The Catiline Conspiracy s-2

by John Maddox Roberts

  "That was splendid driving," I told him as he was stripping off his leg-pads. He looked up and flashed a big-toothed smile.

  "Thank you. My patron's horses only understand Gallic. These Italians and Numidians and Greeks can never get the best out of them. I saw you up on the loggia speaking with my patron." Now I remembered that Fabius Sanga was of the branch of the Fabii who were surnamed Allobrogicus. An ancestor of his had soundly thrashed their ancestors and that family of Fabians had thereby become the hereditary patrons of the Allobroges. The worse you beat Gauls and Germans, the more loyal they are to you. At least they are sincere about it. Asiatics, once defeated, kiss your sandals and protest loyalty, then do something treacherous.

  "Have you raced in Rome before?" I asked him.

  "Not yet. I've raced in the circus of Massilia and the one at Cartago Nova. My name is Amnorix, but I race as Polydoxus."

  "I expect to hear great things of you. How do you happen to be with the Allobrogian party?"

  "My uncle was chosen by the tribe to come here with the grievance party, and I got him to bring me along for a chance to race in the Circus Maximus."

  "What do you think of it?" I asked.

  "I've never seen anything so big, but the circuses in Gaul and Spain are built better, and they aren't cluttered with all this gear for the wild beast fights. It's the track that counts, though, and this one is well kept. The African sand is the best. But it's the stables here that are greatest. It seems like half the horses in the world must be here."

  "This is the first circus ever built," I told him. "The circus has grown as Rome has grown. That's why it seems rather ramshackle and unplanned. Wait until you see it on a race day."

  "Oh, I've attended the races here, although not from the sand. I would not have believed that so many people could be assembled in a single place. The noise is incredible." He laughed. "They are well behaved compared to a Gallic crowd, I must admit."

  "You've never seen a good circus riot, then. Pray you never do." Now that we had established a sort of friendship between us, I decided to take advantage of it. "When I arrived, your patron and Crassus were arguing about something. Any idea what that was about?"

  He frowned. "I don't know. Crassus has called on the patron several times, lately. Last time he was with that man Valgius. I saw him up on the loggia, too. They meet privately, but the patron always looks upset after Crassus has left."

  This startled me. "Valgius? Are you sure he was with Crassus?"

  "He was last time. He stayed out in the atrium with the rest of the clients while Crassus and the patron conferred. He would only talk about the circus, so I held some conversation with him, but he could not hide how much he despises Gauls."

  "I don't much like him myself. Did you recognize the other bearded man, or the lady who was with me?"

  "Never saw either of them before," he admitted. "She was very beautiful, in the Roman fashion."

  "You see a lot, for a man flashing by in a chariot. I would have thought the quadriga would require all your attention."

  "It was not as if I was racing," he said. Then his eyes narrowed. "You ask a lot of questions, sir."

  "It is my duty. I am the Quaestor Decius Caecilius Metellus and I am on official business."

  "Oh, I see. Is there any other way I may be of service?" Barbarians think that all Roman officials have infinite authority. This is because the ones who show up in their lands seem to act like gods.

  "Was there anyone else with Crassus and Valgius?"

  He thought for a moment. "No. But later, I think it was a day or two after, a man came up to us in the Forum. He spoke to my uncle and the elders. Then they were taken to the house of Decimus Brutus and we younger men were told to return to the house where we are quartered. That seemed strange to me."

  "Do you know the name of this man?" I asked.

  "Umbrenus. Publius Umbrenus. I heard that he is some sort of businessman who has interests in Gaul. I don't like all this secrecy. We came here to petition the Senate openly, not to conspire."

  "I am glad to hear it. The politics of Rome can get very rough, and you people should not try to get involved. Keep your eyes open and if you see anything suspicious, let me know. I am to be found at the Temple of Saturn, most days."

  "I shall do as you say," he said. He seemed to be an intelligent and well-spoken youth, for a barbarian. His accent was quite tolerable.

  I hurried off to the Forum, where I knew my father was sure to be. He was already canvassing for the next year's censorship election. I found him standing in the comitium, just about equidistant between the Curia and the Rostra in the midst of a knot of men and speaking, no doubt, with nobility and rectitude. As I went closer I saw that most of the men were important officers of the centuriate assembly, men who would have great influence over the outcome of the upcoming elections. I saluted him as father and patron and he looked at me with his usual expression: annoyance.

  "Why aren't you in the treasury?" he demanded.

  "I've been out on official business," I said. "I need some advice involving your recent tenure of office in Gaul." The other men drew aside to let us speak privately.

  "Well, what is it?" Father asked, impatiently. He never liked to be interrupted while politicking.

  "What do you know of a man named Publius Umbrenus?"

  "Umbrenus?" He glanced at me sharply. "That's not advice. That's information."

  "It involves official business on behalf of the Urban Praetor."

  "Celer? What have you to do with him?" He looked disgusted, never much of an effort for him. "Don't tell me. You're out conspiracy-hunting again, aren't you?"

  "I have done the state some small service in that capacity before, Father," I pointed out.

  "And come close to being killed doing it."

  "Now, Father," I chided, "a Roman is not supposed to fear death, only disgrace." His face grew red, so I appealed to his ever-dominant sense of duty. "There have been murders, Father."

  "Eh? Of course there have been murders. What of it? When did a few equites more or less ever make any difference?"

  "Quite aside from obvious criminal activity, I think a very real danger to the state is involved, and Celer concurs. Now, what do you know of Publius Umbrenus?"

  "Well, you're a fool, but Celer isn't, so maybe there's something to this after all. Umbrenus is a publican who had sizable dealings in the Gallic communities: horses, slaves and other livestock, grain, that sort of thing. He belonged to a consortium of investors here in Rome and he was their traveling agent in Gaul. The last I heard, they were bankrupt. Like most, they were hurt when Lucullus cut the Asian debt, then they speculated heavily in grain and were wiped out when the Egyptian and African harvests were the best in years and the price of grain plunged. Served them right." Father detested capitalists. Like most aristocrats, he thought that only income from landed estate was honorable. As long as someone else is doing the farming it suits me too.

  "Did he have dealings with the Allobroges?" I asked.

  "He must have. They're the most powerful tribe in the North so he would have had to deal with them. What's this all about? No, don't tell me. Bring me hard evidence and keep your foolish suspicions to yourself. Now go be a nuisance somewhere else."

  I visited the baths and returned to my house. There was to be little rest for me, though. Before long, I was interrupted in my letter writing when a delegation of my neighbors called on me. I received them in my atrium and feared the worst when I saw who it was: a collection of shopkeepers, guild officers and free artisans, the typical inhabitants of the extremely raffish district that was my home. Their spokesman was Quadratus Vibius, owner of a bronze foundry and president of a district funeral and burial society. By Subura standards, he was a pillar of the community.

  " Quaestor Metellus," he said, "we your neighbors call upon you as the most distinguished resident of the Subura." It didn't take much to be the most distinguished resident of Rome's greatest slum.

 
"And I greet you as my friends and neighbors." This they were. I truly liked living in that slum.

  "Sir, as you know, in a few days, on the ides of October, the whole city will be celebrating the festival of the October Horse. We would like for you to represent the Subura, as our leader in the contest after the race."

  My heart sank. "Ah, gentlemen, my friends, I cannot tell you how deeply appreciative I am of the honor you do me. However, the press of office-"

  "The dwellers of the Via Sacra won last year, sir," said a baker who lived down the street. "As a result, no one in the Subura's had good luck all year. We need our luck back."

  "Truly. But the Subura wins most years, does it not? Because we are better people, as everyone knows. However, my duties-"

  "Nobody'll think much of us if our quaestor doesn't lead us," said my tailor, a man who could make my old tunics look almost new. "You're a man destined for the highest office and the great army commands, sir. Who else should be our representative?"

  I could feel my thread being stretched tight on the loom of the Fates. "But surely-"

  "Sir," said a burly water-carrier, "the Via Sacra people are to be led by Publius Clodius this year."

  "Clodius?" I choked out.

  The waterman grinned. "Yes, sir. Clodius."

  They had me trapped. If I backed down from a meeting with Clodius, I might as well leave the city for good and go to Rhodes or some such place and study philosophy.

  "I shall, of course, be most honored to be your leader on the ides, and we shall return with the Subura's luck." At this they all cheered and pounded me on the back and dragged me out to a wineshop where we stuffed ourselves and I got drunk enough to look forward to the festival.

  Chapter VI

  Parthia was a problem for us, and it was sure to become a greater problem now that Mithridates and Tigranes were both out of the picture. One of several kingdoms squabbling over control of the old Persian empire, Parthia was in the happy position of sitting smack astride the silk route, and had grown rich thereby. Silk was a great mystery to us. It was the most prized of fabrics, indeed the most prized of substances, more valuable than gold. Light, strong, its dyes unfading, it was so esteemed that from time to time the Censors forbade its wear as an Oriental extravagance. Men and sometimes even women were subject to fine if caught wearing silk in public. Both sexes sometimes took to wearing a silk subligaculum beneath the garments. If one could not have the ostentation of flaunting silk publicly, one could at least enjoy the lubricity of wearing the sensuous fabric in a more intimate fashion.

  The kingdom of Parthia was not a central monarchy in the old Egyptian or Persian sense. It was far too primitive for that. Rather, it was a loose confederation of quarreling chieftains, the strongest of whom called himself King of Kings, like the old Persian monarch, and lorded it over the others. In the usual Eastern fashion, the royal families indulged in mutual homicide. The kings bred innumerable sons, which they then felt compelled to murder. If one or more survived to manhood, one of them would sooner or later kill his father unless the old man managed to eliminate him first. At this time, the king was one Phraates III, who had not one but two grown sons in rebellion against him.

  They were little more than primitive tribesmen recently arrived from the great eastern grasslands, and this was the source of their single strength, for they had a most unique method of waging war. Alone of all peoples in the world, the Parthians fought entirely from horseback, and their only weapon was the bow. Devoid of armor and swift as birds, they darted about the battlefield, raining shafts on enemies confined to the speed of a man on foot. They might have been truly formidable had they possessed any sort of organization. It was our own intent to supply them with good Roman organization, whether they wanted it or not. With the rest of the East pacified, Parthia remained as the only decent realm for further conquest.

  Pompey had formed an alliance with Parthia when fighting Tigranes, but treaties were never more than a convenience for him, and he had offended Phraates by concluding a treaty with Tigranes without consulting the Parthian. Undoubtedly, this little problem would constitute the greater part of the ambassador's business in Rome. Much good would it do him.

  It offended us that a contemptible pack of horse-eating savages should control so important a commodity as silk. It especially offended us that they should have grown so rich doing it. The answer to all this offense, naturally enough, was to conquer the place, and even now we were searching for an excuse. When we should have conquered Parthia, of course, it would only mean that the next nation to the east would become the one controlling the silk route. There seemed to be quite a lot of land between us and the land of the Seres, where the silk was made. But then, that was how we had built our empire: one nation at a time. Eventually, we would reach the land of the Seres and conquer them as well. We knew nothing about them except that they made silk, but being Asiatics they couldn't amount to much.

  First, though, we would conquer Parthia. If only we had known at the time what a struggle that would entail.

  But I was not thinking of these things when I presented myself at the door of Orestilla's house. I was thinking of Aurelia. I had been doing far too much of that lately. So much so that, when the janitor admitted me, I thought that it was Aurelia whom I saw coming to greet me, but I was mistaken. The woman crossing the atrium was her mother, Orestilla. She was still a great beauty, and with none of Aurelia's abstracted air. For the moment, I could well sympathize with Catilina. I might have murdered a son or two myself for such a woman.

  " Quaestor Metellus, welcome to my house." Her smile was dazzling and she took my hands in both of hers. She was constructed just like her daughter, with a few extra pounds that did nothing to distract from her beauty. "Did you bring any friends?"

  I looked around to make sure. "No. Should I have?"

  "It's just that everyone else this evening has shown up with someone in tow, so we're having to move the dining tables and couches out to the peristylium. Our little dinner reception has turned into a minor banquet. It will be a fine affair, but please forgive me if things don't happen exactly according to schedule." She was a woman of infectious gaiety, as her daughter was one of brooding melancholy.

  "I promise only to be overwhelmed by your hospitality and your equally renowned beauty. Speaking of which, that is a most spectacular gown." She was wearing a sheer stola made of what appeared to be pure silk, emerald-green in color. The thought of its cost was un-settling.

  "Isn't it amazing? It's a gift from our guest of honor. I never expected anything so splendid. He brought another for Aurelia. She's off somewhere trying hers on and admiring her reflection, no doubt. Come along, everybody's out in the peristylium and getting in the way while the house slaves are trying to set up." She took my hand and all but towed me out into the open colonnade. Her peristylium had an unusually large compluvium, transforming it into a virtual courtyard. Instead of the usual central pool, it had a grated drain running around the base of the columns, making it possible to use the enclosure for large parties such as this one. There were at least thirty people there already, and it seemed that more were to arrive. They stood about on a floor of exquisite mosaic. Mosaic floors in private houses were still rather new in Rome, except for the tessellated kind made of squares and rectangles of colored marble, making abstract designs. This was a genuine picture-mosaic, made of tiny bits of colored stone, glass and even fragments colored with gold or silver leaf. It depicted a pastoral scene of gods and goddesses, nymphs, satyrs, centaurs and such amid vines and cedar-clad hills. Gods and fabulous creatures danced, feasted and flirted among mortal shepherds and the occasional hero. Quite aside from its breathtaking beauty and artistry, the design was perfect for an area intended for entertainment and I strongly suspected that Orestilla had deliberately arranged for the unexpected guests so that she could get everyone out here to admire her mosaic.

  The evening was wonderfully warm and clear for October, almost like a fine summer eveni
ng. There was still plenty of light, because it was still considered disgraceful for an entertainment to run on after dark, so we usually got started during the hours of daylight. As for calling it quits with the onset of darkness, nobody paid any attention to that nonsense anymore.

  I saw that all the most beautiful, scandalous and best-bred ladies were there: Sempronia, Fulvia, Orestilla herself, of course, Clodia and a few others who were quite famous at the time but whose names have faded from my memory. Aurelia had not made her appearance yet,

  The men were as distinguished, by notoriety if not by beauty. Catilina and Curius were there, and Lisas, the Egyptian ambassador. Crassus had not arrived yet, but Caesar was there, for populares and optimates mingled freely at this sort of affair. He had won a praetorship for the next year and was therefore a bit more aloof than when actually standing for election. He was chatting amiably with Catilina. They were both patricians, after all, and that was a more binding connection than mere political convenience. Indeed, except on the floor of the Senate and on the public speaking platform, it was very difficult to tell one party from the other. Politicians always denied belonging to any faction at all, claiming to act only from disinterested motives of statesmanship. It was their enemies who belonged to parties, they claimed.

  There were three men dressed in exotic garb: short jackets with long sleeves, trousers and soft boots. These were the Parthians. As heirs to the Persian empire, they claimed to be civilized and we humored them, as if people who wore trousers could be considered anything but barbarians. They also wore headgear indoors, something done by no Roman except the Flamen Dialis.

  I forgot about them when Aurelia appeared. She wore a gown like her mother's, but hers was of flame-colored silk. The material was so thin that it clung when she moved and floated free when she was still. To my great amazement and delight, she ignored the other guests and came to me first. We exchanged formal greetings and then got down to serious dalliance.