*This conversation all from letters between Crassus and Cicero.
*Cicero expounded frequently in essays and speeches on this subject.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Crassus gazed at Marcus regretfully. “My dear Cicero, you as a lawyer should be the last to give heed to rumor. I was present at the trial of Catilina. There was not one witness who was not impeached after testifying against him. You know the vengefulness of women. Had there been the slightest truth in the charges Aurelia Catilina, who knew the seriousness of the crime and who is a woman who would not permit betrayal of her bed, would have been the first to denounce her husband. Yet she spoke with fervor in his behalf, her eyes flaming indignantly. If her husband was not with her he was with his friends, and those friends testified that it was true. He stood before the magistrates and swore by all he held holy that he had been maligned, that he had seen the maiden but twice in his life and then at a distance only. He sued his perjurers. He won his case. He is richer now by three hundred thousand gold sesterces! Is that not evidence enough?”
“No,” said Marcus, but with despair. “I believe the Vestals who testified against Catilina, for Fabia had told her sisters before she died by her own hand.”
“One reverences the Vestals,” said Crassus, his thick eyelids dropping over his eyes. “But one knows their lack of sophistication. It is very possible that the girl was mad.”
“And how was it proved that the Vestals were lying?” asked Marcus.
Crassus stared at him with umbrage. “Vestals do not lie!” he exclaimed. “They had only the word of Fabia who confided in them. But the girl was possibly mad. I reverence the vows of the Vestals, but one knows that chastity sometimes gives rise to humors of the brain. I do not like Catilina. Like you, I distrust him, for he is debauched and idle and restless and ambitious. If I had believed that he was guilty I should not have testified in his behalf, that he dined with me on the very nights he was accused of lying with Fabia.”
“Lord, you have a remarkable memory!”
Crassus smiled. His narrow eyes sparkled on Marcus. “I confess to the charge. As a politician I must keep my memory sharp.”
Marcus rose. He looked into those shrewd eyes and said, “You know that Catilina is guilty. For your own purposes you testified to his innocence.”
Crassus said, “A hasty tongue can hang its owner. Beware, Cicero.”
Marcus swung on his heel and left him. He went to the house of Julius Caesar.
Julius said, “Do you think I should have defended a man who was guilty of the highest of crimes?”
“Yes,” said Marcus.
Julius sighed. “You have never trusted me, even from our childhood, yet I love you. I swear that Catilina is innocent. Does that not satisfy you?”
“No.”
“You believe I lie?”
“Yes.”
When Marcus had left him Julius summoned Catilina. “We have a problem,” said Julius. “Did I not warn you against Fabia, and did I not tell you that only catastrophe would result if you disregarded my warnings? Yet, you ridiculed me and denied my accusations. In the name of our brotherhood I defended you though I knew I lied. Crassus defended you, and he knew you lied and that you were guilty. Pompey defended you. You were acquitted. You sued for damages against three men who saw you at a distance with Fabia. The suit was successful. It was necessary that we save you, lest we all fall. Now Cicero knows your guilt.”
“Then, he should die as I have often told you.”
“Then it will surely be known that you were guilty.”
“His wife could poison him, at their own table.”
Julius smiled. “Ah, yes. Poison is a woman’s weapon. Is that not what you always say, Lucius? You would feel no guilt if Cicero died at his own table at the hand of his wife, Terentia, who is known for her virtue and her devotion to her husband?”
“He is an obstacle, and a dangerous one.”
“And Terentia would die for the murder of her husband.”
Catilina shrugged. “One does not roast a boar without first killing him.”
“How would you bring it about that Terentia poisoned her husband?”
“That is very easy. We can corrupt one of his slaves, who will swear that he saw Terentia pour the poison in her husband’s goblet.”
Julius gazed at him thoughtfully. “You have a solution for every problem. I do not like your liking for poison. I tell you again, if Cicero dies by any misadventure you shall die also. I have sworn that in the name of my patron, Jupiter.”
Catilina laughed. “Then, where is the problem of which you have spoken?”
“Be circumspect. Conduct yourself for some time as a sober citizen. Devote yourself to Aurelia, who loves you in spite of your guilt. Did you love Fabia?”
“I never knew her,” said Catilina. But suddenly his beautiful face was convulsed. He covered his eyes with his hands. Julius, the dissolute, regarded him with reluctant pity.
“Women,” he sighed. “And she was the loveliest of all. How they disarm us! Your grief is your punishment.”
“It is more than I can bear.” Catilina dropped his hands. His face was disfigured with anguish and tears.
“Be sure that I shall avenge Fabia,” Marcus told his wife. He had never spoken of Livia to Terentia. She was impressed by his cold white fury. She wept in his arms.
“It will, take some time,” said Marcus, stroking her long brown hair. “But I shall avenge your sister.”
“Catilina is a murderer,” said Helvia to her son.
“I have known that for many years,” said Marcus.
“He is also dangerous. I fear for you.”
“I will not die until it is fated for me to die,” said Marcus.
But, as he was prudent, he avoided dangerous situations. He felt that he and Catilina were visible enemies and that even the air he breathed was charged with their mutual hatred. He resumed his fencing lessons. He wore a dagger at all times. He never ate or drank before his companions ate and drank from the same vessels. He spoke of Catilina to the most distant friends, in order to observe his comings and his goings. Somewhere Catilina had an Achilles heel through which he would meet death, or, worse than death, he would be wounded for all time.
In the meantime Marcus rejoiced in the beauty of his little daughter, Tullia, who was the delight of her parents and her grandparents. Marcus revelled in her wit and her love. She had his features and his eyes and his curling brown hair and his amiability, all transfigured in feminine softness. She would sit on his knee and purr against his cheek. No son could have been dearer to him than this daughter. Helvia accused him of paternal weakness, but even she regarded her granddaughter tenderly. She was the core of love to Tullius, her grandfather, who walked with her on the island and told her enthralling stories. She would glance up at Tullius then kiss his hand, understanding. She was hardly more than a babe but she had much wisdom.
Marcus’ fame as an orator and lawyer grew larger in Rome. Under Terentia’s clever management his fortune increased. When he exposed the Roman, Verres, for his exploitation and thefts in Sicily, and even worse his acts of rapacity and cruelty toward Romans, themselves, the people’s affection for him grew even stronger. He was appointed Curule Aedile, at the urging of Julius Caesar. “Lord,” Julius had said to Crassus, “let us publicly honor our dear Marcus so that the populace will hail our graciousness and acclaim our sincerity and our love for justice.” Pompey agreed. Catilina was enraged. But Marcus received the appointment. Crassus was growing somewhat weary of Catilina’s vehemence and ambitions, but he also feared him for he held the dark underworld of Rome in his patrician hand. Moreover, the crucifixion of thousands of slaves who had rebelled under Spartacus had made the Roman mob uneasy and alarmed at its rulers. Though Romans were not easily moved to pity there were multitudes among them who were the sons of freedmen, and even multitudes more in danger of slavery, themselves, if they failed in debt.
Marcus, himself, had withou
t success intervened for the condemned slaves. He was never to forget the sight of these piteous crosses with their hanging and bleeding human fruit. What had these poor creatures done except to ask for an alleviation of their misery? When denied it they had rebelled. But Romans no longer cherished their slaves, and now there were so many hundreds of thousands of slaves in Rome that their very presence was a threat. Too, they had the sympathy of many aliens in Rome, who had known oppression in their own lands. Though Marcus could not save the lives of those crucified he did mitigate the fate of others who were later seized. He had said to Julius Caesar, “Do you desire anarchy and revolution? I tell you, I am nearer the people than are you and Crassus and Catilina and Pompey and the rest of you. I hear their mutterings. They take the crucifixions of the slaves as an omen of tyrannical government; they do not know, as yet, that they are already living under such a government. Would you have me inform them?”
Crassus magnanimously, then, freed the hundreds of slaves already in the prisons, with kind warnings. “This Cicero is invaluable,” said Julius to Crassus. “He has the ear of the people and hears their tongues.”
“As Laberius has said, your Cicero sits on two stools,” said Crassus.
“Why?” asked Julius with indulgence. “Because he is just and can see justice in the mobs, the ‘new men’—the middle-class—and also among the patricians, the merchants, the shopkeepers and the bankers, in special and defined instances? He also finds injustice in these also. He defends law under all circumstances.”
“He is ambiguous. Therefore, he is dangerous.”
“Catilina has been poisoning your mind, lord. Good men appear ambiguous to bad men. Though Marcus does not favor you he would defend you if you were unjustly accused. And he would turn against you, indeed dangerously, if he were convinced that you were a menace to Rome. His one loyalty is justice and law. Bad men are concerned only with blind loyalties and not good honor. They will defend villains if they love them, and stand with cruel despots if their advantage is there. I prefer the loyalty of Cicero.”
Crassus smiled. “Let us, then, be lawful at all times.”
Terentia was temporarily satisfied and overjoyed that Marcus was now a Curule Aedile, with a chair of ivory and the privilege of placing his bust in his atrium, thus acquiring nobility. She engaged a famous sculptor to carve Marcus’ bust in marble. She invited all the family and its friends to the unveiling. She could not understand Marcus’ reluctance to be publicly honored. “Have you not deserved it?” she cried in exasperation. “I can only declare that you are afflicted with the worst of affectations—false modesty. Surely, you are not unaware of the services you have rendered your country?”
“I object to my bust standing next to my statue of Athene,” said Marcus.
“Pah. She is your patroness. Do I not sacrifice to her, too, in the temples?”
“True. But then you are very religious, Terentia.”
Helvia was pleased with Marcus’ marble bust. Tullius gazed at it in anxious silence. He feared display. He feared that his son would be overwhelmed by his great fame and become conceited. He remembered his prayers for Marcus when his son had been a young child. Helvia, with some impatience, observed her husband’s silence and wrinkled expression. “Your father would consider this a mighty honor and worthy of Marcus,” she said.
But Tullius said nothing. He rarely spoke these days except to little Tullia, his granddaughter. He had totally lost all intimacy with his son, and this bewildered him and filled him with despair. Marcus avoided Tullius as much as possible, for he knew that Tullius was wounded and believed that his son had grown far beyond him. This was not entirely true, but the matter was so subtle that even Marcus, eloquent with words, did not know how to express it.
Marcus left the great part of his law work now to his young lawyers and clerks, for his duties as Curule Aedile were pressing and urgent and took the vaster amount of his time. He had the duty of supervising temples and public buildings, the market places and the streets, the annual games, the proper observances of religious festivals. It was the games which excited Marcus’ anxiety, for the Roman populace had become accustomed to splendor and extravagance in the circuses and the importance of gladiators and actors. Year by year, their rulers, wishing their love and loyalty, had increased the magnificence of the games. Marcus was in a quandary. It was expected of a Curule Aedile that he contribute lavishly to the games out of his own pocket, as well as using the funds of the Treasury. Marcus was not favorable to either idea. Terentia was torn between her passion to advance her husband’s popularity and her frugality. As usual, Marcus compromised. He was too prudent to balk the populace outright, or to drain the Treasury and his own purse. He made some cautious economies which would not be too noticeable to the jealous populace, and concentrated on finding popularity in other ways, such as accepting clients who had been wrongfully accused. He particularly liked to help prosecute those of the mighty who had been guilty of extortion, outright and gigantic robbery, and public scandal. This endeared him to the envious mobs. They rarely noticed that the gladiators seemed fewer than usual and the free offerings of wine and pastries and meats in the circus in somewhat short supply.
Moreover, he induced his friends, Noë and Roscius, to create spectacles in the circuses. This was no mean success, for Roscius knew that he would not be paid for his services, and Noë was busy with new plays. “Do you wish me to bankrupt both the Treasury and my own purse?” asked Marcus. “You are a rich man,” said Roscius, darkly. “You are richer,” said Marcus. “Come, are we not friends?”
Because they loved him they consented. The populace was delighted and so Marcus spared both the Treasury and his private funds. Sometimes he had an attack of conscience. He was exploiting his best friends. He was learning that politics is not a simple matter at all, but a shifting deck of state on which one must be very agile not to fall, or, to use another metaphor, it was a tightrope on which the successful politician must dance with apparent ease and conceal his sweat and fear under a broad smile. Worst of all, he discovered that he liked politics, which he had called the harlot of public life. He comforted his conscience by not indulging the harlot too often. To refrain from her entirely was impossible, if one wished to continue in politics. This was another matter which he could not explain to his father, nor, in fact, to his mother, Helvia. But Terentia was sympathetic and understood. “You will never do anything evil,” she said. Marcus fervently hoped so. “If one can do no good in politics,” he wrote, “one should at least be harmless.” Once or twice he was alarmed when he discovered himself feeling a secret sympathy for the dead Sulla, and even for Crassus. They were only men, and the people were most vehemently human. Though Socrates always expressed his love for humanity Marcus was beginning to perceive that this was simple for a philosopher but not so simple for a politician. A politician learned things about his fellowmen not available to philosophers who walked in marble colonnades.
He was very busy. His dearly loved brother, Quintus, too frequently home from foreign parts these days, had acquired a slight arrogance, the fault of his tempestuous wife, Pomponia, who had now borne him a son. Pomponia bullied him. In self-defense and to assuage his wounded manhood, he tried to bully Marcus. Marcus should not do this; Marcus should do that. Quintus imagined himself a marvelous politician. He accused Marcus of deviousness. Sometimes they quarreled openly and angrily. But the love between them was too strong to be weakened. Marcus learned not to discuss politics too often with his brother; if Quintus broached the matter Marcus was able, deftly, to change the subject.
Marcus found himself talking at long length to his little daughter, Tullia, and expounding to her learnedly on law and imprecating politics. She listened wisely, as a child, as they walked together in the garden of the house on the Palatine, or on the island. “You see my position, Tullia,” Marcus would say.
Tullia would kiss him passionately and stroke his tired cheek and smile at him with admiration. Her infant’s lac
k of comprehension, and her love, soothed him and he would hold her to him and thank God for children. They were too innocent for subtlety or nuances. And, thank God, they knew nothing of politics or mankind. As his father had feared for him so did he fear the future for Tullia, and as his father had prayed so he prayed. The generations were bound together in prayer, though neither knew.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Marcus did not know that he was the virtuous façade of white marble that concealed the activities of Crassus, Julius Caesar, Pompey the Magnus, Catilina and many others. The people looked on his integrity and remembered that he would not be a Curule Aedile if it were not for Crassus and his friends. Therefore, Crassus and the others had integrity also. The people said wisely to each other, “Does not the fable say that birds of a feather flock together? Our noble Cicero flocks with our rulers. Therefore, they too, must be virtuous.”
“I have heard,” said Crassus to Julius, “that your Cicero is making long and extensive inquiries concerning Catilina. In truth, his activities in this direction grow stronger daily.”
“So I have heard also,” Julius replied. “He began this many years ago. It is natural. There were Livia and Fabia. Marcus never forgets.”
“If he discovers—” said Crassus.
“We must be adroit, concerning Catilina,” said Julius. “He wearies me, though he is necessary to us. Let us show him no public sympathy, however we show it in private. Then we can disentangle ourselves, to our popularity, if the necessity arises.”
“You are very wise for a young man,” said Crassus. “Let us do as you say.”
Julius smiled at him winningly and with gratitude. Had Crassus known his thoughts Julius would not have survived many hours longer. He said to Pompey, “Our hour is near.” He said to Catilina, “In the name of Venus, your favorite deity, refrain from public scandal. Do not be impatient. I tell you that we are on the eve of great events.”
A Pillar of Iron: A Novel of Ancient Rome Page 61
