I had a feeling that my father did not himself know what he wanted.
“Have you come to Rome to get rich?” I asked him.
My father was annoyed.
“You know perfectly well,” he said violently, “that I desire nothing more than to live a simple life in peace and quiet. But my freedmen have taught me that it is a crime against the State and the common good to save gold coins in bags in a chest. In addition I want to buy more land in Caere, where my real family lives. You must never forget that we are of the Manilianus family only by adoption.”
He looked at me with troubled eyes.
“You have a fold in your eyelid,” he said, “just as I have. It is a sign of our true origins. But when I searched in the State archives, I saw with my own eyes the rolls of knighthood from Emperor Gaius’ day, and there is no mark against my name, only a snakelike wavy line through it. Gaius’ hands shook badly because of his illness. There was no court judgment or action against me. Whether this was because of my absence or not, I don’t know. The Procurator Pontius Pilate himself fell from grace ten years ago, lost his office and was removed to Galilee. But Emperor Claudius has that secret record and it could obviously contain something to my disadvantage. I have met his freedman Felix, who is interested in the affairs of Judaea. He has promised to consult Narcissus, the Emperor’s private secretary, at a suitable moment. I should prefer to meet this influential man myself, but he is said to be so important that it costs ten thousand sesterces just to meet him. For the sake of my honor and certainly not from meanness, I should prefer not to bribe him directly.”
My father went on to tell me that he had listened carefully and memorized everything said about Emperor Claudius, the bad as well as the good. The return of our name to the rolls depended in the long run on the Emperor personally. With increasing age, Emperor Claudius had become so capricious that at a whim or an omen, he would reverse the firmest decisions. He might also fall asleep in the middle of a session of the Senate, or at a trial, and forget what was being dealt with. While waiting, my father had taken the opportunity of reading all the works Emperor Claudius had published, even his manual on the game of dice.
“Emperor Claudius is one of the few Romans who can still speak the Etruscans’ language and read their script,” explained my father. “If you want to please me, go to the public library in Palatine and ask to read the book he has written on the history of the Etruscans. It is several scrolls long and not a very dull book. It also explains the words in many of the priests’ sacrificial rituals which they have hitherto had to learn by heart. Then we’ll go to Caere and look at our property, which I have still not yet seen myself. You will be able to ride there.”
But my father’s advice depressed me even more and I felt more like biting my lips and weeping than anything else. When my father had gone, Barbus gave me a sly look.
“It’s odd how many middle-aged men forget what it’s like to be young,” he said. “I remember very well indeed how when I was your age I wept without cause and had bad dreams. I know perfectly well how you could retrieve your peace of mind and sound sleep, but because of your father I daren’t arrange any such thing for you.”
Aunt Laelia also began to look at me with troubled eyes, and then she asked me into her room, looking around carefully before speaking.
“If you swear not to tell your father,” she said, “I’ll tell you a secret.”
From politeness I promised I would not, although I was laughing inwardly, for I thought that Aunt Laelia would be unlikely to have any thrilling secrets. But in this I was wrong.
“In the room you sleep in,” she said, “a Jewish magician called Simon used to live as my guest. He himself says he is a Samaritan, but they’re Jews too, aren’t they? His incense and magical symbols have probably been disturbing your sleep. He came to Rome some years ago and soon won a reputation as a physician, fortuneteller and miracle worker. Senator Marcellus let him live in his house and erected a statue for him, for he believed that Simon had divine powers. His powers were. tested. He plunged a young slave into the sleep of the dead ‘and then wakened him again from the dead, although the boy had already turned cold and did not show the slightest sign of life. I saw this with my own eyes.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said. “But I’ve had enough of Jews in Antioch.”
“Quite,” said Aunt Laelia eagerly. “Let me go on. The other Jews, the ones who live on the other side of the river, and the ones who live here on Aventine, became bitterly envious of Simon the magician. He could make himself invisible and he could fly. So the Jews summoned another magician who was also called Simon. Both of them had to demonstrate their powers and Simon, that is my Simon, asked the spectators to look carefully at a little cloud and then he suddenly disappeared. When he showed himself again, he was flying out of the cloud above the forum, but then the other Jew called on his idol, Christ, so that Simon fell to the ground in midflight and broke his leg. He was angry about this and was carried out of the city to hide in the country while his leg healed, until the other Simon had left the city. Then Simon the magician returned with his daughter and I let him live here as he had no better patron. He stayed with me as long as I had money but then moved to a house by the Moon temple and he receives, clients there. He doesn’t fly anymore, and neither does he raise the dead, but his daughter earns her living as a moon priestess. Many noble people let her tell their fortunes, and Simon gets back vanished articles.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked suspiciously.
Aunt Laelia began to wring her hands.
“It’s been so sad since Simon the magician left,” she said, “but he won’t receive me any longer because I’ve no money and I’ve not dared go to his home because of your father. But I’m sure he would cure your bad dreams and calm your fears. Anyhow, with his daughter’s help he could tell your fortune and advise you on what you should eat and what doesn’t agree with you and which days are your lucky days and which are unlucky. He forbade me to eat peas, for instance, and ever since then I’ve felt quite ill as soon as I see peas, even if they’re only dried ones.”
My father had given me some gold pieces to console me and spur me on to read the history of the Etruscans. I thought Aunt Laelia was a silly old lady, spending her time on superstition and magic because she did not have much fun in her life. But I didn’t grudge her her pastime, and the Samaritan magician and his daughter seemed much more exciting than the dusty library where old men sit endlessly rustling among the dry scrolls. The time had also come for me to make acquaintance with the Moon temple, because of the promise I had made to the oracle in Daphne.
When I promised to go with Laelia to the magician, she was extremely pleased. She dressed herself in silks, painted and prinked her wrinkled face, put on the red wig my father had given her and also put the necklace of jewels around her thin neck. Barbus asked her, in the name of the gods, at least to cover her head, for otherwise people might well take her for the hostess of a brothel. Aunt Laelia was not angry, but just wagged her forefinger at Barbus and forbade him to come with us. But Barbus had promised solemnly never to let me out of his sight in Rome. Finally we agreed that he should come with us to the Moon temple but would wait outside.
The Moon temple on Aventine is so ancient that there is no myth about it as there is about the more recent Diana temple. King Servius Tullius in his day had it built in a circular shape from magnificent timber. Later a stone temple was built around the wooden building. The innermost part of the temple is so holy that it has no stone floor, but is just flattened earth. Apart from votive gifts, there are no other sacred objects except a huge egg of stone, the surface of which is worn black and smooth with oil and salve. When one enters the half-light of the temple, one can feel the shiver of holiness one experiences only in very old temples. This shiver I had felt before in the temple of Saturn, which is the most ancient and most terrifying and most holy of all the temples in Rome. It is the temple of Time, and the high priest, who is usually the Emperor himself, on a certain day every year still beats on a copper nail in the oaken pillar which stands in the middle of it.