SPQR II: The Catiline Conspiracy

by John Maddox Roberts

  “And the wound?” I asked, searching his neck for marks.

  “A most excellent effect, was it not? I obtained the skin of an unborn lamb, such as is used to make the finest parchment. This I trimmed to proper shape and used to cover my neck. The skin is all but transparent, and the cosmetic I applied to exposed areas to simulate a deathlike pallor contributed to the illusion. I had the skin stitched up at the back of my neck, and the edges where it met with my actual flesh were covered by my hair, my beard or my clothes. The slit over my throat I packed with thin strips of calf’s liver to simulate a most ghastly wound. Was it not convincing?”

  “It was a masterpiece,” I said sincerely. I had gotten over my fright and now was all admiration. “How did you manage an illusion so elaborate on such short notice?”

  Asklepiodes preened. Like all Greeks, he throve on praise. “I have been called upon before this, to simulate wounds. Your Italian mimes, who perform on the stage without masks, sometimes wish to add an extra note of realism. And certain gentlemen of high rank who must remain nameless, who wished to avoid military service, have called upon this particular skill of mine.”

  “Asklepiodes, you shock me!” I said.

  “Mine is but the skill,” he said, “and theirs the guilty conscience. Just remember me when your superiors plan your participation in some particularly suicidal military adventure.”

  “A man dedicated as I am to serving the Senate and People of Rome could never stoop to such perfidy,” I said piously. He just sat there, smiling his superior Greek smile, knowing that I would do exactly as he advised should it come to that. I was not about to get killed winning glory for the likes of Crassus or Pompey.

  “In any case,” he said, “you may now rest assured that you are as respectable a murderer as any in the conspiracy. My congratulations.”

  “I thank you,” I said, rising. “Within a few days this business should be over and you will be able to reveal yourself and enjoy the looks on everyone’s faces.”

  “That I look forward to with great anticipation.”

  “In the meantime, enjoy your solitude, catch up on your writing, and I hope you will suffer no disagreeable aftereffects from your brush with the fatal hemlock.”

  “It was quite refreshing, really. I may employ it in therapy.”He rose to see me to the door.

  “Then don’t tell anyone what’s in it,” I advised.

  “I seldom do. Good day, Decius Caecilius, and good luck.”

  I left the island feeling better than I had in many days. With the shadow of Asklepiodes’s ostensible murder lifted, everything else looked much better as well. I was well in with the conspirators, and I felt that my official backing was far more secure now that I had conferred with Cicero. And the political situation was not quite so murky. I was still not certain exactly who was involved, but it was clear that Ca-tilina actually had a halfway credible plan of action and was backed by one or more of the great players of the day. The rest of us were, to use my cousin Felicia’s metaphor, knucklebones.

  In my happy mood I extended the metaphor. Not all knucklebones are honest. They may look like the others but, like dice, they may be loaded. I knew that I was one of the loaded knucklebones. Were there others? Some had at least had their corners shaved. Fulvia was an informer and by extension Curius had become Cicero’s tool.

  And what of Bestia. the tribune-elect? in those days, the tribunes were elected by the Consilium Plebis, a profoundly undiscriminating body of citizens. Of the elective bodies, it was the most fertile field for a demagogue and far too many of our tribunes were uncultivated, self-seeking knaves and scoundrels. It had become the quickest route to real power and was thus avidly sought by men such as Clo-dius and Milo. Cato had sought the tribunate as a way to frustrate the activities of political enemies. My kinsman Ne-pos, recently seen in the company of Bestia, had won a tribunate to use as a platform from which to push Pompey’s fortunes and career, as if such a thing was needed. It made sense that a tribune would be in league with Catilina. A tribune was in an excellent position to whip up the urban mob into a rage against the current government, something a haughty patrician like Catilina could scarcely do. Yet, I had been disturbed by the tone of insinuation I had detected in Bestia. He had not seemed mad or self-deluded like the others, merely amused and superior.

  My improved mood even lightened my fears about Au-relia. If she was being used by Catilina as bait, surely it was not through her own connivance. Surely, I thought, she could not be a part of the conspiracy. Catilina and his men were not the only self-deluded fools in Rome that day.

  The next days were filled with elation and anxiety. There were no more meetings with the conspirators, although from time to time I would encounter one or more of them in the Forum or at the baths, at which times they could not help giving me adolescent signs of complicity, as if we were fellow initiates of one of the mystery cults.

  I sought excuses to call on Aurelia, but the slaves at Orestilla’s house told me that both ladies were away, although they were vague about the destination and duration of this absence. Naturally enough, once I was cut off from contact with Aurelia, I was able to think of nothing else. Memories of our night together ran through my mind like the most salacious of those mimes frowned upon by the Censors, each fantasy more heated and fevered than the last.

  I neglected my duties at the treasury, but the slaves and freedmen there took no notice, since I customarily neglected them at the best of times. Dinner companions noticed my fidgeting and abstraction and plied me, successfully, with wine. It may be taken as a matter for wonder that a man embroiled in an incredibly dangerous mesh of intrigue, treachery and murder should be distracted by the charms of one young woman, however voluptuous. It is simply that young men are like that. I was, at any rate. The Greeks and Trojans once fought a war over a woman, so I was not alone in this fixation, although there seemed to be something un-Roman about it.

  The day of the gathering of the Caecilii arrived, and with the others I crossed the river and climbed the Janiculum to the expansive villa where Quintus Caecilius Metellus Cre-ticus awaited permission to celebrate his triumph. Every great family has one or more of these yearly gatherings, where special family rites are observed, marriages are arranged and decisions concerning the whole gens are made.

  Of course, not every Roman bearing the name Caecilius attended, for then several thousand persons would have had to crowd into the villa. Every paterfamilias who was not on foreign military service was there, and their adult male offspring. These would pass on the decisions and celebrate the rites at home for their own Caecilian freedmen and clients.

  The villa and its grounds were cluttered with the loot of Crete, kept there in anticipation of the coming triumph and guarded by hard-eyed veterans of Creticus’s legions. I was glad to see that there were so many of them, since they would be needed soon.

  Among those present were my father, the Praetor Me-tellus Celer, the pontifex and Caecilian by adoption Metellus Pius Scipio, and Pompey’s legatus Metellus Nepos. I feared that my major problem would be finding a few minutes to speak privately with Creticus.

  After the opening invocation of the gods, the genius of the family and the lares and penates of the house, the serious business of the meeting began. Among the questions brought up was, of all things, my name. Some of the older and more traditional members of the family wanted the name Decius banned from future generations. Decius, they said, was not properly a praenomen at all, but a nomen. My father argued, eloquently, that a name decreed by a god must be deemed just and fitting and we had won the fight with the Samnites the next day and so Decius must be a fitting praenomen for gens Caecilii. The anti-Decian faction were not impressed. Apparently, they thought that the family simply could not have enough Quintuses. I think this gives some indication of how slack and complacent all of Rome had become during the easy years. Never once was the family’s political stand brought up. The business about my name was never decided, and remains unde
cided to this day.

  After the rites and business were taken care of, Creticus entertained us at a splendid banquet where we drank nothing but the very best Cretan wines. Creticus was an undistinguished, mild-looking man. He had been an easygoing, plodding politician and had eventually worked his way up the ladder until he won the office of Consul, which he held with Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, my father’s patron. As his proconsular command, he had been given the war against Crete and the pirates based there. He was as undistinguished a general as he had been a politician, and fought a long, desultory campaign. But then, unexpectedly, he displayed courage and stubbornness when Pompey, as was his wont, tried to usurp his command when the campaign was all but over.

  Pompey’s supporter, the tribune Gabinius, had passed a law giving Crete to Pompey. A number of the Cretan cities, knowing that the war was lost, hastened to surrender to Pompey. Everyone was in the habit of surrendering to Pompey at that time, while surrendering to a third-rate general like Me-tellus Creticus would be a disgrace. Metellus had refused to recognize Pompey’s right to accept their surrenders and threatened to attack Pompey’s officers. For a while, it almost looked as if civil war would break out, but Pompey backed down. The next year the tribune Manilius passed a law giving Pompey command of the entire Mediterranean in order to crush the pirates, but by that time Creticus had Crete conquered and reorganized as a province. Pompey still held a grudge and his flunkies resisted Creticus’s right to celebrate a triumph.

  In justice to Pompey, I must say that his campaign against the pirates was brilliant, crushing them completely and almost without bloodshed. It was a masterpiece of organization rather than tactics, and causes me to believe that had Pompey concentrated on administration rather than conquest he might have been one of Rome’s great benefactors, instead of being a mere military adventurer, who plunged the Republic into the most destructive of its civil wars.

  I finally managed to get Creticus aside after the banquet. Many of the family had already gone home, and the rest of us were walking our dinner off in the formal gardens or admiring the loot from Crete. Crete is not Asia, and Creticus had brought back no such treasure as had Lucullus, but the pirate strongholds had yielded some respectable loot and the cities had possessed some very fine Greek statues, which he had appropriated. His proudest display was a trophy in the form of a Cretan column, studded with the bronze rams of pirate galleys. He had a slave who did nothing all day except polish the bronze.

  I found Creticus on the broad portico of his house overlooking the gardens. I made one of those half-unconscious gestures that indicates a desire for a private audience. I had decided that I would arouse no suspicion thereby. Everyone would just assume that I was hitting him up for a loan.

  “Good to see you, Decius,” he said. “I am happy that your father stood up to those idiots on the matter of your name. Have you any idea what it was like, growing up in this family with the name Quintus? At a family gathering like this, somebody yells ‘Quintus!’ and three quarters of the males turn to see who is calling them.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I admitted. “Actually, sir, I am here to speak with you on behalf of the Consul Cicero. It’s a matter of urgent danger to the state.”

  He was understandably slartled. “Speak on.”

  Very briefly, I sketched the conspiracy for him, and Cicero’s instructions to him. His expression went from incredulity to concern to calculation. I knew exactly what he was calculating: how long would it take Pompey to reach Rome once he had word?

  “Sergius Catilina planning a coup?” He gave a laugh that was half snort. “The man’s an embarrassment to the Republican system. It was presumptuous enough that he dared to stand for election as Consul, but this! Mark me, Decius, someone else is behind this, and I suspect Pompey.”

  “That I doubt, sir,” I said. “Personally, I suspect Cras-sus.”

  “Even if he isn’t behind it, Pompey will try to take advantage of the situation.”I gave him no argument on that point. “We’ll have to smash it hard and fast. You think he’ll make his move this winter?”

  “Assuredly. His bunglers couldn’t keep their activities secret for longer than that. I think he plans to strike very soon.”

  “All to the good, then. It’s the worst sailing weather of the year and the overland route would take Pompey far too long to do him any good. Who else is being informed?”

  “The Consul will personally inform Marcius Rex,” I told him.

  “Excellent. Marcius is a good man and he’s kept a strong cadre of his legionaries close to him. His bandits are an even meaner lot than mine. If we can keep things pacified here in Rome and the surrounding countryside, the praetores should be able to raise enough men from the municipia to control Italy handily. Tell Cicero I am at his orders, at least until the end of the year.”

  “I shall do so,” I promised. “Meantime, Antonius Hi-brida is assembling a force to accompany him to Macedonia, but they will stay in Picenum.”

  Again, the snort-laugh. “Cicero had better not put too much trust in that Antonine lout. He’s as likely to be a party of the plot as he is to crush it.”

  “I doubt that,” I told him. “He’s too anxious to loot Macedonia.”

  “That could be. I hope you are right.”Then we were joined by a party of family elders and I slipped away.

  As I prepared to leave the villa of Creticus, it occurred to me that Cicero was being characteristically astute in dividing up the defense among so many commanders. He saw little danger to the state from Catilina and his featherbrained followers, but a great danger indeed from a possible “savior” of the Republic. Any general who found himself near Rome, in possession of a large army after a quick, victorious campaign, might well feel entitled to take advantage of the situation. It had been done before.

  I took my leave and as I left the villa I was joined by the one man I least expected to seek me out: Quintus Cae-cilius Metellus Nepos, the tribune-elect and Pompey’s le-gatus. I knew him only slightly and had not spoken with him in a number of years. He was only a year or two older than I, a tall, erect man who looked as if he was still in armor. He was as fair as I was dark and where I was compact, he was lanky. Only our mutual possession of the long Metellan nose proclaimed our kinship.

  “Decius,” he said as we wended our way down the Jan-iculum, “1 have been meaning for some time to speak with you.”

  “I am always easy to find,” I said. “My door is always open, both for official visits or social ones.”We passed the Egyptian embassy. The Janiculum was covered with very fine villas, most of them owned by rich men who wanted to be near the seat of power but away from the crowding and squalor of the city.

  “I had no desire to trouble you at home, and what I have to tell you I wished to deliver in privacy and strict confidentiality. The family gathering seemed like a good opportunity.”

  “And what requires such mystery?” I asked. “Surely your patron Pompey doesn’t require my services to conquer the rest of the world?” His fair face flushed and I regretted my sharp words. I had no reason to dislike Nepos. “Forgive me,” I said. “It’s just that I detest Pompey, but everyone knows that. Please, tell me what you wished me to hear.”

  He stopped and we stood facing one another. It was a still day, and the only sounds came from the odd fauna on the other side of the wall surrounding the Egyptian embassy.

  “Decius, I have heard, never mind how, that you are involved in something that is not merely ignoble and disgraceful, but deadly. I beg you to desist. If you go on as you have, you’ll be dragged to the Tiber on a hook and the family will suffer ignominy. As a kinsman, I urge you to cease.”

  This shook me. If Nepos knew, then who else? And if Nepos knew, then Pompey would know about it within days. He could have his men and ships assembled in anticipation of word from the Capitol that an insurrection had begun. It could save him precious weeks at a time when travel was difficult.

  “I won’t ask you how you came
by your information,” I said, “but I accept your warning as a gesture of family loyalty. Now hear mine. Do not interfere with me. I think you know that I will do nothing to harm Rome or our constitution.”

  “Then what game are you playing, Decius?” I thought about that for a moment.

  “Knucklebones,” I answered him.

  “What?”

  “Quintus, is there anyone left in Rome who isn’t playing some sort of game? The proceedings of the Senate and the popular assemblies have become the screen behind which we play our games. It’s beginning to look as if Rome will be the prize of the best game-player.”

  He just looked at me, stolid and soldierly. “I think you have gone mad, Decius.”

  “Then I’ve fallen victim to the national affliction. Don’t stand too close, Quintus, it’s contagious.”

  “Good day to you then,” he said and strode away stiffly.

  My mind raced in a dozen different directions at once. It seemed as if Catilina’s conspiracy held its secrets about as well as a basket holds water. Who had betrayed me to Nepos? Then I remembered that tribune-elect Bestia had been seen with Nepos. I stopped where I was and cursed myself for a fool. Bestia was Pompey’s spy within the conspiracy.

  That meant that Pompey had probably known about the plot from its conception. When Catilina should begin his insurrection in earnest, the tribunes Bestia and Nepos would pass a law for the Senate to recall Pompey from Asia, with emergency powers. That would give Pompey proconsular im-perium within Italy itself, a virtual dictatorship in all but name.

  And that, I realized in a sweat, would be a very bad time to be known as the enemy of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus.

  11

  I DECIDED TO BLAME IT ALL ON AU-relia. After all, if she had not ensnared me with her feminine wiles, my mind would have functioned normally. What man can plot and scheme rationally, when he has surrendered all his higher faculties and functions to woman-induced lust? Thus I salved my pride, as young men have done since remotest antiquity. This however did not bring about the slightest abatement of my feelings toward that woman. I dreamt of her constantly and held to my perverse hope that she was entirely innocent.