Empire (13 page)

Sunlight glinted across the gold amulet that Kaeso was wearing on a chain around his neck. With a bemused expression, Claudius reached out to touch it. Kaeso smiled. “It’s a fascinum, according to our father, though you wouldn’t know to look at it. He told us it was very old, maybe even older than Roma itself.”

“Ah, yes, I thought it looked familiar. By Hercules, I had forgotten all about it! It was I who informed your father about this amulet’s history, before you boys were born. So, when he died, he p-p-passed the fascinum to you, Kaeso? I can use it to tell the two of you apart. I never knew twins who looked more alike!”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to learn some other trick to distinguish us, then,” said Kaeso. “Father’s will didn’t specify which of us should inherit it, but since his estate was split equally between us, we’ve agreed to share the fascinum. Sometimes I wear it. Sometimes Titus does.”

“Then twins
can
get along. You have improved upon the example of Romulus and Remus! I’ll wager your father never told you that it was I who came up with names for the two of you. No? It’s true. When he learned that Acilia had given b-b-birth to twins, he was in a quandary over which of you to give his own name, since Lucius had long been the traditional name bestowed on the firstborn male Pinarius. But the midwife made such a jumble of things that there was no way to tell which of you had come first. Besides, you were so identical in every way, it seemed unfair, perhaps even unlucky, to honor one of you with the firstborn’s name and slight the other. So your father decided to break with tradition and name neither of you Lucius. He asked for my advice. We decided to name one of you Kaeso, after a famous ancestor of yours from the Fabius family, a man who wore that very fascinum about four hundred years ago, if my theory is correct.”

“What about my name?” asked Titus.

“That was in memory of my mentor, the great scholar Titus Livius. Surely you’ve read his history of Roma? No? Not even the p-p-parts about the ancient Pinarii?” Claudius shook his head. “I’m sure I gave your father a copy, long ago.”

“I think it’s among the books we brought with us from Alexandria,” said Titus.

“I wonder if your father ever read it. Ah well, neither he nor his father had much interest in the past. But a man must honor his ancestors. Who else made us, and how else did we come to exist?”

“I’d prefer to live for the future,” said Kaeso with a faraway look, fingering the fascinum at his throat.

“And I’d prefer to live in the present!” Titus laughed. “But speaking of the future, how soon might we have the honor of meeting the emperor? We should like to thank him in person, not just for allowing us to return, but for restoring the honor of our father’s name. With our full rights as citizens and patricians restored, someday we might even be able to gain admission to the college of augurs.”

“How that would please the shade of your father!” said Claudius. “Of course I’d be proud to oversee your studies, and to sponsor one or b-b-both of you for admission.”

Kaeso made a face. “It’s Titus who dreams of becoming an augur, not I.”

“I brought father’s old trabea and lituus with me, from Alexandria,” said Titus. “But what about meeting the emperor?”

Claudius averted his eyes. “Yes, well, if the emperor should summon you for an audience, of course you must go. But in the great press of affairs—Caligula is so generous to so many of his subjects—it’s entirely p-possible he will forget all about this particular instance of generosity, and if that should happen, well, perhaps it’s best if you don’t remind him. Indeed, it might be b-b-best if you do nothing at all to call attention to yourselves.”

Titus furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, cousin Claudius?”

“How can I explain? Exile is a curse, but it can also b-be a blessing. Despite his sorrow at being sent so far from the city he loved, your father was fortunate to miss the terror visited on this city by Sejanus, and all the casual cruelties of Tiberius. Then, when my nephew succeeded Tiberius, it seemed that a new era was dawning, a time of hope and fresh confidence. I was eager for your father to return. So was he. P-p-perhaps we were too eager. P-p-perhaps we should have been less optimistic, and waited a little longer.” He shook his head. “It was Caligula’s father, my brother Germanicus, who should have become emperor. Everyone says so. My brother’s military skills were first-rate. His temperament was ideal. Germanicus was loved by the legions, by the people, even by the Senate. But not so loved by the gods, who saw fit to take him from us—the gods, or else Sejanus, or Livia, or Tiberius. What does it matter? They’re all dead now. All dead.”

Kaeso put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “What are you trying to tell us, Claudius?”

“Unlike his father, my nephew was always a bit . . . unsound.” Claudius twitched. He wiped away a bit of drool. “I suppose that sounds judgmental, even absurd, coming from the likes of me, but it’s true. As a b-b-boy, little Gaius was troubled with the falling sickness.”

“So was the Divine Julius,” said Titus.

“Perhaps, but I suspect Caligula’s case was rather more severe than
that of Julius Caesar. All through his youth he was struck by spells that rendered him b-b-barely able to walk, or to stand, or even to hold up his head. He would be dazed afterwards, unable to collect his thoughts, but he always recovered. As he grew to manhood, he seemed to outgrow the affliction, and that gave us hope. We certainly never had cause to worry about his . . . sanity.”

“And now?” said Kaeso.

Claudius hesitated, but once again he could not resist the need to unburden himself. “The change occurred suddenly—overnight, in fact. It was caused by a love p-p-potion given to him by that horrible wife of his, Caesonia. She’s much older; she was already a mother of three when they began carrying on. If you ask me, it’s unnatural for a young man to take an older partner; it should be the other way around, don’t you think? As it is with m-m-myself and Messalina.”

“Quite,” agreed Titus. “But you were telling us about the emperor.”

“Yes. Well, apparently Caligula’s lovemaking was a disappointment to Caesonia—a harlot of such vast experience—so Caesonia decided to remedy the situation by giving the boy an aphrodisiac. The gossips say she fed him the substance the Greeks call
hippomanes
—a fleshy mass sometimes found on the forehead of a newborn foal.”

Kaeso wrinkled his nose. “It sounds disgusting.”

“Does it work?” asked Titus.

“One m-mixes it with wine and herbs to make it palatable,” said Claudius. “It’s a well-known aphrodisiac—various scholars mention it—but in all my research I can find no other case where it drove a man m-m-mad. I suspect Caesonia adulterated it with some other ingredient.”

“She deliberately poisoned him?” said Titus.

“No. Whatever ingredient she added was probably harmless by itself, but when mixed with the
hippomanes
created a combination that was toxic. That at least is my theory. I have a suspicion that Caesonia may have duplicated the very love p-p-potion that drove Lucretius mad.”

The twins looked at him blankly.

“The p-p-poet Lucretius,” he explained, “who lived in the days of the Divine Julius. They say Lucretius’s madness came and went. In his lucid moments he was able to write his great work,
On the Nature of Things,
but eventually he was driven to suicide.”

“Are you afraid Caligula may kill himself?” said Kaeso.

Claudius shivered, hugged himself, and whinnied like a horse. The twins feared he was having a fit, but he was only laughing. “Oh, no, Kaeso, that is
not
what I’m afraid of! Caligula’s behavior makes even the worst excesses of Tiberius seem trivial. The stories I could tell you—but look, here’s Messalina, and your lovely wives.”

The women rejoined their husbands. In all of Roma, it was unlikely that one could find three more beautiful women standing side by side. The twins had chosen wives who might have passed for siblings themselves; Artemisia and Chrysanthe both had buxom figures and wore their thick black hair in long plaits, after the Egyptian fashion. Messalina was the youngest of the three, but she affected a matronly look, with her black hair pulled back from her face and pinned in an elaborate coiffure, and a voluminous stola that covered her from head to foot and concealed her arms as well. At a distance, the loose stola concealed her condition; seen closer, her swollen breasts and protruding belly made it obvious that she was pregnant.

“What have you lovely females been talking about all this time?” said Titus, glancing at Messalina’s breasts even as he took Chrysanthe’s hand.

“This and that,” his wife said. “Hairstyles, mostly. Artemisia and I look terribly provincial. Messalina promises to send the slave who dresses her hair, to give us instruction on the latest Roman styles.”

“Don’t complicate your b-b-beauty too much,” said Claudius. “You’re lovely as you are.” He kissed Messalina on the forehead and gently, dotingly touched her just above the navel.

Kaeso scowled and furrowed his brow. Titus pulled him aside and whispered in his ear, “What’s wrong with you, brother? You’ve been in a foul mood all day.”

“That girl is young enough to be his granddaughter!”

“That’s not our business. Try not to show your disapproval so openly.”

“Back in Alexandria—”

“We’re in Roma now. Things are different here.” Titus sighed. Back in Alexandria, his brother had taken up with some strange people and acquired some very intolerant ideas. It was their father’s fault, for having given his sons too much freedom when they were young. Both Titus and
Kaeso had received traditional instruction at the academy near the Temple of Serapis, and had pursued the usual curriculum of philosophy, rhetoric, and athletics. But when the school day was done, Kaeso had spent his free time in the Jewish Quarter, drawn there by a fascination with mysticism, and the so-called scholars in the Jewish Quarter had filled his head with all sorts of bizarre ideas that were neither Greek nor Roman. Their father, too busy with business, had never sought to divert Kaeso from these dubious influences. That role would have suited a grandfather, thought Titus, an older, wiser man with patience and time to spare, but Fate had robbed them of their grandfather. They had grown up knowing no grandparents at all, a most unRoman circumstance for young patricians.

But they were in Roma now, at last, and they could ask for no better friend and guide than their cousin Claudius.

“Shall we press on to the Palatine?” said Claudius. “We can see the Hut of Romulus, the Temple of Apollo—”

Messalina rolled her eyes. “Husband, you can’t expect them to see all of Roma in a single day!”

“But what am I thinking? You must be weary, my d-d-dear. It was brave of you to come out at all.”

“I could hardly miss this opportunity to welcome your dear cousins.” Messalina looked from face to face. Her eyes lingered first on Kaeso, then on Titus.

“But you mustn’t overexert yourself. I’ll fetch the l-l-litter and send you straight home.”

The litter arrived, borne by a team of brawny slaves. Two of them lifted Messalina into the cushioned box. Claudius kissed her farewell, then closed the richly embroidered curtains so that she could travel home in privacy. As the litter was departing, Messalina parted the curtains with her forefinger and looked out. Her gaze fell on Titus, who gazed back at her.

Claudius and the women were discussing the rest of the day’s itinerary and did not see, but Kaeso saw and heard everything—the penetrating look that darted back and forth between his brother and Messalina, the way she narrowed her eyes and parted her lips, and the grunt from Titus, followed by a sigh.

The curtain closed. The litter receded from sight. Titus turned to face Kaeso, who scowled and shook his head.

Titus raised an eyebrow and flashed a crooked smile. “We are in Roma now, brother.”

Kaeso shook the three ivory dice in his hand and tossed them onto the table. The engraved pips that landed uppermost were two fours and a one.

“Rabbits for you, brother. Too bad!” Titus scooped up the dice and threw them. The pips were all different: a one, a six, and a three. “A Venus Throw for me. I win! Today, I shall wear the fascinum.”

“No one will see it under your toga, anyway.”

“But it will be there, nonetheless, lying close to my heart on the occasion of our audience with the emperor. We’ve waited a long time for this day, Kaeso.”

Three months had passed since their arrival in Roma. They had settled into a house on the Aventine not far from the one in which they had been born. It was not a particularly elegant house, and it was too far down the hill to offer much of a view, but it was large enough for the four of them and their slaves, with room to accommodate new additions to the family.

While the twins put on their best togas, their wives dressed in their finest stolas and put finishing touches to their newly styled hair. It had not taken them long to adopt Roman fashions, though Artemisia remained the more conservative of the two, in deference to Kaeso’s distaste for ostentation. Secretly, she envied Chrysanthe’s more daring coiffure, which towered atop her head like a Subura tenement.

Carried in a pair of exquisitely crafted litters hired especially for the occasion, the two couples set out for the emperor’s house on the Palatine. The Januarius day was mild, with pale yellow sunshine peeking through thin, high clouds. As they passed the ancient Ara Maxima, the Great Altar of Hercules, Titus insisted that they stop and get out. At Claudius’s behest, he had at last started reading Livius’s history; an early chapter recounted the dedication of the Ara Maxima. It seemed fitting to Titus that on this of all days they should have a look at it.

The altar was made of massive stone blocks, roughly hewn, that looked very ancient. A bronze statue of Hercules stood nearby, a magnificent figure bearing a club and dressed only in a headdress made from a lion’s skin. At their approach, a priest offered his services. For a few coins, the priest spilled some wine and burned some incense on the altar while Titus said a prayer that their audience with the emperor would go well.