“I intend to find out,” I told him. “But that isn’t the question uppermost in my mind at the moment.”
“Oh?” Asklepiodes said. “What question troubles you more?” “How did Curio know that Fulvius was killed elsewhere and carried to the basilica steps? That is a detail I’ve mentioned to very few people, and Caius Scribonius Curio isn’t one of them.” I took a slice of fish pie. The way things were going, who knew when I would next have a chance to eat? It is always best to be prepared.
11
DID FULVIA REALLY STRIP NAKED right atop the rostra in front of the whole public?” Julia wanted to know.
“Only half naked. I think stripping to the waist as a display of grief is a Greek custom.”
“When did Fulvia turn into a Greek? She only did it because she thinks she has plenty to show off.”
“Now that you mention it, the condition wasn’t at all unbecoming, though pity wasn’t the reaction she evoked.” Julia and I had encountered one another at our house, where I had gone to get my bath gear. She had just come from Callista’s to change clothes for an afternoon ceremony at the Temple of Vesta. Then it would be back to Callista’s to work on that code.
“You were eager enough to escort her home, I hear.” She looked radiant and deceptively benevolent in Vestal white.
“And a good thing I did. Listen to what I learned there.” As usual, Julia couldn’t stay angry when she was hearing really scabrous gossip and shady intrigue. She seemed thoroughly edified by my recitation.
“What an indiscreet pair,” she said, shaking her head. “And what does Curio intend by this ludicrous charade?”
“Not so ludicrous,” I told her. “He has the whole City believing he was almost assassinated, and I’d believe it, too, if I hadn’t seen the evidence and heard what Asklepiodes had to say. With the elections just the day after tomorrow, the sympathy vote could just push him over the top in a tightly contested election.”
“Sad to say, that is the most innocent explanation you can think of.”
“Unfortunately. And I am now sure that he had some knowledge of Fulvius’s murder. But was it prior or post, and was he personally involved?”
“Would Fulvia marry her brother’s murderer? That would be rich even for her.”
“Not everybody knows what everybody else is doing in this tangle of deceptions,” I sighed. “So far we have Fulvius, the Marcelli, Octavia, Curio, Tribune Manilius, and even Fulvia herself, and every one of them may be playing a different game. Some of them may not be involved at all, although I wouldn’t put any money on that proposition.”
She looked at the satchel of towels, oil flasks, and scrapers on the table. “Which bath are you going to? The Licinia?”
“No, the one near the old Senate house. The other senators will be gathering there, and I want to sample the climate. Have you made any further progress on the code?”
“Two more characters. Some whole words are turning up, though it’s too soon to try to make any sense out of the documents. It’s the most enthralling work I’ve ever done. I’d still be there if I didn’t absolutely have to go to the temple this afternoon. Callista thinks we can have it broken by nightfall.”
“Wonderful. Send word to me as soon as you have them translated. I’m afraid I have no idea where I’ll be.”
“Wherever it is, go easy on the wine. You need all your wits about you just now.” She swept out like a white cloud.
“Big chance of that,” Hermes said, when she was gone.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m thinking of reforming.” Hermes wisely said nothing.
It was still only early afternoon, which seemed unbelievable so eventful had the day been. Men were just beginning to gather at the baths. The one I favored was just off the Forum. Although it was less luxurious than the newer balnea, it was favored by men of power in Rome, the senators and the untitled but wealthy equites.
For a change, I soaked in the hot bath and just listened to them talk for a while. Naturally, almost all the talk was about Fulvia’s performance that morning, and the “attack” on Curio. Naturally, Fulvia got the bulk of the attention. Some claimed to be shocked and scandalized; some were merely amused. All agreed that she had made a fabulous sight, and those few who hadn’t been there were much aggrieved at having missed the show.
“What’s this about Curio being a champion of the plebs?” asked a crusty old senator. “I thought he was one of us!” Us being the aristocrats, the optimates, the men who sometimes styled themselves boni, the best.
“That’s what I thought,” said another. Apparently, Curio’s defection to Caesar’s camp was so recent that many senators hadn’t gotten the news yet.
“Oh, yes,” an eques affirmed. “It seems he’s as two-faced as Janus. He’ll spend his year pushing Caesar’s interests if he gets elected.”
“And now it looks as if he’s marrying Clodius Pulcher’s widow,” said a young senator, who wore a dreamy expression. “It’s going to be a little hard on his dignity when he gets up to interpose his veto, knowing that we’ve all seen his wife naked.”
“He doesn’t seem to be a man easily embarrassed,” said the eques.
“Who tried to kill him?” I threw the question out at random, my eyes half shut, as if I were almost asleep. I didn’t want to take part in the conversation, but I was curious to hear opinion taken from the common store. Sometimes this sort of thing can be more revealing than the informed opinion of insiders.
“Same bunch who killed that fellow, what’s-his-name, Fulvius,” the young senator opined.
“I’ll wager it’s Pompey’s doing,” said the eques. Pompey was not at all popular with men of his class, who tended to favor Caesar.
“Why?” asked the old senator. “Aren’t Pompey and Caesar still pretending to be friends? Since that dog Clodius was killed, Caesar’s had no flunky to run the city for him. Young Curio’s father was a good man. He was one of us! This boy won’t be near the rabble-rouser Clodius was. Why should Pompey want him dead?”
“Besides,” the young senator put in, “if there’s one thing Pompey knows how to accomplish well, it’s killing people. He wouldn’t send incompetents to have a man done away with. He’d send a few of his old centurions, men who know how to do their master’s bidding and keep their mouths shut about it afterward.”
“Whoever it was,” said a voice I recognized, “they certainly got that wild woman excited.” Sallustius Crispus lowered himself into the bath. I hadn’t seen him come in. “She might have gotten another riot going except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked the eques.
“Didn’t anybody notice?” Sallustius said, grinning. “She never said just who she wanted killed—because she didn’t know.”
“Sounded to me like she wanted the heads of the whole Senate hung up on the Rostra,” the young senator said.
“A rhetorical excess, I’m sure.” Sallustius caught sight of me then, or pretended to. “Why, Decius Caecilius, I seem to run into you wherever I go.”
“He’s standing for praetor,” somebody said. “There’s no getting away from a candidate.”
“He’d wear his toga candida in the bath, if he could get away with it,” said another, amid general laughter. That was fine with me. The last thing I wanted at that moment was to be taken too seriously. Gradually the talk turned to other things. As I expected, Sallustius was there when I resumed my clothing.
“All right, Sallustius, you’ve been dying to say something. What is it?”
“Our friend Curio, of course, is saying nothing about the men who attacked him, save that they were inept. His friends and supporters, however, are not so reticent.”
“Oh? What are they saying?”
“That it was not Curio’s enemies who attacked him, that it was Caesar’s enemies.”
“I see. Supporting Caesar has exposed him to attack from the vile and underhanded optimates, eh?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so. And what a brave man he is to
have survived the attack. How becomingly modest to act as if it were a trifling brawl, instead of the Homeric combat his friends are describing this very day. I saw him just a little while ago in the Forum, his head wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage.”
I had to smile. Curio’s little charade seemed to be working splendidly. Had I not so inopportunely sent Asklepiodes to tend to him, he probably would have had himself carried to the Forum on a litter, looking ready to expire but proclaiming himself to be prepared to take office and serve the People of Rome despite his near-mortal injuries.
We walked out of the dressing room and out into the pillared arcade that fronted the balnea. Beyond the steps, between the walls of two temples, we could see a small part of the Forum, including the old sundial from Syracuse. People continued to climb the steps in search of a bath, many of them senators. I was obliged to nod and greet most of them in passing but managed to handle our conversation in the meantime.
“So this raises not only his own standing, but Caesar’s as well?”
“As if he needed it. You escorted Fulvia home, did you not? How did you find Curio?”
“Just as she described him: poor man was at death’s door, bleeding like he’d been beheaded. I was in the act of sticking a denarius under his tongue when he revived and begged to return to his public duties.” I was probably enjoying this too much. I have a tendency to do that. Sallustius certainly took it wrong.
“I see. Then you have finally got off the fence and declared for Caesar? Good choice. You won’t regret it.”
“Nothing of the sort! And don’t go around telling anybody that I’m in Caesar’s camp because I’m not!”
He winked. “Of course, I understand perfectly.” Sometimes I truly hated the man.
“So how do you interpret this business?” I asked.
“I find myself wondering a few things. For instance, how did these attackers know to ambush Curio outside Fulvia’s door?”
“They intend to marry. It’s no secret and one really doesn’t expect a woman like Fulvia to wait until the vows have been made and the hymns to Hymenaeus have been sung.”
“That is so,” he said, nodding sagely. “Yet a good many people have not yet heard of these proposed nuptials. Most of us were still under the impression that Clodius’s widow was to marry Marcus Antonius, even now earning laurels in Gaul. Most of Curio’s friends do not yet know. How did his enemies come to learn of it?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest,” I told him. Guarding Curio’s secrets was no concern of mine, but something made me unwilling to communicate anything to Sallustius.
“In fact,” he went on relentlessly, “last night I attended a meeting of, shall we say, the inner circle of Caesar’s supporters here in Rome at the house of Caius Antonius the quaestor and brother of Marcus Antonius. Do you know him?”
“Who can avoid knowing the brothers Antonius? They’re always either committing some crime or prosecuting somebody else for doing the same. For a pair of disreputable drunks, they’re a lot of fun, most of the time. Your meeting must have been enjoyable.”
“Oh, it was all very serious for a change,” he said. “We discussed how we were going to manage the voting now that Caesar’s men are here. A great many of those soldiers have never even seen Rome, much less voted in an election here, so there was much discussion about how to see that all runs smoothly. Curio was there, among others.”
“I would expect him to be, now that he’s changed sides.”
“Yes, just so. After the meeting, a crowd of us walked through the City, each man leaving the group as we neared his home. As it happened, we passed right by Curio’s door. He left us there, nowhere near the Clivus Victoriae. He gave us no indication that he feared attack either.”
“No doubt he didn’t wish to besmirch his future bride’s reputation.” I said this with a straight face.
“That must have been it. Once we were safely away, he tiptoed his way through Rome’s night-darkened streets and was seen by his enemies, who have a batlike ability to find their prey in the dark. They decided to let him spend a last night with his beloved before attacking, possibly as a courtesy.”
I spread my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The world teems with mysteries. Personally, I wonder how the ocean stays where it is. Why doesn’t it run off the edge of the world?”
“You should ask that Alexandrian woman you’ve been visiting. She is said to be a great scholar.”
Trust Sallustius to jab at you from an unexpected direction. Talking with him was like fighting with a left-handed swordsman. I thought I kept my face impassive, being well schooled in that art, but he was as perceptive as he was devious.
“We’ve discussed mathematics and language,” I said. “The subject of cosmology has never come up. Now that you mention it, I must remember to ask.”
“She’s a great beauty, too. I’ve attended her salon on a number of occasions. Your taste in women is, as always, impeccable.”
“Oh, she and Julia are great friends. Whatever poor reputation I have stems from my young and foolish days.”
“Really? Since Fulvius made his denunciation three days ago, everyone assumes you seduced, or were seduced by, Princess Cleopatra.”
“She’s just a girl. Besides, she’s royalty and I am a mere Roman senator. And a plebeian at that.” I thought I was restraining my temper admirably.
“Oh, come now, Decius. Nothing is beneath the dignity of Egyptian royalty, everyone knows that.”
I glanced at the angle of the sun. It was just past midafternoon. The old sundial we looted from Syracuse two hundred years before would show the hour to be the sixth, possibly the seventh. It always gave the time incorrectly, but it would be somewhere in that region.
“Sallustius, I am sure that this is taking us someplace, but I can’t imagine where.”
“I would truly love to have your personal account of Catilina’s conspiracy. I believe you know things nobody else does.”
“You’ve asked me about it often enough.”
“Suppose I had something to trade? Something of great interest to you right now? Something of vital importance to your career and possibly to your continued existence? Might that not be worth your helpful cooperation?”
I considered this. It did not come unexpectedly. Collecting secrets was the breath of life to Sallustius. Trading them was his passion. He would not make such a proposition idly. I knew he must truly believe he had something worth my granting him an interview about that unhappy experience. He knew the value of information the way a slave trader knew the value of his human livestock.
“All right,” I said after due consideration. “If you truly know something I don’t know already, you shall have your interview. But it will have to be after this business is settled and the elections are over.”
“That is understood,” he said, nodding and grinning like an ape. “You’ll have a few days between the election and the day you assume office.” Like everyone else, he knew that, barring death or conviction, I would be elected praetor.
“Done. What do you know?”
“Let’s find a quiet place to talk.”
We left the steps of the balnea and passed between the two temples into the Forum. A short walk brought us to the Temple of Saturn. On this day and at this hour it was deserted except for its slaves, who were busy decorating it for the upcoming Saturnalia celebrations. The archaic, blackened image of the god, holding his golden sickle, his legs wrapped in woolen bands, ignored us as we entered the dimness of his home.
“This is where it started, by the way,” I said.
“What started?”
“My involvement in Catilina’s conspiracy.”
“In the Temple of Saturn? But of course,” Sallustius said. “You were Treasury quaestor that year. How could I have forgotten?”
“That’s for later. What do you have for me?”
We walked past the ornate podium that held military standards. In some years they stood like a
dense forest, topped with eagles, boars, bears, spread hands, and other emblems of military units great and small. That year it consisted mainly of empty sockets. So many units had been activated that the only standards left were those of obsolete organizations, the phalanxes and maniples of previous centuries. One section had been covered with a black cloth. There had stood the eagles lost by Crassus at Carrhae. The cloth would remain, an emblem of dishonor, until the eagles were taken back from the Parthians.
Beyond this podium was a broad, marble desk used by the Treasury quaestors and their staffs on days of official business. Ranged around it were wooden chairs with wicker seats. We pulled out two chairs and sat, alone in the quiet dimness of the old temple. Only faint sounds of activity made their way through the open doors.
Sallustius arranged his toga, took his time getting comfortable, laced his fingers over his small but distinguished paunch, and began. “Does it ever strike you, Decius, how few the great families have become?”
“This is oblique, even for you. Get to the point.”
“Bear with me. I am a historian, and I take a long view of things. Like most of your class, you are a man of direct action and only take heed of what lies directly in front of you at the moment. You pay little attention to what stretches far behind and of what lies ahead.”
I sighed. This was going to take awhile. “I may be more perceptive than you think, but tell it as you like.”
“The great old patrician families, the Cornelii, the Fabii, and such, have been dying out generation by generation. They are infertile. More and more they rely on adoption. Or else they fall into poverty because patricians are barred from trade and business. Their only legitimate sources of income come from the land, which is no longer adequate. Public office is expensive, as you know all too well. The Senate takes its new members mainly from the wealthy equites now,” Sallustius began.
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”
“Of course not. Everybody knows this. They just don’t take the trouble to extrapolate the consequences. Rome is a Republic, Decius, but it is far from being a democracy. Roman voters are profoundly conservative, and for centuries they have elected their leaders from a tiny clique of families. New Men like Cicero can be discounted. They have been too few to matter.
SPQR X: A Point of Law Page 19
