The Tribune's curse

12

It wasn’t as if it was the first time I had suspected Pompey of murder. In fact, I had personal knowledge of his summary disposal of more than one inconvenient person. Men like Pompey and Caesar and their ilk were not the sort to balk at the odd bit of homicide from time to time. Of course, they made their reputations by slaughtering people by the townful, but those weren’t citizens.

But somehow the strange sequence of events seemed unlike Pompey. To put Ateius up to cursing Crassus’s expedition, then kill the man to silence him and divert suspicion at the same time, was ruthless, and Pompey was sufficiently ruthless. But it was also brilliant and subtle, and these were qualities I would never have attributed to Pompey. I had to admit to myself that I had underestimated people before: I would never have guessed what a fine writer Caesar was.

Complex murder plots are more serious than an excellent prose style, though. Caesar was eminently capable of such a scheme, but he was far away and perfectly happy with conquering Gaul.

Would Pompey have sent the four killers after me? Killing a tribune was a major political crime. Eliminating a minor senator was not a serious matter, given the violent nature of the times. Pompey and I had been at odds before, and my family had resisted his ambitions for years. We had cooperated with Caesar and mended fences with Crassus, but Pompey and the Metelli had never become reconciled. He would kill me without blinking, if it seemed to be to his advantage.

The four killers were a little crude. There were plenty of Pompey’s veterans in the City. A little hint dropped in the right ears, and I would be dead on the cobbles. But his veterans were, naturally, soldiers. The men who attacked me were sica-wielding street thugs of a sort that thronged the gangs of Clodius and Milo and lesser gang leaders, but they were men with no interest in serving in the legions.

That, too, could be a way of diverting suspicion from himself, making it look like a common street killing. He would never have contacted the cutthroats personally, of course. He had nail-hard former centurions in his following who would take care of any such chores for him and keep their mouths shut. Every powerful man has such useful henchmen.

These were not comfortable thoughts. Gaul was looking better to me with each passing hour. Maybe I should quietly leave town and go rejoin Caesar. The office of aedile was even more objectionable if I didn’t live to exercise it.

But, no. I had been charged with an investigation, and I would see it through. I was a Roman official, and I had been given this assignment by the Senate, the consul, and the praetor urbanus, not to mention the whole Pontifical College and the virgo maxima. I would get to the bottom of the matter whatever the cost. It is with foolish thoughts like these that men frequently deceive themselves into great personal disasters.

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and almost without conscious thought my steps had taken me back to the Forum. I stood amid the monuments of past glory and wondered if I was seeing the end of it. Scipio Aemilianus, it is said, having destroyed Carthage, stood amid its ruins and wept. Not because he had destroyed that magnificent city, but because, surveying the ruin he had wrought, he understood that someday Rome, too, would look like this.

I tried to picture the Forum as a weed-grown field of deserted, roofless hulks, shattered columns, and limbless statues. The very thought was painful, and I tried to shake off the mood. If this was Rome’s eventual destiny, it was the duty of men like me to forestall it as long as possible.

On the steps of the Temple of Vesta, I saw a large group of ladies who carried themselves with unmistakably patrician bearing. I went to the old, round temple and located Julia.

“Practicing for the Vestalia?” I asked her.

She caught my mournful expression. “Yes. You’ve found out something bad, haven’t you?”

“I may have. Come walk with me.”

She took her leave of the other ladies and came down the steps with Cypria close behind. “We are going to excite gossip,” Julia said, not entirely serious.

“Let people talk,” I said scornfully. Of course, I had my hands clasped behind my back. At the time it was considered the absolute depth of bad taste for a husband and wife to display affection in public. Just walking together like this, without a flock of friends and clients, was slightly scandalous.

“Maybe Cato will show up,” I said. “If he does, I’ll kiss you, and we can watch him die of apoplexy.”

“You’re in a wonderful mood,” she said. “What’s happened?”

I told her of the day’s events and what I had found out from the records in the Tabularium. She considered these things for a while as we sauntered northwestward, toward the huge basilicas that dominated that end of the Forum. She did not seem terribly upset, but then Julia rarely got upset. I could see the signs that she was thinking hard, which was something she did well. When she spoke, she did not seem to be addressing the problem at hand.

“It was terrible news out of Egypt this morning.”

“Yes, I believe old Ptolemy’s finally stepped over the line, massacring the Alexandrians like that. This is going to bring us years of trouble.”

“Well, yes, but I was thinking of poor Berenice. I can’t say that I admired the woman, but she was kind to Fausta and me while we were at her court. How can a man put his own daughter to death like that?”

“Dynastic politics is a murderous business,” I told her. “But then, so is republican politics. Tyrants are always afraid, and close family members are the nearest rivals.”

“I don’t think Pompey would try to have you killed,” she said, making what seemed to me an illogical leap.

“Why not?”

“He can’t afford to alienate Caesar just now. Forget about Crassus for the moment. I loathe the man, but I don’t think he’s as stupid as you seem to believe.”

“He wouldn’t alienate your uncle Caius Julius if Caesar never knew about it.”

She looked at me. “Surely you know Caesar better than that. He keeps track of what goes on in Rome. He maintains a huge correspondence with friends and family members, and he has the subtlest mind in the world. He’s as brilliant as Cicero, and unlike Cicero he isn’t blinded by his own importance. He would put together all the little details and come up with the true answer.”

“I suppose you are right,” I said. More than once, Caesar had sent me off to investigate some matter to which he already knew the answer, just to see if I would arrive at the same solution by different means. But I did not tell her that, if Caesar needed an alliance with Pompey, he would consider my life a minor price to pay for it.

“What bothers me more,” I told her, “was how the”-I lowered my voice to a whisper lest Cypria or some passerby hear “-Secret Name got into it. I mean, Pompey intends to be virtual king of Rome. He’s not especially superstitious, but even he would hesitate to perform an act that would endanger the City itself.”

“Why didn’t Ateius hesitate?” she shot back instantly.

“Why, he-” I paused, realizing that I hadn’t thought about this. When you assume someone to be mad, there is always a tendency to look no further for motive or intention, still less for signs of future plans. “I see what you’re getting at. Pompey said he intended to prosecute Ateius for perduellio and maiestas and sacrilege. Even if he was bluffing to cover his own complicity, someone else would have done it. There are at least a hundred senators with the legal expertise to bring those multiple charges against him. Any of them would have jumped at the chance.”

“And Ateius must have known it. Before he went up on that gate, he knew that death or exile would be his inevitable reward.”

“So he must have been planning for it. He knew that he would never be able to return to Rome. Julia, this gives me a great deal to think about.”

“It should,” she said complacently. “Think about this: for a Roman politician, what is the ultimate dread?”

“Exile,” I said. “Everyone dies, but to live in exile is unthinkable.” I shuddered at the thought. Even when I was away from Rome for years at a time, I always knew I would return. Everyone knew of the fate of the supporters of Marius, exiled twenty years before by Sulla and never allowed to return. They sought refuge with foreign rulers or joined rebellions like that of Sertorius. They lived on sufferance, always having to move on as Roman territory expanded, growing ever older. No wonder so many of them chose suicide instead.

“Ateius Capito,” Julia went on, “had been in public service, in one capacity or another, for most of his adult life, you say?”

“It’s a matter of public record, right over there.” I nodded toward the Tabularium, which was visible above the roofs of the Basilica Opimia and the Temple of Saturn, the three structures ascending rather like three uneven steps up the slope of the Capitol.

“So he toiled for fifteen years, serving in the legions and on the staffs of more important men. Finally, he achieved the tribuneship, a truly important office. With a successful tribuneship behind him, he was poised for high office, military command, and prestige. He gave it all up to put a curse on Crassus. Does this make sense to you, Decius?”

“Someone must have offered him a truly Titanic bribe!” I said.

“Which was not paid,” she said. “Instead, he was killed.”

“Well, naturally. I mean, would you reward a man that unscrupulous?”

“You need to find someone who could make such a bribe credible,” Julia said. “And you had better find him soon. Time is getting short.”

She didn’t have to remind me of that, I thought that evening as I went to the Grain Office. Julia and I had gone home, and I had eaten dinner hastily, with little appetite. Then, accompanied by Hermes, I left the house to make my report before the streets got too dark to negotiate.

I found Pompey and Milo together, along with Clodius, Cato, and even the rex sacrorum.

“I do hope you have someone for us, Decius,” Pompey said grimly.

“I’ve made great progress,” I assured him.

“That means nothing!” Pompey said, slamming his palm on the table. “I need more than your ‘great progress’! I need someone to try, publicly, for the murder of that wretched tribune! I was not in a good mood to begin with, and this incredible mess in Egypt has made me even less tolerant of your prevarication!”

“And,” said Claudius, the rex sacrorum, “since it seems that this terribly delicate matter cannot be kept secret, I must know who gave him the Secret Name.”

“It seems you’ve taken on a large task, Decius,” Clodius said. He was getting immense satisfaction out of my discomfiture.

“Let’s hear what he has to say,” Milo put in.

“You see, it’s like this.” I launched into a carefully edited version of my findings. I didn’t think it would be terribly wise to mention that I strongly suspected Pompey himself. In fact, there were few men in the room whom I exempted from suspicion. Cato was too upright, and the rex sacrorum was too unworldly. I was always ready to suspect Clodius in connection with any villainy. Milo was my friend, but I knew all too well that he would balk at nothing in his ambition to control the City.

“This man Ariston-” Claudius put in, “you believe that he gave Ateius the Secret Name?”

“His behavior certainly warrants the suspicion. I would like very much to question him further. If even Cicero has consulted him on the ancient cult practices of Italy, then of all non-Romans he must be the most likely to know the Name.”

“And he is from Cumae,” Claudius said. “The sibyl there is said to know all things concerning Italy and the gods, although she usually keeps these things to herself. He might have learned it from the sibyl herself.”

There had always been a sibyl at Cumae. The succession was supposed to be adoptive. Some of them were famous prophetesses, but many were obscure. I had never paid much attention.

“I’ll have the whole peninsula scoured for him,” Pompey said. “If the bugger’s still alive, I’ll have him brought back to Rome for interrogation.”

Or, I thought, he’ll be murdered upon apprehension, if he’s another of your tools. I was careful not to say this aloud.

“Consul,” I said, “ten years ago, Ateius served on the staff of your proquaestor, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, in Syria. Might they have had any contact with the Parthians?”

He rubbed his chin, thinking. He did not seem to me to be apprehensive that this was getting a little too close to him. I certainly hoped not.

“Let me see-I negotiated a boundary dispute that year, between Armenia and Parthia. Phraates was king of Parthia back then, the father of the present king. I don’t remember whether I’d sent Aemilius south by that time or not. In any case, the princes weren’t present. There were two of them at the time. They killed the old man, and the elder seized the throne; then he was kicked out by the council of nobles, and the younger took over. That’s Orodes.”

“Aemilius stopped in Damascus on his way to Judea,” I said. “That’s where he consulted with Elagabal. Is it possible that Orodes was in Damascus at that time?”

“Anything’s possible,” Pompey said impatiently. “Do you think Orodes could be behind this? He certainly has plenty of reason to lay a curse on Crassus.”

“I don’t want to discount the possibility,” I said.

Pompey barked a humorless laugh. “I hope he isn’t. I bear no love for him, but it’s a little difficult to go out and arrest a foreign king. The only way to bring him back is in chains behind a triumphator’s chariot.”

“Crassus may do just that,” said Clodius with his usual consummate lack of tact. Pompey gave him a poisonous look. It was good to have his wrath directed elsewhere.

“We need something better than this,” Cato said. “Decius, you have one more day to get some results; then we can all prepare to see the City go up in flames.”

“I’ll have him by tomorrow evening,” I promised. It was as empty a promise as I had ever made, but by that time my options were severely limited.

There was a little more talk, most of it commentary upon the inadequacy of my investigation; then it broke up. I went out of the building with Milo. As we went down the steps, rough shapes detached themselves from the deepening shadows and formed a barrier around us. They were Milo’s closest thugs.

“Now give me the real story,” Milo said.

I knew better than to prevaricate with Titus Milo. I laid out my findings and my suspicions. As usual he was perfectly silent, absorbing everything. Then he was silent for a while longer, thinking about it all.

“Pompey definitely has the most to gain from this,” he said at last. “And Julia is right: Pompey is far more intelligent than most people give him credit for being. It is subtle for him, but he’s learned to be subtle in the years he’s been separated from his legions.”

“But would he kill a tribune, knowing that it would cause a riot?”

Milo shrugged. “Rome’s burned before. It always gets rebuilt. The City doesn’t mean much to Pompey. He only cares about the army. He’s complaining about this crisis in Egypt, but it’s like a gift from the gods for him. All day the senators have been talking about a special command for him to go to Egypt and sort out the mess.”

“To do it he’d have to have next year’s tribunes behind him,” I said.

“Pompey always has enough tribunes bought up to get his commands pushed through the Popular Assemblies. I don’t see him setting himself up as the first Roman pharaoh, but he might well install a puppet who would act as his personal client.”

I shook my head. “It could be Pompey, but I can’t get rid of the feeling that I’m letting my dislike of him cause me to overlook something obvious.”

“You’d better get it figured out soon,” he advised.

“Everybody seems determined to remind me of that,” I told him.