by Mika Waltari
I was forced to conclude that Gallio was drunk on his own wine, since he dared to tell me such things out loud. He must have overestimated my loyalty because he thought that loyalty was an inborn quality in every young Roman. I too have wolf blood in my veins. But he filled my head with seething thoughts and made me brood on other things besides Damaris and Athens.
In the end he told me to sleep on the matter in peace and quiet and then sent me home. It was then late in the evening, but nevertheless a crackling fire was burning at the entrance of my house and I could hear the sound of noisy singing from within. I wondered whether Hierex had heard of my arrival and prepared some kind of reception. When I went in I saw a number of people, men and women, just emerging from a meal in my dining room. It was clear that they were all very drunk. One was dancing around with his eyes rolling and another was babbling away in some language I could not understand. Hierex was wandering about as host, kissing all his guests heartily in turn. When he caught sight of me, he was covered in confusion, but quickly regained his composure.
“Blessed be your ingoing and your outgoing, my lord Minutus,” he cried. “As you see, we are practicing as best we can at singing holy songs together. On your orders, I have found out about the Jews’ new teaching. It fits a simple slave like a glove.”
The doorkeeper and the cook sobered up hurriedly from their ecstasy and quickly knelt down in front of me. When Hierex saw me beginning to swell with rage, he hurriedly drew me to one side.
“Don’t be angry,” he said. “Everything is in good order. Paul, that stern man, was suddenly despondent for some reason or other, had his hair cut and sailed off to Jerusalem to give an account to the elders there. When he had gone, we Christians began to squabble over which of us was most suited to instruct the others. The Jews quite selfishly consider that they know best about everything, even when it concerns Christ. So I use your house as a meeting place where we uncircumcised people can together practice the new teaching as best we can. We also eat a little better than we did at the communal meals, which always attract a lot of nonpaying poor people. I’m paying for this meal myself. I have that wealthy widow over there on the hook. I’ve made several useful friends among the Christians. It’s by far and away the best secret society I’ve ever belonged to.”
“Have you become a Christian and been baptized, done penance and all that, then?” I asked in astonishment.
“You commantled me to yourself,” said Hierex defensively. “Without your permission, I should never have joined, for I’m only your slave. But with the Christians I’ve put aside my sinful slave-dress. According to their teaching, we are equals before Christ, you and I. You must be kind to me and I shall serve you to the best of my ability as I always have. When we’ve shaken off the most vainglorious Jews then our society of love will be an adornment to the whole of Corinth.”
Next morning Hierex* head had cleared and he was considerably humbler, but his face fell when I told him I must go to Asia and take him with me, as I could not possibly manage such a long journey without a servant.
“That’s impossible,” wailed Hierex, tearing his hair. “I’ve only just got a foothold in here and on your account have become involved in all kinds of useful deals. If you are forced to clear off all the balances here and now, then I’m very much afraid you’ll lose a lot of money. Neither can I leave the Christians in the lurch now that Paul has gone and they’re all squabbling. There are widows and orphans who must be protected here. It’s part of the teachings and I’m one of the few in the whole assembly who understands money at all. I’ve heard an interesting story of a master who gave his servants pounds of gold and then asked them to account for how they had increased it. I wouldn’t want to appear an incompetent servant on the day of reckoning.”
In my absence Hierex had put on weight and grown very plump. On long troublesome journeys, he would be no use to me. He would do nothing but complain and puff and pant, longing for the comforts of Corinth.
“It is the anniversary of my mother’s death quite soon,” I said. “Let us go to the authorities together. I shall give you your freedom so that you can stay in Corinth and look after the house.’ I realize I should stand to lose if I suddenly sold everything I have acquired here on credit.”
“Just what I was thinking of suggesting,” said Hierex eagerly. “It must have been the Christian God who gave me such an excellent idea. I’ve saved quite a sum of money, so I could pay half the redemption tax myself. I’ve already found out from a lawyer in the City Hall what would be a reasonable sum for me. I’ve got so fat, I’m no good for physical labor any longer. I’ve also certain flaws which I’ve managed to hide from you, but which would bring down my price considerably at an auction.”
I did not accept his offer, for I thought he would need his savings himself to get started and survive in the avid life of Corinth. So I paid his fee at the City Hall and myself placed the colored freedman’s stave in his hand. At the same time I arranged for authority to be given him to administer my house and property in Corinth. In reality, I was only too pleased to be rid of both him and all dreary financial matters. I did not like his lighthearted way of joining the Christians and did not want the responsibility of him, apart from as my freedman.
Hierex Lausius went with me to Cenchreae, where I boarded a ship sailing to Ephesus. Once again he thanked me for allowing him to call himself Lausius, which he thought a much grander and worthier name than the modest Minutus. His tears on my departure were, I think, quite genuine, but I imagine he heaved a sigh of relief as the ship pulled away and he was rid of a much too young and unpredictable master.
Book VI
Sabina
Troxobores, a brigand chieftain of the mountain people, made the most of the disturbances in Armenia which were occupying the Syrian legions, and sent an experienced expeditionary force into the hinterland of Cilicia and from there swept down to the coast, plundering the ports and dislocating the sea traffic. The old King of Cilicia, Antiochus, was powerless, for his own reinforcements were in Armenia. Finally the Cleitors began to besiege the harbor city of Anemurium itself. On my way from Ephesus to Antioch, I met a division of the Syrian cavalry, commantled by prefect Curtius Severus, hastening to the defense of Anemurium. Under the circumstances, I considered it my duty to join them.
We suffered a severe defeat outside the walls of Anemurium, where the terrain was more suited to Troxobores’ mountain dwellers than to our cavalry. Severus must take his share of the blame, for he thought he could frighten an inexperienced band of bandits into flight just by having the trumpets sounded and attacking at full gallop, without first finding out about the terrain and the strength of Troxobores’ forces.
I was wounded in the side, arm and foot. With a rope around my neck and my hands tied behind my back, I was taken up into the brigands’ inaccessible mountains. For two years I was kept as a hostage by Troxobores. My father’s freedmen in Antioch would have paid the ransom at any time, but Troxobores was a cunning and aggressive man and preferred to keep a few important Romans as hostages rather than hoard money in his hideouts.
The Syrian Proconsul and King Antiochus belittled this rebellion as much as possible, saying they could crush it with their own forces. They were afraid, with some justification, of Claudius’ anger, should he learn the truth.
“No amount of gold will buy my life when my back is against the wall,” said Troxobores. “But you, oh Roman blight, I can always crucify you to acquire a handsome escort to the underworld.”
He treated us hostages capriciously, sometimes well and sometimes not. He might invite us to his crude banquets, give us food and drink and tearfully and drunkenly call us friends. But afterwards he might shut us in a filthy cave, have the entrance walled up and have us fed through a fist-size hole with the minimum of bread to keep us alive in our own excrement. During this imprisonment, two men took their own lives by opening their veins with sharp stones.
My wounds became infected and tormented
me. Pus oozed from them and I thought I would die. During those two ySars, I learned to live in utter degradation, constandy prepared to be tortured or to die. My son Julius, my only son, when you read this after my death, remember that certain ineradicable scars which I bear on my face and which when you were small you thought came from my service in Britain, vain as I was, were not the work of Britons. I received them many years before you were born, in a dark Cilician cave, where I learned patience, and shamefully battered my face against the rough stone wall. Think of that when you so eagerly criticize your miserly, old-fashioned and now dead father.
For all the men Troxobores collected around him and trained as warriors during his successful days, he lost just as many after his first defeat. Intoxicated by his success, he made the mistake of becoming involved in field battles and this kind of warfare his ill-disciplined troops could not master.
King Antiochus treated his prisoners kindly, released them and sent them up into the mountains to promise mercy to all those who deserted Troxobores. Most of Troxobores’ men considered that having collected sufficient loot, they had had enough of the game, and fled back to their villages to spend the rest of their lives as wealthy men, by Cilician standards. Troxobores had these deserters followed and killed, thus causing bad blood between his own tribal friends.
Finally, even the men nearest to him tired of his cruelties and whims, and took him prisoner-to gain mercy for themselves. This happened just in time, for King Antiochus’ army was approaching, slaves were tearing down the walls in front of the cave, and the poles for our execution were on the ground outside. My fellow prisoners asked that Troxobores should be crucified instead of us. But King Antiochus swifty had him beheaded, to put an end to a painful episode.
I and my fellow prisoners parted without regrets, for in the darkness, hunger and misery of the cave, we had become bitterly sick of one another’s company. While they returned to Antioch, I went on board a R. oman warship in Anemurium which was going to Ephesus. King An-tiochus compensated us generously for the sufferings we had had to endure, in order to keep us quiet.
In Ephesus, I was well received by the then Proconsul of Asia, Junius Silanus, who invited me to his country estate outside the city and had his own physician treat me. Silanus was about fifty, rather slow but so unimpeachable in character that Emperor Gaius in his day had described him as a gilded numbskull, because of his incalculable wealth.
When I mentioned Agrippina and Nero to Silanus, he forbade me to utter a single word about Claudius’ stomach trouble to him. A couple of prominent men had recently been banished from Rome just because they had asked an astrologist about the Emperor’s life-span. After that, the Senate had passed a bill exiling all Chaldeans.
Silanus seemed to think that Agrippina had in some way been responsible for the death of his brother Lucius, just as he thought that Messalina in her day had brought disaster to Appius Silanus by dreaming evil dreams about him. His insane suspiciousness made me angry.
“How can you think that of the first lady of Rome?” I said furiously. “Agrippina is a noble woman. Her brother Gaius was Emperor, and she herself is the wife of an Emperor and is descended from the god Augustus.”
Silanus smiled stupidly.
“Not even the most unimpeachable origins,” he remarked, “seem to protect anyone in Rome any longer. You must remember Domitia Lepida, Nero’s aunt, who brought Nero up out of kindness when Agrippina was banished for open lewdness and high treason. Domitia had always cared for Nero when he suffered from Agrippina’s severity. Quite recently she was condemned to death because she was said to have tried to harm Agrippina by witchcraft and because she had not kept her slaves in Calabria under control. Domitia too was descended from Augustus.
“And,” went on Silanus, “if time does eventually overtake Claudius, even if we may not discuss it aloud, then I too am descended from the god Augustus. I should not be surprised if the Senate in Rome preferred an older man to a half-grown boy. My reputation is without stain and I have no enemies.”
He was right in that, for Silanus was considered to be so stupid that no one could hate him. But of course I was surprised by his insane conceit.
“Are you seriously considering becoming Emperor?” I asked in amazement.
Junius Silanus blushed shyly.
“You mustn’t spread that idea abroad,” he said. “It is the Senate that decides. But between ourselves, I cannot honestly support Nero. His father was so feared and cruel that once in the forum, he gouged out the eye of a Roman knight who did not make way for him sufficiently respectfully.”
Because of his wealth, Silanus lived like a king in Asia. He also told me that Proconsul Gallio, after serving out his term of office, had fallen victim of hereditary tuberculosis and had returned to Rome to settle his affairs before going to the drier climate of Egypt to regain his health.
I suspected that he had other business in Egypt besides caring for his health. But I could not write to him to tell him of Silanus’ astounding expectations, and on the other hand I felt bound to report that Nero evidently did not have the support in the provinces that his mother and Seneca believed.
After much consideration, I finally wrote directly to Seneca and told him about my imprisonment.
Proconsul Junius Silanus has shown me generous hospitality [I wrote at the end] and does not wish me to go home until my wounds are completely healed. They are still suppurating. I am distressed that he does not think so highly of Agrippina and Nero as I do, but boasts of being a descendant of Augustus and believes implicitly that he has many friends in the Senate. I await your advice as to whether I should return to Rome or stay here for the time being.
Imprisonment had both dulled and enervated me. I let time run through my fingers with no thought for anything. I went with Silanus to the races and did well with bets on his team. There was also an excellent theater in Ephesus. And if there was nothing else to do, one could always go to the temple, which is one of the wonders of the world.
Gradually my strength returned to me, thanks to the good food, a comfortable bed and skillful treatment. I began riding again and joined in the boar hunts which Silanus’ tribunes organized.
Silanus’ Greek physician had been trained in Cos, and when I asked him about his remuneration, he laughed.
“Ephesus is the most wretched place in the world to practice the art of healing,” he said. “The priests of Artemis practice faith-healing and there are also hundreds of magicians from different countries here. The most fashionable one at the moment is a Jew who can cure the sick and calm the insane just by laying on his hands. His sweat-cloths and aprons are sold all round the country as cures for most things. But he’s not content with that either. He has rented Tyrannus’ school to teach his craft to others. He’s jealous of his colleagues too, and speaks contemptuously of books of magic and healing idols.”
“The Jews are the cause of all disturbances,” I said bitterly, “because they are no longer content with worshiping their own god among themselves under the protection of their special rights, but have to infect the Greeks as well.”
The Ionian autumn is mild. Junius Silanus’ freedman Helius, who administered his estate in Asia, looked after me in every way, had plays and mimes performed at mealtimes and sometimes sent a beautiful slave-girl to my bed if I looked bored. The golden days and the dark blue nights melted away. I thought that I no longer desired anything but the everyday life of human beings. That was sufficient hope and future for me. I became hardened and numb.
At the beginning of the winter, a swift Roman ship arrived, bringing to Ephesus an elderly knight called Publius Celer. He came with the message that Claudius had died of his stomach disorder, as had long been expected. Aphranius Burrus, the Prefect of the Praetorians, had had Nero borne to the Praetorians’ camp where Nero had made a speech and promised the men the customary gift of money. Amidst general acclamation, he had been declared Emperor, and the Senate had unanimously confirmed the decision.
Proconsul Junius Silanus carefully scrutinized the orders and credentials Celer had brought with him. Publius Celer was a powerful man, despite his age, and seemed to know what he wanted. A sword cut had left him with a scar in one corner of his mouth which made it crooked, so that he always looked scornful.
He had a message for me from Seneca, who thanked me for my letter and urged me to return to Rome, for Nero was missing his true friends as he was introducing his new liberal regime. The crimes, quarrels and mistakes of the past were forgotten and forgiven. Exiles could return to Rome. Supported by the fathers in the Senate, Nero hoped to be able to develop into a bearer of good fortune to humanity.
The necessary official measures were taken. Asia’s rulers decided to commission a portrait of Nero from the most famous sculptor in Home. But despite his wealth, Junius Silanus did not arrange a special banquet in honor of Nero, as he should have done, but invited only his closest friends to his country estate. In this way, we were no more than thirty at table.
After making an offering to Emperor Claudius, now proclaimed a god by the Senate, Junius Silanus turned his fat face to Celer and said venomously, “Let us drop all this chatter. Tell us what really happened in Rome.”