“Me, Dominus? I’m no physician.”
“Let us take a walk. Just you and I, old friend.”
They left Galen in the reception room and strolled through an elegant garden decorated with statues of gods and emperors. “Do you remember,” asked Marcus, “when you and I were boys, and Hadrian still lived?”
“Of course, Verissimus.”
“What an extraordinary time! What extraordinary men! What minds! A great, glittering generation, perhaps the greatest generation that has ever lived on earth. But now, Hadrian and his generation are gone—hardly a one of them still lives. When you and I and our generation die, there will be no one living who actually knew them. Hadrian will be only a story, and then, in time, he will be only a name among other names in a list of the emperors who came before and after him, and eventually even that list of names will be forgotten. His generation has vanished, as all men vanish. We too will exist for a time, and then we will not exist, to be remembered for a while and then remembered no longer, utterly forgotten.”
“What a thing to say, Verissimus! Especially with the war looming. What have those Chaldean astrologers been telling you? Or is Harnouphis the Egyptian putting such morbid thoughts in your head?”
“Don’t blame that lot! They have only good predictions for the war. I’m optimistic. Eventually—inevitably, if the favor of the gods for Rome holds fast—all the bloodshed and horror that are about to be unleashed will end, and the empire will have a new province that stretches all the way to the frigid northern sea. The Roman province of Germania will be a bulwark against further invasions, and maybe even a new source of wealth for the empire. Who knows what gold and silver may be slumbering under the earth up there, as yet untapped by the primitive natives who’ve never seen a coin, who barter with horses and slaves and fur? But…”
“Yes, Verissimus?”
“I do worry for Commodus, especially with the plague resurgent. Yes, resurgent, I say, for I’ve just received a batch of reports from all over the empire, terrible news of yet another wave of illness and death, just when the plague finally seemed to be subsiding. I worry so much for Commodus that … I have a rather extraordinary request to make of you.”
“Of me? What is it, Marcus? You know you have only to ask.”
The emperor took a deep breath, and seemed unable to look Lucius in the eye, a most peculiar thing for Marcus, whose gaze was always so steady. “It has not escaped my notice that the entire household of the Pinarii, even many of your slaves, are seemingly immune to this plague.”
“It’s true, we have been spared when others have not.” Lucius frowned, wondering where this might lead.
“And why is that? What makes your household different from all others? I can think of only one thing—that amulet you wear around your neck, your family’s fascinum.”
Lucius felt a sinking sensation. He said nothing.
“Do you remember, Lucius, long ago, when I myself researched the Pinarii and their amulet? I consulted the files kept by Claudius, who was a mediocre emperor but an outstanding antiquarian. His evidence indicated that the fascinum of the Pinarii may be the oldest known such amulet—perhaps even the original, and if that is so, a thing of great power. I think Claudius was right.”
Marcus paused. Now it was Lucius who averted his gaze and remained silent.
“Lucius, I ask this favor not as your friend, but as your emperor. I speak to you not as my friend, but as a Roman. Will you allow Commodus to wear the amulet? All other talismans—all those charms prescribed by Alexander and his lot—have been shown to be worthless. I understand the sacrifice I ask of you—as a friend and a Roman, and as the patriarch of the Pinarii—but the stakes could not be higher. If the plague continues, if the war goes badly, if I die, the future of the empire itself will depend on the survival of Commodus.”
No! Lucius wanted to shout. Not that! Never that! He took several deep breaths to steady himself. When he answered it seemed to him that someone else was speaking. “As a loan, you mean?”
“Of course. I know your family’s tradition, that the fascinum is passed from father to son when the son comes of age. I would ask for Commodus to enjoy its protection only until that day, when your Gaius turns fifteen and puts on his manly toga, and the fascinum becomes his to wear.”
“But … Gaius is only eight.”
“Yes, the same age as Commodus.”
Seven years! thought Lucius. You ask too much! But again he breathed deeply, calming himself. The coming war would demand sacrifices of everyone. Families would lose sons and fathers. People would go hungry. Some might even starve if the state of the economy grew worse. The Stoics believed that a virtuous man must recognize his duty and submit to it. Was this his duty? Marcus clearly thought so. But to give up his birthright to another man, even to Marcus—had any of his ancestors ever agreed to such a thing?
Appalled, he heard himself say, quietly and evenly, as if agreeing to some entirely reasonable request, “Very well, Verissimus, let it be as you ask. I give it to you freely. I only hope that it will be as beneficial to Commodus as it has been to me and my loved ones.” He took hold of the thin chain, raised it over his head, and offered the fascinum to Marcus.
It was only as it left his grasp that he felt the full enormity of what he had done. He became lightheaded and a veil seemed to drop before his eyes.
It was some moments later that he came to his senses. Marcus was smiling, looking years younger, and somehow Galen had rejoined them, and they were heading somewhere in the palace.
They passed a succession of armed guards, who all made obeisance to Marcus, but it was only when they arrived that Lucius realized where Marcus had led them.
Sunlight was scarce in the room, admitted by only a few narrow windows set high in the walls. Small torches were given to each of the three men by the doorkeeper who admitted them. The flickering flames were reflected countless times by objects large and small arrayed on shelves all around them. The torches were like small suns, and the points of light like stars amid the darkness, but more colorful than stars, reflected off items of gold and silver and jewels of every color imaginable.
This was the imperial treasure room, the chamber where the most cherished and valuable items owned by the emperor and his family were kept. Lucius had been in this room a handful of times, but only long ago when he and Marcus were boys.
Galen’s face lit up and his eyes grew almost comically wide. “I thought the state had been obliged to sell the imperial treasures,” he said. “But the items I saw being auctioned were mere trinkets compared to these.”
“Some of the lesser imperial treasures were auctioned, yes,” said Marcus, his voice low and almost reverent, as if they were in a temple. “The greatest treasures still reside in this room, objects of such value or veneration that they could never be sold for any price. The only one I know of that could possibly serve as collateral for the fascinum of the Pinarii is this.” He handed his torch to Lucius, so that both his hands were free.
Lucius looked at the fascinum in Marcus’s right hand, which looked small and crude and insignificant compared to the magnificently wrought objects all around, and then at the thing in Marcus’s left hand. “What is it?” he asked.
It was a clear crystalline stone the size of a hazelnut, pointed at either end. When Marcus held it between his finger and thumb and raised it to the light, it shone with an almost unbearable intensity, as if it captured the gold and red firelight of the torches and then cast it back, magnified many times over.
“It is called a diamond,” said Marcus. “This is the largest one known to exist.”
“Where did such a stone come from?” asked Galen.
“Some say from India, though others say from a land beyond Egypt and Ethiopia. It is the hardest of all stones. The diamond can break any other stone, but no other stone can break it. It is the King of Stones. Thus Nerva named this specimen when he added it to the treasury. Since then, every emperor has presented it
to his chosen successor. Nerva passed it to Trajan, Trajan to Hadrian, Hadrian to Antoninus Pius, and Antoninus Pius to me. So you see, Lucius, though not as old as your fascinum, it nonetheless possesses great value as an heirloom—but would be of no value whatsoever, a mere rock, if my son should die. Better, for now, that you have the King of Stones, Lucius, to hold in trust, while Commodus wears the fascinum.”
Marcus held forth the diamond. Lucius took it. The stone felt very cold and heavy on the palm of his hand.
“All gemstones are said to possess certain powers,” said Galen. “Some have curative properties. I wonder what power this magnificent stone possesses.”
Not the power to avert the Evil Eye, thought Lucius, or else Marcus would not have seen so many of his sons and daughters die, one after another.
Lucius turned to see that Commodus was suddenly with them, in the treasure chamber. Marcus must have sent for him.
“Would you do it, Lucius?” asked Marcus. “It would be more proper that way, I think.” He handed the fascinum on its thin chain to Lucius.
Still awkwardly clutching the diamond, Lucius did what was asked of him—by his friend and emperor, by duty, by fate. He placed the chain over Commodus’s head. The talisman settled against the boy’s tunic. Lucius stifled an impulse to snatch it back.
Commodus looked down and touched the fascinum with his fingertips. He flashed a crooked smile.
Marcus gave Lucius a kiss on each cheek, which Lucius returned. They had not exchanged such a kiss of friendship since they were boys. Then Lucius and Galen were shown out, while Marcus and Commodus and the fascinum remained in the treasure room. Lucius clutched the diamond in his fist, but it gave him no comfort.
A.D. 173
Young Commodus had just returned to Rome from a visit to the front.
The sight of the emperor’s twelve-year-old son in their midst, an unusually good-looking boy quite at home on horseback, had bolstered the morale of the troops. The trip had also given Commodus a taste of life in the camp, and some experience of the battlefront, if not of actual combat. As important as these other reasons, the visit had provided some relief for the emperor’s loneliness and homesickness. Marcus missed both Rome and Commodus very much.
Kaeso had been among the select officers who escorted Commodus back to Rome, and it was at his invitation that Lucius and young Gaius found themselves in the gardens of a small but very elegantly appointed gymnasium secluded deep within the palace. Lucius had been to the complex a few times, always at the invitation of the late Verus, who had personally overseen the decoration of the luxurious baths and the adjoining courts for exercise and leisure. Colorful marble columns and fine statues were everywhere one looked. Dazzling mosaics were everywhere underfoot. These baths were a sort of monument to Verus and his extravagant taste. Marcus would never have made such an expenditure, or seen the point of it.
The three Pinarii bathed, exercised, and stretched, then received massages from three very exotic-looking young males. Kaeso said they came from somewhere beyond the Indus River, from the lands never conquered by Alexander. How they had ended up in Rome was anyone’s guess.
As the Pinarii relaxed in the garden, sipping a very good wine mixed with spring water (with Gaius’s portion being the most dilute), Kaeso suddenly began to talk about his experiences at the front. Neither his brother nor his nephew had asked him to do so. He began spontaneously, and the words came quickly, as if they had welled up inside him and needed to come out.
Kaeso used many Germanic place names that meant nothing to Lucius, who consequently was never quite sure where any of the actions took place. In his mind, Kaeso’s stories blurred together into a miasma of bloodshed and illness and deprivation. No wonder Galen had been so determined to wriggle out of his deployment!
Gaius seemed fascinated by his uncle’s every word, but Lucius was only half-listening when a familiar name caught his attention.
“What was that you just said, about Harnouphis? Do you mean the Egyptian priest in Marcus’s retinue?”
“Yes, the very same. It was Harnouphis who saved the day. Well, Mercury, actually, but it was Harnouphis who called on the god.”
“I’m sorry, I still have water in my ears. What was this about?”
Kaeso looked exasperated and made no reply, but Gaius, who had been hanging on his uncle’s every word, was happy to repeat the story.
“It’s about the Rain Miracle, Papa. I’ve heard about it—well, everyone has, I imagine—but I had no idea you were actually there, Uncle Kaeso, and saw it with your own eyes.”
“I was a witness,” said Kaeso quietly.
Gaius eagerly continued. “The Roman soldiers had taken refuge in an abandoned fort, and were hemmed in on every side by the enemy, who greatly outnumbered them. The fort had no water, and the soldiers had no way of getting any water—there was a river nearby, but the enemy held it—and the sky was blinding hot without a cloud in sight. The Romans grew weaker and weaker, until they were half-mad from thirst, and the Germans closed in, bringing up a tall siege tower on wheels. The soldiers manned the barricades, but they were almost certainly doomed.”
“And you were among them, Kaeso?” said Lucius with a gasp.
Gaius laughed. “No, Uncle Kaeso was with the scouting party and saw the situation at the fort from a hilltop some distance away. And it was Uncle Kaeso who rode as fast as he could back to the emperor’s camp, and told him what was happening. But all the legions were engaged elsewhere, and there were no men to spare who could go to the rescue of the surrounded Romans. So the emperor called on his advisors, both the military men and the sages and priests, and they were all useless, except Harnouphis the Egyptian, who seemed absolutely certain that he knew what to do.”
“In such circumstances,” said Kaeso, “it’s often the man who seems most sure of himself who carries the day. Sometimes that can lead to disaster…”
“But not in this case,” said Gaius. “Harnouphis set up an altar, and carried out a ritual—”
“And by no means a traditional Roman ritual,” said Kaeso. “Except for the priest’s Egyptian assistants, none of us present could understand a fraction of what was said and done.”
“And then Harnouphis called upon—what did he call the god, Uncle Kaeso?”
“Thoth, who is the same, so Harnouphis says, as the Roman Mercury.”
“So why not simply call on Mercury?” asked Lucius.
“I don’t know,” said Kaeso. “But whatever he did, and however he did it, Harnouphis obtained the intended result. I rode as fast as I could back to the vantage point. What happened next took place very quickly.”
“As you would expect, from winged-footed Mercury!” said Gaius.
Kaeso nodded. “Indeed. Mercury was the messenger, but only Jupiter could have caused such a storm. The cloudless sky was suddenly black. Clouds rolled over us, like a huge door closing over our heads, with a crash that unleashed thunderbolts that lit the sky and fell all around us, shaking the ground beneath our feet.
“A rain fell such as I had never seen before, a hard, drenching rain. The thirsty Romans trapped in the fort caught the rain in their shields and drank their fill. They told me afterward that no water ever tasted so sweet.
“And it came about that the same storm that saved the Romans destroyed the barbarians. Their wooden siege tower was right up against the wall, deploying a battering ram, when it was struck by lightning and set aflame like a torch. The rain did nothing to quench it. The barbarians inside were set afire. I saw them leap from the tower—at such a distance, they looked like cinders flying from a burning log. But I could hear their screams, even above the noise of the storm.
“All the other barbarians were terrified. They turned and fled back to the river. And then, in the blink of eye, the river became a raging torrent. The barbarians were swept away, sucked under the waves, drowned—hundreds, maybe thousands of them, dead in a matter of heartbeats. I never saw so many men die all at once.”
> “It served the bloodthirsty savages right!” said Gaius.
Kaeso shook his head. “No, nephew, you shouldn’t speak of them that way. They are the enemy, most certainly, and barbarians, ignorant of Roman ways and Roman religion, but the great majority of them are no more bloodthirsty than we are. It’s not a thirst for blood that drives them, but a need for land to pasture their herds and to raise crops and feed their families. Entire tribes of these people are on the move, not just warriors, but also old men, women, and children, pushed to desperation by other barbarians who’ve taken their land and driven them into ours. What they thirst for is a place to live. Unfortunately, that drives them into Roman territories that are already occupied.”
“Your uncle is right,” said Lucius. “Some of these people the Empire can accommodate—after negotiation, and an understanding of the terms—but too often they force their way in, and the only possible reaction from Rome is to strike back with all our might and regain control of our borders.”
Kaeso nodded grimly. “But their numbers are so great, and their determination so fierce, the result has been warfare on a scale surpassing anything in Rome’s history. The fighting is much bloodier than anything I experienced under Verus in the East, fighting the Parthians—gigantic battles, massive desolation, terrible suffering. I said they weren’t bloodthirsty, but that’s not entirely true. I have witnessed things, in the heat of battle, things so savage and cruel I could scarcely believe my eyes—and I’m no newcomer to bloodshed. Yes, the barbarians are sometimes savage and even bloodthirsty, but so are the Romans. I’ve seen atrocities committed by both sides. Things you’ll never read about in those Greek novels you enjoy, Lucius, or even in histories. Things that are never discussed on the floor of the Senate House.”
Taken aback, Lucius had no reply.
The uncomfortable silence was broken by the appearance of Commodus, along with the slave Cleander, his companion since his childhood. These two young men were roughly the same age as Gaius. In a letter delivered by Kaeso to Lucius, Marcus had proposed that Commodus and Gaius should become friends, as Marcus and Lucius had been paired by their elders when they reached the age to hunt and wrestle and race.
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