The Venus Throw

Chapter Twenty Three

Belbo was waiting for me outside the front door. Without a word I started walking down the street, then realized I had no idea where to go. Going home to Bethesda was out of the question.

I might have imposed on Menenia, but what would my daughter-in-law have thought if I came begging for a place to sleep in the middle of the night? If only Eco would come back… Suddenly Belbo grunted and pulled me aside. His alarm was caused by a figure who stood concealed in the shadows of

a doorway. Poor Belbo thought the man might be a thief or killer. I knew better.

I shook my head, partly in disgust, partly in relief. "Catullus! Don't you have any better place to be at this time of night?"

"No. And neither do you, apparently." He stepped from the doorway to show a face that looked as haggard and pained as my final glimpse of Clodia's face. We stared at each other in the moonlight. "I hope I don't look as wretched as you do," said Catullus.

"I was about to say the same thing to you."

He managed a crooked smile. "What shall we do?"

"Wait for the sun to come up, I suppose."

"And until then? Where shall we go?"

"Where else?"

The Salacious Tavern was doing great business on the eve of the festival. We were lucky to find places to sit.

"I don't like the look of this place, Master," said Belbo. "Ah, but some of the girls seem to like the looks of you, big fellow," said Catullus. Belbo looked around uncertainly.

"I don't suppose we'll run into Marcus Caelius and his friends again." I surveyed the crowd through the amber haze of lamplight and smoke.

"Here? In the middle of his trial?" Catullus barked a laugh. "Not likely. Don't you imagine he's home with papa and mama, humming funeral dirges and looking through his wardrobe for something suitably shabby to wear tomorrow? 'Oh, Papa, I know I'm supposed to look down-trodden, but can I help it if I look stunning in everything?' "

Even Belbo cracked a smile. Wine was brought. Catullus drank greedily and wiped his mouth. "What were you doing in her house tonight, wearing nothing but an old sleeping tunic?"

"Catullus, please! No more of this nonsense about her… and me.

"Then why?"

"There was some unfinished business between us." "In the middle of the night?" "It couldn't wait."

He snorted, then called to the serving slave for more to drink. I swirled the untouched wine in my cup. "If Caelius is guilty of all those crimes against the Alexandrian envoys, isn't that enough? Why would she feel compelled to manufacture new charges against him? You know her better than I do. Would she actually poison herself in order to make others think that Caelius had poisoned her?"

"You're distracting me with riddles," grumbled Catullus. "It's Clodia who's driven us both to distraction." "Lesbia!" he insisted.

I stared at my wine and felt queasy. "If I'm going to drink any of this, I'll need to cut it with plenty of water."

"Well, then, we'll have the man fetch you some fresh water from the Appian aqueduct!"

"You mean the one that her ancestor built for us?" I said. "Exactly!" Catullus smirked. "Then we can head out on one of the roads her ancestors so thoughtfully laid down for us-"

"And pour a libation to a god in one of the temples they erected for us."

Catullus laughed. "I see she's given you the grand speech about the feats of her ancestors and their incomparable largesse. Rome would still be a pigsty beside the Tiber if it hadn't been for all those Appius Claudii at the dawn of history."

"So Clodia-Lesbia-seems to think."

"But I'll wager she didn't tell you about the Appius Claudius who tried to rape Verginia." "No. A scandal?"

"Well, it's not one of those edifying ancestor legends the Clodii like to repeat to every stranger they meet. But the story's just as true and it tells more about Lesbia than all that crowing about aqueducts and roads."

"Tell me."

Catullus paused to hold out his cup to the serving slave, but provided such a wobbly target that the wine spilled all over the floor. "Perhaps you've had enough," I said. "Perhaps you're right." "What I need is a bed under my back." Catullus burped and nodded. "Me, too." "Where are you staying in the city?"

"I keep some rooms in a place up on the Palatine. Just a bed and some books. Do you want to go there?" "You'd share your bed with me?"

"You wouldn't be the first!" Catullus laughed. "Bring along your slave to play watchdog. He can sleep on the floor in the anteroom and start barking if he hears you cry 'rape!' "

Catullus's place on the Palatine was as sparsely furnished as he had said. Against one wall was a large sleeping couch. Against the other was a pigeonhole bookcase filled with scrolls.

He saw me squinting at the little tags in the dim lamplight. "Greek poetry, mostly," he explained, taking off his toga. "Books and bed. All a man needs. Anything more would only distract from the experience."

"Of reading the books?"

"Or using the bed." He slipped into a tunic and fell back onto the sleeping couch. "Come on, there's room enough for two. Though I warn you, I'm drunk enough that I might attack you."

"I'm an old man with stiff joints and a grizzled beard."

"Yes, but you smell irresistible."

"What?"

"You smell of her perfume."

"And you stink of wine, Catullus. Better than urine, I suppose."

"What?"

I told him briefly of my encounter with Egnatius, thinking it would amuse him that I had been able to use something from his poem for my own parting shot, not realizing until I was well into the story that telling it was a mistake.

"Then he's with her right now," he said, gritting his teeth. "Egnatius and Lesbia. Damn them both!"

"You started telling me a story at the tavern," I said, thinking to distract him.

"A story?"

"A scandal about one of her ancestors. An Appius Claudius. Not the builder of the temple, or the aqueduct-"

"Oh yes, the one who tried to rape Verginia. The only ancestor they don't like to talk about. Yet he exemplifies the current generation better than any of those virtuous paragons on their pedestals. You asked me if she would do something as mad as poisoning herself, just to spite a lover. Of course she would. It's in her blood."

"Her blood?"

"Here, I'll tell you the story. This was long ago, in the first days of the republic, after the kings had been thrown down but before the patricians and plebeians found a way to live together in peace. The chronology's rather vague to me-I'm a poet, not a historian! — but at some point a group of ten strongmen managed to seize control of the state. The called themselves decemvirs and set off a reign of terror. For the good of Rome, of course-to solve the current crisis, in response to the growing emergency, et cetera, et cetera."

"And Appius Claudius was one of these decemvirs?"

"Yes. Now there was also in Rome at this time a beautiful young girl named Verginia, the daughter of Verginius. She was a virgin, betrothed to a rising young politician. But one day Appius Claudius happened to see her on her way to the girls' school in the Forum and fell head over heel in lust for her. He followed her everywhere, in the streets and markets, trying to lure her away from the watchful eyes of her nurse, determined to seduce her. But Verginia was a virtuous girl and wanted nothing to do with the lecher. She spurned him outright, but the more she rejected him, the more determined he was to have her.

"Finally he hatched a scheme to get his hands on her, if only for long enough to give her a poke. He waited until her father was away on military duty, then gave instructions to one of his lackeys, a man named Marcus. One morning, when Verginia was entering the Forum with her nurse to attend the girls' school, Marcus and some of his men seized her. The people around were shocked and wanted to know what was happening. Marcus said that the girl was his slave and he was reclaiming her. People knew perfectly well that Verginia was the daughter of Verginius, but they also knew that Marcus was Appius Claudius's lackey and they were afraid of him, so when he made such a show of blustering about justice and the law and his rights they allowed him to take Verginia off to the tribunal to decide the matter legally.

"Of course the sole presiding judge was none other than the decemvir Appius Claudius. His lackey Marcus recited a preposterous story that Verginia was not Verginius's daughter at all-she was actually the daughter of one of his own slaves and had been stolen from his house as an infant and palmed off on Verginius as his own flesh and blood. Marcus claimed he could produce the evidence for all this later. The point was that the girl was actually a slave, his slave, and he was reclaiming her as was his legal right.

"Up on the tribunal, Appius Claudius pretended to consider all this as if he'd just heard it for the first time, when of course he was the author of the plot. You can imagine him moving his lips along with Marcus as the man recited the lines Appius had written for him! Finally he declared that only a formal hearing could determine the girl's status. Virginia's friends explained that her father was away on military duty, but could be back in Rome the next day. Appius Claudius agreed to hear the case then. In the meantime, he ruled, the girl would remain in the custody of Marcus. Verginia shrieked! The crowd shouted in protest and the girl's nurse fainted dead away, but Appius Claudius pointed out that according to the law Marcus couldn't be made to hand the girl over to the custody of anyone but her father, and since Verginius was not present, she would therefore have to remain in Marcus's custody until such time as her father arrived to claim her. Verginia would be in Marcus's hands- in Appius Claudius's power-for the whole night to come. Can't you see the fox licking his chops up on the tribunal, playing with himself beneath his toga?

"The ruling was crazy, and there was plenty of muttering and indignation, but nobody ventured to speak openly against it. That's how cowed the people were under the rule of the decemvirs. Marcus started to leave the court, hustling the weeping Verginia along with him.

At this point Verginia's betrothed young lover, the rising politician, arrived on the scene, and delivered an outraged speech about how Appius Claudius was using the law to make slaves of everyone in Rome just for the purpose of satisfying his own lust. He would die himself, the young man vowed, before he would let his betrothed spend a night away from her father's house. The girl was a virgin, and it was a virgin he intended to marry.

"He stirred the crowd to a frenzy. Appius Claudius called for armed lictors to keep order, and threatened to have the young orator arrested for starting a riot. But to keep the situation from getting completely out of hand, Appius Claudius agreed to let the girl go home with her uncle for the night and made the man post a huge bond in silver to make sure Verginia would show up for her hearing.

"At dawn the next morning the city woke in a fever of excitement. Verginius, back from his military duty, appeared in the Forum leading his daughter by the hand — he in mourning, she in rags, followed by all the women of the family making lamentations. There was a trial, or something resembling a trial, with each of the sides presenting arguments and Appius Claudius presiding as sole judge. Evidence and common sense counted for nothing. The verdict was decided before the trial began. As soon as the arguments were finished, Appius Claudius announced that Verginia was the slave of Marcus, not the daughter of Verginius. Marcus was free to claim his property.

"The crowd was stupefied. Nobody uttered a word. Marcus began pushing his way through the crowd, heading for Verginia. The women around her burst into tears. Verginius shook his fist at Appius and cried out, 'I meant my daughter for a bridal bed, not for your brothel! No man who owns a sword will put up with this sort of outrage!'

"Appius Claudius was prepared for this. He'd received alarming reports of an uprising being planned against the decemvirs, he claimed, and so just happened to have a troop of armed lictors on hand to keep order. He called them out and told them to draw their swords and clear the way so that Marcus could claim his property. Anyone who obstructed this act of justice would be killed on the spot as a disturber of the peace. Marcus strode forward through the cordon of steel and laid his hands on Verginia.

"Verginius finally seemed to lose heart. With tears in his eyes he called to Appius Claudius: 'Perhaps I have been terribly mistaken all these years. Yes, perhaps you're right and the girl isn't really my daughter after all. Let me take the child and her nurse aside for just one moment so that I can talk to them both privately. If I can reconcile myself to this mistake, I can give her up without violence.' Appius granted this request, though in retrospect one has to wonder why. Perhaps he wanted to savor the actual moment of acquiring the girl, of seeing her fall into Marcus's clutches, and didn't mind an excuse for stretching out the ordeal just a bit longer.

"Verginius took his daughter to a little street off the Forum. He ran into a butcher's shop, grabbed a knife, and ran back to Verginia. Before anyone could stop him, he stabbed her in the heart. She died in his arms, convulsing and spitting blood, while he stroked her hair and whispered to her over and over, 'It was the only way to set you free, my child, the only way.' He staggered back into the Forum carrying her body. The crowd parted for him, stunned into silence, so that Verginius's cries echoed through the Forum.

'This blood is on your hands, Appius Claudius! The curse of my virgin daughter's blood is on your head!' "

Catullus fell silent. I stared into the darkness above us. "Quite a story," I finally said. "What happened next?"

"Verginius and the young man who was to have been his son-in-law led an uprising. The decemvirs were brought down. Appius Claudius was arrested."

"Was he punished?"

"He killed himself in prison, awaiting trial."

"No wonder the Clodii don't brag about him. But I don't see how the story relates to your Lesbia."

"Don't you? You see, there's this particular strain of madness in their blood. Yes, the Clodii have a heritage of building, creating, rising to glory and triumph. But there's also this other aspect, this unwholesome tendency to obsess, this inability to see beyond a thing they desire but cannot have. If they come to want a thing, they'll do anything to get it. Anything! And if their skewed judgment takes them down the wrong path, don't expect them to realize the error and turn back. Oh no, once set upon it, they'll run the course, even straight into disaster. And all in the name of love! They'll wager everything on the slim chance that when the dice are cast they'll score the Venus Throw."

"Are you sure you're speaking of Clodia? Or could it be yourself you're describing, Catullus?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I suppose I wouldn't love her as I do if we weren't alike in certain ways."

He was quiet then for so long that I thought he must have fallen asleep, until he murmured, "Cicero speaks tomorrow."

"What?"

"At the trial."

"Yes."

"She should have known better than to take him on. Cicero is a dangerous man."

"I know. I saw what he did to Catilina when he made up his mind to destroy him. All it took were words."

"Clodia thinks everything comes down to bodies, and sex. She doesn't understand the power of words. It's why she thinks my poetry is weak." He was quiet, then said, "Cicero was in love with her once. Did you know that?"

"I once heard a very vague rumor of some such thing, but it sounded like nonsense to me. Cicero, in love with anyone but himself?"

"Infatuated, anyway. He was great friends with her husband, Quintus. Always visiting their house, back when Quintus was alive and the place was… well, respectable enough for a man like Cicero to feel at home. Clodia was a lot more restrained back then; more discreet, anyway. I think she rather liked having to carry on her affairs behind someone else's back-the secret meetings, the danger of getting caught, the wicked thrill of cuckolding her husband. And of course, a married woman can simply turn her back on a lover the moment she tires of him… "

"But Cicero? Preposterous. He despises people like her."

"Are there other people like Clodia?"

"You know what I mean."

"Perhaps he despises her now, but back then… this was during the worst part of Clodia's marriage, the last few years before Quintus died, when the two of them fought all the time, even in front of company. Especially in front of company. They fought about everything-Clodia's affairs, her brother's career, money, politics. I've always thought that's what intrigued Cicero-seeing her at her most argumentative. He could ignore the fact that she was beautiful, but she was also clever and sharp-tongued. A voluptuous beauty who could argue a man like Quintus into the ground-well, Cicero developed quite a fascination for her. That happens to men like him sometimes, who keep their natural appetites all bottled up. Suddenly they find themselves madly in love with the most inappropriate person. I suspect Clodia was a bit intrigued by him- the perverse attraction of opposites. I'm not sure whether they ever did anything about it. She told me they did, but I figured she was just lying to hurt me. This was years ago, but it makes him all the more dangerous to her now."

"Dangerous?" I said, not quite sure what he meant. I was getting very sleepy.

"Men like Cicero don't like to dwell on that sort of memory. They see it as weakness. They prefer to stamp it out."

I tried to imagine Cicero as a lover-prim, dyspeptic Cicero-but I was too sleepy to make the mental effort, or too afraid it would give me bad dreams.

"Tomorrow-oh, no, light's coming through the shutters. The sky's beginning to lighten already," Catullus groaned. "Not tomorrow, then: today. Today the Great Mother festival begins, and down in the Forum, someone will be destroyed."

"How can you be certain?"

He tapped his earlobe. "The gods whisper in a poet's ear. Today, someone will be publicly annihilated. Humiliated. Ruined forever." "You mean Marcus Caelius."

"Do I?"

"Who else?"

He stretched his body in a paroxysm of yawning. "Things could go one way or the other. Even the gods will have to wait and see."

"What do you mean?" I murmured. Then I must have fallen asleep or else Catullus did, because I never heard him answer.