“Everyone except the Christians,” someone observed, and, except for Flavius Clemens, they all laughed.
“Well, there’s no need to persecute them and make more martyrs,” Tacitus pointed out. “Their appeal is mostly to slaves and women. And they have so many factions, they can be depended upon to destroy each other if we only leave them alone!”
Sweets and cheese were served then, and the conversation passed to other things. These were all civilized men, after all, not likely to be swayed by religious enthusiasm. But Gaius could not help wondering if piety, duty, and mutual obligation were enough to nourish the human soul. Perhaps people were driven to cults such as that of Isis or the Christos by the aridity of the State religion, or perhaps the bloody rituals of the Coliseum had become the real religion of Rome.
The other thing he was beginning to realize was that among the thinking men of the city – the men whose company he was increasingly coming to value – there was a growing opposition to the Emperor. These connections would not bring him the patronage he needed to advance in his career. If it came to a choice between ambition and honor, which would he choose?
Shortly after Gaius’s arrival, the Imperial Procurator’s staff of busy freedmen went to work to digest the content of the report from Licinius that he had carried and analyze its implications for the Emperor. Yet the city fathers retained enough authority so that this information must be delivered to them eventually, and Gaius discovered that the influence of his new friends was sufficient to win him an invitation to address the Senate and meet the Emperor afterward.
On the morning he was to appear, Gaius had himself shaved with special care – though he sometimes thought that the bearded Ardanos and Bendeigid were less barbarian than he was himself, he did not think he could explain that to the assembled conscript fathers.
It was very early when he arrived at the Senate and was given a seat beneath a statue of the deified Augustus, who stood on his pedestal looking as cold and cross as Gaius felt. The senators entered by ones and twos, talking softly, followed by the secretaries with their piles of wax tablets, ready to record the debates and decisions of the day. This, reflected Gaius, was where the lords of the world decided the fates of nations. On this marble floor they had debated the defense against Hannibal and the invasion of Britannia. The river of time flowed strongly in this chamber; in comparison, even the pride of the Caesars was only a ripple on the stream.
Just as the opening invocations were beginning the Emperor arrived, resplendent in a purple toga sewn all over with golden stars that made Gaius blink. He had heard of the toga picta, but had thought it was only worn by a general presiding over his triumph. It was rather disturbing to see it worn here, and he wondered if Domitian wanted to be seen as a conqueror, or was simply fond of finery. This was the first time Gaius had seen his Emperor at such close hand. The youngest son of the great Vespasian had the bull neck and well-muscled shoulders of a soldier, but Gaius read petulance in the twist of his mouth and suspicion in his eyes.
It was almost time for the noon recess before Gaius was beckoned forward to read Licinius’s report on the finances of Britannia. There were a few questions, mostly on the subject of resources, and one from Clodius Malleus that allowed Gaius to mention the part he had played in controlling the latest rebellion. Despite some recent tutoring in oratory, he felt he must have bored them, but at the end of his speech, they voted him a perfunctory round of applause and – as Licinius had foreseen – confirmed that for the next year a reasonable percentage of the tax money they had collected might be retained in Britain. Since this was why Licinius had sent him in the first place, Gaius was hardly surprised.
The meeting with Domitian afterwards was brief. On his way to another engagement, the Emperor was already removing the gorgeous toga, but he stopped long enough to give Gaius a careless word of thanks.