Lucanus was seized by some great emotion. He remembered Joseph ben Gamliel and his story of the peasant boy who had disputed with the learned doctors and scholars in the Temple. He shook his head in denial.
Tiberius put down Lucanus’ letter. Then he reached out for a large flat object wrapped in yellow silk. He carefully removed the silk and displayed the object. It was made of heavy gold in the form of a shield. Lucanus leaned forward to see it more closely. He saw the face, in profile, of Diodorus embossed on the golden shield, and below it a hand grasping a drawn short sword. Under it was a quotation from Homer in Greek:
Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country’s laws.
Below it was a line from Horace, in Latin:
Non omnis moriar [I shall not wholly die].
Lucanus’ eyes filled with tears. Tiberius said, with grim satisfaction, “This I have ordered made to be hung behind the lectern in the Senate.”
Their eyes met with complete understanding.
Tiberius smoothed his hand gently over the shield. He said, “Have you considered what Diodorus would have wished you to do? He would have desired for you to serve Rome, as he served it.”
“He was a great man, who believed in the freedom of the individual,” said Lucanus. “Though he would have disagreed with me, I know, he would still have desired me to do what I felt was right.”
“Nevertheless,” said Tiberius, “you should honor his memory enough to spend some time in Rome, serving the people. You have said in your letter that you wish to leave Rome at once. In justice to Diodorus I cannot grant this. I command you to remain here for six months. If, at the end of that period, you are still convinced that your duty lies elsewhere, I shall relieve you.”
The stubborn Lucanus was about to protest when he felt the force of the imperial eyes upon him, and he realized fully, for the first time, that this was Caesar, and that he was helpless before his decrees. For Tiberius was not smiling now. After a long moment Lucanus bowed his head.
“So be it,” he murmured. “In the name of Diodorus.”
“I wish you attached to this household during that period,” said Tiberius. He smiled tightly. “I may even consult you, personally, on a few matters.”
The thought of being virtually imprisoned in this immense palace appalled Lucanus, but he understood now that he could not protest.
“The public medical officers are becoming indolent,” said Caesar. “I should like you to inspect their work and to suggest improvements. Moreover, my household here is filled with slaves and freedmen and Praetorians. Your services to them will be appreciated. I am not entirely satisfied with my own physicians.”
Lucanus took a little heart. “If you will permit me, Sire, may I suggest that the treatment for your eczema is wrong?”
Tiberius’ eyebrows flew up. “Indeed? What would you suggest?” He was amused again.
“Oily unguents only increase the natural and infected oils contained in pimples,” said Lucanus, and he was a physician again. “I prefer a paste of water and flour of sulphur, applied after a strenuous washing with strong soap twice a day. This has a drying and disinfecting influence.” He hesitated. “I also believe that Caesar has some affliction of the blood. If you would permit me — ”
Intrigued, Tiberius nodded, and Lucanus rose and went to him. He forgot again that this man was the formidable and resistless power of a great and terrible empire. To Lucanus, he was only a man who was not in good health. With firm and gentle fingers he pulled down Tiberius’ eyelids, then opened his mouth and examined the pale membranes. Without permission he sat down again. “Are you conscious of a constant weariness, Sire? A lassitude? Does work tire you unduly? Does your breath become fast on the slightest exertion, and do you often feel faint and giddy?”
As the discussion of one’s health delights even a Caesar, Tiberius nodded. “You have explained it exactly, my good Lucanus.”
“Then you have anemia,” said the young physician. “Not a very serious variety as yet, though it can become serious. What is your diet?”
“I live sparely,” said Tiberius. “I am a soldier. I am no attender of orgies or banquets. I eat as a soldier, very frugally, some cheese, some goat’s milk, some bread, a plain red wine, fruit and vegetables, and, very occasionally, some meat or the leg of a fowl.”
“The diet is wrong for a man in his sixth decade,” said Lucanus, reprovingly. “I suggest fresh meat of bullocks three times a day, and a rich and heavy wine, and few vegetables and fruit only once a day. Fish is not very good for anemia, nor fowl. Best of all, I prescribe a large serving of the liver of a bullock at least once a day.”
Tiberius made a wry face. “My cooks make a delicacy of the fatted liver of female pigs which have been fed quantities of ripe figs. I detest it. Nevertheless, as you are now my physician I shall eat bullock’s liver for my evening meal.”
He leaned his hard chin on the heel of his right hand and stared at Lucanus. “You are young,” he said, “and you are possessed of extraordinary handsomeness. You are also wealthy and esteemed and a physician. Yet you are unhappy. If I were your age and endowed with your gifts, and were not Caesar, I should be the happiest of men. I see your distress. Why is this?”
Lucanus could not speak for a moment. Then he replied in a low tone, “One of life’s sorrows is the impermanence of all joy.”
Tiberius shrugged. “Even a schoolboy understands that. Shall we then deprive ourselves of pleasure, and joy, today because they are fleeting?”
Lucanus looked at him directly then, and knew, instantly, that here was a man deeply troubled, cynical, and despairing. And he was filled with an answering despair because he had no words to comfort this mighty man, and no hope to give him. As he himself had lost Rubria, so had Tiberius lost his love, and they shared a common desolation. Tiberius looked into his eyes and saw the welling misery and the desire to help, and the young man’s impotence to help him, and he was moved and was astonished that any creature could again move him.
He answered his own question quickly. “What the gods have given us is not to be refused, whether of good or evil, for what choice do we have? Even I cannot even drink myself into the temporary belief that the world is tolerable to a thinking man!”
He struck a bell on his table, and the bronze doors swung massively open, and Plotius and four Praetorians entered at once. Plotius glanced with concern at Lucanus, even as he saluted the Emperor, and he was astounded to see that the young man was leaning back in his ivory chair like an accepted equal.
“My good Plotius,” said Tiberius, “you will conduct Lucanus to the best of quarters, where he will remain for some time as my honored guest. And you will send a message to his mother that her son is with me.”
After Lucanus had left with Plotius, the Emperor remained alone for some time, his head in his palms. There were senators and Augustales and patricians waiting to see him, and magistrates, yet he did not call them. He thought of Lucanus’ lack of affectation, his noble simplicity, and that iron quality in him which could not be shifted, and his manifest virtues. He could not decide whether Lucanus was a fool or a very wise man for all his youth. Then he laughed harshly to himself. Lucanus was in the Imperial Palace now. The word would soon spread that he was here as the guest of Caesar, and corruption would seep slowly and insidiously towards him like oily black water. Would he be engulfed in it? Surely he would, for men tended towards viciousness naturally, and pollution was their natural element.
“We shall see!” said Tiberius, aloud, and laughed again, bitterly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As Plotius led Lucanus away through other forests of white pillars and crowding statues, he said to him, “It is only my curiosity, but what did you say to Caesar?”
“What did I say?” Lucanus glanced at him in surprise. “Why, we had a conversation about various matters, and he was very understanding. I also prescribed for him.” Plotius shook his head, ama
zed. Tiberius was known to be capricious. “You insisted on your refusal?” asked the young Praetorian.
“Certainly,” said Lucanus, with some irritation. “I have said Caesar is very understanding. However, we agreed that I should remain in Rome, and in this household, for about six months, to honor the memory of Diodorus. After that time I shall depart.”
Plotius thought he had not heard right, and he turned his head to stare blankly at the physician. A man, and a Greek, had refused Caesar, and had not only left his presence a free man but had been graciously treated as a person of the utmost importance. They went on together in silence, Lucanus interested in all about him and Plotius in a state of confusion. If the statues had suddenly attained life he could not have been more astonished and incredulous.
They entered a wide and private corridor guarded by two Praetorians who saluted and stared at Lucanus curiously. Lucanus saw that the white walls were exquisitely painted with scenes of the utmost licentiousness and depravity, depicting centaurs and satyrs, nymphs and gods, men and women disporting themselves in shameful ways. But the soft debauchery did not sicken or revolt Lucanus, who was a physician and found nothing obscene in the intricate and marvelous beauty and functions of the human body. To him these pictures were the imaginations only of perverted and impudent children, who found pleasure in beast-like diversions. He had seen much worse painted crudely on the walls and inns in Alexandria and Antioch; these, at least, had been executed by a supreme artist. One scene was so bewitchingly amusing that he stopped for a moment to smile at it. He said to Plotius, “This man had an excellent training in anatomy, and a sense of humor.” The two young men studied this work of art then glanced at each other and laughed.
The Praetorians were everywhere, stiff and saluting, even in the hall leading to a most wonderful apartment with large open doors and windows looking out upon a wide and flowery and grassy terrace. Never had Lucanus seen such luxury, and never had he even imagined it. The vast and spacious room was walled in four different colors of marble, contrasting slabs of white, shining black, golden, and pink, and the gleaming multicolored floor mirrored back the light of the sky and the hues of the garden. In the center of the room stood a large bed of gilded wood in the shape of a dolphin, inlaid with glittering jewels, mother-of-pearl, ivory, and silver; upon it had been thrown a coverlet of intricately patterned silk like a profuse flower bed. Slender black or white marble pedestals, scattered over the room, held bronze and graceful statuettes of naked women holding aloft silver and golden lamps or objects of the most priceless art. Lemonwood and ebony and marble tables were covered with murrhine glass vases filled with flowers, so that the nimble spring breezes drifting through the doors and windows blew with fragrance. Voluptuous divans were disposed near the tables, clothed in bright silk, and near the walls waited many chairs, elaborately carved and gilded, with legs of ivory. A marvelous chest of hammered brass, studded with red gems, stood between the windows, which rippled with delicate lace curtains. A polished silver mirror hung over the chest. Beyond this restful and luxurious room was another, entirely of rosy marble; the sunken bath was at least twelve feet long and six feet wide, filled with warm and perfumed water, the bottom revealing a lascivious scene in the brightest of mosaics.
“This is a woman’s apartment,” said Lucanus, accustomed to the austerity of the homes of Diodorus. Two naked slaves entered, bowing before him, and he stared at them with admiration. They were a young man and a woman, tall and slender, and of such an incredible and dazzling blackness that they resembled polished marble rather than flesh. The valleys and undulations of their bodies had a pale sheen, as if dusted with silver, and their fine features, delicately carved and patrician, seemed created by the most gifted artist. The girl’s black hair flowed in soft rippling waves down her smooth back, and her breasts were high and pointed and glimmered with a glossy light. Neither she nor the young man wore anything except heavy golden necklaces around their necks and hoops of gold in their ears, which cast reflections on their mirroring skins.
“These are your servants,” said Plotius. It seemed ridiculous to Lucanus that he should be in this apartment with slaves to serve him alone.
He wanted to protest, but Plotius, with a wink, saluted and left him. He looked at the boy and girl and did not know what to say, and they gazed back at him with their full dark eyes and wide white smiles. They waited for him to speak, so he said, awkwardly, “What are your names?”
The boy replied, bowing again, “My name is Nemo, Master, and this is my twin sister, Nema. Command us. We are at your service.”
The girl walked gracefully to a table and poured a gemmed goblet full of wine for Lucanus. He took it from her delicate hand, entranced by her incredible beauty and the perfection of her face and body. He put the goblet to his lips and drank a little. He had never drunk such wine, rosy and scented and sweetened with honey. The boy brought him a tray of ripe figs rolled in chopped nuts, and other sweetmeats. Lucanus ate one or two. He frowned. “I do not need servants,” he said. The boy and girl smiled at him emptily, but they stood there like statues, unmoving, as if what he had said was in a strange language. If he was amazed by them, they were equally amazed by him, for never had they seen such fairness of complexion, such golden hair, and such handsomeness. The three young people stood and admired each other artlessly.
Another servant entered, bowing deeply, and informed Lucanus that the Augusta, Julia, had commanded his appearance at her banquet to be given that evening at the eighth hour. He retreated, leaving the three alone again to their mutual contemplation. Then Lucanus said, like a youth, “I suppose I cannot refuse. But I have nothing to wear but what I stand in.” He looked at Keptah’s treasured toga, which was travel-stained, and at his dusty, plain leather sandals. Nemo went to the brass chest, opened it and brought out a tunic of fine linen, with an embroidered border of gold, and a toga as white as snow, also bordered in gold, and a pair of golden sandals and a girdle of intricately wrought gold inlaid with gems, and arm bracelets to match. Like a merchant reverently displaying godlike wares, he draped the garments over one arm and held up the girdle and bracelets with the other hand.
“Well,” said Lucanus. He considered the wardrobe effeminate; nevertheless, he put out his hand to smooth the fabric and examine the jewelry. “I shall feel like an actor,” he remarked. Nemo indicated that the bath awaited him, and that he and his sister would wash him and anoint him with perfumed oils, and massage his body. But Lucanus revolted at this. The two slaves regarded him with astonishment, and looked mutely at each other.
“I have bathed alone since I was three,” Lucanus explained. The slaves merely stared at him in disbelief. He lifted his voice. “I wish to be alone,” he said. Puzzled, they bowed and left him, closing the doors behind them. They took up their stations outside and played soft music, to beguile him, with a flute and a lyre. Above the sound of the frail harmony Lucanus could hear the steady iron patrol of the Praetorian who was to guard him. He shook his head. He tested a divan, and was alarmed to feel himself almost swallowed in the capacious softness. He rose and went from one work of art to another. Never had he seen such artistry. The tiny statuettes were so beautifully executed that they revealed the most minute veins in their hands and throats and feet. He ran his fingers over them, and it seemed to him that they lived.
He was aroused by the sound of young masculine voices on the terrace outside his opened doors, and he went to them. Two young men, his age or younger, and completely naked, were wrestling on the grass. Their amber-colored bodies rippled with disciplined muscles, and after a few strenuous moments their flesh dripped with bright water. They were evidently accomplished athletes, practicing rather than playing, and their handsome faces were strained and intent and unsmiling. They grunted, expostulated and shouted, unaware of Lucanus watching them with deep interest. Sometimes they cursed foully. The young physician wondered if they were slaves. He observed their falls and their grips, their straining muscles, their dext
erity and strength. Then he walked through the doors. They saw him and sprang apart and frowned.
“Greetings,” said Lucanus, suddenly aware of unfriendliness and hostility.
They stared at him, insolently, and deliberately examined his travel-stained clothing, his plain sandals. As if they had spoken, he felt their sneering comment on his lack of jewelry, and their opinion that he was no one of consequence, and their wonder that such as he was even present in the palace at all. They believed him an intruding freedman, a man who had in some way wandered into this apartment so near the apartments of the Augusta. But he did not know that he had also aroused their enmity because of his appearance, for though they were handsome youths they could not compare with him. Then one scowled darkly with suspicion. Was this stranger to be the new favorite of the capricious and insatiable Julia?
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