SPQR III: the sacrilege (17 page)

"Yes, and to begin arrangements for my own. My father enjoined a
munera
upon me in his will. Since I've been old enough to celebrate them, I've been away from Rome. This is the first time I've had a chance to discharge the obligation, and I mean to get it out of the way before I'm sent off to another war someplace." He was another of those men who had chosen foreign soldiering as a career and considered domestic civil service an onerous duty. I was precisely the opposite. My Greek friend had mistaken him for a youth because of his exquisite, almost feminine Cornelian features. Actually, he was no more than a year younger than I.

"I understand Pompey is adding an Etruscan element to his
munera
," I said. Faustus had been watching the fighters practice, but now he glanced toward me sharply.

"What do you mean by that?"

"A friend saw some of his Etruscan priests here yesterday."

"They are just soothsayers," he said quickly. "They'll have nothing to do with the fights. They said they could ensure a better show by rejecting unlucky swordsmen."

"It seems to me," I said, "that some of them will have to be unlucky, or it won't be much of a show."

"I don't think that's what they meant," Faustus said.

We were interrupted when Statilius Taurus himself arrived to take charge of his distinguished visitor. I took my leave of them and retrieved Hermes.

"Who's that?" the boy said, jerking his chin toward Faustus.

"Faustus Cornelius Sulla, only living son of the Dictator," I informed him.

"Oh," Hermes said, disappointed. Doubtless he would have preferred some illustrious criminal. Well, there were plenty of those to go around, too. I decided to call on one of them.

It took some asking, but I finally tracked Milo down in a massive warehouse near the river. His guard at the door let me pass the instant he recognized me. I was one of perhaps five or six men who had access to Titus Annius Milo at any hour of the day or night.

Inside the warehouse, the scene was not greatly different from the one I had left at the
ludus
. Milo was drilling his men in some of the finer points of street-brawling. He had shed toga and dignity, and stood in his tunic while men circled him warily with clubs and knives. Hermes gasped when a man darted in and swung a club at Milo's head. Milo didn't duck the weapon like any ordinary man. He caught it instead and it made a noisy clack hitting his palm. I think Milo could have caught a sword that way. His years at the oar had given him palms as hard as the brazen shield of Achilles, and somehow they stayed that way all his life. His other hand grasped the front of the man's tunic and with a fierce wrench sent him careening into another who was approaching with a knife. Both men collapsed in a heap. Milo never carried a weapon and never needed one.

"That was good," he said. "Let's try another."

"No fair, Chief," said a gap-toothed Gaul. "The rest of us can't catch weapons like that."

"Then I'll teach you something you can use," Milo said, grinning. "Line up in two teams, facing one another." The men did so. "Now, the idea is, you just defend yourself against the man directly in front of you, but keep aware of the man fighting your comrade on the right or left. The moment he leaves himself open, turn and get him. You'll usually have your chance when he attacks the man before him. Move quickly. He won't see you coming, and the man you're engaged with won't be expecting the move. Come back to guard instantly, and he won't be able to take advantage of it. Now let's see you try it."

The two groups went at it with relish, and Hermes cheered every smack of wood against flesh. These men were inveterate brawlers and they actually enjoyed the exercise. Ever since the Gracchi, mob violence had been a common fact of Roman political life. With his usual cold-blooded realism, Milo was polishing his men's technique the way Caesar or Cicero would polish a speech. When he was satisfied with their performance, he came over to me.

"They're shaping up," he said grudgingly.

"They look fierce enough," I acknowledged.

"Ferocity is common. Clodius's gang is plenty fierce. It's concerted action that wins big fights. The gladiators only know single combat and the brawlers never think past their own knuckles. I need a street army and I intend to have one."

"You had better be careful, Titus," I cautioned. "A few words in the wrong ears could get you charged with insurrection."

"I have Cicero and a good many others working on my behalf," he said. "For every Senator who wants to see me brought down, there's an enemy of Clodius who sees me as the savior of Rome."

"Cicero is not in high favor just now," I warned, "and when Pompey comes back into the city in a couple of days, he'll be the power in Rome until new alliances can be formed."

"Thanks for your concern," Milo said, "but I've been working hard for years to arrange the sort of support I need. I feel secure for the time being."

"As you will," I said. "Titus, I need to know what sort of naughtiness Mamercus Capito might have been up to.

"I can tell you right now," he interrupted. "Nothing. I looked into it as soon as I learned he was murdered. He had no meaningful contacts among the Roman underworld, which is to say, my own colleagues. As far as I was able to learn, he wasn't taking bribes beyond the acceptable limits. He had a few silent partners, mostly his freedmen, running businesses for him, since as a patrician he couldn't be officially involved. They insist that he had no business enemies with cause to kill him. He must have been murdered for personal or political reasons. Your Senate contacts will know more about how he voted in the Senate than I."

"You've saved me a great deal of time," I told him.

"Then perhaps you can employ it in my behalf. Have you spoken with the lady yet?"

"No, but I go from here to the house of Lucullus. With luck, I'll get there in time for lunch."

"Enjoy yourself, but be eloquent."

"I'll do my best, which if I may say so is considerable. By an odd coincidence, I've just met with her brother at the Statilian School. The resemblance is striking, and I'm told they both greatly resemble the old Dictator. I'm afraid he's Pompey's man, though."

"That's unfortunate. I hope I don't fall afoul of him, since I intend to be his brother-in-law."

"Matrimony is often a perilous enterprise," I told him.

Hermes and I left, stepping over the writhing or inert bodies of thugs who had been practicing all too seriously. My slave was inordinately excited by the whole experience.

"Why don't you sell me to him, master?" he said. "I think I'd enjoy belonging to Milo."

"If he ever offends me mortally, I'll give you to him as a gift," I assured the boy.

I arrived at the house of Lucullus a little late for the full lunch ceremony, but a place was made for me at the table as the last course arrived, and that was far more than I could possibly eat even with the aid of the gods. I moderated my wine intake since I was to be doing some important negotiating later on.

Because I was not an invited guest, I did not feel that I could rightfully impose myself on Lucullus, but I lagged behind while the others took their leave, which all did very shortly after the meal. Luncheon was still so new that a routine for socializing afterward had not yet been developed. Before long, I was sitting with Lucullus in his garden while his slaves dug in the huge planting-beds, readying them for the spring.

"Does this involve the investigation Celer is being so sly about?" Lucullus asked. "If so, I fear I would be of little help. My wife is a Claudian first, like the rest of her family. She would never tell me anything that might get her dear little brother into trouble."

A server poured us wine from a golden pitcher. I sipped at it. It was Caecuban, of a vintage most men would have saved for the celebration of a victory, and only faintly cut with rose-scented water.

"No; for a change I come on an amatory mission."

His eyebrows went up. "On your own behalf?"

"On behalf of a friend. Titus Annius Milo."

Lucullus sat back and stroked his chin. "Milo. A rising man, sure to be a power in Rome in the future, if he doesn't find an early grave first."

"That grave awaits us all," I said.

"How true. And just who might be the object of that formidable man's affections?"

"Your ward, Fausta. He met her here a few days ago and was immediately felled by Cupid." I sipped again at the excellent wine. This was a new activity for me.

"I am amazed that anything can fell Milo. He is of doubtful birth," Lucullus pointed out, "and his activities are little more than criminal."

"As to his birth, he has been from birth a Roman citizen, and there is no higher birth than that."

Lucullus clapped his hands. "Bravo. If this were one of the popular assemblies, I should rise to my feet and cheer."

"If his activities lack a certain gentility, is it more respectable to slaughter foreigners than to brawl in the streets of Rome? Besides, once he has come to great prominence in the state, his youthful excesses will be forgotten, as is always the case. Look at Crassus. At Sulla, even. Both of them were abhorred as degenerate young reprobates, but the highest elements in Rome were kissing their backsides soon enough. Just wait. Soon all Rome will be puckering up for Titus Milo."

"I'll admit he couldn't have sent a better man to press his suit. I almost want to marry the rogue myself now."

"Then you will allow him to pay court to Fausta?" I said.

"There is a small but significant difficulty," he said.

"What might that be?"

"A frog croaking in my fishpond has as much influence with her as I have. I am the executor of her father's will, but she doesn't think that extends to her person, whatever the law might say. She is a Cornelia, and a daughter of Sulla, and she is not about to submit herself to a mere Licinius like me. We get along well enough, but that's about all. She gets on better with Claudia, and that's a bad sign. But if Milo is willing to risk his future happiness with a haughty demigoddess of a Cornelia, he has my permission to chance it."

"Might I speak with her?" I asked.

"I'll send for her, but I can promise you nothing beyond that." He raised a hand so slightly that it might have been mistaken for an involuntary twitch. But his slaves were sensitive enough to detect his slightest wish. One came running and all but prostrated himself. "Tell the lady Fausta she has a visitor in the garden," Lucullus murmured. The man dashed off with winged heels.

Lucullus rose. "I wish you the best of fortune, Decius. The woman is self-willed, but not without a certain intelligence. She regards the sort of men I favor as too dull to hold her interest. If any man could strike her fancy, I suppose it would have to be someone like Milo."

He left me in the garden, leaving likewise the golden pitcher. I helped myself to another cup. Caecuban like that didn't come my way every day. While I waited for Fausta I lazed back in my chair, trying to imagine what it would be like living as Lucullus did. Without turning my head very far, I could see at least fifty slaves working in the garden. This, I knew, was only a fraction of his household staff. The table was fine porphyry, and the pitcher that sat on it was solid gold. It looked as if it would weigh more empty than a common pitcher when full. I determined to empty it and find out.

What must it be like, I thought, to pass a particularly lovely spot when traveling between, say, Rome and Brundisium, decide that you fancy the place, turn to your steward and say: "Buy all the land for ten miles around and build me a villa there." And then pass by a year later and see a mansion the size of a middling town, fully landscaped, decorated with the pick of the loot of Greece and Asia, and ready for you to move in if you should feel like resting from your trip. I thought this seemed like an extremely pleasant way to live. The problem was that the only way to amass such wealth was to conquer some extremely rich kings, as Lucullus had.

By the time Fausta arrived, a warm, fuzzy mantle had settled over the world. It was truly excellent Caecuban.

"I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Decius Caecilius." She was no less beautiful than when I had seen her before, dressed in a gown of saffron linen over which she had thrown a brief pallium of fine white wool.

"I came unannounced," I said as I rose, "and to wait in the house of Lucullus is to live like a king. Who can complain of that?" A slave hovered nearby with a tray, from which I seized a goblet which I filled for her. The old rules against women drinking with men were fast fading, especially for informal occasions such as this. Ordinary rules never applied to women like Fausta in any case.

"Thank you," she said, taking the cup but not drinking. "Word is spreading that you are investigating the profanation of the rites. Is that why you are here?"

"I am hurt," I said. "Everyone thinks that all I do is snoop. Actually, nothing could be further from my thoughts at this moment." This was not strictly true. "Actually, I come in the guise of Cupid."

"A marriage proposal?" she said coolly. "I had heard that you were not married." The idea seemed to interest her about as much as looking for toads under rocks.

"Not at all. If that had been the case, my father would have called upon your guardian. No, I come on behalf of my good friend, Titus Annius Milo Papianus. He met you here a few days ago and was smitten, as might any man have been."

Instantly, she grew more animated. "Milo! He is no ordinary man, to be sure. I found him fascinating. But his family is unknown to me. He has an adoptive name. How did that come about?"

"His father was Caius Papius Celsus, a landholder from the south. When he came to Rome he had himself adopted by his maternal grandfather, Titus Annius Luscus. This was strictly for political reasons, so that he would have city residency and membership in an urban tribe." At least this was simple. A patrician pedigree might have forced me to drone on for an hour.

"But the rural tribes are more respectable," she pointed out. "All the best families belong to rural tribes."