Silently, he thanked Alexandria for what she had told him, and saw from the nodding heads that he had struck a chord with many of the crowd.
“Consul Crassus has appointed me aedile, which means I am the one to whom you should complain if there is crime or disorder in the city. Come to me if you are wrongly accused, and I will hear your case and defend you myself if I cannot find representation for you. My time and strength are yours now, if you want it. My clients and my men will make the streets safe, and I will make the law fair for all. If I am consul, I will be the flood that clears Rome of the filth of centuries, but not alone. I will not give you a better city. Together, we will make her new.”
He felt a giddy joy in him as they responded. This was what it was like to be touched by gods. His chest swelled as his voice poured over the crowd, and they strove to meet his eye.
“Where is the wealth our legions have brought back to the city? In this forum alone? It is not enough, I think. If I am made consul, I will not shy from the smaller things. The roads are blocked by traffic so that trade is stifled. I will make them move by night and silence the endless shouting of the ox drivers.” They chuckled at that and Julius smiled back at them. His people.
“Do you think I should not? Should I use my time to build another fine building you will never use?”
Someone shouted, “No!” and Julius grinned at the lone voice, enjoying the ripple of laughter that spread through them.
“To that man who shouted, I say yes! We should build great soaring temples and bridges and aqueducts for clean water. If a foreign king comes to Rome, I want him to know we are blessed in all things. I want him to look up—but not tread in anything horrible when he does.”
Julius waited for the laughter to fade before going on. He knew they listened for the simple reason that his voice rang with conviction. He believed what he said and they heard him and were lifted.
“We are a practical people, you and I. We need drains and safety and honest trade and cheap prices for the food to live. But we are also dreamers, practical dreamers who will remake the world to endure a thousand years. We build to last. We are the inheritors of Greece. We have strength, but not just that of the body. We invent and perfect until there is nothing so fine as Rome. One street at a time, if need be.”
He took a deep, slow breath and his eyes filled with affection for the people listening.
“I look at you all and I am proud. My blood has helped to make Rome and I do not see it wasted when I look on her people. This is our land. Yet there is a world outside it that has yet to know what we have found. What we have made is great enough to take into the dark places, to spread the rule of law, the honor of our city, until anywhere in the world one of us can say ‘I am a Roman citizen’ and be assured of good treatment. If I am made consul, I will work for that day.”
He had finished, though they didn’t know it at first. They waited patiently to hear what he would say next, and Julius was almost tempted into continuing, before an inner voice of caution told him to simply thank them and step down.
The silence broke in a roar of appreciation and Julius flushed with the excitement of it. He was unaware of the men on the platform behind him and could see only the people who had listened, each one hearing him alone and taking in the words. It was better than wine.
Behind his back, Pompey leaned over to Crassus and whispered as he applauded.
“You made him aedile? He is no friend of yours, Crassus. Believe it.”
For the benefit of the crowd, Crassus smiled back at his colleague, his eyes glittering angrily.
“I know how to judge a friend, Pompey.”
Pompey stood then and clapped a hand to Julius’s shoulder as he came abreast of him. As the crowd saw the two men smile at each other, they cheered again and Pompey raised his other arm to acknowledge them, as if Julius were his pupil and had done well to please them.
“A wonderful speech, Caesar,” Pompey said. “You will be like a fresh wind in the Senate if you are successful. Practical dreamers, a wonderful concept.”
Julius clasped the offered hand before turning to call Crassus to the front. The other consul was already moving, too astute to let the opportunity pass without his presence.
The three men stood together while the crowd cheered, and from a distance their smiles looked genuine. Senator Prandus also rose, but no one noticed.
Alexandria turned to Teddus at her side as the crowd cheered the men on the platform.
“Well, what did you think of him?” she said.
The old soldier rubbed the bristles on his chin. He had come because Alexandria had asked him, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in the promises of the men who ruled his city, and didn’t know how to say that without offending his employer.
“He was all right,” he said, after reflection. “Though I didn’t hear him offer to have a coin stamped like the others. Promises are all very well, mistress, but a silver coin buys you a good meal and a jug.”
Alexandria frowned for a moment, then snapped open the heavy bangle she wore on her wrist, sliding a denarius out in her hand. She gave it to Teddus and he accepted it, raising his eyebrows.
“What’s that for?” he said.
“You spend it,” she replied. “When it’s gone and you’re hungry again, Caesar will still be there.”
Teddus nodded as if he understood her, carefully tucking the coin into the hidden pocket of his tunic. He glanced around to see if anyone had noted where he kept his money, but the crowd seemed focused on the raised stage. Still, it paid to be careful in Rome.
Servilia watched the man she loved as Pompey clapped an arm on his shoulders. The consul could scent a changing wind as fast as any of the other men in the Senate, though she wondered if Pompey knew Julius would not allow even the semblance of control from the outgoing consuls.
There were times when she hated the shallow games they all played. Even giving Julius and Prandus the chance to speak at the formal consuls’ address was part of it. She knew of two more candidates on the Senate list, and there were still a few days to go before the lists were closed. None of those had been allowed to cheapen the consuls’ address with their tin promises.
The crowd would remember only three men and Julius was one of them. She let out a breath of tension. Unlike most of those in the forum, she had not been able to relax and enjoy the speeches. While Julius stood to face them, her heart had pounded in fear and pride. He hadn’t slipped. The memory of the man she had found in Spain was simply that now. Julius had recaptured the old magic and it touched even her as she listened and saw his bright eyes sweep over her without stopping. He was so young; could the crowd see that? For all their skill and wit, Pompey and Crassus were fading powers compared to him, and he was hers.
A man stepped a little too closely to her as he wound his way through the crowd, and Servilia caught a glimpse of a hard, scarred face, damp with sweat. Before she could react, a strong hand fastened on the man’s arm, making him cry out.
“Be on your way,” Brutus said softly.
The man yanked hard to free himself and retreated, though he paused to spit when he was safely out of range. Servilia turned to her son and he smiled at her, the incident forgotten.
“I think you have backed the right horse, Mother,” he said, looking up at Julius. “Can’t you feel it? Everything is in place for him.”
Servilia chuckled, caught by his enthusiasm. Without his armor, her son looked more boyish than usual, and she reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately.
“One speech doesn’t make a consul, you know. The work starts today.” She followed his gaze up to where Julius was turning away at last to make his way into the crowd, taking outstretched hands and responding to the citizens as they called to him. Even at a distance, she could see his joy.
“But it is a good start,” she said.
Suetonius walked with his friends through empty streets away from the forum. The stalls and houses were shut and barred,
and they could still hear the muted sound of the crowd behind the rows of houses.
Suetonius didn’t speak for a long time, his face stiff with bitterness. Every cheer from the tradesmen had eaten at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Julius, always Julius. No matter what happened, the man seemed to have more luck than any three others. A few words to a crowd and they fawned on him, sickeningly, while Suetonius’s father was humiliated. It was appalling to see them swayed by tricks and words while a good Roman went unnoticed. He had been so proud when his father allowed his name to be entered for consul. Rome deserved a man of his dignity and his honor, not a Caesar, out for nothing more than his own glory.
Suetonius clenched his fists, almost growling at what he had witnessed. The two friends with him exchanged nervous glances.
“He’s going to win, isn’t he?” Suetonius said without looking at them.
Bibilus nodded, a pace behind his friend, then realized the gesture couldn’t be seen.
“Perhaps. Pompey and Crassus seem to think so, at least. Your father could still take the second post.”
He wondered whether Suetonius was going to march them all the way back to the estate outside Rome. Good horses and comfortable rooms awaited them in the other direction as Suetonius stalked along, blind with his hatred. Bibilus hated to walk when horses were available. He hated riding as well, but it was easier on his legs and he sweated less.
“He deserts his post in Spain and strolls in to announce he will try for consul, and they simply accept it! I do wonder what bribes have changed hands to make this happen. He is capable of it, believe me. I know him well. The man has no honor. I remember that from the ships and Greece. That bastard, come back to haunt me. You would think he’d leave politics to better men after his wife died, wouldn’t you? He should have learned the dangers then. I tell you, Cato may have made enemies, but he was twice the man Caesar is. Your father knew that, Bibilus.”
Bibilus looked nervously around to see if anyone was within earshot. With Suetonius in this mood, there was no telling what he would say. Bibilus enjoyed his friend’s bitterness when they were in private rooms. He was quite in awe of the level of anger Suetonius seemed able to produce. In a public street, though, he felt his perspiration making his armpits slap wetly. Suetonius still marched as if the rising sun was nothing more than a vision, and the heat was growing.
Suetonius slipped on a loose stone and swore. Always Caesar to torment him. Whenever that man was in the city, the fortunes of his family suffered. He knew Caesar had spread the slurs about him that had kept him from command in a legion. He had seen the covered smiles and whispers and known the source.
When he had seen the assassins creeping toward Caesar’s home, he had experienced a moment of true pleasure. He could have raised an alarm, sent riders to warn them. He could have stopped it, but he had walked away, saying nothing. They had torn Caesar’s wife apart. Suetonius remembered how he had laughed when his father told him the awful news. The old man had such an expression of gravity that Suetonius had not been able to help himself. His father’s amazement seemed to fuel it until his eyes were pouring tears.
Perhaps his father would understand a little better now he had seen Caesar’s flattery and promises for himself. The thought sat strangely in his mind, that he might be able to speak to his father again, with something shared between them. Suetonius couldn’t recall the last time he had said more than a few curt words to his son, and that coldness too was Caesar’s doing. His father had given back the land they had won so cleverly while Julius was away. Given back the plot where Suetonius was to have built his house. He still remembered his father’s eyes when he protested. There was no love, just a cool appraisal that found him always wanting.
Suetonius raised his head and relaxed his tight hands. He would see his father and commiserate with him. Perhaps he wouldn’t flinch when Suetonius looked him in the eye, as if he were sickened by what he saw there. Perhaps he wouldn’t look so disappointed in his son.
Bibilus had seen the change in his friend’s gait and took the opportunity.
“It’s getting hot, Suetonius. We should be heading back to the inn.”
Suetonius stopped and turned to his friend.
“How wealthy are you, Bibilus?” he asked suddenly.
Bibilus rubbed his hands nervously, as he always did when the subject of money came up between them. He had inherited a sum large enough never to have to work, but talking about it made him hot with embarrassment. He wished Suetonius didn’t find the subject so fascinating.
“I have enough, you know. Not like Crassus, obviously, but enough,” he said warily. Was he after another loan? Bibilus hoped not. Somehow the only time Suetonius promised repayment was at the moment of asking. When he had the money, it was never mentioned again. When Bibilus summoned enough courage to bring up the outstanding sums, Suetonius became irritable and usually ended up storming off, until Bibilus had to apologize.
“Enough to stand for consul, Bibilus? There’s still another day or two before the Senate list is closed to new names.”
Bibilus blinked in confusion and horror at the idea. “No, Suetonius, definitely not. I will not, even for you. I like my life and position in the Senate as it is. I wouldn’t want to be consul even if they offered it to me.”
Suetonius stepped closer to him and took hold of his damp toga, his face filled with distaste. “Do you want to see Caesar as consul? Do you even remember the civil war? Do you remember Marius and the damage he did? If you stand, you could split the vote for Caesar and let one of the others in with my father. If you are a friend to me, you won’t hesitate.”
“I am, of course, but it won’t work!” Bibilus said, trying to pull away from the anger. The thought that Suetonius would smell his sweat was humiliating, but the grip was hard on his toga, exposing the white skin of his sagging chest.
“Even if I stand and gather a few votes, I could take them from your father as easily as Caesar, don’t you see? Why don’t you stand yourself, if that’s what you want? I’ll give you campaign funds, I swear it.”
“Have you lost your mind, telling me to stand against my own father? No, Bibilus. You may not be much of a friend, or much of anything, but there’s no one else on the list of any note. If we do nothing, my father will be destroyed by Caesar. I know how he panders to the mob, how they love him. How many would honor my father with Caesar parading himself like a glittering whore? You come from an old family and you have the money to raise your name before the election.” His eyes brightened with malice as he considered the idea.
“My father has not been away from Rome for years, remember, and he has support in the richer centuries, who vote first. You saw the speeches. Caesar appeals to the shiftless poor. If a majority is reached early, half of Rome may not be called to vote. It can be done.”
“I don’t think—” Bibilus stammered.
“You must, Bibi, for me. Just a few of the early centuries at the vote would be enough, and then he will be shamed into leaving Rome. If you see my father’s vote is suffering, you can withdraw. Nothing could be simpler, unless you would prefer to let Caesar be consul without a fight?”
Bibilus tried again. “I don’t have the funds to pay for—”
“Your father left you a fortune, Bibi; did you think I didn’t know that? Do you think he would want to see Cato’s old enemy as consul? No, those petty loans you have given me in the past are nothing more than a few days’ living for you.” Suetonius seemed to sense the incongruity of holding his friend so tightly even as he tried to persuade him. He let go and straightened Bibilus’s toga with a few twitches of his fingers.
“That’s better. Now, will you do this for me, Bibilus? You know how important it is to me. Who knows, you might enjoy being consul with my father, if it comes to that. More importantly, Caesar must not be allowed to slide his way into power in this city.”
“No. Do you hear? I will not!” Bibilus said, wheezing slightly in fear.
/> Suetonius narrowed his eyes and gripped Bibilus by the arm, pulling him away from their companions. When he could not be overheard, Suetonius leaned in close to the sweating face of the young Roman.
“Do you remember what you told me last year? What I saw when I came to your house? I know why your father despised you, Bibilus, why he sent you away to your fine house and retired from the Senate. Perhaps that was why his heart gave out, who knows? How long do you think you would survive if your tastes became public knowledge?”
Bibilus looked ill, his face twisting. “It was an accident, that girl. She had a flux. . . .”
“Can you stand the light of day on you, Bibilus?” Suetonius said, pressing still closer. “I’ve seen the results of your . . . enthusiasm. I could bring a case myself against you and the penalties are unpleasant, though not more than you deserve. How many little girls and boys have passed through your hands in the last few years, Bibilus? How many of the Senate are fathers, do you think?”
Bibilus’s wet mouth shook in frustration. “You have no right to threaten me! My slaves are my own property. No one would listen to you.”
Suetonius showed his teeth, his face ugly with triumph. “Pompey lost a daughter, Bibi. He’d listen. He’d make sure you suffered for your pleasures, don’t you think? I’m sure he would not turn me away if I went to him.”
Bibilus slumped, his eyes filling with tears. “Please . . .” he whispered.
Suetonius patted him on the shoulder. “There is no need to mention it again, Bibi. Friends do not desert each other,” he said, rubbing the damp flesh comfortingly.
The Field of Swords Page 12
