who instigated it.’ He saw Valerius’s confusion. ‘Oh yes, Valerius, I am not yet without influence. Torquatus thinks the suggestion was his, but it was I who sowed the seed. It has placed you in a position to do both your Emperor and your friends a great service.’
For a moment the words lay between them like pieces on a gaming board, but Valerius was still reluctant to make the decisive move. ‘I don’t understand. Why me?’ The question echoed the one he had asked Torquatus a day earlier. To his surprise, so did the answer.
His host gave a sigh that would have been more at home on a stage. ‘I could tell you that you are brave, that you are wise and that you have a mind that is never satisfied with the first solution it finds, and all that would be true. But the real answer is simpler: I trust you.’ Seneca rose and his voice changed as he began to pace the room. Now again Valerius saw Lucius Annaeus Seneca, the statesman. ‘Do you love Rome, Valerius? More important, do you believe in Rome? Of course you do. The blood of men who lived and died for Rome runs in your veins. You are the son of a man who once risked everything for Rome.’ Valerius struggled to justify this vision of his father, but Seneca was no longer speaking to him, he was speaking to the Empire. ‘Rome is an invalid tottering on the brink of the abyss, and evil men are gathering to push her over the edge into chaos, depravity and, ultimately, a carnage that will consume her. Rome’s Emperor is not strong enough to stand in their way. He must have help. Nero cannot rule alone, Valerius; he is no Caesar or Augustus. He was fated to rule, but he needs a guiding hand; a firm, honest hand to steer him in the direction that is best for his people. Without that hand he will always be the servant of his urges and the servant of those who provide the means to satisfy those urges. He will shift with each changing wind and with each shift he will become less of an Emperor. With every passing hour it becomes more difficult to return him to the true path and the path that could lead him to true greatness. The followers of Christus are a danger to Rome, but Torquatus and the band of degenerates he cultivates are a greater danger still. As long as I breathe I will never plot against the Emperor, but I will fight to return to his side, and you, Valerius, can place me there. I will help you find the man known as the Rock of Christus and you will deliver him to me and help me discredit Torquatus and his gang. Together, Valerius, we will save Rome.’
Valerius stared at him. He knew the speech was calculated to appeal to Gaius Valerius Verrens, tribune of the Twentieth: a call to arms designed to stir a soldier’s blood on the eve of battle. He wasn’t blind. He saw through Seneca the statesman to Seneca the actor. But somehow that didn’t matter. His blood was stirred and he was ready for battle. Now, at least, he knew what he was fighting for.
He didn’t need to speak. Seneca saw the impact of his words. He nodded. ‘In every life there comes a moment to choose, Valerius. You will never regret the choice you have just made.’
‘Tell me about Christus’s Rock.’
Seneca made him wait. He called for servants to bring food and it was only after they had completed their meal that they resumed their discussion.
‘It is impossible to tell the story of the Rock without telling the story of Christus. When did it begin? Was it the moment he was born, or the moment he died, or somewhere in between? You will hear that Christus was a mystic, an insurrectionist, a teacher or a criminal, but I think the truth is that he was a mixture of them all. He came, without education or wealth, from an obscure Galilean village, but within two years he had gathered men who had both to his side. Oh, they will tell you that he had made a vow of poverty, but no man could have achieved what Christus did without substantial resources. How else could he have retained what
For a moment the words lay between them like pieces on a gaming board, but Valerius was still reluctant to make the decisive move. ‘I don’t understand. Why me?’ The question echoed the one he had asked Torquatus a day earlier. To his surprise, so did the answer.
His host gave a sigh that would have been more at home on a stage. ‘I could tell you that you are brave, that you are wise and that you have a mind that is never satisfied with the first solution it finds, and all that would be true. But the real answer is simpler: I trust you.’ Seneca rose and his voice changed as he began to pace the room. Now again Valerius saw Lucius Annaeus Seneca, the statesman. ‘Do you love Rome, Valerius? More important, do you believe in Rome? Of course you do. The blood of men who lived and died for Rome runs in your veins. You are the son of a man who once risked everything for Rome.’ Valerius struggled to justify this vision of his father, but Seneca was no longer speaking to him, he was speaking to the Empire. ‘Rome is an invalid tottering on the brink of the abyss, and evil men are gathering to push her over the edge into chaos, depravity and, ultimately, a carnage that will consume her. Rome’s Emperor is not strong enough to stand in their way. He must have help. Nero cannot rule alone, Valerius; he is no Caesar or Augustus. He was fated to rule, but he needs a guiding hand; a firm, honest hand to steer him in the direction that is best for his people. Without that hand he will always be the servant of his urges and the servant of those who provide the means to satisfy those urges. He will shift with each changing wind and with each shift he will become less of an Emperor. With every passing hour it becomes more difficult to return him to the true path and the path that could lead him to true greatness. The followers of Christus are a danger to Rome, but Torquatus and the band of degenerates he cultivates are a greater danger still. As long as I breathe I will never plot against the Emperor, but I will fight to return to his side, and you, Valerius, can place me there. I will help you find the man known as the Rock of Christus and you will deliver him to me and help me discredit Torquatus and his gang. Together, Valerius, we will save Rome.’
Valerius stared at him. He knew the speech was calculated to appeal to Gaius Valerius Verrens, tribune of the Twentieth: a call to arms designed to stir a soldier’s blood on the eve of battle. He wasn’t blind. He saw through Seneca the statesman to Seneca the actor. But somehow that didn’t matter. His blood was stirred and he was ready for battle. Now, at least, he knew what he was fighting for.
He didn’t need to speak. Seneca saw the impact of his words. He nodded. ‘In every life there comes a moment to choose, Valerius. You will never regret the choice you have just made.’
‘Tell me about Christus’s Rock.’
Seneca made him wait. He called for servants to bring food and it was only after they had completed their meal that they resumed their discussion.
‘It is impossible to tell the story of the Rock without telling the story of Christus. When did it begin? Was it the moment he was born, or the moment he died, or somewhere in between? You will hear that Christus was a mystic, an insurrectionist, a teacher or a criminal, but I think the truth is that he was a mixture of them all. He came, without education or wealth, from an obscure Galilean village, but within two years he had gathered men who had both to his side. Oh, they will tell you that he had made a vow of poverty, but no man could have achieved what Christus did without substantial resources. How else could he have retained what
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