by Ian Miller
Caesar's imagination could at times be quite amusing. One day, while walking through the streets, Caesar found his toga stained by something he had encountered. A further cursory inspection suggested that the streets were not being cleaned properly.
Little Boots became furious. The Aedile in charge of clean streets was one Titus Flavius Vespasianus, and said Vespasianus was ordered to present himself in his best and cleanest attire at a public square. It was unclear what Vespasianus expected, but it was unlikely he expected what transpired. He was made to stand at attention in the centre of the square, while several guardsmen threw whatever filth had been prepared all over him. At the end, the victim was stinking, dripping and covered with brown. It was rather hilarious, provided you were not the victim.
On the other hand, it was remarkably efficient. Never had Claudius noted such clean streets as after this event. There was clearly method in Caesar's actions.
Chapter 24
The silence from Rome regarding his career became annoying. He had received yet a further message from Claudius to the effect that, apart from dishing out lavish spending on free corn and games to make himself more beloved by the people, Little Boots was making grand plans and few decisions. His opinion seemed to be, if Rome could run itself at the end of Tiberius' principate, there seemed to be little reason why it should not continue to do so. He had better things to think about.
Worse than that, the treasury was becoming empty, and some of the Senators began making moves that could be interpreted as better placing themselves for the period following Caesar. Little Boots' response was unattractive, to say the least: he began openly praising the policies of Tiberius. Not only that, but the copies of Tiberius' papers reappeared. Caesar had accused senators of being "satellites of Sejanus", and had returned to Tiberius' policy of encouraging informers. The trials, executions and confiscations of Tiberius' time had returned.
When Little Boots reintroduced the prosopopoeia of Tiberius, the Senate objected, and began to request Caesar to explain himself. The explanation was illuminating, although only to the extent of showing to where Rome had descended. He entered the Senate and, with his usual exceptional command of oratory and logic, he verbally lashed them.
"If Tiberius was in fault, you should not have decreed him honours in his lifetime, or, having done so rightly, you should not, after his death, have annulled them." Gaius gave a superior smile as he watched the Senators squirm, before he continued, "You, it was, Senators, who swelled the pride of Sejanus by your flatteries, and then you destroyed the monster you yourselves had created. You wronged your prince, you murdered his minister." He stared at the now frightened Senators and continued, "I can look for no good in your hands." He stared at the senators, challenging them to say something to his face, and when they cowered in fear, he began naming some of the older and illustrious houses of Rome, and publicly stripped them of their honours. Amongst others, the Torquati had lost the right to wear their golden collars, and the last descendant of Pompeius was forbidden to use the name "Magnus".
Little Boots seemed obsessed by religion, although in a somewhat perverse way. He built an extension of his palace towards the forum, using the temple of Castor and Pollux as a vestibule, and within it he placed a golden statue of himself, which would be dressed according to how he was dressed each day. He then enticed the richest citizens to be priests of his cult, while he accepted the generous donations. He conversed with the statue of Jupiter, apparently once ordering Jupiter to lift him up, or he would lift the statue. He flayed the actor Apelles for hesitating when asked who was the greater, Caesar or Jupiter? On the other hand, he seemed to have concluded that there were no Gods. So, somebody else thought differently? He had heard of one priest who related stories about people who had nearly died, and had seen the bright light of some afterlife. He had promptly put the priest to death by slow bleeding, and he stood over him the whole time, asking whether he saw any sign of the afterlife as he was dying. There was no sign, so there were no Gods.
Little Boots could not see, Claudius continued, that firstly, if there was an afterlife, you might have to be dead to find out, and secondly, even if the priest had seen something, because Little Boots was the reason why he was seeing it, he might not say so. This obsession of Little Boots about disproving Gods was becoming a serious problem. The Princeps had to concentrate on more immediate problems, such as seeing that the Roman Empire worked.
Gaius stared at this, and thought about the second letter he had received. To some extent, perhaps, he had had a part to play in the matter of the collars. And, he thought, taking away the name "Magnus" was not such a penalty. Pompeius had over-reached himself in taking that title, particularly if he could not do better at Pharsalus, but whatever right he had, his descendents had lived rather uninteresting lives of little note.
Then, following a visit by Herod Agrippa on some mission from Caesar, Gaius received a summons to visit the Prefect.
"You're in regular touch with the new Princeps?" he asked in what Gaius took as a strangely wheedling tone for a Prefect.
"Unfortunately, not very often," Gaius replied.
"I know you send and receive messages to Rome and . . ."
"I'm also in contact with Claudius, who tells me some of what's going on in the imperial family," Gaius replied cautiously.
"Ah!" Flaccus nodded. It made a lot of sense to use such a contact. "So, what does Gaius Caesar want?"
"The pax Romana," Gaius shrugged.
"Of course he does," Flaccus snorted. "That's why there're legions everywhere. To make sure peace is enforced. Surely he has some interest, though, something that history will remember him for?"
"I'm not sure . . ."
"Listen boy, you're in my territory so stop pissing me off!"
"The only thing I've heard," Gaius replied cautiously, "is religion."
"Religion?" Flaccus scowled. "He's not going to be a priest?"
"No," Gaius said in a careful tone. He had to say something, but that something could well be reported to Rome. "From what I understand, and you realize that I haven't heard this directly and . . ."
"I'm not going to quote you!" Flaccus snarled. "I want to know how the land lies."
"Well, as I understand it," Gaius continued, "Gaius Caesar does not believe in Gods."
"He's hardly alone in that," Flaccus snorted.
"Exactly," Gaius continued, "but I think he wants everybody else to share his views."
"That makes sense," Flaccus nodded. "If even half the wealth that goes into temples and priests went to the imperial coffers, Caesar would have all the money he needs to embark on whatever scheme he has in mind."
"That would seem to be so," Gaius agreed. He was stunned. Although this had not occurred to him, put like that it was obvious. Caesar was short of money, and throughout the Roman Empire, huge fortunes were being sunk into temples, priests, and their various estates. Now if there were no God, this money was simply a waste of productive capacity. Much better to capture it and put it to better use, although whether games and other spectacles to make the population love Caesar was a better use was questionable. Not that he should do any questioning.
"So Caesar wants gold from the temples, does he?" Flaccus mused. He suddenly stopped, noticed Gaius, and snorted, "That's enough. You can go now."
As Gaius left, a further thought occurred to him. Flaccus had immediately understood a devious means of extracting money. Trust a scumbag to instantly recognize scum! The question was, where did that leave him?
Chapter 25
Gaius had commissioned the making of a bigger copy of the steam turbine. Timothy had found a master craftsman who could make the object, or so he said, and when Gaius had turned up the craftsman had asked for a thousand sesterces. Much to the craftsman's surprise, Gaius had agreed without haggling.
"Mind you," Gaius added, "since I'm sure you didn't expect to get that price, I'll add in an extra. Do a good job and I'll commission something else. Botch it up
, and I'll have a thousand sesterces worth of your hide. You understand?"
"You'll get it," the craftsman said. He understood the threat, but equally a thousand sesterces was far more than he had hoped for and he was a good craftsman.
Gaius left Timothy to sort out details, to haggle over sizes, and to refuse any opportunity for subsequent excuses. There was so much to do, so many things that could go wrong with this machine. He was so deep in thought that he gave little attention to where he was going, and he shortly found himself walking back to his villa on a path that took him through the Jewish quarter. Because of their bewildering rules about when they could do what and their persistent claims that the rest of the population were unclean heathens, the Jews were unpopular, nevertheless passing through their area was one of the safer routes home. Their religion forbade theft, and it forbade killing strangers. However, the Jews were not passive victims; their laws were equally strong about others preying on them, and since any non-Jew passing through this area was readily identifiable, thieves tended to give this region a miss. Gaius was only too fully aware that his presence was noted, but since he had passed many times and had done no harm, his presence was tolerated.
Accordingly he was surprised as he approached a small temple to hear a loud ruckus. When he turned the corner he saw a mob dragging some effigy towards the temple. The Jews were yelling and screaming in some strange tongue.
"Desecrator!" someone yelled, and Gaius turned to see the accuser pointing at him. The man threw a piece of fruit at him. His aim was poor. Rather than hitting Gaius, he struck an elderly Jewish man standing behind him who was wearing a strange hat.
Gaius turned to help the older man, who had fallen backwards. To his surprise, the crowd stood quite still, as if the striking of the older man was unforgivable. As he helped the man to his feet, and returned his hat to him, Gaius was struck by the silence around him. The elderly man turned on the thrower and hurled verbal abuse; the man stood still, ashamed. Gaius slowly began to realize that everybody was ignoring him.
"Look," Gaius said as he finally managed to get the older man to look in his direction, "I have no idea what is going on, but . . ."
"Quite simply," the older man said, "that mob is desecrating our temple."
"Then get some soldiers!"
"Why?" the man asked impassively.
"Because they are there to keep the peace and uphold the law."
"You know who organizes these mobs?" the older man asked impassively.
"Who?"
"Flaccus!"
"I don't believe you!"
"You are young," the older man nodded, "and you don't know." He turned and addressed the Jews again in this strange tongue. "Nobody will harm you," the older man said, "but I would still stay away. Romans are not welcome."
"But why are you so sure that . . ."
"Romans conquer, Romans despoil," the older man said simply.
"That's simply not true," Gaius said. The noise increased, and Gaius turned to see that the mob had now broken the doors of the temple, and were beginning to force their way in. "I'll get help," he assured the older man, then he turned and ran towards the nearest military outpost.
* * *
"And who the hell do you think you are?" the Centurion asked, in the tone of someone who would beat the hell out of this upstart if he did not have a good reason for being there.
"Claudius," Gaius replied haughtily then he added, "I am in Alexandria under the orders of the Princeps Tiberius, confirmed by Gaius Caesar."
"I see," the Centurion backed down. He stared balefully at the young man. This situation had the potential to ruin him. This young man wanted something done and whatever happened next could easily get back to Little Boots, who, according to rumours, did not wish to be bothered. Everybody had to do the right thing as defined by Little Boots, and what was right could vary almost randomly. These little senatorial shits never suffered, though. It was the likes of him whose career would be ruined.
"There are mobs rampaging through the Jewish quarter," Gaius said.
"I know," the Centurion said in a flat tone. There was an embarrassed pause, then the Centurion said, "Flaccus does not require military intervention."
"What?" Gaius gasped. The old Jew had been right?
"The Prefect believes that the Greeks wish to show their loyalty to Caesar. The Prefect's view is that the Jewish religion is simply wrong," the Centurion continued with a shrug, "so he is placing other images in the temples. If the Jews won't worship these images, then they'll see that . . ."
"That's ridiculous," Gaius objected. "Even if they're wrong, that's hardly likely to convince them."
"Perhaps," the Centurion said, "but I have my orders. My men stay in barracks."
"I see," Gaius nodded. Then, to the Centurion's surprise, this young man thanked him, then he left without requesting anything.
From Gaius' perspective, this was terrible, and what was worse, what he had said to Flaccus might be the cause. As realized by the great Augustus, the Roman Empire worked because everybody within its borders benefited. If Gaius Caesar did not intend to uphold this policy, then the very fabric of the Empire could fall apart, in which case, Rome itself could very well fall. The prophecy!
* * *
The situation degenerated. The Jews threw the images from their temples, and nominally to recover costs for more images, mobs began looting Jewish warehouses and ransacking Jewish houses. Four hundred Jewish houses were burnt to the ground.
"And I'll bet the looters are keeping the loot," Timothy taunted.
"I know," Gaius sighed.
"And nobody's doing anything about it," Timothy said. "Your empire's too big and too corrupt."
"Governors deal with the size, and the Princeps trusts them to uphold the law."
"Yes, but what happens when a governor is the source of the problem?" Timothy interrupted.
"Then someone has to inform the Princeps," Gaius said, then added in a bleak tone, "and it looks as if that someone's going to have to be me."
"Hold it! This could be dangerous. Do you know what you're doing?"
"I have a very good idea," Gaius said. "My problem is, if I don't get in first and this turns ugly, Flaccus may blame me. Anyway, what's the downside? Flaccus won't recommend me to Caesar?" Gaius stopped, thought, then added in a droll tone, "In that case, I might as well keep up the family tradition."
"Which is?" Timothy asked in surprise.
"My branch of the Claudian gens has this habit of taking up so-called just causes," Gaius said sadly, then he added, "We usually end up in deep shit!"
* * *
Gaius strode purposefully into the Jewish area. Yes, he might be on the wrong side of a dangerous issue, but there was a principle at stake. Added to that, there was the issue of what Little Boots would conclude. Little Boots claimed to have principles, and if so, perhaps his only way out of this mess was to show he did, too. And if Little Boots was a random tyrant, then he was always in trouble. As he approached the temple, he saw his older man with the strange hat, who Gaius now recognized to be a priest, conversing with an equally older man.
"You're brave coming back here," the priest said. The other man simply looked at Gaius without expression, yet his eyes bore into him.
"You're right. The Governor is behind this."
"And you came here to tell me that?" the priest asked curiously.
"Of course not. I came here to tell you that I deplore this looting of Jewish property."
"So do we," came the dry reply.
"Yes," Gaius continued, "but maybe I can do something to help."
"And what would that be?"
"My family owns a number of warehouses," Gaius said. "As from noon, those near the waterfront will be identified by our Claudian emblem. Any Jew who wishes to store belongings in them will be welcome to do so, and I invite you to find Jews to act as record keepers, to ensure that everything is properly accounted for."
The older Jew gave him a most
penetrating stare, then asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm certain theft is not the Princeps' policy. I shall try to get Flaccus overruled."
"Good luck to you," the priest smiled a challenge of disbelief.
"I can't guarantee to succeed," Gaius nodded, "but I doubt Flaccus will loot a Claudian warehouse, because that would be a direct challenge to the Princeps' gens. Accordingly, my offer remains."
The priest stared at Gaius for a moment, then he shrugged. "If you're lying," he said, "this is merely a ruse to get the valuables into one place."
Gaius shook his head sadly. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Look, I guess it's a matter of trust. If anyone wishes to trust me, the offer remains open."
The priest gave Gaius a very penetrating stare, then seemed to come to a decision. "I'll pass the offer on," he said with a nod. He then turned and began to walk away, but the other Jew did not.
"You're frequently at the Great Library," the other Jew said.
"I am," Gaius said, then, on deciding that there was interest rather than a challenge, he added, "If I need an answer to a question, that is the best place I know to get started."
"It is, indeed." The old man paused, as if trying to decide something.
"You don't think a Roman should go there, or for that matter, be here?" Gaius gave a slightly challenging smile.
"On the contrary, all men are brothers, and as Diogenes put it, I am a citizen of the world, and so are you."
"Hah! A philosopher!" Gaius smiled.
"I have been called that," the man smiled. "My name is Philo, and I too seek answers, although maybe of a different nature."
"Gaius Claudius Scaevola, but if you intend to be friendly, just Gaius. Of course, I can imagine that you might not wish to be seen as too friendly with a Roman."
"Why would I not wish to be seen with a fellow human, and also, one who has helped those who are weaker?"
"I would have thought that with these riots, Romans might not be popular with the Jews, and your friends might shun you."
