“And what was so dangerous about all this? He was a rascal, a rabble-rouser, sure. But what danger lies in that?”
“Sertorius!” Gnaeus was beginning to lose his patience, but he didn’t seem angry. He grabbed my shoulders and looked me in the eye, pleading for me to understand. “Those kinds of actions are forbidden in Rome! Don’t you see that? Rome became great four hundred years ago, when we threw out King Tarquin and all Romans swore to never be enslaved to one man again. We crafted this thing, this image, of a state run by the people, for the people! And they called it Res Publica … a republic, Sertorius! One man cannot have ultimate authority. And Tiberius Gracchus was not voted into ultimate authority, but rather achieved it by clever political maneuvering, distracting the people from the fact that their freedoms were dissolving! Do you know how the Gracchi did this, Sertorius?”
“How, sir?”
“They enact measures the people desire. So the plebs in the street clamor that their freedom isn’t being stolen—nay they are gaining it because of his measures! And Tiberius and his lot fanned this flame, so that he became the only elected official who protected the rights of the people, while the mean old Senate was condemning them. But that is how they lull people into a slumber! Then, once power is seized, they will do whatever is necessary to ensure that it is secured! They no longer need the approval of mere proletariats—they use violence to ensure their victory.”
A knot grew in my stomach. “I understand.”
“That is what he did, Sertorius. Or was beginning to do.” He turned back to the mask he had been pondering for so long. “This was my father. He was a senior member of the Senate at the time, and was one of the men who put down that rebellion—gods protect him. But unfortunately you can kill a man, but you cannot kill an ideology. Tiberius set the precedent, and others have employed it after him. His brother quickly followed suit and was put down the same way. And for years we have been rid of this criminal, infectious …” He paused and took a deep breath. “But now we have another. Marius is using the very methods that the Gracchi employed. He even had my brother Dalmaticus—the chief priest and a senior member of this state—thrown into shackles and led from the Senate House like a common criminal! He has no boundaries, no ends to his desires, and like the Gracchi he will stop at nothing to gain power. Unlike his predecessors, however, Marius is rich and powerful. He is brilliant militarily, and he looks at the Senate House in much the same way he does the battlefield. He is a dangerous, dangerous man, Sertorius.”
“Sir, I understand,” I said firmly. “Excuse me, but I must spend some time on this before I accept. Apart from my family, nothing is more important to me than my honor.” Gnaeus laughed, which perplexed me.
“I appreciate your virtue, Sertorius. It is part of the reason I brought you on. But if you want to be an honorable, clean-handed man then you are attempting to enter the wrong profession. The idea of an innocent statesman is more myth than the Minotaur. You might as well return home.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You speak of history. Do you know of Viriathus?”
“The Lusitanian revolutionary?”
“Yes, that is the one. I’m impressed you know him. His revolt was some time before you were born. You’ll have to forgive an old man his stories, but this is relevant, I assure you. Lusitania had been under Roman control since the Punic Wars, and for the most part we had peaceful, if not friendly, relations. Then the rebel began his warmongering and his revolution. They took up arms and took the fight to us before the Romans there had a chance to defend themselves. The men were butchered, young ladies were gathered up in hordes and raped before they too were killed. Women like Caecilia and Junia, like your mother …” I shuddered at the thought. “And then the children were enslaved. By the time a Roman force arrived to fight him, Viriathus had fled to the hills, like the coward he was. He refused to meet the Romans in open combat and relied on ambushing scouting parties and conducting night raids to continue his fight, all while killing innocent Romans across the country. We were at a loss for how to stop him. I remember clearly how frightening those Senate meetings became, as we went through all our options and came up empty. We felt defeated—and not by a great warrior like Hannibal, but by a snake who hides until he sees a chance to strike at your heels.
“We were almost ready to relent and let this treacherous criminal go free, because we saw no other option. But my brother Quintus could not stand that thought. He applied himself vehemently to get command of the province. When he was finally successful, he decided something had to be done. He bribed three men to kill Viriathus in his sleep.” I assume I winced at this, for he said, “I know, believe me. It seems dishonorable, right? My brother, if he were still sane, would agree that there was nothing honorable about this. But he sacrificed his honor for the good of his soldiers, for justice, and for his people. In my mind, corrupted though it may be, my brother is the noblest Roman I’ve ever known.
“There comes a time, Sertorius, when a man must decide: is it better to be a bad man and accomplish good things, or be a good man and accomplish nothing?” I remember the feeling of the heartbeat in my chest, the creeping silence that followed, and the flickering of the candlelight. The audience of masks watched us blankly, seeming to attest to the truth of Gnaeus’s words. This question has never left me. I’ve pondered it every day sense, and there is no easy answer, I’m afraid. Because in many ways he was right—I was under Rome’s shadow, I believed the mythology about what she was—but the shroud was beginning to be pulled back. I was beginning to understand.
“That is a hard question to answer …” I finally said, my words barely audible.
“I know that, son.” He seemed to offer condolences, as if he remembered the time when he himself learned of Rome’s true nature. “Jupiter Capitolinus runs this republic, but he must have both a left and right hand to accomplish his will here. His right hand stands before the crowd, leads, enacts measures … but there must also be a left hand—men who work tirelessly in the dark to ensure that the right hand, men like my son, can keep their freshly laundered togas clean and white, while we take care of the dirty work to ensure that this state runs properly. Do I make sense?”
“Yes, sir.” I had to struggle to summon the words.
“I have had my chance as the right hand, and it is my hope that you will one day have your time there as well, because you have the stuff about you that makes for a leader, I can see that. But now Rome needs you to help my boy get elected. Rome needs you to stop a madman.” He locked eyes with me and conveyed such a feeling of importance that I was unable to refuse.
“I’ll do it,” I said, but I could not keep his gaze.
“You will?” He seemed surprised. “My boy, you will make your country proud.” I nodded, but in my heart I admitted that my country’s pride might come at the expense of my mother’s shame. I nodded and began to walk away, and Gnaeus returned to his masks and his contemplation.
I SET off at once with a large coin purse no heavier than my heart. I wore my thickest cloak and pulled the hood up, tucking it in close to my ears. Fortunately, I blended in with most of the passersby in the stiff, cold air of coming winter. This was my only solace: that I wouldn’t be recognized.
I made my way south, following the main via as best I could and occasionally needing to ask for directions from irritated foreigners, who knew the way far better than I.
I arrived at the Aventine to find a culture all its own. There was a smell of salt and dead fish ever present in the air, and the people seemed to have a very rough, foreign element about them—although they would most likely tell you they were the proudest and most ancient of Romans.
“Excuse me,” I said, halting before a small butcher’s shack, cutting my way past citizens angrily clamoring that it wasn’t my turn. “I’m looking for a tavern run by a man named Caeparius. Any idea where I could find it?” I asked the butcher. The man rolled his eyes and threw a bloody towel over his shoulder.
“A f
ew paces on your left, down thataway,” he said with a nod.
“Thank you, sir.” I began to step off.
“Hey, boy,” he called after me, giving me a toothless grin. “Whoever she is that you’re trying to hide from, she’ll find out. Women always find out. They have spies everywhere.” He chuckled, although I did not. He must have figured I was looking for a cheap whore at a tavern on a hill other than my own, looking to deceive my wife. He was wrong, but it forced me to reexamine my shame.
As I made my way to the tavern, I noticed how everything on the Aventine seemed lifeless. No shrubbery or greenery lined the roads or crawled up the walls as it did on the marble of the Palatine. Everything seemed to be old and brown, wood and brick.
To find my way to the tavern, all I had to do was follow the shouts of drunken men and the smells of opium and hemp wafting from the beaded door.
I ignored the graffitied depictions of fellatio on the wall and the propositions of the prostitutes as I passed by. Two rough-looking, toothless men stood at semi-attention by the door. They didn’t bar my passage, but one of them snorted and spit a wad of thick mucus at my feet as I entered. I’m not sure what the man’s intentions were, but if it was to repulse me, he succeeded.
Inside, the tavern was dimly lit, flowing with the booming laughter of sailors, thieves, and downtrodden and outcast ex-senators. I made my way to the bar, noticing that the floor was covered in some sticky substance—whether it was wine or bodily fluids I didn’t know. The smell of the men I passed was saltier than the Mediterranean.
“Drink?” the bartender said busily as I approached. There was a great deal of meat hanging by ropes behind the bar, covered in flies. Bowls of prunes, nuts, old grapes, and rotten cheese were laid out on the bar.
“Sure. Whatever you have is fine.” The bartender kicked his mangy guard dog out of the way to fix my cup and slammed the drink down in front of me, before moving on to other guests. I quickly found out I should have made a better request. The wine I received was the sourest, spiciest filth I’d ever drunk. The wine had clearly spoiled, and the man had dumped honey and spices into it to cover up that fact. He’d failed.
“You the lad I’m looking for, then?” a man asked, posting up beside me.
“If you’re the man I’m looking for?” I said, refusing eye contact, looking instead at a mosaic on the back wall, featuring two men shaking hands. I imagined their interaction must have been just as unsavory as ours.
“The name’s Gaius Servilius Glaucia.” He extended his hand, which I reluctantly accepted. I resisted the impulse to wipe my hand on my toga. “So you’re Caepio’s man, then?”
I nodded.
“You know, I’m probably related to them with a name like Servilius, somewhere down the line. But here I sit, leading the Aventine tribes in these huts and slums, and there they sit … in the ivory of the Palatine, leading a nation.” He never lost his grin. Glaucia obviously found himself funny.
“Let’s cut the chatter.” I pulled the coin purse from my belt and set it on the table. From the corner of my eye, I saw him rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“What a sum! Your boys must be desperate. But I’ll not take your money.” I looked at him in confusion. He stared back at me with a coy grin and deep, empty black pools for eyes, like the dead fish that lined the Aventine market.
“Is that not why I am here?” I asked impatiently. Secretly, though, I hoped he would reply with something about honor and a desire to vote for the best candidate, without the need for bribery.
“I’m sure it is. But you’re too late. This is Marian territory now, and I’ve been instructed to relay the message that your man is to stay away from the Aventine tribes from here on out. Got it?” He snorted vulgarly.
“Understood.” I had nothing else to say to the man. I pulled out a coin for the drink and turned to leave, but the man grabbed my arm forcefully enough that I clenched my fists, ready for a fight.
“I can tell by your eyes that you don’t like this work. No man of honor goes bribing, that I know.”
My anger flared. “And what of you? Accepting bribes and rigging elections? A man of honor does that? You’re correct that I don’t like it, but you’re a fool if you think you’re any better. The only difference between you and me is that you seem to be enjoying yourself.” I wrenched myself from his grip.
“Oh no, I’m no man of honor.” He snickered. “Not at all. But I can see that you think you are. Just be sure not to spend too much time with the gorgons or you’ll risk becoming one of them yourself. A man who commits crimes with remorse is no better than the one who does so feeling nothing.” I brought myself close to his face, trying to restrain my anger. The smell of wine on his breath was so pungent I nearly gagged. “And eventually you’ll feel nothing too.”
“You know nothing of me or what I’m fighting for. Keep your philosophy to yourself.” I gave him a light push before stepping off. “And inform your man that the Caepiones will respond.” I stepped through the tavern, pushing aside the drunken gamblers and prostitutes. It had been a long time since I’d felt anger like this. My favorite Zeno quotes of self-control and peace swarmed my thoughts, but I couldn’t seem to talk myself out of my rage.
WHEN I RETURNED to the domus, I found Gnaeus standing in the atrium, apparently waiting for me.
“Is it done, then? Have we secured their votes?” he asked anxiously.
“No. Their votes were already purchased by the Marians.” I walked past him, afraid I might say something beyond my station in my anger.
“Damn him!” he spat. “How is that possible? I just arranged the meeting last market day!”
“I cannot tell you. But he threatened me, saying our people are no longer welcome in their territory.” Gnaeus looked dumbstruck. He followed me into the peristylum. I cupped water from the fountain and splashed it over my head, hoping to cool myself. Gnaeus’s mouth was agape, as if waiting for happier news or some silver lining. “Something ought to be done, sir, or Marius will have bought the whole city by the Saturnalia.” I faced him. He looked away and seemed to be contemplating a strategy.
“I think it is best if you leave Rome for a few days, Sertorius.” He nodded to himself. I’ll admit I was perplexed and a little angry that I wasn’t to be involved in the planning.
“I can help, sir. This is my Rome now, too.”
“Oh, I know. That is precisely the plan. Why don’t you return to Nursia with news of good tidings, of a new era? Inform them of the measures we are taking here and that with the election of my son they can expect prosperity to return to Nursia.”
“If that is where I am needed most, sir,” I said, pursing my lips to hide my growing excitement.
“It certainly is. Tell them grain will follow close behind you.” I had half a mind to embrace him. My sense of loyalty to the Caepiones was growing by the day. If he truly meant to help my home, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I extended my hand, which he heartily accepted.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’ll pack my things immediately.”
SCROLL VI
OCTOBER 648 AB URBE CONDITA; THREE MONTHS UNTIL ELECTION.
The following morning I was eager to get on the road, but first I needed to make a stop. Following the directions I’d received in a letter, I went directly to the Esquiline Hill and then down to the Subura, heeding crude street signs to a block of insulae. They were, perhaps, better constructed than some of the others I’d seen in Rome, but they were nothing compared to a domus like Gnaeus’s. I stopped before a brick building several stories tall and supported by large Greek columns, half scarlet, half the color of cream. After checking a sign hanging from a terrace, I started across the threshold but was stopped by an obese man with a stained tunic.
“Ay, what’s your business?” he said, hoisting a club onto his shoulder.
I ignored the man’s threatening pose. “I’m here to visit a friend. His name is Lucius Hirtuleius. Any idea where I might find h
im?”
“Third floor, second room on your right. Should have his name on the door.” The man sounded bored as he returned to his stool at the foot of the steps. “Any trouble and I’ll know the reason why.” I made no response as I passed him by.
I made my way to the third floor, pausing only to admire the childish artwork on the walls. There was a relatively fresh scene depicting Gaius Marius receiving a crown from a Numidian, with the title “false king” scribbled above it. To his left stood another Roman, towering over the fallen corpse of a regal-looking Numidian. This Roman had the name SVLLA scribbled above him.
On the door I presumed to be Lucius’s, I found a long list of tenant names, all of them crossed out save the last: “Lucius Hirtuleius.” I couldn’t help but smile as I knocked on the door. I’d missed my old friend.
After a brief moment, the door cracked open and Lucius peered out.
“Quintus? What are you doing here?” he asked, perplexed, as he opened the door wider.
“Not so happy to see me then, eh?”
“Of course I am!” He sprang to embrace me. “I’m just surprised, that’s all! Come in, come in! What on Gaia’s green earth has brought you here?”
“To see my old friend!” I said happily as I entered his simple home.
“Well, let me show you around, then,” he said, and he began pointing to his bed, his window with the small hanging garden he’d constructed. Despite the small scale of the place, he was obviously very proud of it—and I was proud of him.
“Perfect for a young man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to your royal villa, eh?” He laughed. “Please, sit!”
“I haven’t received a letter from you in a few weeks now. How was the conclusion of your training?” I took a seat at his table.
“Couldn’t have gone any better, Quintus, I assure you. The whole thing was miserable, but now that it’s done, I can lie and say it was the most fun I’ve ever had!”
The Man With Two Names Page 8
