Empire (11 page)

Acilia appeared, carrying Kaeso and Titus, one in each arm. The boys were red-faced and wailing. Their mother was ashen. She ran to Lucius’s side.

Following closely behind her was a tall man with a commanding presence. At his approach, the twins fell silent. Lucius recognized him: Sejanus, prefect of the Praetorians and right-hand man to Tiberius. The man’s steely gaze made Lucius’s blood run cold.

“What is the meaning of this?” said Lucius. “Why are these men looting my house?”

“Looting?” Sejanus smiled grimly. “Later, if an order of confiscation is issued, your possessions will be removed in an orderly fashion. But for now, Lucius Pinarius, my men are not here to rob you. They are here to search for evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“We shall know that when we find it.”

One of the soldiers approached. He held an unrolled scroll in his hands. “Prefect, I found this among the documents in that room over there.” He nodded toward Lucius’s study.

Sejanus took the scroll, blew dust off it, and studied it. His face grew long. “What have we here? By Hercules, I believe this is a horoscope that
was cast for the emperor. What possible excuse can you give me for possessing such a document, Lucius Pinarius?”

Lucius opened his mouth but did not speak. Sejanus held the copy of a horoscope cast by Thrasyllus that Claudius had given him years ago as an example for him to study, when Lucius had tried and failed to master the science of astrology.

“No answer?” snapped Sejanus. “Where did you obtain this?”

Should he tell the man that the emperor’s own nephew had given it to him? Surely that would absolve him of whatever suspicion Sejanus harbored. Or would it? Claudius’s brother had just died, and Claudius clearly thought that Tiberius was responsible. Doddering, stuttering Claudius had always been considered outside the circle of those who might pose some threat to the emperor, but Claudius now had more motive than ever to hate his uncle. Telling Sejanus that Claudius had given him the horoscope might endanger Claudius. It might also endanger Lucius, making it look as if he were conspiring with his friend.

“I bought it from a vendor in the Subura, years ago, when I made a stab at learning astrology. I had no idea what it was. Look in my study, you’ll see a few works about astrology, and some other horoscopes as well, none of any importance. I haven’t looked at them in years. You saw yourself that this one was covered with dust.”

Sejanus glared at him. “I didn’t become prefect of the Praetorians without learning to tell when a man is lying to me. No matter. A new imperial order decrees that all practicing astrologers, except those expressly retained by the emperor himself, are to be exiled from Italy. I would say that this document and the others you admit to possessing are ample evidence that you are among the class of persons to be banished.”

“But that’s ridiculous! I just told you, I haven’t even looked at those documents in years.”

“And if I examine these materials closely, will I find astrological calculations and horoscopes executed in your own handwriting?”

Lucius’s face became hot. “Perhaps. Years ago, I cast a few horoscopes, simply as exercises. But I am not and have never been an astrologer. I am an augur, as you can see by what I’m wearing.” Lucius impotently waved his lituus in the air.

Sejanus stepped closer, looming over him and looking down his nose. He was so close that Lucius could feel the man’s breath on his forehead.

“What sort of fool are you, Lucius Pinarius? Can’t you see that I’m offering you a way out?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most enemies of the emperor have no choice about the charges brought against them, but I am giving you a choice.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a nice fellow,” said Sejanus sweetly. “Because I love babies.” He glanced at the twins, who stared back at him in wide-eyed silence. “Because one way is more work for me, and the other way is less, you fool! Now, here are your choices.

“First choice: a charge of unauthorized possession of the emperor’s horoscope—a treasonable offense. If I bring that charge against you, there will necessarily be a very extensive investigation, and no one can say where that might lead; think of your friends, Pinarius. And the penalty is not only death for you, but confiscation of your estate; think of your wife and sons.

“Second choice: a simple charge of practicing astrology without the emperor’s knowledge. In that case, you will be exiled from Italy, your destination to be determined by me, and only those materials that relate to the practice of astrology will be confiscated from you.”

Lucius looked at Acilia. She gazed back at him, trembling and terrified. Titus and Kaeso, sensing her distress, began to wail again.

“This is outrageous!” Lucius whispered. “My father was a senator. My grandfather was a nephew and heir to the Divine Julius, a cousin of the Divine Augustus—”

“While Tiberius was merely the stepson of Augustus? Is that what you’re saying? Are you questioning the legitimacy of the emperor’s claim to power? Are you asserting that you have a better claim?”

“No!”

“Is that why you possess a copy of the emperor’s horoscope? To discover on which days he is most vulnerable, so that you can plot his downfall and take his place?”

“Of course not! I told you already . . .” Lucius fought to control his shaking. “I’ve never been disloyal. I’ve never spoken against the emperor.
Never! Why did you come here today? What made you think you’d find something incriminating?”

“You were on the list,” said Sejanus.

“What list?”

“The list of men to be watched.”

“But why? For what reason?”

“For knowing too much, I suspect. That’s usually the reason. And sure enough, here in your house we have found the means for gaining knowledge that might be used against the emperor.”

“But this is madness. I told you, I’m not an astrologer. I am a respected member of the college of augurs, a public servant of the Roman state. I loyally serve Tiberius, just as I served Augustus—”

Lucius fell silent. Suddenly he understood. He had answered his own question. Why was this happening? Because he was an augur; because he had served Augustus;
because of the lightning omen.
His role in that singular event had seemed to bring Lucius a happy destiny—confirmation of his skills as an augur, closer friendship with Claudius, an inheritance from the emperor that had changed his life. But now his part in that singular event had led to this catastrophe. Had Augustus died on the appointed day because of Fate—or because of human intervention? Livia and Tiberius must have known of the prediction: they knew everything that happened in the imperial house. Lucius had long suspected that one of them, or both, had a hand in Augustus’s death. He had never spoken of such a possibility, not even to Claudius. But Tiberius was no fool. The emperor was taking drastic action to eliminate every possible threat to his rule—his rival Germanicus, every astrologer in Italy, the unfortunate men on the mysterious list mentioned by Sejanus—and Lucius was among those who might know too much.

Sejanus was right: Lucius should consider himself lucky if he could escape with his life and his fortune intact.

He stared at the document that Sejanus clutched in his hands. Why had he not burned the incriminating horoscope of Tiberius long ago? Lucius had been a fool to keep it. But would burning it have made any difference? If Sejanus had not discovered the astrological documents, he would have found some other way to incriminate Lucius.

“You finally seem to have run out of words,” said Sejanus. “Have you
anything more to say? No?” He raised his voice. “Lucius Pinarius, you are guilty of practicing astrology without the authorization of the emperor. You have ten days to settle your affairs in Roma. After that, you will board a ship and leave Italy, under penalty of death. If you wish, you may take your wife and children.”

“And my mother?” Lucius looked about. Where was his mother? Probably in her bed; she had been in poor health ever since Lucius’s father had died.

“And your mother,” said Sejanus sweetly. “Do you have a preference for your destination?”

Lucius felt numb with shock. The twins wailed. “My grandfather had friends in Egypt. I have investments in Alexandria,” he said dully.

Sejanus nodded. “Egypt is good. Egypt is a possession of the emperor, rather than a province under senatorial jurisdiction. It will be easier for my agents to keep an eye on you there.”

Sejanus rolled the scroll tightly and handed the horoscope back to the Praetorian who had brought it to him. “Burn this immediately. Collect all the other documents and take them with you. Call off the search. We’re finished here.”

In moments, the soldiers were gone. Except for the crying twins, the house was silent. Gradually, the slaves began to emerge from their hiding places. The women surrounded Acilia, trying to comfort her and the babies. The men approached Lucius, but he waved them away.

Lucius walked into his study. The room had been stripped of every scroll and scrap of parchment, not just the few items pertaining to astrology but all his business documents as well. How was he to settle his affairs without his financial records? Even his small collection of plays and poetry had been taken. He found himself staring at the row of empty pigeonholes that had contained the many scrolls that made up his copy of Titus Livius’s history, a gift from Claudius, which he had never read. How was he ever to read it now? Of course, there would be copies of Livius’s work in Egypt. Alexandria was famous for its books; Alexandria was the home of the Great Library. . . .

He shook his head in disbelief. The last few moments had destroyed his life, yet already he had begun to accept his Fate.

He walked through the house like a man in a dream. He found himself
in his bedroom—the place where he had first coupled with Acilia, where Kaeso and Titus had been conceived, where Acilia had given birth. Even this room had been ransacked. The trunks and cabinets had been thrown open, the clothing scattered across the floor. The bed had been overturned. The cushions—into which he had sighed with pleasure when coupling with Acilia, wept with joy at the birth of his sons, breathed the essence of his dreams while he slept—had been cut open, as if Sejanus thought they might contain some terrible secret.

On the floor lay a silver box with its lid pried open. Among the scattered pieces of jewelry was the gold fascinum.

Lucius knelt and picked it up. He clutched it tightly. He whispered a prayer to the ancient god who had watched over his family from its very beginnings.

“Fascinus, god of my ancestors, watch over me. Watch over my sons. Bring us back someday to Roma.”

Ten frantic, tormented, sleepless days later, Lucius was ready to leave the city.

True to his word, Sejanus had not confiscated his property, but had insisted that Lucius sell his beloved house. Lucius had done so at a considerable loss. His financial records, after being thoroughly scrutinized, had been returned to him, as had his copy of Titus Livius’s history, along with several other valuable scrolls. The documents had all been tightly rolled and carefully packed away in round leather book-boxes of the sort called capsae.

Lucius stood with his family and the slaves they were taking with them on a dock at the riverfront, waiting to board the boat that would take them down the Tiber to Ostia, where he had secured passage on a trading vessel bound for Alexandria. The smell of the waterfront reminded him of the tavern where Euphranor had arrived with news of Augustus’s death. Where was that tavern? Not far, he thought. Turning around and looking beyond a stack of crates filled with his family’s belongings, he saw the entrance to the tavern from where he stood. How long ago that day seemed!

Even as he looked at the tavern, the door opened. A figure emerged
and began walking toward the dock, weaving this way and that and nearly colliding with the stack of crates. It was Claudius.

Claudius averted his eyes as he approached. Lucius stepped forward to meet him and opened his arms. The two men embraced.

“Lucius, I’m so sorry. If only I had never g-g-given you those horoscopes!”

“No, Claudius, this is not your fault.”

“But it was I who insisted that you c-come with me that night, when lightning struck Great-Uncle’s statue—”

“No, Claudius, you’re not to blame. Nor is Sejanus; nor is Tiberius. If Fate exists and cannot be altered, then this moment had to arrive, and the next step in my life’s journey is already predetermined, as is the next, and the next, and the next, until the moment I die.”

“And if there is no Fate? If chance and free will rule the cosmos?”

“Then it was I who failed to win the favor of the goddess Fortune. It was I who made the wrong choices.”

“What a philosopher you’ve b-b-become!”

“Sometimes the consolations of philosophy are all that a man has,” said Lucius bitterly. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. I have Acilia. I have the twins. I have my mother.” He looked at Camilla, who was holding one of the boys—Kaeso, he thought, though it was hard to be sure—cooing and clucking her tongue. She looked very old. She had been in low spirits and poor health since his father had died; the disaster had dealt her a tremendous blow. A sea voyage in October was no place for a woman of her years, but she had insisted on coming, to stay close to her grandchildren.