He waved his hand dismissively. "One sees things, hears things." "How?"
"One has eyes and ears." "Spies, you mean."
He shrugged. "Let us say that very little happens here on the Palatine that escapes my notice. But there are places where my eyes and ears can't go. Not safely, anyway. Not without being noticed."
"Such as a contio held by three radical tribunes to stir up the mob?"
"Three?"
"Pompeius, Plancus, Sallust."
"Sallust as well? I thought he might have come to his senses by now."
Cicero thoughtfully tapped his chin.
"Not a good sign," said Caelius. "Sallust is the cautious one. If he's decided to start stirring up riots with the others — "
"They didn't incite a riot," I said. "It ended with a march on Lepidus's house."
"A march?" said Cicero. "It may have begun that way, but by the time they arrived it was an all-out assault!" He stood and began to pace. He suddenly looked weary. "You didn't witness the attack yourself, Gordianus?"
"Of course not. I went home and bolted my doors."
"Then I'll tell you what happened. The rabble marched up the Palatine and joined their fellows at the barricade, then altogether they rushed the house of Lepidus and broke down the door. They used jiving stones they'd pulled up from the street. They broke the lock and smashed the bolt into splinters. Make note of that, Gordianus, the next time you bolt your door at night and lie down to sleep, thinking you're safe: no man's house is secure if there's a mob determined to get inside. They ransacked the place. Overturned the busts of Lepidus's ancestors, smashed furniture, tore apart the ceremonial looms in the hall — so much for the patrician ladies spinning an orderly pattern for the future of Rome. The poor women ran screaming in fright.
"The mob probably intended to seize Lepidus and force him to conduct some sort of mock election right there on the spot. Not much doubt which candidates that rabble would have chosen, is there? Hypsaeus and Scipio, Clodius's old allies. As if such proceedings could carry any authority at all! The gods help Rome when the day comes that men are chosen to head the state at the whim of a raging mob!
"Fortunately, Milo was ready." Cicero tapped his skull. "Always thinking, ever vigilant! Milo expected that something like this might occur on the last day of Lepidus's interregnum, so he arranged to have his own men assembled in a side street, out of sight. When the attack on the house began, they rallied and mounted a counterattack from the rear. There was quite a battle, and no little amount of bloodshed. But needless to say, the Clodian rabble quickly scattered and fled. Their type is useless in a man-to-man fight. Milo's men found Lepidus locked away in an upstairs room with his wife and daughters, all ready to slash their wrists. Can you imagine? An interrex of Rome was on the verge of killing himself rather than be torn apart by a mob of slaves and freedmen, and the women of his house were preparing to die rather than be raped by such men. I tell you, even in the darkest days of the civil war, there was never such a shame on the republic! And once again it was Milo who came to the rescue. But what chance is there that his foresight and vigilance will be recognized, let alone rewarded as they should be? If ever a man deserved to be consul…"
Cicero seemed to speak from the heart, sincerely outraged by the attack on Lepidus, sincerely in awe of his friend's patriotic zeaL But of course, I reminded myself, it was a part of his profession to be able to speak without apparent artifice, to strike the heartfelt tone, to stir emotions in his listeners against their will.
I cleared my throat "Is it true, what they say about Milo and Pompey?"
Cicero frowned and looked puzzled at the sudden change of subject. Caelius raised a curious eyebrow.
"Has Pompey also become a menace to the state?" I said. "Is that why Milo's plotting to do away with him, as Clodius was done away with — for the good of Rome? Does he intend to strangle the general 'with his own bare hands'? No wonder Pompey won't allow him into his villa."
Cicero's frown deepened. "Is that what was said at the contio today?"
I nodded. "That's what really stirred up the mob. They said that Milo paid a call on Pompey, and Pompey refused to see him. It was implied that Pompey fears for his life, and with good reason."
"What?" Cicero was aghast, or pretended to be.
"I quote the tribune Pompeius: 'It was Milo who provided a body to be cremated in the Senate House, and it's Milo who'll provide another body to be buried on the Capitoline Hill.'"
"Absurd!" There certainly seemed to be nothing theatrical or premeditated in the way Cicero spat out the word. "Those rabble-rousers will say anything, and the idiots will believe it! The audience for the contio, Gordianus — did it seem to you that it was made up of hand-picked supporters, packed with Clodian sympathizers?"
"Not particularly. There were dissenting voices in the crowd. It was a mixed group. A great many people of all sorts were interested to hear what the tribunes had to say. I was there myself."
"And yet the crowd was swayed by such nonsense?"
"More than swayed, Cicero, from what you've told me of the attack on Lepidus's house. It's completely false, then, what they're saying about Milo and Pompey?"
"Of course!"
"Yes, well, perhaps not completely false," said Marcus Caelius, raising an eyebrow at me and then casting an imperturbable, catlike gaze at his agitated mentor. "Well, Cicero, Gordianus has been candid with us. He deserves our candour in return. The fact is that Milo did attempt to pay a call on Pompey, and Pompey rebuffed him. It was a miscalculation on Milo's part, if you ask me. He felt obliged to seek the Great One's blessing. He should have known better. But our Milo is a simple man simple in the virtuous sense, as our ancestors supposedly were. Having done Pompey so many favours in the past, Milo assumed that the Great One would feel obliged to return those favours now that Milo is in dire straits. Think again! So the radical tribunes knew about the rebuff?"
I nodded. "How did Sallust put it?' Pompey sent the scoundrel a roundabout message asking him to refrain from calling again, so as to spare Pompey the embarrassment of refusing to see him again.' "
"You've always had an excellent memory for words," said Cicero quietly.
"Indeed," said Caelius, "you could make Tiro's shorthand obsolete!" He turned to Cicero. "But how did Sallust and the rest find out about Pompey's message? It was sent in secret, and to this house, not directly to Milo."
"Perhaps Pompey wasn't as discreet as he wanted us to think," said Cicero. "Easy enough, to whisper the news from ear to ear until the tribunes knew about it. Pompey is like everyone else at the moment. He's testing the waters."
Caelius turned back to me. "And what did Sallust and the other tribunes say about the subsequent exchange of messages between Milo and Pompey?"
I shook my head. "They only mentioned the visit and Pompey's rebuff."
"Well then, perhaps Pompey is being discreet after all," said Caelius. "You see, Gordianus, Milo was quite shaken when Pompey refused his visit When he received Pompey's message declining any further visits, Milo sent Pompey a message in return, begging him to reconsider and offering — "
"Caelius!" said Cicero.
"But we might as well tell Gordianus everything," insisted Caelius. "Well, then: Milo offered to quit the race for consul if Pompey wanted him to. 'A word from you, Pompey Magnus, and for the good of Rome I will abandon my ambitions to serve her.' Of course he was really fishing for some backhanded encouragement — 'No, no, dear fellow, politics prevents me from receiving your visit, but of course you must run!' But that's not what he got."
"What did Pompey say?"
"The Great One is apparently too far above the fray to be bothered with Milo's petty ambitions. He sent back a curt reply: 'It is not for me to say who can or cannot stand for office. I would never dream of imposing my opinion on the Roman people, who are quite capable of making their own judgment without my advice.' Cold, cold! As chilly as the rain that's coming down."
Cicero shook his hea
d. "They weren't small favours, the sacrifices Milo made for Pompey over the years. But now that Milo's in trouble and Clodius is no longer a threat, Pompey can't cut his ties to Milo fast enough!"
"Pompey may yet come around, if he can be made to see that it's in his interest," said Caelius.
"We can't count on that," said Cicero. "Milo will have to make his move without Pompey's support."
Caelius nodded. "I agree. Word will spread tonight about the rescue of Lepidus. That will count in Milo's favour; Milo stands for order and tradition against the lawless mob. And we shouldn't underestimate the resentment that decent people feel against the Clodians for burning the Senate House. I think we can count on a favourable crowd tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I said.
Caelius smiled. "Another contio, this time called by me. Be sure to come, Gordianus. We shall fight fire with fire." "You don't mean that literally, I hope." Caelius laughed.
VIII
Eco called on me early the next morning, brimming with news.
"Papa, have you heard what happened at Lepidus's house yesterday, after the contio?"
"Yes."
"Quite a battle, apparently. Blood all over Lepidus's house, they say. His ancestral busts ruined beyond repair. The yarn for the ceremonial looms all a tangled mess. But now he'll always be known as the interrex who held firm against the mob — he got his five days of fame!"
"We were damned lucky the violence didn't start down in the Forum, while we were still in that crowd. What if Milo's little army had shown up there, instead of waiting in ambush at Lepidus's house? I'm an old man, Eco. I can't outrun a mob."
"No one forced you to go to the contio, Papa."
I grunted.
"Don't you trust my new bodyguards?"
I grunted again. "I suppose the senatorial committee will choose a new interrex today."
"That's the word. No one knows where they're meeting-probably outside the city. They've kept the location secret, afraid of another blockade or a battle. The new interrex will have the authority to call elections, but with things so unsettled it seems unlikely that well actually see new consuls in the next five days. Oh, and speaking of unsettled, there's to be another contio today, this one — "
"Called by the not-so-radical tribune Marcus Caelius."
"Yes, and they say that — "
"Milo himself may speak."
Eco looked at me archly. "Papa, you're remarkably well informed for a man who never sets foot in the Forum unless I drag you there. Something tells me you've been in touch with Cicero again. Tell me everything."
I gave him the details of my visit to Cicero's house on the previous day.
Eco drew his own conclusions. "Pompey's behaving like a bastard, isn't he?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"What a back-stabber! Milo was his ally for years, and now — "
"Ah, but little things like murder can sour even the sincerest relationships. If Milo killed Clodius, just how far do Pompey's obligations of friendship extend?"
Eco looked at me quizzically. "Why do you say 'if?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said, 'If Milo killed Clodius.' "
"Oh. I suppose I did…"
"Well, I don't see why you defend Pompey. This 'little thing' — this murder — seems only to have strengthened Cicero's support ofMilo."
"Yes, one can't fault Cicero's loyalty."
"I suppose it's because they're so much alike."
"Cicero and Milo?" I thought of Cicero — frail in youth, dyspeptic in middle age, shrewd, calculating, a model of taste and refinement — and then of Milo, who seemed quite the opposite, with his robust, bullish physique, his bluff manner, and a rough edge to his character that no amount of money or education had ever managed to smooth away. "Alike in what ways, Eco?"
"Well, they're the two brightest of the New Men, aren't they, the two shiniest new stars in the firmament? Or they would be, if Milo could ever get himself elected consul."
Eco had a point. Cicero had been the first of his family to attain a magistracy. He had been born with money and means, to be sure, but none of his ancestors had ever held high office. With his election as a quaestor at the age of thirty, he had become, as the parlance goes, a New Man in the halls of power. This in itself was a great achievement. But Cicero's ascent had not ended with the lower magistracies; he had worked his way all the way up to consul. This was truly remarkable. As a rule the consulship is attained only by candidates already of consular family, men whose ancestors held the consulship before them. Thus do the high nobility, by various traps and schemes, perpetuate their status and exclude newcomers. But against all odds Cicero had attained the consulship, and he was the first New Man of his generation to do so.
Milo was also a New Man. If he became consul he would be only the second New Man in living memory, after Cicero, to do so.
"I see what you mean, Eco. I suppose they see themselves as the only two members of a very exclusive club. They've risen above their birth — "
"So that they can now look down on people like you and me from a comfortable height."
"But they're still outsiders and interlopers to the old aristocratic families who were born to privilege and great expectations."
"Like their mutual enemy Clodius."
"Or Pompey," I noted. "Or Caesar."
"So it's all the better that they're so different on the outside," said Eco. "They get to play each other's alter ego."
"Cicero and Milo, alter egos?.Well, Cicero certainly seems determined to stand by Milo, no matter what he's done, whether the mob likes it or not. And whether Pompey likes it or not, for that matter."
"But to what end?" said Eco.
For my decision to attend Caelius's contio that day, I have no one to blame but myself
The event attracted a considerable crowd — even larger than the crowd that had attended the radical tribunes' contio the previous day. The news of the battle at Lepidus's house had made people even more restless and anxious. As I have said, in times of duress Romans gather by instinct in large groups to listen to speeches.
With Eco's bodyguards helping to clear the way, we managed to find a good spot in front of the speakers' platform, despite the crush. I peered at the sea of faces around us, trying to judge the temper of the crowd. I noticed a number of stuffy, conservative types, men of means attended by large retinues of bodyguards and retainers, dressed in immaculate togas spun from superior wool. Eco pointed to such a specimen nearby.
"Businessman," he said.
"Banker," I countered, merely for the sake of argument. "Pro-Milo?"
"Anti-Clodius, more likely. And probably more outraged by the burning of the Porcian Basilica than the loss of the Senate House."
Eco nodded. "Probably impressed that Milo's men saved Marcus Lepidus."
"Probably hopes there'll be someone to do the same for him if the mob ever attacks his house."
"But is Milo the man for him?"
"Maybe that's what he's here to decide."
More numerous than the wealthy traders and bankers in the crowd were citizens of more modest appearance, who might have been small shopkeepers or craftsmen or free labourers. Eco nodded in the direction of such a man nearby, a glum-looking fellow attended by a single slave and dressed in a toga with a worn hem. "That one looks to have less to lose than our banker friend."
"And less to start with. A fire in his apartment block could wipe him out completely."
"Well, if the worst happened, he needn't go hungry. There's always the grain dole that Clodius established."
I shook my head. "People like him want the state to give them order, more than they want a grain dole. He craves stability no less than our banker friend."
"Do you think that's why he's here? Looking for law and order?"
"Why not?"
"Let's find out." Eco took my arm and together we slid through the crowd, to the consternation of Eco's bodyguards, who were hard pressed to follow.
"Citizen," said Eco, "don't I know you?"
The man looked at Eco appraisingly. "I don't think so."
"Yes, I'm almost certain we frequent the same tavern. You know, that little place-"
"The Three Dolphins?"
"That's it! Yes, I'm sure we've spoken before."
"Maybe." The man's glum expression lightened a bit.
"Oh, you remember, we once had quite a laugh — you know, at that funny fellow who works there…"
"Gaius, you mean? Yes, he's an odd one." The man chuckled.
"And of course…" Eco gestured with his hands to suggest an ample bosom.
The man flashed a crooked smile and nodded. "Ah, the old man's daughter. The one he claims is still a virgin. Ha!"
Eco discreetly tapped his foot against mine, as if to say: The fish is hooked. Gaining the confidence of a total stranger is one of the tricks that Eco learned from me, and he likes to show off to his teacher. I saw him glance quickly at the man's hands, appraising the chapped fingertips and the red stain under the fingernails. "Do you still work as a cloth dyer?"
"What else? Washing and dyeing, washing and dyeing. Over in the Street of the Fullers. Every day for more than twenty years now."
"Is that right?" Eco lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "Say, how much did they give you?"
"What?"
"This morning. You know what I mean. How much did Milo's men give you?"
The fuller looked at Eco and then glanced warily at me.
"It's all right," said Eco. "The fellow's with me. He's a harmless mute."
I discreetly kicked Eco's ankle. This was a private joke — it was Eco who had once been a mute, not me. Now he had effectively prevented me from saying a word.
"So how much did they give you?" said Eco again.
"Same as everyone else, I imagine," said the fuller.
"Yes, but how much?"
"Well, I never like to say exactly. But enough." The man tapped at a purse tucked away in his toga and produced a muffled clink. "And a promise for quite a bit more if I’ll vote for him when the time comes. And you?"
"A hundred sesterces," said Eco.
A murder on the Appian way rsr-5 Page 10