Waki Waltari

The Roman by Mika Waltari

When Gallio had read his letters, he looked serious and gave me an attentive look.

“I think it would be best if you wore your toga at court only,” he suggested carefully. ‘We must remember that Achaia is Achaia. Its civiliz- ation is older and anyhow, incomparably more spiritually directed than that of Rome. The Greeks follow their own laws and keep order them- selves. Rome’s policy in Achaia is to interfere as little as possible and let things take their own course unless we are directly appealed to, to inter-vene. Violent attacks here are very rare. The greatest difficulty in a port city like this lies in thieves and swindlers. We have not as yet an amphi- theater here in Corinth, but there is an excellent circus for the races. The theaters perform every evening. A host of pleasures are available to a decent young knight.”

“I’ve not come to Corinth for pleasure,” I replied irritably, “but to prepare myself for my career in office.”

“Of course, of course,” said Gallio. “I see that in my brother’s letter. Perhaps you’d better first report to the cohort commantler at our garrison. He is a Rubrius, so you’d better be polite. Apart from that, you can get the weapon exercises going, for the soldiers have become slack under his command. Later you can travel around and inspect the other garrisons. There aren’t many. In Athens and some other sacred cities, it is not even advisable to wear Roman military uniform, but a philosopher’s rags would be more suitable. Once a week I hold a court here outside the building. Then you must, of course, be present. One must fall in with the customs as one finds them. But we shall tour the building now and I shall introduce you to my chancery staff.”

Chatting in a friendly way on this and that, he introduced me to his treasurer, his lawyer, the superintendent of the Achaian tax office and to the trade representative from Rome.

“I’d like to ask you to stay with me,” said Gallio. “But it is better for Rome if you live out in the city, either at a good inn or in your own house. Then you’ll make contact with the people better and learn their desires, customs and complaints. Don’t forget that Achaia must be handled as carefully as a ball of feathers.

“At the moment,” he went on, “I am expecting some learned men and philosophers to dinner. I should like you to join us, but I see you are exhausted by your journey and the food would not be to your taste, as I see my wine is not either. Go and recover from the trials of your journey first, get to know the city and report to Rubrius when it suits you best. There is no hurry.”

 

 

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He also introduced me to his wife. She was wearing a gold-em-broidered Greek mantle, gold leather sandals and a gold band in her carefully arranged hair. She looked at me mischievously at first and then at Gallio, and then turned serious, greeting me in sorrowful tones as if all the cares of the world oppressed her. Then she suddenly put her hand to her mouth, tittered, turned around and fled from the room.

I thought the Spanish-born Helvia, despite her beauty, was obviously not wholly mature. Gallio hid his own smile, looked solemnly after his wife and confirmed my own unspoken thoughts.

“Yes, Lausus,” he said, “she is much too young and cannot take the duties of her position seriously enough. Fortunately this does not matter here in Corinth.”

The following day I wondered for a long time whether I should send a message to the garrison for a horse and guard of honor to accompany me when I reported my arrival. This I had a right to demand, of course. But as I did not yet know Ruhrius, I thought perhaps it would be better not to make myself too forward. So I dressed according to regulations, in my breastplate with the silver eagles, my iron-shod shoes and leggings, and my red-plumed helmet. Hierex put my short red tribune’s cloak around my shoulders and fastened the shoulder clasp for me.

My departure caused such a sensation at the inn that even the cooks and cleaners pressed around the door to watch me leave. ‘After I had marched in my clinking armor a short distance, people began to hurry up and gape at me. The men pointed at my plumes and shouted something, the women stepped up close to me to poke at my breastplate, and several urchins strode along in time beside me, shouting and yelling. It was not long before I realized they were making fun of my military splendor.

It was such a painful situation that I was seized with a wild desire to snatch out my long sword and lay about with the flat side of it. I also real- ized that this would attract even more attention to myself. Scarlet in the face, I turned to appeal to an oncoming policeman. He waved at the street urchins with his little stick to make way for me. Nevertheless, at least a hundred people followed me as far as the entrance to the camp.

The guards hurriedly snatched up their lances and shields from the wall. One blew the alarm on his trumpet when he saw the jeering mob trotting toward the barracks. The crowd had not the least desire to set foot inside the Roman garrison, only to be beaten in thanks. They stopped in a semicircle in front of the points of the soldiers’ lances, called out good wishes to me and assured me that not for years had they seen such a wonderful spectacle.

 

 

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