Sejanus thought they might contain some terrible secret.
On the floor lay a silver box with its lid pried open. Among the scattered pieces of jewellery was the gold fascinum.
Lucius knelt and picked it up. He clutched it tightly. He whispered a prayer to the ancient god who had watched over his family from its very beginnings.
“Fascinus, god of my ancestors, watch over me. Watch over my sons. Bring us back someday to Roma.”
Ten frantic, tormented, sleepless days later, Lucius was ready to leave the city.
True to his word, Sejanus had not confiscated his property, but had insisted that Lucius sell his beloved house. Lucius had done so at a considerable loss. His financial records, after being thoroughly scrutinized, had been returned to him, as had his copy of Titus Livius’s history, along with several other valuable scrolls. The documents had all been tightly rolled and carefully packed away in round leather book-boxes of the sort called capsae.
Lucius stood with his family and the slaves they were taking with them on a dock at the riverfront, waiting to board the boat that would take them down the Tiber to Ostia, where he had secured passage on a trading vessel bound for Alexandria. The smell of the waterfront reminded him of the tavern where Euphranor had arrived with news of Augustus’s death. Where was that tavern? Not far, he thought. Turning around and looking beyond a stack of crates filled with his family’s belongings, he saw the entrance to the tavern from where he stood. How long ago that day seemed!
Even as he looked at the tavern, the door opened. A figure emerged and began walking towards the dock, weaving this way and that and nearly colliding with the stack of crates. It was Claudius.
Claudius averted his eyes as he approached. Lucius stepped forward to meet him and opened his arms. The two men embraced.
“Lucius, I’m so sorry. If only I had never g-g-given you those horoscopes!”
“No, Claudius, this is not your fault.”
“But it was I who insisted that you c-come with me that night, when lightning struck Great-Uncle’s statue-”
“No, Claudius, you’re not to blame. Nor is Sejanus; nor is Tiberius. If Fate exists and cannot be altered, then this moment had to arrive, and the next step in my life’s journey is already predetermined, as is the next, and the next, and the next, until the moment I die.”
“And if there is no Fate? If chance and free will rule the cosmos?”
“Then it was I who failed to win the favour of the goddess Fortune. It was I who made the wrong choices.”
“What a philosopher you’ve b-b-become!”
“Sometimes the consolations of philosophy are all that a man has,” said Lucius bitterly. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. I have Acilia. I have the twins. I have my mother.” He looked at Camilla, who was holding one of the boys – Kaeso, he thought, though it was hard to be sure – cooing and clucking her tongue. She looked very old. She had been in low spirits and poor health since his father had died; the disaster had dealt her a tremendous blow. A sea voyage in October was no place for a woman of her years, but she had insisted on coming, to stay close to her grandchildren.
Acilia was holding the other twin. How miserable she looked! Through all the agony of the last ten days, she had not said a word against him. Her father and brother had not been so kind. The two of them had arrived at the house the morning after Sejanus’s visit, first anxious and alarmed at the rumours they had heard, then furious and full of recriminations against Lucius. Acilius said hurtful words of the sort that could never be taken back, about the worthlessness of Lucius’s patrician blood and the shame he had brought upon the Acilii. He had argued that his daughter and grandsons should remain in Roma with him, and Lucius had wavered, trying to imagine his exile in Alexandria without them. It was Acilia who had silenced her father, saying that she had no intention of abandoning her husband or of taking her sons from their father. Acilius had left in a rage and they had not seen him since. He had not even come to see them off.
No one had come. No one wanted to be seen saying farewell to an exiled enemy of the imperial house – no one except Claudius.
The twin held by his mother began to cry. Yes, it was Kaeso, as Lucius had thought; he could recognize the boys more readily by their cries than by their faces, which were truly identical.
Slaves began to load the crates into the cargo hold of the boat. Lucius and Claudius were in the way. They stepped to the edge of the dock and stood side by side, staring at their distorted reflections in the water.
“It may be that your exile is a g-good thing. Who can say?”
“A good thing? To leave the only city I know, the only home I’ve ever had? The idea of raising my sons anywhere else is unspeakably bitter to me, almost unbearable.”
“No, Lucius, hear me out. Tiberius is increasingly detached. He gives more and more authority to Sejanus. The situation in Roma can only grow worse. For the first time in my life, I’ve begun to fear for my own survival. The atmosphere around Tiberius is so clouded with suspicion, even a fellow as harmless as myself m-m-might become a target.”
“What will you do, Claudius?”
“I intend to disengage from public life as much as p-p-possible. Grow root vegetables at my country house. P-p-pursue my antiquarian studies. Get drunk with my low-life friends. As soon as you leave, I intend to head back to the tavern and get even drunker than I already am.”
The stack of crates had vanished. Packed inside one of them was Lucius’s trabea and his lituus.
The boat was ready to cast off.
His mother stumbled on the gangplank. When Lucius caught her, he was shocked at how little she weighed. He wondered how she could survive the journey.
Claudius stood alone on the dock and waved as they departed, then turned around and went back to the tavern.
Lucius gazed at the buildings passing by. He knew every street and rooftop of this part of the city, between the Tiber and the Aventine, though he was more used to looking down from the top of the hill; the view was strange, looking up from the river.
Scanning the skyline, he happened to spot his house, high on the crest of the Aventine. But it was not his house any longer; the new owners were standing on one of the balconies, waving to their neighbours across the way. Lucius gazed at the sight and knew how the lemures of the dead must feel, watching the living from the shadows.
Titus and Kaeso both began to cry. Would they cry all the way to Alexandria?
The boat sailed on. On the shore, temples and houses gave way to warehouses and rubbish heaps, and then to open fields. The city disappeared from view.
As clearly as if a god had whispered the knowledge in his ear, Lucius knew he would never see Roma again.
PART II
TITUS AND KAESO THE TWINS
“Impressive? I suppose. But so is Alexandria,” said Kaeso Pinarius, surveying the heart of Roma from the summit of the Capitoline Hill.
The Temple of Apollo atop the Palatine dominated the skyline; adjacent to the temple, the imperial complex had been much built up since the time of Augustus and presented a jumble of tile rooftops, aerial gardens, and colonnaded terraces. Directly below was the Forum with its procession of grand edifices along the Sacred Way, from the Senate House to the round Temple of Vesta and beyond. To the north and east lay the other hills of Roma, and nestled among them the concentration of towering tenements, some as tall as seven stories, in the crowded
