin purse tucked inside his trabea. The man had also offered to supply Lucius with food and drink free of charge anytime he wished to drop in. Lucius had feigned gratitude, but it was unlikely that he would ever take up the offer. He had grown used to vintages superior to any the humble tavern had to offer, and except for official purposes he rarely visited the teeming, noisome streets of the bustling Subura. His usual places to dine and drink were located on the lower slopes of the Aventine and the Palatine, in neighborhoods where men of a better class tended to congregate.

He was considering a visit to his local favorite, a charming hideaway just down the street from his house, when he ran into Claudius. He was about to invite Claudius to come along, then saw the look on his friend’s face.

“Claudius, what’s happened?”

“T-t-terrible news. T-t-terrible!” There were tears in his eyes. He seemed unable to speak for a moment, caught on some stubborn consonant, then he blurted it out: “G-Germanicus is dead! My dear brother. Dead!”

“Oh, Claudius, this
is
terrible news.” Lucius wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale wine. His friend was drunk. Lucius took his arm, but Claudius was rooted to the spot, trembling and blinking back tears.

A year before, Lucius’s father had died. The elder Pinarius had not suffered much; he developed a terrible headache one day, fell into a coma that night, and two days later was dead, without ever regaining consciousness. The sudden loss had shaken Lucius. Claudius had been a comfort to him in the days of mourning, and Lucius would do his best to return the favor to his distraught friend.

“Did he fall in battle?” asked Lucius. After his grand triumph in Roma, Germanicus had been posted by Tiberius to Asia, where he had enjoyed even greater success, defeating the kingdoms of Cappadocia and
Commagene and turning them into Roman provinces. Lately there had been talk of granting Germanicus a second triumph. Only the greatest commanders in Roma’s history had received more than one.

“No, he died in his b-b-bed.”

“But Germanicus was so young.”

“Barely thirty-five—and in the b-b-best of health until he fell ill. The physicians blame some mysterious wasting disease—but there are rumors of p-p-poison, and m-m-magic spells scrawled on lead tablets.”

“But who would have dared to murder Germanicus?”

Claudius took a deep breath and steadied himself. “In the days of Augustus, we wondered who might p-p-poison the emperor. Now we wonder whom the emperor might p-poison! And in both cases, the culprit is the same.”

Lucius looked up and down the street. There were few people in sight, and no one close enough to overhear them. Still, Lucius lowered his voice. “You mustn’t say such a thing, Claudius.”

“At least my nephew is well, as far as we know. P-p-poor little Caligula, an orphan! Surely no one would p-poison a seven-year-old boy.”

“Surely not,” agreed Lucius, thinking of his own sons, who were barely a year old. He reached up to touch the vacant spot at his breast; on this day he was not wearing the fascinum. He felt an urge to hurry home. “Come with me, Claudius. Acilia will want to hear the news. My mother will cook us dinner. You can spend the night with us.”

“No, no, no. I have too much to do. P-p-people to tell. Arrangements to m-make.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” said Lucius, trying to hide his reluctance.

“No, no, Lucius, you belong with your family. Go to them now. I shall be quite alright. No one would ever want to p-poison or put a spell on p-p-poor Claudius.” He turned away and hurried down the street.

Lucius looked after him until he disappeared around a corner, then headed home.

Even before he entered the house, he knew something was wrong. The door stood wide open. Where was the slave who minded the entrance? From within he heard the twins, Titus and Kaeso, crying loudly. Then he heard more-disturbing sounds: a man barking orders, the stamp of booted feet, the sound of furniture being overturned, a shriek from Acilia.

Lucius rushed inside. In the vestibule, the wax effigies of his ancestors were askew in their niches, as if someone had been rifling among them; the effigy of his father had fallen to the floor. He ran into the reception hall, from which he could see into the surrounding rooms. Soldiers had invaded his house and were busy ransacking it. From their imperial insignia he knew that they were Praetorians, the elite corps of centurions stationed in a fortified garrison just outside the city. The Praetorians were charged with guarding the emperor’s person and with apprehending the emperor’s enemies. What were they doing in his house, tearing the furniture apart, shaking out rugs, knocking holes in the walls?

“Stop this at once!” Lucius shouted.

The soldiers looked at him and paused. Two of them ran to him. While one held his shoulders, the other searched his person.

“No weapons!” the soldier shouted. They released him and carried on with what they were doing.