Roma

by Steven Saylor

  “Before that day, there had never been a public inquest into charges of poisoning. Such matters were rare enough, and when they did occur, they had always been handled entirely within the affected household, with justice dispensed by the paterfamilias. ‘It began beneath his roof, let it end beneath his roof,’ as the saying goes. If a head of household’s wife or daughter, or his son, for that matter, dared to commit such a crime, it was the prerogative of the paterfamilias to determine guilt and exact punishment.

  “But this was clearly beyond the scope of any one paterfamilias. There was simply no precedent for such a thing—a vast web of crimes spun by a conspiracy of women! The consuls were fearful of repercussions from the powerful families involved. They were only too happy to allow me, as curule aedile, to conduct the questioning.

  “Sergia at last broke her silence. She claimed that her potions were remedies for various ailments, none of them poisonous. If that were so, I said, then let every woman present swallow the potion that was found in her possession. This caused a great stir among the women. There was much weeping, shrieking, tearing of hair. Gradually, the women quieted one another. At last, they agreed to the test. In unison, following the lead of Sergia, the women swallowed their so-called remedies.

  Quintus shook his head. “What a sight! What a sound! The death throes of more than twenty women, there before our eyes! Not all the potions were the same, and their effects differed. Some of the women were seized by violent convulsions. Others stiffened and died with a hideous grimace. I was a young man, but I had already fought in several battles—I had killed men and seen men killed—yet I had never witnessed anything as strange and terrifying as the death of those women by their own hands!”

  Kaeso gazed at his cousin wide-eyed. The details of the mass poisonings were completely new to him. Kaeso found the tale at once thrilling and repulsive. “Was that the end of it, cousin Quintus?”

  “Far from it! The friends and servants of those dead women had much more to tell us. As more women were implicated, we realized that the scale of the conspiracy was larger than anyone could have imagined. In the end, more than one hundred and seventy women were found guilty, and all were put to death. The murder of so many upstanding citizens, the shocking investigation, the executions—all cast a shadow of despair across the city. The truth was too appalling for some to accept. There were those who said I went too far, that my judgment was faulty, that I allowed wicked people to falsely accuse the wives and daughters of their enemies. Well, even the gods are not infallible! I believe my investigation was thorough and impartial, and that no other man could have done better. In any event, the poisonings stopped, and the citizens of Roma rewarded me with election to higher office in the years that followed.”

  Kaeso shook his head. “I had no idea the crimes were so widespread, and so bizarre. I’d heard only vague rumors before.”

  “I’m not surprised. When the wretched affair was over, people did their best to forget it.”

  “But why did those women commit such crimes?”

  “The reasons they gave were as varied as the poisons they used: greed, revenge, spite, jealousy. Having committed murder once, many of the women seemed unable to resist doing so again. It was as if a kind of madness spread among them, a homicidal contagion, a compulsion to kill. The root cause of that madness, no one could determine. The only certain cure was death. I put an end to the plague of poisonings, and since that time, it has never recurred.”

  “What a fascinating story!”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely! I should like to know even more. Who were those women? What were their names? Whom did they kill, and why, and when, and—”

  Amused and a little flattered by his young cousin’s enthusiasm, Quintus emitted a good-natured grunt that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, young man, as it happens, I kept a very thorough dossier of materials relating to my investigation—for my own protection, if nothing else, so that if called upon later I could show exactly what evidence I had obtained and the circumstances under which I obtained it. All the details are there—names, dates, even the recipes the women used to concoct their various poisons. Quite a few of them were able to read and write, and some of them kept copious notes about the poisons and their effects.”

  “Would you allow me to see that dossier, cousin?”

  “Certainly. Do you know, no one has ever asked to see it before. And yet, that investigation is now a part of the family’s history, a part of Roma’s history.”

  “It shouldn’t be forgotten,” said Kaeso.

  Quintus nodded. “Very well. Those materials must be somewhere among my memorabilia. When I have time, I shall locate them, and let you have a look.”

  Later that night, alone in his room in his father’s house, Kaeso prepared for bed. By the flickering light of a single lamp, he removed his toga without assistance; getting out of the garment was much easier than putting it on. He carefully folded the toga and placed it on a chair. He stripped off his undertunic and loincloth, and stood naked except for the gift his father had given him that morning, the fascinum which hung from the chain around his neck.

  Among the other gifts Kaeso had received that day was a small mirror. A slave had already hung it on the wall. The mirror was round, made of polished silver, and decorated around its border with images engraved in the metal. The images depicted the exploits of Hercules. No doubt the giver, a colleague of Kaeso’s father, had thought the mirror would make a particularly appropriate coming-of-age gift for a young Fabius, as the Fabii considered themselves to be descended from Hercules; but the reflection of his own face, surrounded by images of the demigod, only reminded Kaeso that he was not really a Fabius by blood, only by adoption.

  Kaeso stood naked before the mirror and gazed at his shadowy reflection. “Today you are a man, Kaeso Fabius Dorso,” he whispered. “But who are you? Where did you come from? Your grandfather was a foundling among the rubble; was he begotten by a god, or a Gaul? Will you live and die and never know the secret of your origin—or is there an oracle who can answer your question?”

  He touched the amulet at his chest. The gold of the fascinum caught the lamp’s flickering light, and Kaeso was dazzled by its reflection in the mirror.

  The next morning, Kaeso donned his toga again to pay a formal call upon a man he had never met.

  Appius Claudius—the seventh of that name in the line descended from Attus Clausus—blinked in disbelief when his secretary announced his first visitor of the day. “The young Fabius?” he said. “Are you sure you heard the name correctly?”

  The slave nodded.

  Claudius pursed his lips and stroked his beard, which was still more black than silver. “Very well, show him in. I’ll meet him here in the garden. Turn away all other visitors until we’re done.”

  If anything, the garden of Appius Claudius, with its splashing fountain surrounding a statue of three Muses and its terraces of roses, was even more magnificent than the garden of Quintus Fabius. Kaeso was duly impressed, but not surprised. If any man was as powerful and respected in Roma as his cousin Quintus, that man was Quintus’s longtime rival, Appius Claudius.

  “I believe that congratulations are in order, young man,” said Claudius, standing to greet him. “Your toga suits you well.”

  In fact, Kaeso had dressed himself that morning without the help of a slave, and had not quite succeeded in making the garment hang correctly. He was glad to take the chair which Claudius offered. Sitting disguised the awkward folds of his toga.

  “Thank you for receiving me, Censor.” Kaeso addressed his host by the title of the prestigious office he held. In many ways, the censorship was an even higher magistracy than the consulship, and its exalted rank was signified by the purple toga that the censor alone could wear. The censor had the power to fill vacancies in the Senate. He also kept the rolls of citizenship. He could add men to the list, or, with just cause, strike them from it. The censor’s list determ
ined the division of citizens into voting units, a tool the patricians had long used to their advantage. By manipulating the list, the censor could influence the course of elections.

  Appius Claudius had also used the powers of his office to gain complete control over two public works projects of unprecedented vastness. This was the reason Kaeso had come to see him.

  “If I look a bit surprised, you must understand that it’s been a very long time since any man named Fabius has cast a shadow in this garden,” said Claudius, who smiled as readily as Quintus scowled. Kaeso had heard that the man’s charm was his most notable quality; when the Fabii said this, it was not a compliment. “Whenever a political question arises, it seems that your cousin Quintus leans in one direction and I lean in the other. The two of us can never seem to meet, either on policy or in the flesh.”

  Kaeso spoke carefully. “No one holds Quintus Fabius in higher esteem than I do, but I am my own man.”

  “Well spoken! I myself am only too well acquainted with the burden of having famous—and infamous—relatives. Fortunately, the worst of them are long dead. But like you, Kaeso, I am my own man. I am no more responsible for the criminal behavior of my great-great-grandfather, the Decemvir, than you are responsible for the dunderheaded, backward-looking politics of your esteemed cousin. We are each his own man, and each man is the architect of his own fortune. Shall we drink to that?”

  A slave had appeared with two cups of wine. Kaeso, feeling a bit disloyal to Quintus but eager to ingratiate himself with his host, took a sip. The wine was unwatered and stronger than he was used to. Almost at once he felt warm and a little fuzzy-headed.

  Claudius signaled that both their cups should be refilled. “Given the chilly relations between your cousin Quintus and myself, I assume you must have a very good reason for coming to see me.”

  Kaeso could feel that the wine was beginning to loosen his tongue; perhaps it would not be so difficult to state his desire, after all. He was just opening his mouth to speak when his host interrupted him.

  “But, no—I can tell that you’ve come here on business of some sort, and it’s still too early in the day for me to discuss serious business. Let’s get to know one another a little. Perhaps we have interests in common. Do you read Latin?”

  “Of course I do, Censor.”

  “And Greek?”

  “Well…a little,” said Kaeso.

  “By which you mean not at all. A pity! I thought I might show you my library, which is the best in Roma, but since almost all the books are in Greek, it would mean nothing to you. Every Roman should learn at least enough Greek to read the great playwrights—Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides. And of course, the great philosophers—Plato and Aristotle. But your face remains a blank, Kaeso. Do these names mean anything to you?”

  “I’m afraid not, Censor.”

  “Alas!” Claudius shook his head. “And do you know where that word, ‘alas,’ comes from?”

  Kaeso frowned. “No.”

  “And you a Fabius, with family ties to Hercules! ‘Alas’ is a Latinization of a Greek name, Hylas. And who was Hylas?”

  Kaeso furrowed his brow and shrugged.

  Claudius sighed. “Hylas was a beautiful boy, the beloved of Hercules. The two of them together accompanied Jason and the Argonauts on their quest for the Golden Fleece. When the Argo dropped anchor at the mouth of the river Ascanius, Hylas was sent to fetch fresh water from the springs. But the nymphs were jealous of his beauty, and Hylas was pulled into the water, never to be seen again. Hercules was distraught beyond comforting. For a long time—long after hope of finding the boy was gone—he wandered up and down the riverbank, crying out, ‘Hylas! Hylas!’ And thus we still cry, ‘Alas! Alas!’ when confronted by great sorrow.”

  Kaeso raised his eyebrows. Hylas was not among the characters engraved on the mirror he had been given. “I never heard that story before. It’s quite beautiful.”

  “There are several versions of the tale of Hercules and Hylas among my books, but you must know Greek to read any of them.”

  “I’ve never claimed to be a scholar, Censor. A Roman’s primary duty is to serve the state as a soldier—”

  “Indeed! And as a warrior you could surely benefit from reading Homer’s Iliad—or, even better, The Life of Alexander by Cleon of Corinth. I received a copy only yesterday, by courier all the way from a book vendor in Athens. You have heard of Alexander?”

  “Alexander the Great of Macedonia? Who hasn’t heard of him? First he conquered Greece, and then the whole of the world to the south and east—Egypt, Persia, and faraway lands that lie beyond any map. My father says we’re lucky he didn’t turn his attention to the west, or else we’d have had to fight him on the banks of the Tiber. But Alexander won’t conquer anyone else. He’s been dead for ten years now.”

  “Eleven years, actually—but you do indeed seem to know who Alexander was. Very good!” Claudius laughed and shrugged. “One never knows what a young man is likely to know, or not know, given the dreadful state of Roman education. Many a Roman can name his own ancestors going back ten generations—not a hard feat, since they tend to all have the same name—but how many can name the reigning tyrant of Syracuse, or find Carthage on a map?”

  Kaeso smiled. “My father says you’re obsessed with Syracuse and Carthage.”

  “Indeed I am, because the future of Roma resides in the sea lanes of the Mediterranean, and those sea lanes will be controlled either by Syracuse or by Carthage—or by us.”

  “My cousin Quintus says our future lies to the north, not to the south. First we conquer all of Italy, then we look to Gaul—”

  “Nonsense! The Gauls have nothing to offer us, not even a god worth worshiping, or a language worth learning. The wealth of the world will belong to whoever controls trade in the Mediterranean. To do that, we shall have to become a sea power, or else make subjects of those who already have a navy—such as the Syracusans and Carthaginians. Your cousin Fabius’s misreading of Roma’s destiny lies at the very heart of the disagreement between us. Ah, but here I am, talking politics, when I was hoping to find common ground between us.” Claudius pensively tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Since you are a Kaeso, I suppose I might ask your position regarding the controversy over the letter ‘K’?”

  “Controversy?”

  “My own opinion is that it should eliminated altogether from the Roman alphabet. What need is there for ‘K’ when ‘C’ will do just as well? Thus your name would be spelled C-A-E-S-O, and pronounced the same.”

  “But—I’m rather fond of the ‘K’ in my name…”

  “And what about ‘Z’? I say it is abhorrent and must be gotten rid of!”

  “Abhorrent?”

  “The sound it represents is uncouth and has no place in a civilized language. ‘Z’ grates on the ear and offends the eye.”

  “The eye?”

  “Here, observe my face as pronounce it.” Claudius parted his lips, clenched his teeth, and made a prolonged buzzing noise. “There, do you see? A man who makes the sound of ‘Z’ resembles a grinning skull. Hideous! The sound and the letter must be ruthlessly eliminated from the Latin language.”

  Kaeso laughed. “You seem very passionate about it!”

  “Passion is life, young man. And yes, language is my passion. What is your passion?”

  Kaeso abruptly felt quite sober. The conversation had arrived at his reason for coming. “I want to be a builder, Censor.”

  Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  “Yes. More than anything! I’m eager to fight for Roma, of course. And if I must enter politics and learn something about the law, I will. I’ll even learn some Greek, if the Greeks can teach me something about architecture and engineering—because what I really want to do is build. It’s been so, ever since I was a child. When I was little, my favorite toys were building blocks. When I grew old enough to go about on my own, instead of watching athletes or chariot races or soldiers drilling on the Field of Mar
s, for hours I would stand at the site of a new temple or monument, or even at a place where the city walls were being repaired, watching the workmen and the equipment, seeing how the hoists and levers and pulleys were used, observing how mortar was mixed and bricks laid out to make arches and doorways. I admit that I have no special training, but I can draw—I know that a builder must be able to draw—and I’m very good with numbers, much better than I am with letters.”

  “I see. And so you’ve come to me.”

  “Yes! Men say that the road you’re building, running south to Capua, is like no road ever built before—straight as a ruler, flat as a table, hard as bedrock. And everyone is talking about your brilliant idea for bringing fresh water to the city—tapping the springs near Gabii, ten miles from Roma, running the water underground, then delivering it to the city atop an elevated channel supported by arches. An aqueduct, I think you call it? Amazing! These projects are the most exciting things that have happened in my lifetime—more exciting than battles, or elections, or even stories about conquerors at the far end of the world. I want to be part of them. I know there’s much I’ll need to learn, but I’m willing to work very hard. I want to do whatever I can to help you build your new road and your aqueduct.”

  Claudius smiled. “You enthusiasm is flattering.”

  “I speak from the heart, Censor.”

  “I can see that. Strange! The Fabii have always been warriors, and a few have allegedly been statesmen, but never builders. I wonder how you came by such a trait?”

  Kaeso did not care for the question, as it reminded him of his unknown origins, but he tried not to let his vexation show.

  “Does your father know that you’ve come to me?”

  “Yes, Censor. Although he disapproves of your politics—he calls you a radical populist—”

  “Radical? Because I give common citizens well-paid work on public projects that benefit all of Roma? I suppose he calls me a demagogue, as well.”

  Kaeso cheeks turned hot. His father had indeed used that despised word, imported from the Greek, for an unscrupulous leader who exploited the unruly passions of the mob. “Despite our political differences, Censor, my father understands how greatly I desire to work for you. He will do nothing to prevent me.”