by Jack Lindsay
Cicero felt that things had developed inexplicably, and decided not to attend the Senate. To vote against the proposal would be to incite the veterans; to vote for it was impossible. But Antonius, who had been drinking all night in scared anticipation of a conflict with the master-orator of the Roman world, could not control his nerves. Though pleased at Cicero’s absence, he could not forbear letting off his tense emotions in vituperation. All the abuse suggested by young Quintus flooded back into his mind, and he fulminated against the absentee as the real and malignant cause of Caesar’s death and all the State’s disasters. He even threatened to send men to pull down Cicero’s house over his ears as Clodius had done after exiling Cicero fourteen years before. Aye, he felt himself possessed with the passion of all the rebels of the last generation — Catilina the anarchist, who had died in an effort to break the financial system; Clodius with his frantic oratory, a man whose personal resentments had deepened into a sense of universal outrage, even of savage pity for the oppressed and the enslaved.
All their anger was locked in his blood, sanctified and given furious purpose by the image of the Divine Caesar, the betrayed saviour.
Next morning he departed for his villa at Tibur, suffering the revulsion of his sick stomach; and Cicero appeared at the session under Dolabella’s presidency. He sought to defend himself and to soothe Antonius with as much vigour and suavity as his hurt dignity would allow.
Then there was a further lull while Antonius drank and debated at Tibur. On the 19th Antonius reappeared in the Senate and blackened Cicero with all the abuse that he could dredge up out of his agitated mind and heart.
Decimus Brutus had replied refusing to surrender Cisalpine Gaul.
Antonius placed a pedestal to Caesar’s statue on the Rostra inscribed To the All Deserving Father. The altar was raised anew.
By God, he’d show the traitors.
Let the ringleted boy twitter his best. Caesar’s son was not the person named in a will but the man who could match his strength with a mad world.
*
Gaius spent his time watching Lucius. He took pleasure in appearing suddenly behind him in corridors or doorways, speaking sharply into his ear, dogging him through the house, sometimes even waking him up in the middle of the night to make sure he was abed. “I thought you might have bought a spell to change yourself into a flea, so that you could suck a woman’s blood — guess whose? But beware, if she catches you between two fingernails, she’ll squeeze the guts out of you.”
Lucius and Fulvia were growing more careless, and Gaius surprised them once in a side-room. He darted across and held Lucius from rising, snatched up Fulvia’s hair and rubbed it over her face, then darted out of the room again. Lucius caught him later and told him that he’d have to stop his games.
“You stop yours first.”
“Don’t interfere. You can’t understand. I love her.”
“Tell Marcus then. He’d be only too glad to divorce her.”
“If you tell him I’ll kill you, Gaius. I won’t have it.”
“Very well then. You take her out of the way while I make a call on young Clodia.”
Against his will Lucius was bullied into helping Gaius. Gaius browbeat Bhebeo, who, feeling herself a lost creature whatever happened, gave up hope and sat in a corner with her apron thrown over her head while Gaius laughed and played with Clodia.
Lucius was now the wretched one. He knew that Fulvia would never forgive him if she found out. Once he mentioned Quintus Cicero to her.
“I won’t have him in the house,” she said, curtly, “though he’d done nothing when we caught him. Do you think I didn’t look at him closely? We were in time. Otherwise he wouldn’t have got off so easily.”
Land was her only interest nowadays. She wanted to buy and buy. Land, earth, that was something solid, a compensation. She wanted to buy Rome, Italy, the world. Earth, black and red soil breeding and rich with growth, bearing trees and corn, mother-earth, was the only possession. She kept the title deeds in an iron-bound box under the bed.
In his fear Lucius grew more heedless. He was rude with Antonius, making no pretence to act as an adviser, but bluntly telling him what to do. Antonius, however, now needed no urging. Ever since he had stood up publicly for Caesar’s deity and attacked Cicero, he gloried in his revolutionary speeches. He boasted whenever possible that he was the fulfiller of the work that Catilina had begun. Cicero, who had destroyed Catilina, was at last to meet an incomparably greater enemy of the capitalists. The day was coming when the poor would speak, and their word would deafen the lordly.
*
“The four legions will arrive at Brundisium soon. I’ll go and chase Decimus Brutus out of Italy.”
Fulvia uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again. She leant forwards.
“I agree with you now about destroying Octavianus. He’s unmanageable either as ally or as enemy. He’s got to go.”
Lucius nodded. “Fulvia and I have talked it over. We agree with you that he’s a nuisance and can’t be fitted into things.”
Antonius laughed heartily. “I thought you’d come round to sense if you knocked your heads together long enough.”
Gaius spoke moodily, lost in one of his passing fits of shame. “How’s it to be done? He’s getting very popular. All his name and promises of course.”
Antonius laughed again. “Action, my beloved brother. It’s only at Rome he has the material to cause trouble.”
Fulvia interposed. “Then you’ll have to accuse him of something. It can’t be done except legally.”
“I’ve no objection to accusing him. I’ll see to the verdict. What shall it be?”
“Breach of peace and attempted murder,” said Lucius. “I’ll produce the witnesses.”
“Murder then it is. Go ahead.”
Antonius felt no compunction. It wasn’t merely himself acting; it was the power that moved out from the army, the host of avengers. He, Antonius, was an integral part of that power; Octavianus, whispering with the conservatives, was an excrescence. All the murderers of Caesar also must die. He had sworn it. Life was magnificent again, for he had simplified it. Action was the test, and the voice of men gathering together.
He laughed to himself, startling the others. Even Fulvia looked at him for a long while, pressing her thighs together. Lucius, seated beside her, slowly thrust his hand up her sleeve as he was fond of doing; he trusted to the dim light not to be seen. But Gaius saw, and fretted with rage, cursing the fool who would surely be seen by Marcus, and yet wishing that a slave would unnoticed light a lamp and force Marcus to see.
Marcus saw nothing. He saw a legion marching through the room as down a roadway, swinging in time, five abreast, men banded for a common purpose. Justice to the oppressed and death to the traitors. That was a man’s work.
Next day he denounced Caesar’s murderers before a meeting of the people. He was happy, with none of his usual hesitations and incoherences in public speaking; for he was out in the open at last. Now let the boy speak with equal clearness, or make way. Antonius was the avenger, but Caesar’s heir was dilly-dallying, trying to bribe the populace with gifts and listening to conservative friends in the evening.
“Justice must be done!”
The tide of response from the people caught him up, swept him heavenwards on a perilous crest of exultation. Higher and higher. Nothing could withstand the shock. What did he care if the impact crushed him too? By God, he’d give the simple fellows of the world what they were asking for.
*
That afternoon Gallus was walking up the street on the Aventine where the fullery was situated. He was feeling fairly contented, for he was still the accepted lover of Cytheris, though there had been quarrels of a minor nature during the last weeks. But that would pass, he was sure; and today he had taken a fancy to see how the marriage of Amos was progressing. His own love and the love of Amos had grown entangled in his mind, and he felt that it would be a good omen for his affair if the marr
ied couple were happy in one another.
They were coming out of the fullery-entrance as he passed the baker’s shop next door — off to the market to buy a carpet. Things were going profitably, said Karni. The mother of Amos had insisted on giving her as a wedding present a complete set of copper cooking-utensils, though the cooking was mostly done by Rachel. It was customary among her people, the mother-in-law explained — or rather, Ezra had explained for her; for she was a quiet woman who had astonished everyone by her insistence on the copper cooking-utensils. Rachel was unpleasant. For some reason she disliked Karni and always walked out of the room backwards when she was present; she said she wasn’t taking any chances of being stabbed in the back, whatever she meant by that. However it was to the good, for no one expected Karni to enter the kitchen now, and once Rachel had fallen backwards down the stairs when Karni wasn’t even at home, and so, fortunately, couldn’t be blamed for pushing her: which was a judgment on her for perverting the way of walking that God had given her. It wasn’t as if she was a crab.
Amos listened with marital complacency, his face smilingly vacant and his tongue finding a tendency to hang out slightly. It was obvious that his admiration for Karni was boundless, and that he considered her responsible for Rachel’s fall even if she had been out of the house at the time.
Gallus felt vaguely homesick. Would he never know domestic sanctities?
They had entered a side-street, when Karni started, caught both of the men by the arm (she was walking between them), and uttered a squeak.
“What is it?” asked Amos, with uxorious importunity. “Has something come loose?”
His tone implied infinite condescension in ignoring Gallus who didn’t own a woman in whom things might or might not come loose. Karni pointed towards two men walking ahead.
“Look at that man’s leg. Those are my teeth marks.”
The eyes of Amos protruded with horror. What confession was he about to hear?
“The man I bit that came to kill the Queen,” said Karni, irritably. “That’s exactly where I bit him. It must be the same man.”
“It looks to me like a dog’s bite —” began Amos.
With a cry of indignation she darted forward to overtake the man.
“Stop her,” called Amos, in amazed misery, shaking his hands. “She’ll have us all killed. Stop her.”
But before they could catch her up, she had thumped the man on the back. Both men turned, and Karni confronted them with flashing eyes.
“You’re the man I bit in the leg,” she said to the taller man, with accusing finger. “I’d know that bite anywhere.”
The man, who showed the dully purple marks of a partially-healed bite on his calf under the fringe of his dirty tunic, looked at her ferociously.
“We don’t want any women. We’re married.”
“I’m the one that bit you,” said Karni, fearlessly. “And I’ll bite you again if you don’t look out.”
Amos groaned for the lunatic courage of women. He and Gallus had now come up; and Barcha and Blattius, beginning to feel frightened, assumed a more threatening air.
“Is this your woman? Take her home and drown her with the cat’s next litter of miaowling kittens, see! We haven’t any time to waste supplying her with drinks. She’s a cannibal, so she says.”
“She’s my wife,” implored Amos. “ She doesn’t know what she’s saying or doing.”
Barcha, seeing that he was the weakest of the opponents, promptly hit him in the face. Karni at once clawed him fiercely. Blattius tried to pull her off. Gallus came to the rescue and tried to pull Blattius off. Amos closed his eyes, so as to have an excuse for doing nothing; it was the pain, he said afterwards. A crowd gathered, applauding and hooting, then stood silent as a man with an air of official importance stepped through.
“I’m a viator of the tribunes,” he said, sternly. “What’s this fuss about?”
The combatants fell apart. Karni, Amos, Barcha, and Blattius all began to talk at once; and Gallus edged away. As he did so, he saw a slip of paper which had apparently fallen from one of the scufflers. Having a professional interest in manuscript, he stooped without thinking, picked up the paper, and glanced at the first lines. At once he pushed the paper into his sleeve-fold and looked at the two men whom Karni had assaulted. They certainly seemed desperadoes; taken up with the viator, they had not noticed the action of Gallus.
Blattius whispered aside to the viator, pressed something into his hand, and grinned. The viator announced in a loud, hectoring voice, “Here now, young woman, you’ll be seriously liable if you don’t keep the peace. I order you to let these law-abiding citizens depart without further molestation.”
Karni opened her mouth to protest, but Amos caught and held her with miserable appeal. “You mustn’t.” He placed his hand over her mouth. She bit it; but by this time Barcha and Blattius were moving rapidly off.
Noting a small street-boy, Gallus approached him. “Follow those two men, and find out where they live. I’ll wait in the tavern opposite. I’ll pay you well.”
The boy, after a shrewd glance at Gallus, sped away; and Gallus, cautiously drawing the paper from his sleeve, read it through carefully.
*
“So I waited in the tavern three hours and was starting to give up hope, when the boy returned with the names and addresses. There they are, and there’s the paper I picked up.”
Gallus pointed to the paper in the hands of Octavianus, and Octavianus studied it again.
“It’s no more than I expected. I heard this morning that Antonius had begun a rumour that I meant to assassinate him. I wondered what was coming.”
He looked at the paper and read it out as if wishing to imprint it on his memory:
Learn by heart and destroy.
Bribed to kill M. A.
You met O. in small room on left of courtyard at back of his house, in evening after dusk two days ago, entering through wooden gate in the stone wall at the back. Afternoon of Oct. 2nd. He was at home that afternoon. So don’t shift the date. In the room is a table and cupboard. Mention that to convey effect you were really there.
You were to organise scuffle at next Contio and stab consul when coming down from the Rostra. Reward 100,000 sesterces each.
Learn this and don’t vary it when questioned.
Say conscience overcame you, and love of Divine Caesar whose champion M. A. is.
If asked how you first got in touch with O., say that a friend of yours — invent a name, but don’t change it once you fix on it — came to you and said he’d been approached by Agrippa. Say you don’t know where to find him, but believe he’s gone off to brigands in Pomptine marshes.
Don’t vary this story.
Destroy this as soon as you’ve learned all the details by heart.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “I think my life is worth saving. We’ll see anyway, my friend — if you will allow me that title.”
“I’ll deserve it,” said Gallus. “I’ll tell you the truth. I only brought that paper because I hate Antonius; but now that I’ve brought it, I’m glad for other reasons.”
For the first time he realised the tumult of affairs about him as really happening. Till now they had seemed only the act of demented creatures shut out from his secret purposes of love and poetry; but looking on the strained, pale face of Octavianus, he felt something else. He saw the cry of mankind for a leader, for a master who would be sane and balanced; and he felt the pity of that cry, for its urgency would perpetually defeat itself. The sick hearts that longed for sanity could only be led by someone half mad like themselves; and he knew that the slight and graceful young man before him heard that cry night and day, and longed to answer it, and perhaps would bring some solace and ordering to the broken world, and perhaps would die in futile struggle. And somehow the love of Gallus for Cytheris, and all that he had found so devastatingly momentous, seemed very trivial, very small.
Octavianus folded the paper and unfolded it; then he to
ok up the slip on which Gallus had written the address of Barcha and Blattius.
“What are you going to do?” asked Gallus, curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I’m trying to learn a lesson from my enemy. He isn’t squeamish. Yes, I think it’s better these two rogues die than myself.”
Gallus bowed and turned to go.
“Come back and see me again soon,” said Octavianus. “I haven’t many friends.”
When Gallus had gone he sat for a long while looking at the paper. Then he called a slave and asked for Agrippa.
*
There was despair in the tenement apartment of Barcha. He and Blattius had spent the rest of the afternoon searching in vain for the lost paper; for the loss had been discovered as soon as they reached home. Now they were drinking cheap Vatican, afraid to talk too loudly; for the walls were not thick. So there was little they could do but abuse Barcha’s wife. They could shout at her and no one in the other rooms would notice anything unusual. They shouted. It was the only relief to their feelings they had.
Blattius had been sleeping in the apartment since the night of the unsuccessful attack on Cleopatra, and looked on the woman as almost his own property as much as Barcha’s. He was as loud-mouthed in abuse. The woman moved from one of the small rooms to the other, at the shouted curses and commands, trying to obey both men quickly.
“Are you sure you haven’t got it somewhere about your clothes?” asked Barcha for the hundredth time, reverting to the problem of the paper.
Blattius leaped to his feet. “Haven’t I told you I’ve looked? Search me then!” He pulled off his tunic and shift, kicked off his sandals, and threw them all at Barcha in a bundle. “Have a look yourself.”
“You’re not at the Baths,” said Barcha. “Put your clothes on in front of my wife.”
“I won’t,” roared Blattius, who had been slowly working himself into a state of rage against Barcha for days; the man made it so obvious that he had a wife; Blattius hadn’t been able to sleep properly since he lodged in the room.
He turned to the quailing woman. “Don’t you think I’m a better figure of a man than that barrel of a husband of yours? You ought to put him in the frying-pan and melt some of that fat out.”