THE RHIPSIMIANS

And the daughter wept, because she did not wish to look after her aged father, and she could do nothing about it, for he was the only soul kin to her in her life. And she tossed in desperation: after all, she was young, fair of face — why must she squander her young years upon her father? He would die soon enough, would he not — so why must she be his nursemaid, why care for him, sit by his bedside for days on end? And her grey-haired father would repeat to her: «Endure, daughter, endure.»

And she endured, day after day.

The father continued to love his only child, answered her rudeness with tenderness, and sought to please his daughter in every way. And in return, he received reproaches of her lack of love for her father, of her hatred.

«How sick I am of you! I hate you! You doom me to torment, Father! How much longer must I fuss over you? Bring you water, food, wash you! You have wearied me with your feebleness!» the daughter cried mercilessly.

«It is not my daughter who speaks in you now, but temptation — your enemy. Do not give it free rein, my blood! Endure! If you did not love me, you would not weep so desperately and bitterly. Do you speak to some stranger of what torments you, my daughter?»

«No, Father — only to you. I do not gossip about you. I complain to no one. For you are my burden — who will carry it for me? Who will understand my sorrows?» the daughter answered her father with chagrin, unwillingly.

«There, you see — you still love your father. For only an unloving soul can complain and slander his own kin; but you do not do this — you speak sincerely, the truth. I beg you, do not let your anger rule over you!»

And somehow, imperceptibly to the daughter, her anger and hatred toward her father departed: every day she came to him to complain that it was hard for her to care for him alone — and from others, no help was to be expected. Her father, in reply, only kept telling her that one must simply wait, that at times it is difficult and unbearably painful. Not a day passed that the father did not console his child, did not speak to her words of love and support: then calm and humility would come to his daughter — she understood that she did not hate her father, but felt compassion for him, accepted his old age, which had crept up on him, like a cunning fox, unseen and swift.

«Forgive me, Father, for all my words and all my tears of hatred toward you! I envied my peers, their happy lives, full of joy, love, and blessings — they fall in love, they meet the sunsets over the sea, they dance, make merry, sew beautiful clothes — and what of me? I must sit with an old man, feed him with a spoon, and distract him from dark thoughts. But it turned out that it was you who distracted me, you who supported me, believed in me. Forgive me, Father — forgive me for everything: the minutes with you are more precious than anything in the world.»

The father listened to the girl, his eyes half-closed, and then, stirring his thin lips almost inaudibly, he uttered:

«Do you remember how I told you that you are not chained to me forever, that you are not obliged to watch over me eternally? That hour has come, my own blood, when the fetters shall fall and you, at last, may meet the sunsets over the sea — while I may go peacefully from this world into another. Now you know what faith is, and patience, and a parent’s all-forgiving love — and most important of all: you obeyed me. Obedience is the first step toward forgiveness, toward acceptance, toward relief. And the chief thing — is openness. Be open, and be obedient.»»

Rhipsimia read all that was written in the book; an unknown thirst for words had taken hold of her. On one of the pages, a phrase stood out: The greatest wealth of a man is wisdom.

«What a pity that all this time, the measure of my fortune has been my ornaments — and yet the chief thing, I did not have,» the girl spoke with chagrin.

She raised her eyes and saw upon the wall a fresco painted upon the plaster: the colours made the image true, real, alive. A woman in white garments held an infant in her arms. Beside the mother and child stood a man — the father, in simple clothes; his face was kind and happy. At the Virgin’s feet lay lambs; behind the father’s back, an ass stood meekly, gazing at the babe with kind, kind, intelligent eyes, like two black beads. In the sky, a bright star blazed — one alone — pouring its light upon the earth, lighting the way for people in rich attire, riding upon camels.

From the picture painted on the wall, grace and love flowed through the body. A true joy.

CHAPTER IV. LOVE CANNOT BE TAKEN BY FORCE

«Could you ever have imagined that you and I would be drinking wine in the Colosseum, Maximian?» Diocletian addressed his friend, a silver cup in his hands. The vessel, adorned with ornamentation of plant and animal motifs, gleamed in the sunlight.

«I wish to drink to the son of slaves who managed to become emperor. Thanks to your golden hands, your sharp mind, and your endurance, you have achieved your goal, my friend! Thanks to you, Rome has blossomed and become one!»

«I think you have drunk rather a lot, my friend!» laughed Diocletian. «Simply put, a druidess’s prophecy came true — and to think I had already decided the accursed woman had lied, and wanted to find her and have her beheaded. No, it all came to pass. I did kill a boar, after all! Can you imagine? She told me that I would kill a boar and become a ruler! Ha-ha-ha! I thought I would finish off an animal. But it turned out to be a man. Though I must tell you, that man was a rare swine indeed!»

The sun was already hiding beyond the horizon. Diocletian rose from his throne, and grasping the railing with both hands, he uttered:

«This is yours, Diocles. This is yours.»

The Emperor of Rome, whose true name was Diocles, came from a family of slaves: his mother laboured in the kitchen of noble folk, and his father was a simple scribe. A son was born to them, and they were obliged to teach him everything — for who could know what work awaited him? It was needful to know all, so as to serve the masters and earn a crust of bread.

The son grew, and in a single moment, a stately youth stood before his parents: his broad back, with muscles hard as stone, hid his mother’s tiny figure — behind him she stood as behind a wall; Diocles’s face expressed cold-blooded calm; his wide chest resembled the breast of a vulture, and his legs the paws of a tiger, just as massive and heavy. And Diocles chose for himself the military path: with ardour he entered the army as a common soldier and rose to become an elite cavalry warrior of the Emperor Carus. Faithfully and dutifully did Diocles serve his commander: in the ranks of the army, it was said that the young man was the emperor’s right hand, a devoted aide who, fearing not death, had marched to war with Persia. In the heat of battle, a lightning bolt struck Carus — killing both horse and rider. The legion mourned; it refused to submit to Carinus, the fallen emperor’s heir: laying down their arms, the warriors refused to go on the offensive, wishing to see Diocles as their ruler.

«I am proud that you have entrusted to me the most important task — to defend the rights of every inhabitant of our state! I vow to be judicious in my deeds and honest toward the citizens, to sow the seed of truth and root out evil and impiety! We are a great empire, and all who dwell within her are a great people! I shall do all that the people, circumstances, and time demand of me! And may Jupiter help us!» With this solemn speech, Diocles answered the Military Council’s decree appointing him Emperor of the Roman Empire.

Now all power rested in the hands of Diocles: and the first thing he resolved to create was a majestic name for a ruler, for he did not like his own, which reminded him of his slave past. Diocletian — thus was the head of the empire now styled. Beautiful women and feasts distracted the emperor from the burdensome everyday toils aimed at reuniting the lands and suppressing local revolts, which broke out ceaselessly in all corners of vast Rome. There had been many women, as many as weapons, in Diocletian’s life, yet one girl still managed to touch his heart — the fair Prisca. One day, she set off to the market to choose the finest fruits and vegetables, so as later to prepare from them the most delicious dishes for her mistress, the wife of a very influential man in Rome. The beauty bent over an enormous heap of vegetables: within this mountain, she wished to find the very best — the fairest and juiciest, the ripest and most fragrant. Her mistress would always say in jest that in the diet of every noble lady there must be exclusively fresh vegetables and fruits — then the complexion becomes lovelier, and the Caesars begin to cast glances. Suddenly, a few paces from the young maiden, a horse flew past: Prisca took fright, for the basket of vegetables had fallen from her hands. The girl wept bitterly — she would have to pay for the spoiled wares, and she would disappoint her mistress by returning with nothing.

«I will pay for all that you have dropped, and for all that my horse has trampled,» a man addressed her.

«Are you Jupiter?» the girl asked in bewilderment. «Where do you have so much money?»

«Ha-ha-ha! No one has ever called me that before! You shall be the first! Yes, Jupiter — that is my first name; I gave it to myself. And my second is Diocletian.»

«The Emperor!» the girl cried out.

That night she warmed the emperor’s bed, and later became his mistress. Diocletian gave his heart to Prisca, but she had neither the title of Augusta nor any other privileges. Her name never adorned coins or inscriptions — formally, she was not considered the emperor’s wife.

«If your name were listed in the documents, or indeed anywhere at all — I would be overthrown, destroyed,» Diocletian justified himself before his wife. «A scandal would erupt — if the emperor’s wife is a Christian, why does he destroy her faith, why does he hunt down Christians and force them, under pain of death, to return to paganism?»

«But why do you destroy these people? What have they done to you? That they believe, as I do, in One God, and not in many? Can a man truly be beheaded simply because he sees this world otherwise than you do? Why will you not leave them in peace, Jupiter? I am your wife, and I am also a Christian — why, then, do you not kill me?»

«If an emperor shows weakness or gives rein to sentiment, if the circle of his confidants presses upon him — then that emperor is poor, weak, and it is easy to wrest power from his hands, for in the eyes of his subjects he will appear a spineless creature; and then, at one fine moment, he and his entire family will be slain by his enemies. The enemy waits for nothing else — your Christians too wait for me to loosen the reins, so that they may quickly subjugate all the people to themselves. Therefore, I will permit no other faith in Rome but the pagan one! So be it!»

It was impossible to placate Diocletian — the final word on the extermination of Christians remained with him. That which he repeated to his spouse about the undermining of power and the mistrust of those who carried Christian teaching and faith was a partial truth. Diocletian never revealed his ambitious and cunning designs to his subjects, even the closest, and kept his ear to the ground. The ruler told no one that he wished to be the last and permanent Roman emperor, to unite all lands, thereby confirming his own authority. To secure the support of all the gods, he commanded sacrifices to be brought to the pagan temple of the Pantheon. Slaughtered animals, the blood and tears of innocent maidens, the fruits of the earth — none of these, it seemed to Diocletian, satisfied the gods, and therefore he chose the ritual murder of those who did not believe in them. Warriors rounded up the wandering enlighteners and servants of Christian temples: abbots, novices, simple teachers of the religion, and other folk were first taken captive, then, under torture, offered the chance to return to paganism, and those who refused were killed — thereby offering up to the gods, as a sacrifice, citizens who were disobedient and unfit for Rome.

Diocletian’s servants seized all, from young to old, and then sorted them into cages: women into one, men into a second, and into a third they sent the children. Women were beaten with leather whips across the neck, face, stomach, and soles of the feet; after this, their hair was torn out, their nails pulled, their ears cut off, their bones broken, and they were set on fire. Younger Christian women were violated. Men were beaten to death, and those who survived were impaled on spears or swords before the eyes of the other captives. The bodies of those who had perished for their faith were hung in the central squares of the city — first in Rome, and later in other cities as well. Those who saw the mutilated bodies of the dead gasped in horror, fear, and revulsion; passers-by grew sick from the stench of the decomposing corpses — all this was done by the authorities so that citizens would fear even to utter the word «Christianity» or to think in any way of a god displeasing to the state. Through torture and murder, Diocletian sought to strangle the new faith, yet still, here and there, new Christian cells flared up: they spread like the branches of a young, sturdy tree reaching toward the sun. Almost no literature or icons not yet destroyed by the government remained, but diligent disciples of Christ found them, secretly guarded them, and copied them anew.

«I categorically cannot tolerate smoke, Maximian — I always ask the legionaries not to burn the enemy’s insulae and temples. Why do they do it? By the by, have you spoken with the priests? Do they know anything of new secret gatherings of the filth-believers?»

«Processus told me that they are in the east. At night, one of our men saw a crowd in white robes making its way to a wooden structure. Our men could not discern precisely what they carried in their hands, yet I think it is their symbols and books — nothing else.»

«What symbols? What books?» Diocletian questioned zealously. «Crosses?»

«Yes, Emperor. Crosses.»

«Seek them out. Seize them.»

«As you command. And what of your consort — how does she receive this, your hunt for the Christians?» Maximian inquired with a barely perceptible smile on his lips.

«She loves me, and all else troubles her little. It suffices her that she is a Christian, and it suffices me that she does not compel me to accept her choice and her faith. Toward the faith of my Augusta I am indifferent, but when it concerns upheavals and deeds that circumvent the state’s authority — that must be cut short. One must not, Maximian, spit in the face of the State; one must not spit upon the gods — one day they shall grow wroth and punish the people of the earth. And what do the Christians do? They spit upon the gods, upon Rome, upon you and me, in the end: they gather by night, they write or pass from hand to hand magic books — where has it been seen, to drive wickedness and infirmity from the body with words? Surely we have priests and physicians for that?»

«They take much upon themselves, Jupiter,» answered Maximian. «It must be rooted out.»

«Deeds are deeds, but on an empty stomach I cannot think at all, my friend,» said Diocletian, rubbing his palms together. «Today there will be roast meat and cheese with herbs.»

«I would not refuse a sea-wolf,» Maximian took a sip of wine. «By the by, my friend, did you know that in the consul’s house lives a beauty such as the world has never seen? Rumours have reached me that she is fair beyond all possibility. Perhaps you might cast an eye upon her?»

«I know. I have already sent my men to the consul’s house, and guess what I was told?»

«What?»

«She no longer dwells in that house.»

«Your men told you this?»

«A helper, in the consul’s house.»

«Emperor, are you perchance unwell? Do you seriously believe that? Why, she has twisted you round her finger! In the consul’s house there have never been other women, let alone helpers — save for a wet nurse, and that was many years ago. Their daughter opened the door and outwitted your men, and they were only too glad to try — taken in by the tricks of a cunning vixen!»

«How do you know it was she? Have you seen her, or have you already been with her?» Diocletian rose from his throne and looked seriously into Maximian’s blue eyes, which recalled the sky. Only what was visible in them was not purity, but cruelty, greed, and falseness. Maximian exulted inwardly, for he had found the emperor’s weak spot — an infatuation with a woman, and by this he could be manipulated.

«May Jupiter strike me down! Of course it was she — and no, I have not been with her! Yesterday at the baths, I overheard with half an ear the talk of a man close to the consul’s family. Well, he was saying that the consul and physician’s daughter had run away from home — can you imagine? And she did not return; she ran away without cause! I think she feared you would send men again, or come yourself. I’ll stake a finger on it — it was she, it was she!»

«It was very clever of her to twist the emperor round her finger and then flee the house,» Diocletian laughed, and the wrinkles, like the imprints of power and endless wars, played at the corners of his eyes. «What is it about the emperor that she finds unlovable, Maximian — tell me? All lovely creatures find him lovable, yet to her he is repugnant.»

«Do you wish to find her?»

«Why not? A beautiful maiden is never out of place at the imperial court; and if she does not suit my taste, or if Prisca does not accept my choice, then one can always improve diplomacy with other lands with the help of this beauty — so to speak, present her as a gift after concluding an alliance.»

«Pure truth! Shall I order men sent after her?»

«Yes. I wish to find her, living or dead, and to ask whether she has anything against the emperor, and whether she is prepared to beg his forgiveness.»

«And what if she resorts to tricks again, or refuses to obey? What do you plan to do then?»

«I do not know. Time will tell. For now, my wrath is not yet so great as to cause her any evil; I am even astonished by her cunning and her nimbleness. My Prisca is not so quick-witted; she is excessively honest and down-to-earth — once that greatly won me over.»

«And now you thirst for the opposite?» Maximian burst out laughing, stuffing his cheeks full of grapes. «Oh, these emperors — so inconstant.»

«Did I imagine it, or did I command you to send legionaries after her?» Diocletian inquired with irritation of his friend. «Besides, revolts are ripening in the west — do you know that? You lie here, gorging yourself, while in Mediolanum, the citizens are slipping out of control. Restore order!»

Reluctantly, Maximian rose from the accubitum and made his way to the exit; he did not love attending to state affairs, just as he did not love carrying out the will of his close friend. Hercules — for so Maximian styled himself — had neither education nor trade from birth, yet among the legionaries he was considered a capable warrior and a talented administrator; if Diocletian pondered the next move at length and only then proceeded to execute his plan, then Maximian first acted and later analysed his conduct. A talent for negotiation, a gift of persuasion, and the ability to charm his way out of trouble had been passed down to him from his parents, who kept a shop in Pannonia, trading in everything that could be traded.

From childhood, Maximian was not marked by any particular intelligence; his peers often made sport of him, calling him dull-witted. Beside himself with fury and chagrin, with anger and resentment toward others, he made the decision to join the ranks of the army, where he became acquainted with Diocletian. And though Hercules was not clever, in military matters he had proved himself a desperate and faithful warrior, boldly advancing upon the enemy: mercilessly and swiftly, he crushed the army of the Bagaudae brigands, cleansing the Roman lands of cunning, greedy foes. Yet there was a reverse side to the coin: Hercules, just as Diocletian, hated Christians, and in his domains cruelly suppressed any manifestation of a dissenting opinion concerning faith. The poor were killed, while for the wealthy and influential Romans, another fate was prepared — they were stripped of all material goods and driven beyond the borders of Rome. For some time, Maximian had tried to dissuade the emperor from marrying a Christian woman; moreover, he urged Diocletian to murder his bride, for her blood was impure, and her mind clouded by magic. But Diocletian, seizing his sword, very nearly ran his friend through in his rage at these words. The friend apologised — the fear of a swift and inevitable end forced him to squeeze out: «Forgive me, Diocles.» But in the depths of his soul, there ripened a hope to kill Prisca, so that she might not hinder the sacred union and friendship of two gods — Jupiter and Hercules.

«Who are you, then?» Diocletian paced from corner to corner, pondering the unknown girl; curiosity, in tandem with anger, consumed him. Women had always flocked to him like moths to a bright flame; it cost him nothing to win the heart of even the most stubborn beauty — but here, all was different. «If you shall not be mine, then you shall be no one’s. I will take you, sooner or later.»

Diocletian turned to his guards and gave the order to seek out and bring, willingly or by force, the prefect’s personal physician and the consul. The only way to discover what the fugitive looked like and where she might be hiding was to seize her parents and force them to speak. The sky grew ever blacker. A storm was ripening. The emperor always suffered from a terrible, persistent migraine, importunate as a fly; he did not love it when the clouds gathered into a grey stain that stretched across the sky, and the wind rose such as before a war — gusty and blood-chilling.

Diocletian had always considered himself a god, mighty and invincible — he had cultivated in himself a sense of duty, responsibility, fearlessness, and courage. But here and now, a few hours before the pouring rain, he felt himself a man — helpless and unskilled. A cold compress of wine vinegar only slightly dulled the pain in his temples, and all that the best physicians and priests recommended helped for a time, but the pain always returned.

The emperor wished neither to drink nor to eat — only to lie in silence and think of nothing. When the rain began, the ruler felt an extraordinary relief, a surge of strength, and came alive again.

«I hear you are searching for the consul and his wife? Why? Is it something serious?» Prisca entered Diocletian’s bedchamber. «There is a downpour outside; it seems a little more and half of Rome will be flooded.»

«Prisca, have you ever desired something you have never seen? And not wished it to fall to another?»

«But that is senseless, my love! Senseless and foolish,» laughed Prisca.

«Everything that does not concern you seems foolish to you, Prisca. Did you want something? My head aches fiercely — either tell me why you have come, or do not trouble me, I beg you. Today I belong neither to myself nor to you.»

«Why do you need the consul and his wife? Will you tell me or not? Do you think they are Christians? Do you wish to wipe them from the face of the earth as well?»

«No, they are not Christians. I need their daughter. And I will answer your question before you ask it: I need her for diplomacy; I wish to present her as a gift when sealing an alliance. They say she is beyond compare, and that serves my purpose — beautiful women are worth their weight in gold, wife; and if she has never known a man — that is a treasure for us.»

«But she fled, Jupiter! Where do you intend to seek her? She could be hiding anywhere — or perhaps she is dead altogether? She is still so young, and she never took a single step away from Agapia into strange parts!»

«Where do you know the name of my prefect’s physician, and how do you know these details?» The emperor sprang from his bed with lightning speed and in an instant stood beside his wife. «You know much of the life of Agapia and her daughter?»