The tribune struck his mailed hand on the lectern, and it was like a crack of thunder in the shining marble silence.
“For greed, that young senator cried to you, the mobs in this city supported evil Caesars, who lusted only for power, because those Caesars promised them loot from the public treasuries. Venal senators supported those Caesars, for profit and power. The lying Caesars spoke to the mobs and told them that our country could not defend itself against barbarians without allies, who must endlessly be bought and cajoled and flattered. And the traitorous Caesars plotted against their nation, mad with the lust to be gilded like gods by the whole world, and to be acclaimed by millions of thieves and beggars and wrestlers and freedmen and the pusillanimous, who never felt a pulse of patriotism in their vultures’ hearts!”
“Treason!” several voices cried, aghast, and faces turned to each other in fury and alarm.
Diodorus stood behind the lectern and put his thumbs in his belt and looked at them with hatred and scorn.
“Those are not my words, though I have said them before to you. They are the words of the senator you did to death in this very chamber.”
He rent the tunic on his breast, and the armor clanged on the floor. “Look at my scars, the evidences of my wounds! You senators, you scoundrels, you perfumed liars, look at my wounds! You sleek rascals who bed in silk to the strumming of lyres and the murmurs of prostitutes and dissolute women and bought concubines — look at my wounds! Are they on your smooth flesh? Are similar wounds in your hearts, you who betray Rome with every breath and lead her to hell with every law?”
He turned his scarred and naked breast slowly, so that all could see. It was a terrible sight, and a few older senators covered their eyes with their hands.
The voice of Diodorus rose, but was deeper in gravity and strength.
“Such wounds were on the flesh of the senator you did to death here on such a day. Not with an honest sword, not with a blunt thrust. But with lies and condemnations, with ostracism and with silence. Because he dared to love his country, and dared to try to save her from traitors and murderers and the ambitious, and from liars! His heart broke, and there was none to comfort him.
“Could you have comforted him, you who have betrayed your country and have upheld your treasonous Caesars? Dared you have comforted him, you whose tongues poisoned his very blood and did him to death? He, who only loved his country and innocently believed that you also loved your country?”
Diodorus struck the lectern again, and now it seemed to some of the older senators that Mars himself had struck that sound against their ears.
“Let me move your hearts!” he cried. “It is not yet too late! The course of empire leads only to death. Senators, look at me! Listen with your hearts, and not with your evil minds. Turn back to liberty, to frugality, to morality, to peace, to Rome. Think no longer of those who appoint you, those whose bellies demand to be satisfied by the very blood of Rome, the very flesh of Rome, the hard-earned gold of Rome. Bow no longer to false Caesars, who, defying our very Constitution, issue mandates against the welfare of Rome and place themselves above the law which our fathers formulated, and for which they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.
“Rome was conceived in faith and in justice, and in the worship of God, and in the name of the manhood of man. Return our country to the rule of law and strike down the rule by men. Restore the treasuries. Withdraw our legions from foreign lands which hate us, and will destroy us at a moment’s notice when it serves their interests. Repeal the taxes which crush those who work hard and industriously. Tell your multitudes that they must work or they shall starve. Drive from the Palatine itself the masses of toadies and self-seekers and thieves! Drive from the Palatine the puny freedmen who say ‘Yes, yes!’ to Caesar, and bow before him as though he were a god and not human flesh! Cleanse this chamber of rascals and mountebanks and demagogues who declaim in rounded phrases that the welfare of the people is close to their hearts but who really mean that they will do the will of the mob in exchange for vile plaudits and power, and bribery!”
He lifted his hands to them in an attitude of importunity, and his fierce eyes filled with tears as he surveyed the motionless senators.
“Romans! In the name of God, in the name of Cincinnatus, the Father of his Country, in the name of heroism and peace and manliness and freedom and justice, I beg of you to restore yourselves as the guardians of Rome, to cast out the usurper of the powers which rightfully belong to you, to impeach and to punish those who seized those powers in order to pervert the laws of our fathers! Let your Roman hearts speak and your Roman spirits cry out against the expedient and the corrupt, against the vainglorious and the traitors, against Caesars who anoint themselves as gods and hold court for the depraved and the ambitious and those who would dissipate the strength of our people, our Constitution, and our traditions! If you turn from your country, then she will die, and a thousand thousand legions shall not save her, and a thousand bloody Caesars will vainly shout to the winds.”
His eyes roamed their faces in despair. Then his head dropped to his chest, and he stepped from the podium and walked slowly, in that cowardly silence, to the doors, not looking back. The young soldiers there gazed at him with shining faces and stood at attention and saluted, and he turned his blind and tearful eyes upon them and smiled like a brokenhearted father.
Then he straightened, and like a wounded general expiring for his country, he returned their salutes.
Carvilius Ulpian was rushed to the Palatine in his litter. His overseer whipped the Nubian slaves to a furious speed, and his trumpeter ran before the litter blasting his horn and shouting, “Make way for the noble senator, Carvilius Ulpian!” The seething mobs parted on the Appian Way, scuttling, but some stopped to jeer and spit in the direction of the curtained litter.
Alighting at the Palatine, Carvilius bounded up the long marble steps like a young man, holding up his senatorial toga about his thin legs, which contrasted with his swollen belly. His set face expressed terror and abject apprehension. The lackeys and soldiers fell away before his frantic passage. The overseers of the halls were impressed by his agitation and promised to inform Tiberius Caesar that the senator wished to see him at once, and on the most urgent necessity.
He was admitted to the library of Caesar. Tiberius was languidly reading military dispatches. He lifted his cold pale face when Carvilius Ulpian appeared, and his pallid lip curled. He said, “Greetings, Carvilius. I congratulate you on arriving so fast on the heels of my informers. You must have flown from the Senate Chamber. Did Mercury lend you his wings?”
He lifted a goblet of wine to his lips and sipped it, and over the golden and jeweled brim his eyes were a black frost full of malicious amusement.
Carvilius was taken aback. He fell on trembling knees before Tiberius and kissed the indifferent pale hand held out to him. “Lord,” he said, in a shaking voice, “you have already been informed, so it is not necessary to tell you of the wanton treason of my kinsman, Diodorus Cyrinus. I swear to you, Divine Caesar, that had I known he would speak so I should never have taken him. In his previous visits to the Chamber, as my guest, he served only to amuse the senators, and I thought this would be the case today. Little did I know that my ears and the ears of my colleagues would be seared by treasonous utterances against your godlike person, and that he would shout out against you and all your decrees!”
He clasped his hands before him in an imploring gesture, and his face sweated in his fear. “He is my kinsman, but I denounce him.”
“You are a discreet man, and again I congratulate you,” said Tiberius, dryly. He did not urge the senator to rise from his knees, and did not offer him wine. The Praetorians at the great golden doors stared at Carvilius Ulpian, and their faces seemed carved of bronze, and as emotionless.
Tiberius contemplated his goblet. He sat in his carved ivory chair in his white toga bordered with imperial purple, a tall lean man with a cold, intent face and an
inscrutable expression. Then he spoke in a hard and melancholy voice, as if to himself:
“I am a soldier. I am surrounded by sycophants and liars, and in that Diodorus speaks truth. What is lavish and uncomprehending praise given out of self-seeking and fear? What is flattery if lips that speak it only fawn, and in that fawning profit? The dull ear is servant to a duller tongue. As a soldier I prefer men of simple truth and without complexities who speak in honor and patriotism. I also prefer the condemnation of intelligence to the plaudits of the rabble. But where are men today in Rome?”
Carvilius Ulpian listened to this incredulously, moistening lips that had suddenly become parched. He was affrighted.
“Divine Caesar,” stammered Carvilius Ulpian, “I do not understand.”
“No,” said Tiberius. “You could not understand.” He contemplated his goblet again.
“As a soldier I can honor Diodorus Cyrinus. I know him well. He is not a liar, and never have I heard him utter a lie. He loves his country.” The Emperor laughed a short and bitter laugh. “For that alone he deserves death! Who loves Rome now? You, Carvilius Ulpian? I, Caesar?”
The senator squatted on his heels and shivered.
“Let me tell you this,” said Tiberius, quietly. “Venal Caesars, power-mad Caesars, never seize power, never destroy law and their country. The power is forced on them by an evil and despicable people, a greedy people, a stupid and craven people, a selfish and pusillanimous people. Where are the guardians of the people’s liberty then? You are silent, you are slaves in spirit, you are thieves and cowards. But a people deserve their lawmakers.”
He raised his hand and pointed ruthlessly at Carvilius Ulpian. “They deserve you,” he said.
Gods, help me! thought the senator, his mind whirling. He bit his lip; he trembled; his whole body shuddered. Tiberius smiled darkly.
“What I have said to you now will not be repeated by you, my dear Senator, my dear and devoted friend.”
“Divine Caesar,” said the senator, through shaking lips, “I have not heard!”
“Good. It is very sad that even Caesars must sometimes long to tell the truth. I thank you for my happiness, Carvilius.”
He struck the goblet down on the gold marble of the table beside him, and as he was not a violent man the gesture was more terrible than the gestures of one more vehement.
“Rome!” he said. “Do I recognize this Rome of polyglot slaves, of Scythians, Britons, Gauls, barbarians, Greeks, Assyrians, Egyptians, and the scum of a whole world? Where are the Romans? They have lost their identity. They have lost their tongues, their minds, their souls, their virility. What have I to do with such a Rome? I am not an honorable man! I am what my people have made me. I am their captive, not their Emperor. There is no escaping the evil of a debased people.”
His hands clenched on the arms of his chair. “I am here only to do the filthy will of a nation obstinately determined to commit suicide. If I break the law and the Constitution in their greedy behalf, they applaud me. If I have given up my hope of restoring the Treasury, they praise me for having their welfare at heart. Their welfare! Dogs and jackals!”
He stared at the astounded senator, who cringed before him. There was an utter and ringing silence in the great library. The soldiers stood at attention, like blind statues.
Then Tiberius spoke again. “Nevertheless, it is too late for truth, and those who speak the truth no longer have a right to live in Rome. Therefore Diodorus Cyrinus must die. How dare he speak truth in such a nation!”
He motioned to the Captain of the Guard, who came to him at once, saluting.
“You will go at once, Captain, to the estate of the tribune, Diodorus Cyrinus, and you will tell him that his Emperor, his General, has no further use for his services, and that in this event he will obey.”
In spite of himself and his treachery Carvilius Ulpian winced. He knew what this order meant. Diodorus was being commanded to fall on his sword.
The captain saluted, swung on his heel, motioned two soldiers to accompany him, and left the library. Carvilius remained on his knees, his head sunken. Tiberius smiled at him evilly.
“It is done,” he said. “And again, congratulations to you, Carvilius Ulpian. My informers were inferior men, skulking in the Senate, and I, as the god you have made, could hardly take their word. Diodorus needed to be condemned by one of his peers, and you have given me that service.”
The senator lifted his head, and Tiberius nodded.
“Yes, I understand,” said the Emperor. “It is customary to confiscate the estates of those who denounce Caesar and speak treasonably. But I am moved to mercy. I shall decree that the wealth of Diodorus remain with his widow and his three children. Applaud me for my compassion, Carvilius Ulpian!”
The senator was overwhelmed with dismay. His eyes were caught by the glacially cold eyes of Tiberius, and Tiberius nodded again.
“You thought, did you not, that as my devoted friend and adorer, as the exposer of a traitor and a speaker against me, that I would reward you with the estates of Diodorus Cyrinus. Ah, now, Carvilius, you are a very rich man, and I shall reward you in my own time and in my own way. But not with the wealth of Diodorus, and not in such measure.”
The senator was sick with despair and disappointment. And also with a sense of degradation. He was not an entirely wicked man. He would have preferred it if he could have lived a life of peace and pleasant luxury. He had not for an instant believed that Diodorus, who was excellent enough at attacking senators, would have overstepped safety. After all, Diodorus was esteemed by Tiberius, personally, and the senator had enjoyed listening to him attack the other senators, of many of whom he did not cherish a good opinion. He had even flaunted Diodorus in their crafty faces, knowing that they also knew that the Emperor admired him. But when Diodorus had spoken against ‘false Caesars’ in such a tone, and when he had implored the Senate to restore to itself its ancient laws and prerogatives, Carvilius knew himself to be in deadly danger, also.
But on his way he had considered that Tiberius would reward him with the estates of Diodorus. He had not forgotten Iris, and each time that he had seen her since the family had returned to Rome his lust for her had become a desperate hunger in him.
He bowed his head before Tiberius. Then he faltered, “It is indeed most compassionate of Divine Caesar not to beggar the children of Diodorus, who is noble and a tribune. But the wife of Diodorus is a freedwoman; she was once the slave of his parents, the widow of a former slave, who was also freed.”
Tiberius frowned. “Is this so?”
Carvilius looked at him eagerly, and a speck of saliva spotted a corner of his lascivious lips. “Yes, Caesar. Diodorus invented a false genealogy for her, so as not to offend his friends in Rome, and you.”
Tiberius’ frown became formidable. He tapped his fingers on the table and considered. Then involuntarily his eyes fixed themselves on the senator, who was squirming on the floor in his excitement and eagerness.
“Ah,” said the Emperor, “she is a beautiful woman, this freedwoman?”
“Most beautiful, Sire!”
Tiberius smiled. “And you would be the guardian of the children of Diodorus, and particularly of their coffers. And you would have me revoke the freedom of the beauteous wife of Diodorus and give her to you in my gratitude?”
“I have desired her for years, Sire, since I first saw her in Antioch. She is Aphrodite herself!”
Tiberius scrutinized him impassively. Then he said, “I shall issue a decree tomorrow that the wife of Diodorus be the guardian of her children, and their father’s wealth, and that her name, and her false genealogy, be inscribed in the public books of Rome.”
Carvilius gaped at him, his eyes starting, his arms slack at his sides. He was filled with terror, and shame.
Then Tiberius lifted his goblet from the table and threw the contents into the face of the senator.
“There,” he said, “is your just reward, my noble Senator.”
&nb
sp; Chapter Twenty-Four
Keptah sat, overwhelmed with exhaustion and sorrow, in the garden, and it was sunset. His hands lay weakly on his knees, and his tired eyes drooped. He saw the reddening sky over the hills, and shivered, and though the air was still warm he was cold. The myrtle, oak, pine, and willow trees basked in a rosy light, and the zenith of the heavens glowed with many delicate colors, like an opal. A cowbell sounded sweetly, as the cattle slowly wended their way to the barns, and a goat lifted his voice. The hiss of geese protested against the driving of the herdsman, and sheep lay down peacefully under the olive trees and on the slopes of the nearer hills. Now a little new crescent moon trembled in the crimson western sky. There was no tranquility in Keptah, and his dusky face was pale and drained.
As in the morning, the overseer of the hall came to him excitedly, but the man’s face now was contorted with fright. “Master!” he exclaimed. “There are three Praetorians who have just arrived, one a high officer! They demand to see the tribune at once. I have told them — ”