A Point of Law

2

By the time I got home, Julia already knew most of the story. Her network of slaves, tradesmen, and the women of her social circle rivaled the espionage organization of any Eastern potentate. She met me in our atrium that afternoon with a harried expression and a formidable degree of preparation. She clapped her hands, and the household slaves bustled to do her bidding. A slave took my candidate’s toga as another toweled the chalk from my neck and arms.

“Come along,” Julia said. “We have a lot to discuss and not much time.” I followed her into the dining room where more slaves were already setting the table for us. I flopped onto a couch and somebody took my sandals.

“Eat,” Julia commanded. “You’re going to have a long night of plotting ahead of you at your father’s house.”

“You already know about that?” I reached for the wine, and she slapped my hand. I grabbed a roll instead.

“How should I not?” She mixed the wine with water. Far too much water. “They’ll want to organize a legal defense for you. Tell them they are wasting their time.”

“Why should I do that? Even perjured testimony has to be answered and countered. I don’t see how the man can hope to make his charges stick.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He has no intention of bringing in a conviction! He just wants to keep you out of the election!”

“But why? He can’t hope to make his reputation on an abortive trial resulting in an acquittal.”

“That’s the question we have to answer.” She shoved a cup of the weak mixture into my hand. I dipped my bread into balsam-steeped oil and chewed.

“If he doesn’t benefit directly from my exclusion from office, then who does? That’s always Cicero’s question, isn’t it? ‘Who benefits?’ ”

“There is another question to ask: Are you the real target of this attack?”

“What do you mean?” I downed a couple of oysters and went after a roast chicken.

“His words, as reported to me, were that he would bring down ‘the great Caecilius Metellus.’ You are not the most distinguished of your family. He may be attacking the family through you.”

“If we were known Pompeians or Caesarians that would make sense, but we aren’t. The family supported Sulla and has gone its own way since his death.”

“There are those who may find that intolerable,” Julia said obscurely.

“How well do you know Fulvia? He’s her brother.”

“I’ve scarcely seen her these past few years, except when we both attended noblewomen’s ceremonies the Bona Dea festival and the rites of Ceres and so forth. When she was married to Clodius, she was tight with that circle, naturally. Now it looks as if she’ll marry Marcus Antonius, and Antonius has thrown in his lot with Caesar. So I can’t imagine that she’s put her brother up to this, evil bitch though she may be.”

“Do you think she’s all that bad?”

“Clodia’s a Vestal by comparison.” The notorious Clodia had retired to virtual seclusion since her brother’s death, thus robbing Rome of its favorite focus for scandal. As always, I grew uneasy when my wife mentioned Clodia. I had a checkered and somewhat unsavory past with that woman.

“Then who? The major factions should be trying to court the Metelli, not to alienate them.” I attacked an unoffending but delicious rabbit, tore off its leg and dipped it in garum.

Julia thought about it for a while, then she seemed to get off the subject. “Who do you think your family will support? They can’t stay neutral forever. Sooner or later they’ll have to declare for Caesar or Pompey.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “For one thing, a year from now, Caesar or Pompey or both could be dead. Gaul is not a healthy place, as I can attest from experience. One stray arrow, one determined assassin, an unexpected German offensive-any number of things could spell an abrupt end for Caesar. For that matter, an ague or a disgruntled officer could do it. Recall if you will that half the Senate cooperated to send him to Gaul in hopes that he’d die there.

“As for Pompey, he’s at the age when men drop dead suddenly of natural causes. He’s put on weight and doesn’t get around like he used to.”

“You aren’t answering me.” Julia was as relentless as any lawyer.

“It depends on who frightens them the most. They’ve spent decades scared of Pompey and his soldiers, and they’ve opposed him most of the time. Now they’re getting apprehensive of Caesar. He has an unprecedentedly large and happy army, and for several years he’s been virtual king of Gaul and Illyricum. When the time comes, they’ll take sides against the one who gives them the biggest scare. They’ll back the weaker man.”

“When will they decide who frightens them most?”

“It depends on how Caesar and Pompey act. They’ll try to keep things peaceful as long as they can. If Pompey keeps his veterans in the south, and if Caesar lays down his imperium when his term expires, comes back to Rome and takes his place in the Senate, then my family will try to keep the peace and stay in the good graces of both of them.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

“I think it’s unlikely. Caesar has shown his contempt for the Senate too clearly. If he tries to do what Sertorius did and set himself up as an independent king, there will be civil war and Pompey will lead the campaign against him. If Pompey takes it into his head to call up his soldiers and capture southern Italy, my family will go to Caesar and beg him to crush Pompey.”

“And if Caesar returns to Rome but doesn’t lay down his imperium? If he brings his soldiers with him and camps outside the walls of Rome?”

“Then my family will side with Pompey. They always back the weaker man, the one they think they can control. I hope it doesn’t come to any of these ends, because then it will make no difference whom we back. It will mean the end of the Republic.”

“Perhaps it’s time,” Julia said.

“Never! If there is another civil war, whoever wins, Caesar or Pompey or another man, he will make himself dictator. And unlike Sulla, this one will not retire and restore the Republic. It will be monarchy, just like in the Orient. That would be unworthy of Rome.”

“We’re getting away from the subject,” Julia said. She would never say it, but the idea of her uncle as monarch didn’t bother her a bit. “I am going to look into this man Fulvius and his past. Someone is behind him and when we know who it is, we’ll know how to fight him.”

“Much as I detest Sallustius,” I told her, “I am almost ready to take his advice and offer the bastard a bribe to back off.”

“Whoever is behind him will have thought of that,” she said. “He’s been offered something better than money.”

“Better than money,” I pointed out, “there is only honor and public office, which he is unlikely to attain if he follows this course.”

“Men value different things,” she said. “Not everyone is a Roman of great family.”

“This is quite true,” I agreed. “We need to find out who this man is. We haven’t a great deal of time to do it in.”

She glanced at the slant of sunlight pouring through the triclinium door. “It’s not late yet. I think I’ll go pay Fulvia a call. She is still at the house of Clodius, I believe. She is so snubbed by women of quality that she’ll be eager to talk.”

“You be careful around that woman,” I told her. “Take along some of my clients, the ex-legionaries and brawlers.”

“A Caesar needs no bodyguard,” she said contemptuously. Julia always saw her status as Caesar’s niece as a sort of invisible armor protecting her wherever she went. I saw it more as an archer’s mark painted between her shoulder blades.

I arrived at my father’s house just as the sun was setting. Hermes was with me, and I had stopped by the houses of a few friends, men of high rank and good reputation, whose support I could count upon. There was already a goodly crowd outside the gate, servants, clients, and supporters of the important men already gathered within.

As I approached the gate a large litter arrived. It was Hortalus, who had grown too old, stout, and infirm to walk great distances. He was already dressed in his striped augur’s robe and carried the lituus: the crook-topped staff of that sacred office. With him was the eminent Appius Claudius Pulcher, a very distinguished soldier and administrator. He was standing for censor and was sure to be elected. This man was the elder brother of Clodius; but he was a man of entirely different character, and I had never had any but cordial relations with him.

Inside, a sizable chunk of Rome’s senatorial power was assembled. I qualify this because the real power was elsewhere, fighting Gauls and Parthians.

“Here’s Hortensius,” Metellus Scipio said, as we came in. “That was a good stab you got in today about the unspeakable year. Was it true?”

“Oh, yes,” Hortalus said. “I never lie about legal precedents. I wish that sort of opening came my way more often in court.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” I said. “Aside from the fact that Fulvius steals the words of better men, where was he likely to have learned them?”

“Aulus Sulpicius Galba is the great scholar of the jurisprudence of that era,” said Hortalus. “He used to make all his students memorize the orations of Billienus.”

“Used to?” I said.

“He retired from Roman practice at least twenty years ago. We rarely see him here now. Last I heard he was teaching law in Baiae and has been elected duumvir of the town.”

“If I could be the most important man in Baiae,” I said, “I wouldn’t be in Rome either. Well, that much makes sense. Fulvius is from Baiae, so he must have studied law there under Galba.”

“Nobody here knows much about Fulvius,” Father said. “He’s been in the City only a few months at most.”

“Appius,” said Creticus, who held a huge goblet of wine, “not to dredge up any family scandals, but do you know anything about him? He is a relative of yours by marriage.”

“I never heard of him before today,” Appius Claudius said. “I had little to do with my brother his last few years and even less with his wife. This brother of hers never approached me for patronage and wouldn’t have got it if he had.”

I took a cup from a passing slave. The wine was, mercifully, not as heavily watered as Julia served it.

“Marcus Cato can’t be here tonight,” Scipio said, “but he’s agreed to begin tomorrow’s proceedings with an oration concerning conditions on Cyprus. He saw to the Roman annexation of the island, and he briefed Decius before he went out there. We’ve yet to locate any citizens who were there during Decius’s activities against the pirates, and we’re unlikely to anytime soon. We have, however, a great many important men ready to testify to his splendid character.”

“He’ll have more, swearing what an utter, degenerate criminal and pervert I am,” I pointed out.

“What’s more, his witnesses will be more believable,” Creticus said, raising a general laugh at my expense.

“Your aedileship was the most popular since Caesar’s,” Scipio pointed out. “The plebeians will be solidly behind you.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but virtually all my fines and prosecutions were leveled against crooked contractors, dishonest entrepreneurs, violators of the business and building codes, all of them equites. Guess who will be on the jury.”

“Equites, of course,” Father replied. “In Sulla’s day, a senator was tried before his peers.” I could have pointed out the injustice of that policy, but at that moment I was entirely in agreement with the bloody old butcher.

“Perhaps,” I said, “we’re approaching this from the wrong direction.” I sketched the possibility Julia had raised. Of course, I pretended that it had been my idea.

“I don’t believe that his odd phrasing escaped any of us who were there,” Hortalus said. “ ‘The mighty Caecilius Metellus’ indeed! I, too, am inclined to think that this represents an attack on the whole gens Caecilia.”

“I agree,” Father said. “Has anyone any better idea?” None had. “Very well. The fact remains that the form this attack has taken is a personal one against my son. As such we must address it, and we have three days to clear this matter up so that we can get Decius the younger elected praetor.”

“Now,” Creticus said, “we need to discuss the various underhanded ways we can counter this exceedingly underhanded offensive. Scipio, will Pompey intervene for us?”

Scipio’s daughter, widow of Publius Crassus who had died at Carrhae, had married Pompey, a man somewhat older than her father. The old boy was quite besotted with her, and when his father-in-law was prosecuted Pompey called the jury together at his own house and asked personally for an acquittal. Scipio was immediately cleared of all charges and carried from the Forum on the shoulders of the men who were to have tried him.

“That won’t work twice,” Scipio said. “He earned enough resentment last time. To do it again, for a member of the same family, could turn the whole Senate against him.”

“How about a bribe?” Father asked. He saw my mouth open and pointed a bony finger at my face. “None of your delicate scruples now, Son. This is politics at its dirtiest, and bribing the fellow may turn out to be the easiest, simplest, and, in the long run, cheapest way to go. How much of your pirate loot remains?”

“Very little. After the monument and the new roof of the portico, clearing my debts, and my donation to the Treasury, there’s barely enough remaining to support my state as praetor.” The praetorship wasn’t as costly an office as the aedileship, but my expenses would still be heavy: compensation for my clients, who would attend me every court day; regular gifts for my lictors; and the lavish entertaining expected of an office holder.

“You shouldn’t have given so much to the Treasury,” Creticus said.

“We could all lend you a few talents to buy the man off,” Scipio suggested.

“He won’t be bought if it’s the family he’s after,” I pointed out. Once again I presented Julia’s suspicions as my own.

“So who can afford to outspend us?” Scipio asked. “Or place him in high office? The only likely suspects are Caesar and Pompey, and it makes little sense for either of them to do this.”

“There are other men of ambition,” said Appius Claudius. “Desperate men who can’t climb by constitutional means are apt to employ desperate tactics.”

“You mean like Catilina?” I said. “Some frustrated, would-be dictator currying favor among the malcontents and the dispossessed?”

“I am thinking more of the exiles,” he answered. “Gabinius would dearly love to come back to Rome and resume his career. You had a run-in with him on Cyprus, did you not?”

“Yes, early on,” I told him, “but we patched it up.”

“You are not his lifelong friend though,” Father said, “and no man is your friend where great ambition is concerned. I think we should consider Gabinius as a possibility. What about Curio?”

“The man’s a pauper!” Hortalus protested.

“So was Caesar until a few years ago,” Creticus said. “Curio’s standing for Tribune of the People, he has a slate of proposed legislation that’s as ambitious as anything since the brothers Gracchi-”

“And,” Scipio put in, “he’s suddenly presenting himself as the enemy of the optimates. Just a month ago he was solidly in our camp.”

I could see that my family had been discussing Curio quite a bit already. I barely knew Caius Scribonius Curio, who was a wellborn, high-living young man of little accomplishment, although he was said to be extremely intelligent and a fine speaker.

“If he’s elected tribune,” Father said, “he’ll be in a strong position to push Fulvius’s career. Let’s consider him a possibility.”

It went on like this for some time, one name after another being brought forth for consideration. There were a lot of names to consider, too. A family as politically important as mine had as many enemies as friends. And not everyone at the gathering possessed as logical a brain as mine. Some names were raised simply because the raiser disliked the man, or he was known for some especially unusual vice, or he practiced a suspect religion. Someone even brought up the name of Vatinius, an eccentric senator who was fond of wearing a black toga even when he wasn’t in mourning. It was some sort of Pythagorean practice. Otherwise, the man was harmless.

By midnight we had run through just about all the legal and political possibilities except for assassination. I think that was omitted only because the problem wasn’t quite that serious. I could always stand for election again the next year, annoying though that might be.

“Well,” Hortalus said, lurching to his feet, “I’m off. I am going to the house of Claudius Marcellus, where we shall watch the skies from his excellent garden. All of you take my advice and get some sleep. We really can’t formulate our defense until we know more about this upstart, Flavius. This time tomorrow we will know all we need to about that man.”

“Let me accompany you,” I said. “The streets are black, and the night is moonless. My men brought plenty of torches, and they’re all veterans.”

“A good idea,” Father said. “When you’ve seen our friend to his destination, get some rest and we’ll all meet at dawn on the basilica steps.”

Outside, I got Hermes and my men arranged, some in front of Hortalus’s litter, some behind. Just because the great gangs had been broken up did not mean that the streets of Rome were perfectly safe, especially on a moonless night. My men were armed, discreetly, with weapons beneath their cloaks. So was I.

“Come join us in the litter, Decius,” Hortalus said, as he and Appius Claudius got in. “There’s room for three.”

Nothing loath, I climbed in. At that time it was considered rather effeminate for a man of military age to use a litter. They were supposed to be conveyances for wellborn women, the sick, and the elderly. But I wasn’t about to stumble around in Rome’s filthy, benighted streets if something better was offered. The bearers groaned at the extra weight when they hoisted us.

“Are you going to the house of Claudius Marcellus, too?” I asked Appius Claudius. I knew the two Claudian families were related, but distantly.

“No,” he said, “I’ve been staying as a guest at Quintus’s country villa. Tonight I’ll go on to my own house.”

Hortensius Hortalus had spent most of his time in recent years in his splendid country houses, where he had been developing fish ponds with his friend Marcus Phillipus. The two wrote long books on the subject.

“With country estates like yours,” I said to Hortalus, “I wonder that you bother coming to the City at all.”

“I’m an old Forum politician,” he said. “I just can’t stand to miss an election. Especially not when the issues being debated in the Senate are so crucial to the state. I am long past my days of highest influence, but I flatter myself that my voice is still listened to.”

“Rome ignores your wisdom at her peril,” said Appius.

“Which issues concern you so?” I asked.

“Why the growing insolence of Caesar, of course! Forgive me, Decius, but you’ve been away from the City too long. Did you know that Caesar this year petitioned to stand for consul while keeping his army and his provinces? Unheard of! Might as well crown the bugger king and be done with it.”

“Caesar has been courting that man Curio we just spoke of,” Appius put in. “I think he’s trying to bribe every man standing for next year’s tribuneship: Pansa and Caelius that I know of, probably the others. But he’ll win over Curio for certain.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The usual. The man’s terrifically debt-ridden, and Caesar will pay off his debts. Has it occurred to anyone that the root of most of our political disorder is not the generals who go out and accumulate loot but the young, wellborn wastrels who accumulate debt instead? There is nothing more dangerous to the public good than a senator or young man of senatorial family made desperate by crushing debt. They can be bought by any politician with a heavy purse.”

“That is very true,” Hortalus said, nodding.

“Next year, if I succeed in being elected censor-”

“The censorship is yours for the asking, Appius Claudius,” I assured him.

“Hear, hear,” Hortalus affirmed.

“I thank you both. Anyway, I intend to use that office to purge the Senate of its worst elements, starting with all those disgraceful debtors.”

“I hope,” Hortalus said, “that you get a colleague who will cooperate with you. My own censorship was ideal because I had the elder Decius as colleague. But poor Crassus could do nothing because his colleague kept overruling every decision he made. He had to quit before even finishing the census or performing the lustrum.”

“Who is most likely to win the other censorship?” I asked. “As Quintus Hortensius has observed, I’ve been out of touch.”

“I am hoping for the elder Cassius,” Appius said, “but it’s more likely to be Calpurnius Piso. If so, I can work with him. He’s one of those who tries not to declare for Caesar or Pompey, but they’re a vanishing breed. It’s a disgrace that Romans of rank have to be seen as supporters of one would-be tyrant or the other, but one must face the situation realistically.”

By this time we were near the house of Marcellus. I got out of the litter, took my leave of the two men, and proceeded to walk the short distance to my own home with Hermes and the rest of my men. They had spent the evening loitering around Father’s house, doubtless talking politics like the rest of Rome.

“Did you get anything accomplished?” Hermes wanted to know.

“Just a lot of talk,” I told him. Around us the others held torches aloft and peered into dark alleys, their faces truculent, hands resting on hilts.

“Same here. The mood in the city’s strange since we got back. The quiet is unnatural. Everybody is waiting for something to happen. People are seeing omens everywhere. I just heard about a two-headed calf born near Arpinum, and a hawk killed one of Juno’s geese this morning.”

“At least it wasn’t a snake,” I said. “When a snake gets into the temple and swallows a goose egg, the city’s on edge for days waiting for disaster. People need something to take their minds off all this peace and quiet. Now would be a good time for some games. It’s been almost two months since the Plebeian Games and the next official celebrations won’t be until spring. Hasn’t anybody important died? A good munera would be just the thing.”

“Valerius Flaccus is just back from Cilicia. He was at the ludus yesterday arranging for his father’s funeral games, but that won’t be until March.” Hermes trained with weapons at the Statilian school on most mornings when he had no duties to perform for me, like that day’s canvassing for votes.

“What a time for Rome’s wealthy and bereaved to turn stingy.” One by one my men left us to return to their own homes, accepting my thanks for their support and promising to be at my home before dawn to accompany me to the basilica. By the time we reached home, only Hermes and the torch boy were with me.

Once inside I sent Hermes off to his bed and sought my own. Julia was already asleep. I threw off my clothes and lay down beside her, pleasantly tired and only slightly annoyed by the day’s proceedings. It was still good to be back in Rome, and anything was better than being in Gaul.

In the morning the slaves brought water for me to splash on my face, and within a few minutes I was sitting in the triclinium being shaved, having my hair dressed, and eating breakfast all at once. I was almost awake. Julia came in to supervise my grooming.

“Did you find out anything yesterday?” I asked her.

“Some odd things, but you don’t have time to hear about it if you’re going to be in the Forum at sunrise. Come home for lunch and I’ll tell you about it then.”

“All right. In the meantime, make a few morning calls, gossip with your friends, and see what you can learn about the candidates for the tribuneships, particularly Scribonius Curio.”

“Curio?” she said, but I was already out the door.

Outside the morning air was cool, but not truly cold. This was because we were still using the old calendar, which Caesar, as Pontifex Maximus, had allowed to get lamentably out of synchronization with the true season. Thus, while we were still some days prior to the Ides of December, the true date was closer to late October in the new calendar. Caesar’s calendar (actually the work of Sosigenes, the wonderful Alexandrian astronomer) makes more sense, but it lacks the variety and unpredictability of our old one.

By the time we reached the Forum, the sky was getting gray over the crest of the Esquiline. We passed by the Curia Hostilia, the old Senate House, which was still streaked with black and was near-ruinous. In the riots following the death of Clodius, it had been severely damaged by fire, and, as yet, nobody had undertaken its restoration.

Past the great portico of the Temple of Saturn, where I had spent a miserable year as treasury quaestor, we came to the Basilica Opimia, which was the only one where courts were sitting that year. The Basilica Porcia had been damaged by the same fire that almost destroyed the Curia, the huge Basilica Aemilia was undergoing lavish restorations, and the Basilica Sempronia was devoted solely to business purposes due to the shortage of basilica space.

We trudged up the steps, passing a drunk who had staggered his way homeward as far as the Basilica Opimia, then wrapped himself in his cloak and passed out on the steps. Well, I had awakened in many strange parts of Rome myself in past years.

My father, naturally, was already there. “Slept late enough, did you?”

“We still beat the crowd to the Forum,” I answered.

Gradually the light grew, and the crowd duly arrived: my own supporters and a miscellaneous pack of idlers, country people just arrived to take part in the elections, vendors, mountebanks, beggars, and senators.

Juventius came trudging up the steps in his purple-bordered toga, preceded by his lictors.

“I see the Metellans are here in force,” he said, as he reached the top. “Where are Fulvius and his people?”

“Waiting to make a grand entrance, no doubt,” I said. “Now what-”

“This man is dead!” someone shouted. I looked down the steps to see a little group of people gawping at an inert form on the steps. It seemed that the drunk was actually a corpse. Now that the sun’s rays were slanting into the Forum, I could see that the dark cloak in which he was wrapped was actually a heavily bloodstained toga.

“Here’s a fine omen,” Juventius said, annoyed. “We may have to meet outdoors if the building has to be purified.”

“It looks like he died on the steps,” I pointed out. “It isn’t as if he died inside.”

“If this were a temple,” Father mused, “a purification would be necessary if one drop of blood struck any stone of the building. I’m not sure if that holds true for a basilica though. We may have to consult with a pontifex. Where is Scipio?”

“It’s all a great bother anyway you look at it,” Juventius said. He turned to one of his lictors. “Let’s have a look at him.”

The lictor went down the steps and carefully raised a flap of the toga with the butt end of his fasces.

“Does anyone here know this man?” Juventius demanded of the crowd in general. We all went closer to see.

“I think we all know him,” I said, feeling a bit queasy, not at the sight, which was a common one, but at its implications. “I’ve only seen him once, and that briefly, but I believe this is Marcus Fulvius.”