A Pillar of Iron: A Novel of Ancient Rome

by Taylor Caldwell

  Roscius nodded happily at Noë. “He speaks it well, for all that you wrote it,” he whispered to his friend.

  “Then,” said Sulla, “this—throng—has gathered to celebrate Law.”

  “Lord, this is a case of tremendous importance to the people of Rome, in whose name we are gathered here together.” Marcus’ voice rose without effort and penetrated far and wide, and like waves gathering sound and force the people murmured and then shouted far outside the Senate. “And as you, lord, have been so libeled—as it has been said—it has excited the attention of Romans.”

  “You are ambiguous, Cicero,” said Sulla.

  “I am but a modest lawyer,” said Marcus, in such mellifluous accents that they brought a flush of anger again to Sulla’s cheek. “I have some slight fame as an advocate. But it is you, lord, whose name has summoned them here.”

  He looked at Sulla with solemn guilelessness. Sulla shifted on his buttocks. “You flatter me, Cicero. And I consider you a liar.”

  Marcus bowed. “I shall not dispute you, though the accusation is unjust.”

  The countless friends of Roscius, Noë, and Archias, looked for the arranged signal, and when they caught its unobtrusive appearance they raised their voices in an enormous bellow. “Hail, Cicero! Cicero! Cicero!” The shout spread to the farthermost reaches of the Forum, and it was caught up ecstatically even by those who had never heard Cicero’s name before and by those who stood a long distance from the Senate. The clamor of their great noise swept the Senate in billows of sound, and Sulla listened intently. Again, he leaned back in his chair and contemplated Marcus darkly.

  “It is not my name they are screeching,” he said.

  “I am overcome with confusion, lord.”

  Marcus felt Servius move beside him, and he was afraid of the old soldier’s impatience and fearful that he would not much longer endure what he had reluctantly promised. He started nervously when Sulla addressed himself directly to Servius. “Cato,” he said abruptly, “are you responsible for the appearance of these old veterans of many years, and your own legion, in defiance of the orderly procedure of the law?”

  “No, Lucius!” exclaimed the old soldier.

  Marcus put his hand on Servius’ arm and said, “They have come as a tribute to their old commander, lord, and it is very moving, is it not?”

  If Servius should blurt out, in his honesty, what must not be said, then all is lost, thought Marcus, and I with it. He tightened his fingers on Servius’ arm.

  “I do not find it moving,” said Sulla, who had not missed the little play before him. “Have you attempted to coerce, the Senate, Cicero, with this appearance of my soldiers?”

  “Lord!” said Marcus. “Who am I to command the military?”

  “True,” said Sulla. His eyes slowly wandered to the soldiers, old and young, gathered at the doors and even within them. The soldiers were watching him with too strong an intensity. He recalled that that infernal actor, Roscius, whose actresses he frequently enjoyed, was a patron of old veterans and loved them dearly and provided for them what the government could not provide. He had built two small sanitoria for them, and paid for excellent surgeons and physicians. For a moment Sulla was moved. The national Treasury was bankrupt still. It would have given him gratification if he could have done for his old comrades what Roscius had done.

  Sulla looked down at Julius, whose eyes were leaping with irresistible mirth. “You are the prosecutor, Caesar. Speak!”

  Julius rose, every gesture elegant and confident. He waited until he had absolute quiet. Then he held a copy of Servius’ book high above his head so that all could see. He struck a statue-like attitude as he rotated on his heels; his long woolen robe was dyed purple, and he wore a wide belt of gilded leather encrusted with gems, and his boots were of purple leather lined with fur.

  The merry face assumed an aspect of gravity, though the black eyes continued to twinkle. Julius looked down at the scribes who were busily writing on long scrolls. “Heed it all, lords,” said Julius to the Senators, “for this is most momentous. A book that rings with treason, written by the noble Cato Servius, once-beloved captain under General Sulla. With what gratitude has Servius repaid his ruler, his ancient government? He has denounced them! He has accused them of violence against the people of Rome, of tyranny, of oppression, of innumerable crimes, of obscenities committed in the name of the Constitution, of the perversion of our hallowed Constitution, of exigency and expediency, of cynical oportunism, of ruthless cruelties and suppression of freedom, of flagrantly interpreting our laws to their own advantage, of exciting hatred and envy in the mobs, of government by fiat and not by law!”

  Marcus listened closely to Julius’ voice. An actor! thought Marcus, and in spite of all he felt himself smiling a little with that old weakening affection for his young friend. Then he started, for Julius was looking directly into his eyes, and the eyes flickered with humor.

  The Senators murmured angrily; Sulla leaned back in his chair and again his hand half-concealed his cold and savage mouth.

  “These are dangerous days!” cried Julius. “We have emerged from an era of tyranny, and I say this who am the nephew of old Marius, who was a murderer! Our noble dictator, Sulla, has restored the Constitution and the Republic, and there is no man of any learning or wisdom who can deny this truly!

  “Yet, Cato Servius incontinently and recklessly, a man who has been a soldier nearly all his life and is, therefore, no authority on philosophy or politics or government, has seen fit to attack in all ignorance the heroic labors of Lucius Cornelius Sulla to restore to us all that we had lost under Marius, Cinna, and Carbo! Did he expect that in, so short a space of time that all that we had forfeited under tyrants could be completely restored? Apparently he believes in instant miracles, this man blind in more ways than one!”

  He looked at the Senators compellingly. “Shall the edifice that was torn down in many years be rebuilt in a day? It is beyond mortal man’s most heroic efforts. If a man is a slave, it is arduous for him to learn to live again in the air of freedom. He must not be incited into the belief that chains and slavery can be overcome in an hour, or the stain oil his soul be cleared instantly. He must be taught freedom, as a child is taught his letters, and this is a painful labor which Sulla has undertaken.

  “During this labor no excited voice must rise, no ignorant voice, no uncomprehending voice, or we shall fall into chaos again. But more than this, there is the aspect of treason in this book, beyond the mere incitement to riot and subversion, and treason is an old vice.”

  He paused momentously, and Marcus took advantage of this silence to clap gently and to smile with irony. Instantly the attention, and the frowns, of the Senators were on him.

  “Excellent!” said Marcus. “Treason is indeed an old vice, and it is protean. Wise is the man who recognizes it in its many forms. Cato Servius is one such.

  “May I ask the noble Julius Caesar to read an excerpt from Servius’ book which most illustrates the point he is—attempting—to make?”

  Julius hesitated. He glanced swiftly at Sulla, who made no move at all. Then he glanced at the Senators. “Why should I repeat passages from this book, when all are acquainted with it? It is needlessly stealing the time of this Senate—”

  Marcus said, with mocking solemnity, “As the advocate of Cato Servius, I am permitted to ask questions even of the Senate.” He turned and faced the august body.

  “Lords, are you all familiar with this book and its contents?”

  The ranks of the Senators stirred, so that the chairs seemed a ripple of scarlet and white. Then an old Senator said with vexation, “We are familiar.”

  Marcus smiled again. “Lord,” he said, addressing the old Senator, “for the sake of many in this assemblage who have not read the book, would you repeat or paraphrase one paragraph or sentence which particularly offended you?”

  The old Senator flushed angrily. “I do not care to repeat treason, even if I did not write it myself.�
�

  Marcus looked at his servant, Syrius, who had accompanied him, and whose black arms were filled with scrolls. Marcus impressively took one, and then unrolled it slowly. He scrutinized it. Then he bowed first to Sulla, and then to the Senate.

  “Lords, with your pardon I will read you a section of the ancient law, still potent, still living, devised by our Founding Fathers whose memory we reverence and for whose souls we pray in our temples, and whose eternal guidance we implore.

  “‘A man shall not be accused lightly by hearsay, or by intemperate accusations. The witnesses against him, the judges who shall judge him, must at all times present irrefutable evidence and direct testimony, and the judges shall rule constantly that only such testimony be admitted to the books of the scribes and to the attention of magistrates and executioners of the law.’”

  Marcus bowed again to the old Senator. “Lord, you have not presented such testimony. We are here to judge evidence given impartially and intelligently, without regard for personalities or sentiments or prejudice.” He paused, and looked at Sulla. “That is the Law.”

  The Senators muttered loudly and furiously. Sulla dropped his hand and said with indifference, “That law has not been abrogated, Cicero.” He raised his hand to cover his mouth so that his dark smile should be hidden.

  Marcus bowed very low. “I thank you, lord, for this information imparted to the Senate.” Here he was interrupted by shouts of “Insolence!” from many Senators, who half-rose in their seats. Sulla was unmoved. He turned his light eyes upon the Senators and that glance quelled them, and they sank muttering into their seats again.

  Swallowing a throb of exultation in his throat, Marcus said to Julius, “Caesar, it is apparent that you have read this book, and apparently you are one of the few. May I impose upon you by requesting that you read a section you found particularly objectionable?”

  Again Julius hesitated, and he looked at Sulla. Sulla nodded. Julius glanced at Marcus. He turned some pages in the book. Dead silence filled the chamber. Then Julius began to read. Marcus halted him. “I must beg that you read louder, Caesar.”

  “Louder!” cried a musical voice near the door, and Marcus recognized it as the voice of Roscius.

  Julius shrugged. His expressive eyes danced madly in his grave face. He lifted his voice and read:

  “‘Worthiness resides in no man, and let that nation beware who discovers itself regarding its temporal ruler as a divinity, fawning upon him, delighting in news of his comings and goings, reverencing him, listening to his words as though they rolled down from Olympus with the sound of thunder, ostracizing those who differ from him, raising up their voices like trumpets hailing all that he does and deluding themselves that he is superior to those who have elevated him by vote or in the name of emergency.’”

  Marcus listened soberly, watching the darkening faces of the Senators, and again he felt a throb of exultation. He let a little silence dwell after Julius had concluded his reading. Then he said to the Senators, “Do you object to that, lords?”

  “It is an attack on Sulla! The implication is obvious!” cried the old Senator.

  Marcus shrugged. He said, “I trust the scribes have recorded that reading in full.”

  The scribes nodded. Sulla bit his lips to prevent a harsh laugh from bursting from his throat. Marcus spread his hands helplessly and made his eyes wide.

  “How was it possible for Cincinnatus, the Father of his Country, who said that before the new Senate of Rome four hundred years ago, to know of Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and to refer to him?”

  A great laugh burst involuntarily from the soldiers and the crowds near the door, and the mobs outside caught it up though they did not know the cause. Pompey tugged at Julius’ robe and whispered angrily, “Is it so?” “It is so,” whispered Julius, grinning.

  When the Chamber was quiet again Marcus looked at the nonplused Senators and said kindly, “But certainly this majestic body recognized the words of the great Cincinnatus to whom they daily offer their reverence and to whom they have dedicated their duties?”

  Not a Senator replied, but the many eyes fixed on Marcus were inimical.

  Sulla said languidly, “There is no treason in that quotation which Servius has used. We honor the words of Cincinnatus.”

  “And I,” said Marcus, “honor you, lord, for your respect for the Father of our Country.” He looked at Julius. “Pray continue.”

  Julius by now did not know what to do. He was inwardly hilarious, for he loved a joke above all things. He looked at the formidable Sulla for a signal, but Sulla’s expression was not to be read. So Julius began to quote again:

  “‘There are times of dire emergency when power is given to one man, but that time must be limited and that man’s days scanned sleeplessly lest he be devoured by ambition. Should he become overweening and tyrannical, should he say, “I am the Law,” then you must depose him at once for his own sake as well as your own. For now that man stands on the threshold of death and all bloodiness and is a dreadful danger to all that lives, including himself. Never permit him to say to you, “I am needed by my country more than any other man, therefore, you must not dismiss me.” You have corrupted him and he should be removed and avoided, and left to rediscover his soul in silence or—in exile.’”

  “Treason!” shouted the Senate with one voice.

  Sulla raised his hand and said wearily, “That is also a quotation from Cincinnatus’ speech before the Senate.”

  They subsided, but glared upon Marcus, who bowed again to Sulla.

  Marcus spoke delicately to the Senate, “Surely this august body does not believe that Cincinnatus, dead four hundred years, had precognition of Sulla! If they believe so, then there is secret treason in their hearts.”

  Julius spoke. “Let us leave the divine words of Cincinnatus in peace for the moment. We are all familiar with those deathless words.” He coughed.

  “Continue, then, Caesar, with other readings,” said Marcus.

  Julius coughed again, riffled the pages of the book. He darted a look at Marcus which was inscrutable. He read:

  “‘If the existence of the state is alone to be considered, then it would seem that all, or some at least, of these claims are just; but if we take into account a good life, then, as I have already said, education and virtue have superior claims among men. As, however, those who are equal in one thing ought not to have an equal share in all, nor those who are unequal in one thing to have an inequal share in all, it is certain that all forms of government which rests on either of these principles are perversions. All men have a claim in a certain sense, as I have already admitted, but all have not an absolute claim. The rich rightly claim because they have a greater share in the land—and land is the common element of the state—they are more trustworthy in general in contracts. The free claim under the same title as the noble, for they are nearly akin. For the noble are citizens in a truer sense than the common or ignoble man, and good birth is always valued in a man’s own home and country. Another reason is that those who are sprung from better ancestors are likely to be better men, for nobility is excellence of race. Virtue, too, may be truly said to have a claim, for justice has been acknowledged by us to be a social virtue, and it implies all others.’”

  The Senators looked at each other uncomfortably, for all were rich and many were patricians. It was obvious that they agreed with this quotation. Nevertheless, the old Senator lifted up his hoarse voice and said, “That is defiance of the democracy which Sulla has established, and, therefore, it is treason!”

  “Treason by whom, lord?” asked Marcus.

  The old Senator regarded him with fuming hatred. “By Servius.”

  Marcus shook his head sadly. “Servius was merely quoting Aristotle, from that noble philosopher’s Politics.”

  The old Senator was silent. He looked to Sulla for a gesture, but Sulla remained impassive. Marcus turned to him. “Noble Sulla, is there a law now in Rome which prohibits the study of Aristotle’s Pol
itics?”

  “I revere Aristotle,” said Sulla. “You know, Cicero, that there is no such law.”

  Again the few gave a signal near the door, and the crowd bellowed and the Chamber was filled with the voice of their enthusiastic clamoring. “Hail Cicero! Cicero! Cicero!”

  Marcus waited with modestly downcast eyes until the uproar subsided. Then he said to Julius, “Pray continue with your reading, noble Caesar.”

  Julius said, “Servius tells of a mythological tyrant, who posed as the friend of the common man and democracy, but who in his heart despised both the man and the democracy. He appeared before the multitude with his military scars, and appealed for a restoration of the law, and the populace emotionally voted him a great bodyguard of soldiers, for the protection of himself and the State. The mythological tyrant, then, exultantly proceeded to enslave all the people for his own splendor and power. He promised the greatest good to the greatest number—and went on to subject all to his ruthless and insane ambition, and to plunge his nation into the most abject misery.”

  The old Senator cried, “He maligns Sulla!”

  Marcus reached out to Syrius for his own copy of Servius’ book and affected, with frowns, to be searching for the passage. Then he sighed in relief, and looked at Julius, and he raised his brows.

  “‘Mythological,’ Caesar? Ah, has your education been neglected? Servius invented no such character. He was speaking of Peisistratus, the tyrant of Athens, dead these five hundred years!”

  Again the young and old soldiers burst into loud and derisive laughter, and the mobs, hearing this, laughed delightedly also though not understanding.

  “Surely, Caesar,” said Marcus, “you do not equate Peisistratus with our noble Sulla?”

  “Why, then, does Servius?”

  Marcus again studied the book, then closed it. “He does not! He merely recounts history and permits the reader to draw his own conclusions. The Law of Rome has no objection to men reading what they will and drawing their own conclusions. Or do you, Caesar, wish to control the minds of our free people by censoring what they read and deciding what books they must read?”