SPQR III: the sacrilege (3 page)

He waved a hand as if it were a trifling matter. "Oh, certain duties detain me here, most of them of a religious nature." By the most astonishing acts of bribery and corruption, Caesar had got himself elected
Pontifex Maximus
a few years previously and was in charge of all aspects of state religious practice. That reminded me of a question that had bothered me for some time.

"There may be fighting in Spain, may there not?" I asked.

"There is always a chance of that," Caesar said. "I've had disgracefully little experience in military command, but I think I'll be equal to the task."

"I've no doubt at all," I assured him. "But tell me, how will the realities of battle square with the strictures of your pontificate?" The
Pontifix Maximus
may not look upon human blood.

Caesar spoke gravely. "I have consulted the holy books deeply, and I have found that the various strictures of my religious office are binding only within Rome itself, and need not hinder my actions once I am outside the walls."

How convenient for you, I thought. Our religious books were written in such archaic language that they were mostly gibberish anyway.

"Well," I said, "if the supreme pontiff doesn't know about these things, who does? I am sure you will come home from Spain covered with glory." Covered with gold at any rate, I thought.

"I thank you for your good wishes," he said. He might have meant this sincerely. With Caius Julius you could never tell. At that moment Celer appeared in the atrium and began greeting his callers. He started with the most distinguished but quickly came over to me.

"Good to see you back, Decius. Was it an easy voyage?"

"Safe, but not easy," I told him. "I sacrificed to Neptune many times each day." This was the landlubber's wry expression for seasickness.

"The sea is for Greeks," he said. Celer was a squat man with a froglike face, but there was nothing buffoonish about him. He had vast experience in every aspect of public life and was one of the richest men in Rome, although he had acquired it all decently, through inheritance or loot. "Your new tunic suits you well. Wait here while I attend to my guests. I need to speak with you privately."

I waited, trading gossip with the others, until the atrium was empty of visitors. Then I followed Celer into the garden. It was rather bare for that time of year, but beautifully laid out and maintained.

"Have you sacrificed to Jupiter for your safe return?" Celer asked as we walked.

"No, but I did make a
real
sacrifice to Neptune at the temple in Ostia," I told him.

"Sacrifice to Jupiter," he advised. "You are coming up in the state service, and you should be seen to be pious. Romans like to know that their statesmen are punctilious in religious matters."

"Consider it done. My father tells me you wish me to serve you in your campaign for the Consulship. You know I will be happy to be of any help I may."

"Excellent. I expect to win, but I don't want any nasty surprises. You know that winning the office is only half of it. It's no good if you have a colleague you can't work with."

"I see. Who is your choice for colleague?"

"I haven't decided yet. There's a great field of them this year, all busy canvassing the Centuriate Assembly, some of them trying to bribe me. It's generally agreed that I'll be one of next year's Consuls, and most think that the man I choose to support will be my colleague. I am not so sure of that. When I pick my man, I want you to work on his behalf."

"Done," I said. "Have you decided how to divide the office?" In our ancient, unwieldy consular system there were a number of ways the authority of the Consulship could be divided, as agreed before the Consuls took office. Pompey and Crassus, who detested each other and neither of whom would yield an inch, had chosen the most archaic and awkward way: by presiding on alternate days. Others might give the elder colleague senior authority, or one might handle affairs within Rome and the other external matters.

"I'll decide that when I know who my colleague is to be. Honestly, I can't see that it makes much difference. The Consulship no longer has the power it used to have."

This was true. Over the centuries, the praetors had usurped all the judicial powers of the Consuls. As for the military commands, our empire had grown too large for that, and the great generalships went to the men who had already held the highest offices. More and more, the armies were led by men who, like Pompey, had made a virtual lifetime career of soldiering. The last time serving Consuls had led an army had been against Spartacus, and that had ended in disaster.

"Has your father spoken to you of your duties in the Senate?" Celer asked.

"He put me firmly in my place on that score," I assured him.

"You work for years to get into the Senate, and once you're in, you start at the bottom all over again. That's how it always is. Power comes with seniority."

"What business occupies the Senate these days?" asked.

"First and foremost, Pompey. The aristocratic party hates and fears him, and it has blocked permission for his triumph. Worse yet, it continues to fight the land grants for his legions."

"If you will forgive me," I said, "I thought
we
were part of the aristocratic party."

"You know that our family has always eschewed the extremes. The aristocratic faction has been in power since Sulla, and it grows increasingly divorced from political reality." I listened attentively. This was inside power politics from a man who knew the subject intimately. "Whatever you think of Pompey, he has earned that triumph. It is foolish and ungrateful of the state to withhold it. And if we deny those legions the land they have been promised and fought hard for, then Italy will be full of thousands of professional killers organized, armed and hating us. I don't want to see a repeat of the last civil war, when contending armies fought within the very streets of Rome."

"Sir, do I detect the slightest of tilts toward the pro-Pompeian faction?"

"We will support him on these two points only. None can deny the justice of giving Roman soldiers the rewards they have justly earned. The family has patched up relations with Crassus, and we don't want Pompey for an enemy because of it. Caesar champions Pompey in the Senate, and he is the coming man in Roman power."

"Caesar?" I said. "He's never even commanded an army."

"Neither did Cicero, and look how far he's come," Celer pointed out.

"As you will," I said. "But I've fallen afoul of Pompey before."

"You were never important enough to bother him much." How true that was. "Besides, to men like Pompey and Crassus, all is forgiven as soon as it is politically expedient. That's how all sensible men should behave."

"Are there any other important matters before the Senate?" I asked.

"One that is not so important, but that concerns us. My brother-in-law is still trying to get himself made a plebeian, and we are still trying to prevent him."

"Ah, Publius Clodius," I said. "Now there is someone who will never forgive and forget, no matter how politically expedient it may become." Clodius was one of the partician Claudians, and he wanted to be a Tribune of the People, an office open only to plebeians. It could be done if he were adopted into a plebeian family, but this was not easy if the Senate were opposed.

"Last year, when Cato was tribune, he put a stop to it by simply interposing his veto. This year, Cicero has been fighting the adoption tooth and nail. Dangerous as he is, Clodius will be ten times as destructive if he is a tribune." In many ways, the tribuneship was the most powerful office in Rome in those days. The tribunes had regained most of the powers taken from them by Sulla. They could introduce bills and veto any action of the Senate. I shuddered at the thought of Clodius having that power.

"Working to frustrate Clodius is something I never need encouragement to do," I told Celer.

"Stay out of his way for now," he cautioned. "I don't know why he's hanging around Rome when his duties lie in Sicily, but I've no doubt he's up to some devilment."

"Always a safe bet, with Clodius."

"Very true. Now, since we are on that subject. We senior members of the family have been discussing what we may have to do when Clodius makes his run for the tribuneship, as surely he will if he lives long enough."

"And what was the decision?" I asked.

"We will want you to stand for a tribuneship the same year."

I felt like a sacrificial ox when he's knocked on the head by the
flamen's
assistant. "Me? But the family is full of men better qualified."

"Nonsense, you're a perfect choice. Your lineage is impeccable. You'll have a recent Censor for a father, and you have the qualifications for any office. Not that that matters, because any citizen can be elected tribune, so long as he's not a partician. You're an aristocrat, but you're something of a favorite with the commons because of your feat with the October Horse." He grinned at that memory. I winced.

"Now," Celer went on, "I think that Cicero is grooming your friend Titus Milo for the same role. I hate to think of a criminal gang leader like Milo as tribune, but I admit he's a better man than Clodius."

"Milo is an excellent choice," I said, "but I've never even considered the tribuneship. I am flattered that you think me worthy, of course."

"Don't be too flattered," he said. "The main reason we want you is because Clodius hates you so much. He'll be so distracted by your rivalry that he may not do too much mischief."

"I see." My mind was working like a fermenting wine vat. "If both Milo and I are tribunes the same year, we could combine forces to keep Clodius in line."

"You catch on quickly," Celer said. "You may have a future in Roman politics. Well, all this may be years away, but I want you to think about it."

"Rest assured, I shall think of little else," I said. Somehow, I had to get out of this. Clodius hated me enough as a mere enemy. If I were a political rival, his malignancy would know no bounds. In theory, the lives of tribunes were sacrosanct, and to murder one was an impious act. The trouble was, Clodius was a man who specialized in acts of impiety.

"What are you two plotting?" The voice came from the colonnade and we turned to face its source. I knew it instantly, of course.

Clodia was still one of Rome's great beauties, and at this time one of the most notorious. She was also famed for her charm and wit, for her learning and patronage of artists and poets. Most of all, she was feared. She was suspected of complicity in a number of murders, and I happened to know that she was guilty of some of them. However, she was Celer's wife, and certain basic courtesies were demanded.

"You are more beautiful than ever, Clodia," I told her, "and you know that your husband and I haven't an ounce of conspiratorial talent between us."

"How disappointing," she said, extending her hand. I took it and bowed over the cool, tapering fingers, artfully kissing my thumb instead of her hand. The caution might have been unwarranted, but she was rumored to keep poison under her gilded nails.

"How long has it been, Decius? Not since dear Quintus took the field against Catilina? You left Rome then, did you not?" Needless to say, she had not accompanied her husband to Gaul, to my relief and no doubt to his as well. They were not a good match, but then, the great families always arranged marriages for reasons of policy. They had been betrothed when she was a mere girl and her brother, Clodius, no more that an obnoxious brat. "I've been away from Rome and you far too long, Clodia." Well, the part about Rome was true. Clodia and I had a tangled and, for me, embarrassing past. Nothing embarrassed her.

"Things have been terribly dull of late," she said. "Now that you are back, perhaps matters will liven up." That sounded ominous.

"Young Decius will be working with me in my upcoming campaign for the Consulship, my dear," Celer said, with the pained look shared by all men afflicted with such wives.

"Oh, what a waste of talent. You couldn't lose the Consulship if the other factions put up gods and heroes as competitors! Still, that means we'll be seeing a lot of dear Decius, so it's all for the good." At that moment a slave came and announced a visitor, so Clodia took her leave and rushed off.

"Well," Celer grumbled, "it's good you and Clodia get along, even if her brother wants to cut your throat."

"I have the highest esteem for Clodia," I assured him. "Starting tomorrow, I want you to pay your morning call here instead of at your father's house." We began to walk toward the door.

"Shall I bring my clients?" I asked. "Only if I'm to make an important speech. Otherwise, dismiss them when you leave your house."

"I shall be most happy to comply." I never liked the custom of being followed around by a gang of clients. Even loyalty and devotion become annoying after a while.

In the atrium we found Clodia and the new arrival, a kinswoman of mine, nicknamed Felicia. She was Caecilia Metella, wife of the younger Marcus Crassus, who was the son of the great Crassus. She made the usual cousinly sounds of greeting.

"What are you and Clodia up to?" I said. I should have known better than to ask.

"We're going to do something scandalous and embarrass our husbands," Felicia said.

"Aren't you a respectable matron now?" I asked. "Surely you're raising a pack of little Crassi."

"Don't be boring," Felicia scolded. "Breeding is for slaves and livestock. Besides, you've reached an advanced age without marrying."

"No woman can pin Decius down that long," said Clodia with a deft twirl of the thumb-screw. "He always makes trouble for someone powerful and has to leave Rome to save his skin."

"Ladies, if you will excuse us, I must see Decius out. He has pressing duties." Celer guided me out the door. "No man should be called upon to deal with both of them," he muttered.

To my surprise I found Hermes waiting for me outside the gate, but in well-bred fashion I ignored his presence while I made my farewells to my eminent relative, promising to arrive early the next day.