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 emergedand began walking toward 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 favor 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 rumors 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 whohad 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
Even as he looked at the tavern, the door opened. A figure emergedand began walking toward 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 favor 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 rumors 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 whohad 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
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