Thankfully, I watched all this from the cheap seats. I was in the crowd when they drove Catiline through the city gates, but I never laid eyes on the man himself. That was fine with me: I’m not the hero type.
The strangest thing about the whole affair, however, was the mysterious role played by a young man from the country, Aulus Lucinus Spurinna. The story was hard to get straight, but apparently he had traveled to Rome from his home in Etruria just in time to help foil the Conspiracy. The rumor in the Market was that he was the real reason for Cicero’s success, and since he was almost exactly my age I was often asked if I knew him. Fortunately, I did not, though my friends reported several “Spurinna sightings” all through that winter.
It was Gaius, as you might expect, who got me mixed up with it. He was breathing easily once again, after the end of the Conspiracy. For a while he had been sure the conspirators would murder him and take his money, but once it was over he got back to business – in his case, the business of getting Caesar’s friends elected. Myself, I had gone back to school, since I missed reading my speeches in front of the class; so I was surprised when Gaius kept me after dinner one winter evening, sending away the servants so that we could talk in private.
He got to the point. “Look here, young Marcus, it’s time you came out of retirement.”
I reminded him that I was in school, not retirement.
“That’s what I mean,” he said. “You showed what you could do during the election. Now you’re wasting your time in school. What about your career?”
I pointed out that my career so far had involved wholesale bribery.
“Your career,” Gaius answered primly, “involved nothing of the sort. Not wholesale, anyway. You haven’t seen wholesale yet. But this is different. We need you to find out some information. What do you know about Pompey?”
“You mean the Admiral? Pompey the Great?”
Gaius frowned. “Well, some people call him ‘the Great.’ Not us, though. He’s Julius Caesar’s biggest rival. He’s trying to dominate Rome.”
“Aren’t we trying to dominate Rome?” I asked.
“Exactly! Which is why we have to stop Pompey. You’re finally talking sense. Well, as you know, at the moment he’s Admiral of the Mediterranean, and he’s off in Greece fighting pirates. We were the ones who got him the command of the fleet – to get rid of him.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that he’s about to come back. They say he’s almost finished destroying the pirates, and then he’ll return to Rome in triumph. But we must prevent him from corrupting the Republic!”
I couldn’t believe Gaius said that with a straight face.
“Now then,” he went on, “Pompey is thinking of joining forces, politically, with that fellow Cicero. What do you think of that?” he asked, eyeing me.
I said they could be quite a combination: Cicero’s powerful voice and Pompey’s military glory.
“It would be disastrous!” Gaius cried. “They would block our every move. And yet,” – here he leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye – “our spies have found out the critical detail. We know the name of the person Cicero is going to send to Greece to meet Pompey this spring. You’ll never guess. It’s that young man Aulus Lucinus Spurinna, the one who stopped the Conspiracy.”
Somehow, even then, I felt my heart sink.
“Your job,” Gaius continued happily, “is to talk to this Spurinna and find out – discreetly, mind you – what Cicero and Pompey are up to, and when exactly Spurinna leaves for Greece. Just talk to him.”
“I’ve never met Spurinna,” I said.
“You will. You’re invited to a party tomorrow night. Spurinna will be there.”
“A party? Me? How did you manage that?” I demanded.
“Easy,” said Gaius, with a grin. “The party is at Paulla’s house.”
Why I didn’t walk out then and there, I don’t know. Paulla was one of my least favorite people in the City. Unfortunately my parents had arranged for me to marry her. Her family was ancient and powerful, and it was my father’s principal joy in life that I would someday be linked to the clan of the Aemilii through Paulla. Of course, the wedding (if it ever happened) was still years away, but in the meantime I had to be extremely nice to Paulla whenever I saw her. My solution was to see her as rarely as possible. She was pretty enough, but her idea of a good book was a Greek romance novel, and she was always trying to get her friends to read them. Fortunately she didn’t think much of me, either.
I would ordinarily have refused to go, but Gaius was a hard man to say “No” to. Steadily, he proved that I was the only man for the job: the usual spies would never blend in. And Caesar would be extremely grateful. And the food would be terrific. And everyone would be looking their best. And so on.
At last, I said “Yes,” just to get it over with. Then I went to my room and practiced a speech for school.
I spent the next morning and early afternoon getting ready. If I was going to go to the party, I would do it right. First I went to the barber and got my hair trimmed in the Spanish style, very short, which made me look older. The barber did an excellent job. Unfortunately, he sang sentimental Campanian love songs the whole time. After I escaped from his shop, I glanced at the sun and saw it was still too early for the public bath – they opened the doors at the seventh hour – so I went down to the Roman Market to look for a new shirt. It was nice to have some spending money, thanks to my work for Gaius, and I picked a red one with a blue stripe and embroidered Greek trim. My next stop was back near Gaius’s house, by the gardens, where they sold head-garlands; I would have to bring one to Paulla’s party. They were quite expensive, and the variety made it hard to choose: myrtle, ivy, or parsley. I thought the ivy would make me look like an old wall, and I baulked at wearing anything edible, so I chose myrtle.
“And would the young gentleman care to select a flower for his crown?” the garland-seller inquired.
“No,” I answered firmly, “the young gentleman would not.”
I left the new shirt and the manly myrtle garland at Gaius’s house and then I headed for the baths. It was February. The wind was cold, I wanted to soak in the hot pool. I got there just as the gong sounded, signaling that the bath was open. I managed to get inside and under water before the crowds came in. The heat did me good. I skipped the plunge into the cold pool since the air outside was just as invigorating.
At home I took a nap. When I awoke, I found that the slaves had washed, dried, and ironed my toga and polished my sandals. I put on my shirt, and they helped me into the toga. Finally, Gaius’s old nurse adjusted the garland on my head and I set forth, borrowing the sedan-chair so I wouldn’t get my toga dirty.
The sun was just setting when I reached Paulla’s house. Braziers were flaming merrily outside the front door. I descended from the sedan-chair and strode inside.
“Marcus Oppius Sabinus,” the herald proclaimed, as I stepped across the threshold, past the long portrait gallery of the Aemilii ancestors, and into the brightly lit front hall.
As I looked round, I had to admit that Paulla had done a nice job. Everything looked just as it would look for a party of adults: the guests were wearing their head-garlands, and there was lots of fine food, with a light wine to drink. The only difference was the height of the guests, since this was a party for young people. No one seemed to be more than eighteen, and most were my age. I recognized my friend Spurius, and there was Fulvia, and Tullia. I would be all right. People were standing in groups and there was a band in the corner playing background music – when your clan is the Aemilii, you can afford to own a band. In fact, the entire scene almost looked like as much fun as Gaius had imagined.
I joined the circle with Spurius and Fulvia and another young man I didn’t know, but straightaway the hostess appeared.
“Marcus!” said Paulla, sliding into our group and taking Fulvia by the arm. “My mother said you would turn up. Are you here to bribe us?” she
asked with a laugh. She was dressed like a queen, her dark hair in ringlets.
“Marcus was just about to offer us a piece of his bread,” said Fulvia, joining in.
I blushed.
“The famous bread?” Paulla went on. “I hear it’s quite tasty. Baked by High Priest Caesar himself, isn’t that right?”
“Of course, Paulla,” exclaimed Fulvia, “wouldn’t it go perfectly with the grilled golden trout?”
I cut in at last.
“No bread tonight,” I managed to get out, with a rasp.
“No bread?” said the young man I had not met, with a puzzled look. He had a slight accent. “Why, back home in Etruria, we always have bread with our meal.”
I waited for Paulla to crush this feeble remark mercilessly, but instead she just widened her eyes at the young man and said, “Oh, Etruria! Is that where you fought the battle, Aulus?”
She was so absorbed in the stranger that she never introduced him, but I put two and two together neatly -battle, Etruria, and the name Aulus – and realized at once that the young man Paulla was staring at could only be Aulus Lucinus Spurinna. He was taller than I was, and well-built, and he had wavy brown hair. His shirt and toga were simple, but he stood up very straight.
“Well, it wasn’t just me,” he said simply. “I played a small part. All I did was charge with the cavalry.”
Paulla wouldn’t tolerate such self-effacement. “They say it was your charge that killed the enemy general!” she exclaimed.
Spurinna shrugged. “Right place at the right time, I guess.”
The girls sighed with admiration at his modesty, and even my cynical friend Spurius looked impressed. Paulla, in particular, appeared to be about to faint.
“It’s just like in the novel, The Sicilian Story,” she gasped, “when the hero saves the city in the last chapter. One of the best novels there is. You’ve read it, haven’t you?” she asked Spurinna eagerly.
Fortunately, the bell for supper saved us, or else Spurinna would doubtless have recited the book from memory. I was already finding him a bit much. His Etrurian accent grated on the ears.
At the table, Spurinna lay down on the couch of honor, and I was nearby. Somehow Gaius had taken care of that. Paulla was facing Spurinna. Apparently she herself had taken care of that. When the waiters brought us bread, I steeled myself for another round of wit.
“Maybe there’s a secret inside!”
“I already feel like voting for Caesar!”
As the laughter died down, Spurinna, who was still looking puzzled, turned to me.
“What on earth are they talking about?” he asked.
“Oh, well, yes, that: it’s about religion,” I stammered. “The ancient bread rituals, you know. Very special. You probably don’t have them in Etruria.”
“What Marcus means, Aulus,” said Paulla, intervening, “is that corruption is rife in the Republic.”
“Corruption?” asked Spurinna in surprise.
“Right,” she went on, rolling her eyes at me. “Some people think they can buy elections.”
“Buy? Buy an election?” Spurinna cried, shocked. “In Rome? That couldn’t happen!” He turned to me. “Marcus Oppius, have you heard of such a thing? You seem like someone who understands the City. Could it happen, in Rome?”
Was he making fun of me? I growled that anything was possible in these degenerate times.
“But free and fair elections are what made Rome great!” Spurinna went on. “Cicero often says so. Surely no one would tarnish the name of Rome like that!”
“Doesn’t it happen in Etruria?” I asked wearily.
“Bribery? Never!”
Apparently Spurinna wasn’t making fun of me; he was either stupid, or incredibly naive. I tried to change the subject.
“Do you often speak with Cicero?” I inquired.
He said yes. He was often at Cicero’s house, and was friends with Tullia, Cicero’s daughter. She was at another table, and Spurinna glanced in her direction. But he sighed.
“She’s getting married soon,” he said sadly. “To an aristocrat. It’s politics. She says she doesn’t like him, much.”
“Oh, these arranged marriages!” Paulla exclaimed with feeling. She gave me a sour look and put her hand on Spurinna’s arm. “I know how it is, Aulus, believe me. Can you guess who my parents have set me up with? With Marcus here! Isn’t that incredible?”
I remarked that we were all at the mercy of the gods.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spurinna said, doing his best impersonation of a Roman hero overcome with grief, “because I am going out East. Cicero himself is sending me.”
“To Alexandria?” I prompted him.
“No, to Athens, in Greece,” he said, as though there were several Athenses. “I’m off to join Pompey and the fleet. They’re fighting pirates, and I want to do my duty.”
“How romantic!” said Paulla. “It’s just like in the novel, The Tale of Two Nobles, when they fight the Pirate King.”
“When do you leave?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” Spurinna answered. “On a fast warship. I stayed tonight because I wanted one last chance to see Tull –”
“Tomorrow!” interrupted Paulla, astonished. “But, Aulus, you can’t leave tomorrow! I was sure you would be with us another month! You can’t go so soon!”
“Now, now,” I said. “I’m sure our Etrurian friend is keen to get out to where the plunder is.”
“Indeed I am,” he replied, mistaking my meaning. “The Cilician pirates have been plundering the coasts for too long. They’re fierce, and they’re fearless, and it’s time we stood up to them.”
“Like Caesar did,” I put in. “You know the story, I’m sure. He was no older than we are now, and the pirates captured him at sea. They wanted to ransom him, of course, but he told them they should kill him directly, because if they ransomed him he would track them down.”
“And what happened?”
“They ransomed him. He tracked them down. And he crucified them all.”
“Marcus,” said Paulla severely, after a pause. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would make a very horrible novel.”
Next morning, I reported to Gaius.
“Spurinna is definitely going to Greece,” I confirmed. “But you must be wrong about him. He’s not a political agent. He’s, well” – I searched for the right words – “he’s completely witless.”
“Don’t be silly, Marcus,” Gaius said gently. “That’s all an act. Believe me, he’s one of the cleverest agents in the City. Look what he did to Catiline! And they say he’s a bit of a hero. Did you ask him about the battle?”
“It’s irrelevant,” I went on, “because you’re too late, anyway. He’s going to join Pompey and he sailed this morning on a warship.”
“What? This morning!” cried Gaius, jumping out of his chair. “You can’t be serious! It’s February. The sailing season isn’t until April!” He was suddenly panicking.
“That wouldn’t matter to Spurinna,” I said wearily. “He’d probably enjoy a storm or two. They’d give him a chance to do his duty.”
“But – but – we have to stop him!” Gaius was pacing the room now, holding his hair. “Cicero and Pompey – no! We have to…”
Suddenly he stopped. Slowly he turned around, his eyes gleaming wickedly.
“Absolutely not!” I roared. “I won’t go!”
“You have to follow him, Marcus. Follow him to Greece. Keep him away from Pompey. Take a ship – you’ll have a great time. The sea, the sun, plenty of time to practice your speeches, right? And you get to see Athens! I would have killed to see Athens when I was your age!”
I asked if he wasn’t forgetting that Caesar would be extremely grateful.
“Don’t joke,” Gaius said gravely. “I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime. In the heart of civilization. All expenses are on us. Besides,” he added, with true sincerity, “look at it this way: would you prefer to go on holiday, or would you prefer to
stay here and get tricked into more bread-delivering?”
When he put it like that, I knew I couldn’t refuse. I was Caesar’s man, trusty and true, and I was going to get away from Rome, from Caesar, from Gaius, and from Paulla as quickly as could be.
The Stowaway
or once, Gaius was as good as his word. I was equipped with every luxury. They packed my traveling trunk full of good clothes, my cloak, a dagger, and even the little packets of dried fruit and berries that were my favorite. Best of all, I had the collected speeches of the great Roman statesmen, on beautiful scrolls with silver handles, in polished oak cases. Gaius himself had gone down to the bookseller to buy them for me. Life could be worse, I reflected.
I wrote to my parents to say I would be traveling. They would be happy when they heard about my destination. Only a few young men, as a rule, got to see Athens and study in the great schools of philosophy and oratory there – such things were very expensive. My parents would be overjoyed that I was going there so young, and that Gaius was paying. I left out the spying.
The only downside was that I was traveling alone, with no servant. At such short notice, and at that time of year, Gaius’s gang could find just one ship bound for Athens, and the only cabin available was too small for two people. Gaius gave me the letter of introduction to the ship’s captain, along with thirty gold pieces. The cabin would cost ten, he said, and the rest was mine for Athens. I put them safe in the wallet I kept in my toga pouch.
Last of all, he gave me a sealed letter of secret instructions.
“Open it when you reach Athens,” he told me. “It gives the name of our agent over there, and proof that you’ve been sent by me. He’ll help you.”
I was traveling mostly by ship, instead of taking the usual route by land to Brundisium and across from there to Greece; it was slower, Gaius said, but it was also the route which Spurinna was taking on his trireme warship. More over, Gaius was sure I would be followed and spied upon if I went by land. “This way you’re safe on the wide blue sea and that’s that,” he said. We shook hands at the door.
The Ancient Ocean Blues Page 2
