A Point of Law (17 page)

“Well, since I’m to be one of next year’s praetors—”

“Assuming you aren’t in exile,” he interrupted.

“I wish people would stop saying that. This murder charge is false. Less than nothing.”

“Indeed.” He put a wealth of disbelief into the word.

“Anyway, it is almost certain that one of next year’s consuls will be Caius Claudius Marcellus. It occurs to me that I know very little about the man whom I shall have to work with for the next year. I don’t know much about the family, for that matter. They’ve always been around, but they’ve become uncommonly prominent of late.”

“That,” he said, “is because they’ve made themselves spokesmen for the anti-Caesarian bloc in the Senate.”

“I’ve deduced that much. How did this come about?”

“For one thing, you Metelli abandoned leadership of the anti-tyrannical party.”

I winced. That arrow had been straight at the mark. My family’s hedging and trimming, once the sign of statesmanlike willingness to compromise, was beginning to look like timidity and weakness.

“So the Claudii have thrust their family forward as champions of good old Republican liberty, eh? They seem to have a lot of people convinced.”

“And they’re willing to go to extremes to prove it.”

We had begun strolling toward the Basilica Aemilia, where the work of restoration went noisily on despite the general holiday atmosphere. Soldiers swarmed everywhere, strutting about to great admiration.

“What sort of extremes?” I asked him.

“Did you hear about the man from Novum Comum?”

The name sounded familiar. “Isn’t that one of the colonies Caesar founded in Gaul?”

“It is. Anyway, a few months ago Marcellus—our current consul Marcellus, that is—tried to bring up the prospect of a successor to Caesar in Gaul. This, of course, was opposed, not only by Caesar’s faction in the Senate, but by the other consul and by Pompey. One senator who spoke up was from Novum Comum. Marcellus went into an immoderate fury, had his lictors drag the man from the chamber, strip him of his insignia, and scourge him publicly with the rods of their fasces.”

I had thought myself numb to enormities, but this left me aghast. “He had a
citizen
publicly flogged?” Heads swiveled to see who was shouting. I went on in a lower voice. “Surely he’ll be exiled for this!” That the man had been a senator was a minor matter. By ancient law Roman citizens were not to be publicly flogged or crucified. These punishments were restricted to foreigners and rebellious slaves.

“That is just it. Marcellus proclaimed that Caesar had no right to confer citizenship, and he would recognize no such citizenships, nor would he tolerate any senators sent from any such colonies.”

At that time it was customary, when a new colony was enfranchised, to allow a very prominent man of that place to take a seat in the Senate without having first served a quaestorship in Rome.

“And what about Balbus?” I asked. I referred to Lucius Cornelius Balbus, a very prominent senator who, along with two or three others, got his senator’s stripe in the same fashion, because he was a friend of Pompey’s from Spain. He was no relation to the Atius Balbus who was Caesar’s brother-in-law and grandfather of the First Citizen.

“Marcellus isn’t picking a fight with Pompey.”

I ran a palm over my by now stubbly face. My bright mood of an hour before was gone. “It is worse than I thought,” I admitted. “If this keeps up, it will be open war between Caesar and the Senate.”

“It’s been war for some time.”

“I don’t mean political dispute, no matter how rambunctious it gets. I mean real war. Next year we could see these soldiers all around us back again, with their shields facing the gates and Caesar behind them on his command platform.” Caesar had invented a collapsible platform that could be erected in minutes, so that he could get close to the fighting and still see over the heads of his soldiers.

“Then now is a good time to choose sides, isn’t it?” Sallustius said, insinuatingly. I wondered what to read into this. He said almost everything insinuatingly.

“Are you offering me a side to choose?”

“Why,” his look was all innocence, “I assumed, because of your family connection and the obvious esteem Caesar holds for you, that you would be firmly in his camp.”

This angered me and I was about to snap out something ill-considered when Hermes rapped me sharply over the kidney. Sallustius couldn’t see the jab, but I could certainly feel it.

“Isn’t that our friend the tribune over there?” Hermes said, nodding
toward a little group of men who seemed to be looking over the restoration work. One of them was, indeed, young Tribune Manilius. The other four men were vaguely familiar to me. I knew I had seen their faces in the Senate. Three of them resembled one another strongly, with bushy, brown hair and thick, red noses. They stood just within the portico of the basilica. They all seemed to be arguing about something.

“This is why I led you here,” Sallustius said. “I saw them cross the Forum and climb the steps here a bit earlier. You see, of course, the three who look like they hatched from the same egg?”

“Naturally. Is one of them Marcellus?”

“They all are. The one on the left, with the old sword scar on his cheek, is this year’s consul, Marcus Claudius Marcellus. The one poking his finger in the tribune’s face is his cousin Caius, who is most likely to be next year’s consul. The third, who looks like he needs an enema, is Caius’s brother, another Marcus Claudius Marcellus. He plans to stand for the consulship the following year.”

“And the fifth man?” I asked.

“That is Lucius Aemilius Lepidus Paullus, also standing for next year’s consulship, and the man having this basilica restored to the glory of his ancestors.”

“With Caesar’s money, I hear.”

“Caesar is generous to his friends,” Sallustius affirmed.

The evidence was apparent everywhere. The walls of the portico were being covered with exquisite mosaics depicting the history of the Aemilian gens back to the days of Romulus, the whole interior was faced with brilliantly colored marble, the old roof tiles had been stripped away and replaced by plates of gleaming bronze. The restored basilica would be the most magnificent public building in Rome, at least until some other politician decided to bankrupt himself for the sake of public adulation.

“This seems like an odd group to see in one place,” I observed.

“Odd groupings have become the rule in Rome,” Sallustius said.
“Men who were at each other’s throats just a few months ago are now comrades-in-arms.”

Just then one of the Marcelli noticed us and nudged the others. The consul looked at us and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d just pop over and see how the restorations are coming along,” I told him. “It looks wonderful, Lucius Aemilius.”

He grinned. “I thank you.” Then he looked at the consul and glared. “And why are you questioning the right of Decius Caecilius to be here? This is
my
basilica, Consul!”

“He ought to be in prison awaiting trial,” the consul Marcellus growled. “The man’s a murderer and a disgrace!”

“Not yet proven,” Manilius said.

“Who needs proof?” said Caius. “He’s the logical choice.”

I longed to toss out some remark about that estate in Baiae, just to watch their faces change color. But some things are best kept in reserve.

“The wretch was no loss anyway,” Aemilius Paullus put in. “Did you know that he was trying to usurp my basilica?” He waved a beringed hand, taking in all the lavish adornments. Workmen swarmed everywhere, applying the finishing touches to it: bits of gilding here and there, final polishing of the multicolored marble, buffing the thin mica plates set into the clerestory windows. “He waited until all the major work was nearly finished, then he tried to bring up that old claim that it was a Fulvius, not an Aemilius, who built it!”

“It’s a valid claim,” said the consul Marcellus. “When I was young, I heard it called the Fulvia as often as the Aemilia.”

“Nonsense!” Aemilius Paullus cried, going red in the face. “Base calumny! The Fulvians are a family of nobodies who want to steal the glory of a nobler gens! This building is the pride of my family, and it has always been maintained by us!”

This was excellent entertainment, and I believe I was enjoying it as much as Sallustius was.

Hermes whispered in my ear: “Another suspect.”

I nodded but said nothing.

“Maintained by you!” Caius Marcellus shouted. “Everyone knows that your great restoration project is the result of the biggest bribe in the history of the Republic! Even now, all over Rome, people are beginning to call this place the Basilica Julia!”

Aemilius Paullus went dead white. “And just what, I pray, am I being bribed to
do?
”

“It is common knowledge,” Caius Marcellus sneered, “that you and I will be next year’s consuls.”

“The two of you have outspent everyone else,” Tribune Manilius commented.

“And I,” Caius went on, “have pledged to devote myself to recalling Caesar from Gaul and giving his command to a trustworthy man who will draw this endless war to an honorable close. You have been paid handsomely to agitate for an extension of Caesar’s command. Dare to deny it!”

“Deny that I support Caesar? Never!” said Aemilius Paullus “He has brought Rome more glory and riches than all the Claudians back to the days of Aeneas! He deserves all the honors the Senate can bestow upon him! As for his gifts to me, such tokens exchanged between men of rank are an ancient custom, one you have practiced assiduously!” He appealed to me. “Decius Caecilius, did Caesar not help cover the debts you assumed as aedile?”

“Actually,” I told them, “he offered to cover them all. But I accepted no more of his generosity than my family deemed proper.” It seemed that everyone was trying to push me into Caesar’s camp.

“You see?” Aemilius Paullus cried. “A man as upright as our next year’s praetor, Decius Caecilius, is not ashamed to partake of Caesar’s largesse.”

“With more moderation than you,” said the consul, his exaggerated gaze taking in the lavish restorations. “Don’t try to make us out as enemies of the Metelli, Aemilius. We’ve no argument with them.”

The angry, raised voices were attracting attention. People had begun drifting in from the Forum to catch the show. Soon there was a large enough crowd for the infuriated politicians to take notice and moderate their tone. The three Marcelli, accompanied by Manilius, stalked off in a huff.

Aemilius Paullus put a smile back on his face and addressed the minor mob now assembled in the basilica. “Citizens! I welcome all of you warmly, but the workmen are still busy here so I must ask you all to leave for now. But I want you all back here when I rededicate the basilica as soon as I assume office after the election. I shall hold a public banquet to which you and all other citizens are invited.”

This got a cheer from the crowd, with Caesar’s soldiers cheering loudest. No doubt about it, his election was assured. As soon as the crowd dispersed, Aemilius Paullus came to join us.

“It looks like next year will be an important one, eh, Decius?” he said.

“Lively, anyway. The Senate meetings should be noisy.”

“I take it I can count on your support?”

I sidestepped. “I’m just one voice in the Senate. As praetor, I’ll have no voice in provincial affairs. You need to talk to next year’s tribunes. Caesar’s fortunes lie more with the assemblies than with the Senate.”

“All too true,” Aemilius Paullus grumbled, then he turned to Sallustius. “Have you packed to go yet, Caius Sallustius?”

“Go?”

“Yes, go. I’ve been talking with Appius Claudius Pulcher, and he’s already making his list of men to expel from the Senate when he’s censor next year. Your name is on it.”

“Expel me?” Sallustius cried, aghast. “On what charge?”

“Immorality, it seems.”

“Indeed? Am I so much worse than my colleagues in the Senate?”

“You know that better than I, but Appius doesn’t like you, and it’s going to be a hard year for men he doesn’t like.”

“Of what sort of immoralities is Sallustius accused?” I asked. This was something I just had to hear.

“Let’s see—as tribune last year he is supposed to have taken bribes to prosecute Milo and oppose Cicero, he maintains his residence in a whorehouse, he looted the Ostian treasury during his quaestorship there, he seduced the wives of at least twenty senators, he likewise seduced a Vestal, he has appeared in the Senate staggering drunk, he dishonored certain statues of the gods during the Floralia, he was seen using weapons in the annual brawl over the head of the October Horse, he employed blackmail to send a naval cutter to Cirta to fetch him fresh oysters—”

“I haven’t done half those things!” Sallustius protested.

“Which half?” I asked him.

“This is the basest sort of slander, spread by Caesar’s enemies.”

“It’s enough to get you expelled though,” I told him. “If I were you, I’d talk with Calpurnius Piso. He’s almost certain to be the other censor, and he’s Caesar’s father-in-law to boot. If he’s obstructive enough, he might be able to keep you in.”

“Don’t count on that,” Aemilius advised. “Piso’s wife is one of the ones you’re accused of seducing. And you’re just one of a very long list Appius has drawn up.”

“Who else?” I asked.

“Most prominently, young Curio.”

“A serving tribune?” I said. “What does he hope to accomplish?”

“First, he can make Curio’s life miserable,” Aemilius Paullus pointed out, “even though he can’t take immediate action against him. Second, he’ll be parceling out the public contracts. Curio has many friends and supporters among the wealthy
publicani
. How many of them do you think will get their contracts granted or renewed under this censorship?”

“That’s a powerful weapon all right,” I acknowledged.

“And,” Aemilius Paullus reminded us, “a tribune must lay down his powers at a specific time—next December to be precise. A censor is under no such obligation. He can stay in office until he judges it to be fulfilled. I think I can predict that Appius will stay in office until he’s dealt with all of next year’s magistrates who have displeased him.”