Some wags insinuated that men were proscribed simply so that the state and friends of the state could obtain their property. 'Did you hear,' the joke ran, 'So-and-So was killed by his big mansion on the Palatine, So-and-So by his gardens, and So-and-So by his new steam-bath installation.' There was the tale of one Quintus Aurelius, who went down to the Forum and discovered his name on the lists. A passing friend asked him to dinner. 'Impossible,' said Quintus. 'I haven't the time. I'm being hunted down by my Alban estate.' He rounded a corner and went no more than twenty paces before an assassin slit his throat.
But the proscriptions finally ended. Pompey went off to Africa to annihilate the last of his master's enemies. Crassus threw himself into real estate speculation. Young populists like Caesar fled to the ends of the earth. Sulla divorced his beloved Metella (whose breasts had been slandered by the Athenians) on the religious grounds that her fatal illness threatened to pollute his home, and the dictator found himself pursued by the beautiful young divorcee Valeria (yes, Rufus's sister); at a gladiator show she snatched a loose thread from the great man's toga to claim a bit of his good fortune, caught his eye, and became his bride. The doddering prestige of the nobility was shored up with cracked plaster and straw, and rumours began to circulate that at any moment the newlywed Sulla would lay down his dictatorship and call for unfettered consular elections.
Down in Chrysogonus's banquet hall, surrounded by spoils of the Social War, the civil war, and the proscriptions, Metrobius stood with his head held high and his hands clasped, drawing a deep breath. His song was nearing its end, having reviewed in witheringly satirical detail the highlights of its subject's career.
Even the humiliated poet, having emptied his belly of whatever ailed him and slunk back to his couch, had finally joined in the raucous laughter.
Tiro turned towards me, shaking his head. 'I don't understand these people at all,' he whispered. 'What sort of party is this?'
I had been wondering the same thing myself. 'I think the rumours may be true. I think our esteemed Dictator and Saviour of the Republic may be contemplating his imminent retirement. That will mean solemn occasions and ceremonies, hymns of praise, retrospective orations, the official publication of his Memoirs. All very stiff and formal, respectable, Roman. But here among his own, Sulla would rather drink and make a joke of it. What a strange man he is! But wait, the song isn't over.'
Metrobius was batting his eyes, shaping his hands in a demure, maidenly gesture, satirizing a shy virgin. He opened his painted mouth to sing:
They met, it is said, at a gladiatorial fest,
Where the living left living must be the best.
She plucked at his hem for a simple memento—
Or was it to glance at Sulla's pimiento?
The laughter was deafening. Sulla himself leaned forward, pounded his open palm against the table, and almost fell from his couch. Chrysogonus smiled and looked smug, leaving no doubt about the line's authorship. Hortensius playfully threw an asparagus spear in Metrobius's direction; it flew over his head and struck the poet square on the forehead. Rufus drew away from Sorex, who was smiling and trying to whisper something in his ear. He did not look amused.
Flesh was pierced that day; men writhed in the dust.
Sulla drew his sword to prove it hadn't gone to rust;
And the lady agreed, yes, the lady declared—
The song was interrupted by the clattering crash of an overturned table. Rufus was on his feet, his face quite red. Hortensius laid a restraining hand on his leg, but Rufus jerked away. 'Valeria may be only your half sister, Hortensius, but she's my flesh and blood,' he snapped, 'and I won't listen to this filth. And she's your wife!' he said, coming to a sudden halt before the couch of honour and openly glaring at Sulla. 'How can you stand for such insults?'
The room fell silent. For a long moment Sulla didn't move but remained as he was, leaning on one elbow with his legs outstretched. He stared into space and worked his jaw back and forth, as if a tooth bothered him. Finally he swung his legs to the floor and slowly sat upright, staring up at Rufus with a look on his face that was at once sardonic, rueful, and amused.
'You are a very proud young man,' he said. 'Very proud and very beautiful, like your sister.' He reached for his wine and took a sip. "But unlike Valeria, you seem to lack a sense of humour. And if Hortensius is your half brother, perhaps that explains why you have only half his good sense, not to mention good manners.' He sipped more wine and sighed. 'When I was your age, many things about the world displeased me. Instead of complaining, I set about changing the world, and I did. If a song offends you, don't throw a tantrum. Write a better one.'
Rufus stared back at him, holding his arms stiffly at his sides, clenching his fists. I imagined all the insults running through his head and whispered a silent prayer to the gods that he would keep his mouth shut. He opened his mouth and seemed about to speak, then looked angrily about the room and stalked out.
Sulla settled back on his couch, looking rather disappointed to have had the last word. There was an awkward silence, broken by a quip from the would-be poet:
'There's a young man who's stunted his career!'
It was an abysmally stupid remark, coming from a nobody and aimed at a young Messalla and brother-in-law of the dictator. The silence became even more awkward, broken only by scattered groans and a suppressed cough from Hortensius.
The host was undismayed. Chrysogonus smiled his golden smile and looked warmly at Metrobius. 'I believe there's at least one more verse — no doubt the best saved for last.'
'Indeed!' Sulla rose to his feet, his eyes twinkling, staggering just a bit from the wine. He walked to the centre of the room. 'What a gift you've all given me tonight! Even sweet little Rufus, acting so foolish and cocky — such a fiery head of hair, such a fiery temperament, as contrary as his sister. What a night! You've made me remember everything, whether I wanted to or not — good days and bad days alike. But the old days, those were the best, when I was a young man with nothing but hope, and faith in the gods, and the love of my friends. I was a sentimental fool even then!' With that he took Metrobius's face between his hands and kissed him full on the mouth, at which the audience spontaneously applauded. When Sulla broke the kiss, I saw tears on his cheeks. He smiled and staggered back, gesturing for the lyre player to resume as he fell back onto his couch. The song began again:
And the lady agreed, yes, the lady declared—
but Tiro and I never heard the ending. Instead we turned our heads as one, distracted by the same unmistakable noise — the rasping slither of a steel blade drawn from its scabbard.
Chrysogonus had sent someone to check the upstairs after all, or else we had simply lingered too long in one place. A hulking figure emerged from the shadow of the doorway, limping slightly as he stepped into the pool of moonlight from the balcony. His wild hair was like a halo of blue flame and the look in his eyes turned my blood to ice. In his left hand he held a knife with a blade as long as a man's forearm — perhaps the same blade he had used to stab Sextus Roscius over and over again.
A heartbeat later Magnus was joined by his henchman, the blond giant, Mallius Glaucia. The scar rent across his face by Bast looked raised and ugly in the pale light. He held his blade at the same angle as his master, tilted up and forwards as if poised to gut an animal's belly.
'What are you doing here?' Magnus said, twisting the knife in his fingers so that the blade glimmered in the moonlight. His voice was higher than I had expected. His rural Latin was overlaid with the grating nasal accent of the street gangs.
I looked into both men's eyes; they had no idea who I was. ' Glaucia had been sent to my house to intimidate or murder me, no doubt at Magnus's order, but neither of them had actually seen me, except as a passing stranger on the road in front of Capito's house. I slowly withdrew my hand from my tunic. I had meant to reach for my knife; instead I slipped the iron ring from my finger. I threw my hands in the air.
'Please, forgive,
' I said, surprised at how little effort it took to sound meek and humble in the face of two giants bearing steel blades. 'We're the slaves of young Marcus Valerius Messalla Rufus.
We were sent upstairs to fetch him, before the entertainment began. We lost our way — so stupid!'
'And is that why you're spying on the master of this house and his guests?' Magnus hissed. He and Glaucia separated and approached from two sides, like the flanks of an army.
'We paused here, just to have a look over the balcony and get some fresh air.' I shrugged, keeping my hands in sight and doing my best to appear pathetic and confused. I glanced at Tiro and saw that he was following my lead admirably, or else was simply frightened out of his wits. ‘We heard the singing, found the little window — stupid and presumptuous of us, of course, and I'm sure the young master will see that we're beaten for such insolence. It's just that it's not often we have the chance to look down on a gathering of such splendour.'
Magnus grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me onto the balcony, into the moonlight. Glaucia pushed Tiro against me so that I tripped backwards against the waist-high brick wall and had to grab the edge to steady myself. I looked over my shoulder. The yawning abyss below resolved into a grassy knoll dappled by the moon shadow of the cypress trees. From below, the balcony had not looked nearly so far from the ground.
Magnus pulled at my hair and poked the tip of his blade into the soft flesh below my chin, forcing me to turn and face him. 'I've seen you before,' he whispered. 'Glaucia, look here! Where do we know this dog from?'
The blond giant scrutinized me, pouted his lips, and wrinkled his forehead. He shook his head, baffled. 'Don't know,' he grunted: Then his face lit up. 'Ameria,' he said. 'Remember, Magnus? Just the other day, on the road, right before we got to Capito's villa. He was corning the other way, riding alone.'
Magnus snarled at me. 'Who are you? What are you doing here?' The knife pressed harder, until I felt the skin break. I imagined my blood trickling down the blade. Never mind who I am, I wanted to say. I know who you are, both of you. You murdered your cousin in cold blood and stole his estates. And you broke into my home and left a bloody message on my wall. You would have murdered Bethesda if you'd had the chance. You'd probably have raped her first.
I brought my knee up with a jerk, straight into Magnus's crotch. By reflex he reached downward. The blade ripped against my tunic, grazing my chest. No matter; I knew I was doomed anyway — Glaucia was right beside him with his dagger poised to strike. I braced myself for the blow to my heart. I even heard it, a sickening sound of ruptured flesh.
Except that no one had stabbed me, and Glaucia had tumbled to his knees, dropping his blade and grasping his head. Tiro stood over him holding a bloody brick in his hand. 'It came loose from the wall,' he explained, staring at it in amazement.
Neither of us thought to reach for Glaucia's blade, but Magnus did. He snatched it up and retreated a few steps, then advanced with a blade in each hand, snorting like a Cretan bull.
I was over the wall before I even realized it, as if my body had leaped and left my head behind. I was falling through blackness, but not alone. To one side and a little above me, another body was dropping through space — Tiro. A little beyond him, plummeting like a burnt-out comet, was a fragment of brick, tumbling end over end and smeared with blood that glinted purple in the blue moonlight. Magnus was a furious face that peered over a wall high above, flanked by two upright daggers, growing smaller by the instant.
Part Three
Justice
27
Something remarkably hard and immense rushed up and struck me from below: packed, dry earth. As if I'd been scooped up by a giant's hand, I felt myself pitched forwards, rolling head over heels and then abruptly coming to a complete stop. Beside me I heard Tiro moaning. He was complaining about something, but his words were slurred and indistinct. For a moment I forgot about Magnus entirely. All I could think of was how remarkably thin the air is, and how extraordinarily dense the ground seems by contrast. Then I came to my senses and looked up.
Magnus's glowering face seemed incredibly far away; how could I have possibly jumped such a distance? There was no chance that he would follow — no sane man would take such a leap except to save his life. Nor would Magnus dare to raise a general alarm, not with Sulla in the house — that would risk raising too many questions and unpleasant complications. We were as good as free, I thought. In the time it would take Magnus to scurry through hallways and down stairs we would have long since disappeared into the night. Why then was he suddenly smiling?
The sound of a moan drew my eyes to Tiro, who shivered on his hands and knees beside me on the parched grass. He rose to his feet, or tried to, then fell helplessly forwards; tried again, and fell again. His face was twisted with pain. 'My ankle,' he whispered hoarsely, and then cursed. I looked up again at the balcony. Magnus was no longer there.
I scrambled to my feet and pulled Tiro upright. He clenched his
teeth and made a strange gurgling noise — a howl of pain swallowed by sheer will.
'Can you walk?' I said.
'Of course.' Tiro pushed himself away from me and promptly collapsed to his knees. I pulled him upright again, clutched him against my shoulder, and began to walk as quickly as I could, then to trot. Somehow he managed to limp beside me, hopping and hissing with pain. We made our way a hundred feet or so before I heard a faint scuffling behind us and felt my heart sink.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Magnus dashing into the street, silhouetted by the blazing lamps of Chrysogonus's portico. Following him was another figure — the lumbering hulk of Mallius Glaucia. For an instant I saw the blond giant's face, lit by blue moonlight and framed by sputtering torches, streaked with blood and looking hardly human. They froze in the middle of the street, peering this way and that. I pulled Tiro into the shadow of the same tree from which we had watched Sulla's arrival, thinking the darkness might shield us, but the movement must have caught Magnus's eye. I heard a yell and then the slap of sandals against the paving stones.
'On my shoulders!' I hissed. Tiro understood immediately and hobbled to comply. I ducked between his legs, scooped him up, and started running, amazed at my own strength. I glided effortlessly over the smooth stones. I took a deep breath and laughed out loud, thinking I could run a mile and outdistance Magnus with every step. I heard them shouting behind me, but faindy; mostly I heard the pounding of blood in my ears.
Then, in an instant, with the drawing of a single breath that came up shorter than the others, the thrill of the moment subsided. Step by step the burst of energy dwindled.. The level ground seemed to tilt uphill and then to melt, as if I were running through mud. Instead of hughing I was coughing, and suddenly I could hardly lift my feet; Tiro was as heavy as a bronze statue. I heard Magnus and Glaucia behind us, their footfalls drawing so near that the back of my neck began to twitch, flinching at the prospect of a knife between the shoulder blades.
We staggered along a high wall hung with ivy. The wall came to an end. That was when I saw Caecilia Metella's house to my left. The portico was lit with a single brazier, flanked by the two guardians stationed there for the safekeeping of Sextus Roscius.
A breathless citizen carrying a slave piggyback was probably the last thing the two bleary-eyed guards expected to come rushing at them out of the darkness. They rumbled for their swords and jumped to their feet, looking like startled cats.
'Help us!' I managed to gasp. 'Caecilia Metella knows me. Two men are running after us — street criminals — murderers!'
The soldiers drew apart and held their swords ready, but made no move to stop me when I bowed my head and let Tiro slip from my shoulders onto his feet. He took one limping step and then crumpled with a moan in front of the door. I stepped past him and began beating on the door, then looked over my shoulder to see Magnus and Glaucia come to a skittering halt just within reach of the brazier's light.
Even the armed guards stepped back at the sigh
t of them — Magnus with his wild hair, scarred face, and flaring nostrils, Glaucia with blood streaming down his forehead, both clutching daggers in their fists. I banged on the door again.
Magnus turned shifty-eyed, lowered his blade, and gestured to Glaucia to do the same. 'These two are thieves,' he said, pointing at me. Despite his wild appearance, his voice was measured and even. He wasn't even winded. 'Burglars,' he declared. 'Housebreakers. We caught them forcing their way into the home of Lucius Cornelius Chrysogonus. Hand them over.'
The two soldiers exchanged confused glances. They had been ordered to keep a prisoner inside, not to keep anyone out or to keep peace in the street. They had no reason to help two wild-eyed men with knives. Nor did they have any reason to protect two unexpected callers in the night. Magnus should have told them we were escaped slaves; that would have obligated the soldiers, as fellow citizens, to hand us over. But it was too late to change his story now. Instead, when the guards made no response, Magnus reached into his tunic and pulled out a heavy-looking purse. The guards looked at the purse and then at each other, and then, without affection, at Tiro and me. I beat on the door with both fists.
Finally a slit opened and through it peered the calculating eyes of the eunuch Ahausarus. His gaze shifted from me down to Tiro and then beyond us to the assassins in the street. I was still breathing hard, fumbling for words to explain, when he opened the door, ushered us inside, and slammed it shut behind us.
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