“No good’s already come to this poor fellow!”
To Kaeso’s eye, Titus Potitius, the son of the deceased paterfamilias, looked only slightly younger than his father.
“So you see,” said Potitius, “as far as I was able to figure out, you must have been one of the last people to see him alive. Papa told one of the slaves he would be stopping here on his way home, but he didn’t say why. It’s a bit of puzzle how he came to have so much money on him. No one has a clue as to where he got that bag of coins.”
The two of them sat in the tiny garden of Kaeso’s new house. There was no innuendo or suspicion in Potitius’s voice; he sounded like a bereaved son who simply wanted to learn all he could about his father’s final hours. Still, Kaeso felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. He chose his words carefully and spoke in what he hoped was a suitably commiserating tone of voice.
“It’s true, your father paid us a brief visit that day. He and I had met briefly once before, at the house of Appius Claudius. It was very considerate of him to come by and congratulate us on our nuptials.”
“Such a nice old fellow,” remarked Galeria, who sat nearby with her spindle and distaff, spinning wool with the assistance of her slave girl. Galeria had many old-fashioned virtues, but keeping silent was not one of them, and the house was too small for Kaeso to conduct a conversation out of her hearing. “He seemed very fond of you, Kaeso.”
Potitius smiled. “I can see why Papa might have taken a liking to you. You probably reminded him of cousin Marcus.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, the resemblance is quite striking. And Papa was very sentimental. And…he wasn’t above imposing on people. He didn’t…” Potitius lowered his eyes. “He didn’t by any chance ask you for money, did he? I’m afraid Papa had a bad habit of asking for loans, even from people he barely knew.”
“Of course not!”
Potitius sighed. “Ah, well, I had to ask. I’m still tracking down his unpaid debts. Where he acquired that bag of coins may remain a mystery.”
Kaeso nodded sympathetically. Clearly, the younger Titus Potitius knew nothing of his father’s scheme to extort money from him. And yet, the man’s fretting over the bag of coins, and his remark about Kaeso’s resemblance to a kinsman, made Kaeso uneasy.
Kaeso took a deep breath. The flutter in his chest subsided. As had occurred in the early hours of his wedding day, a resolution came to him, and with it a sense of peace.
He looked earnestly at Potitius. “Like my dear friend Appius Claudius, I’m moved by your family’s plight. That one of Roma’s most ancient families should have dwindled so greatly in numbers and fallen into such poverty should be a cause for concern to all the city’s patricians. We of the old families squabble too much among ourselves, when we should be looking out for one another. I’m only a young man, and I have very little influence—”
“You underestimate yourself, Kaeso. You have the ear of both Quintus Fabius and Appius Claudius. Not many men in Roma can say that.”
“I suppose that’s true. And I should like to do what I can to help the Potitii.”
“I would be very grateful for any assistance you can give us.” Potitius sighed. “The duties of paterfamilias weigh heavily upon me!”
“Perhaps I can help to relieve that burden, if only a little. Upon my recommendation, my cousin Quintus might be able to secure positions for some for your kinsman, and so might the censor. You and I should meet again, Titus, over a bit of food and wine.”
“I would be honored,” said Potitius. “My house is hardly worthy to receive you, but if you and your wife would accept an invitation to dinner…”
And so Kaeso began to insinuate himself into the household, and into the trust, of the new paterfamilias of the Potitii.
311 B.C.
The new fountain at the terminus of the aqueduct was not merely the largest fountain in all of Roma, but a splendid work of art. The shallow, elevated pool into which the water would spill was a circle fifteen feet in diameter. In the center, from the mouths of three river sprites magnificently carved from stone, water would continuously jet into the pool.
Many of the city’s most distinguished citizens had gathered to witness the inauguration of the fountain. Chief among them was Appius Claudius, smiling broadly and looking resplendent in his purple censor’s toga. Quintus Fabius was also there, exhibiting his perpetual scowl. He had agreed to attend only begrudgingly, and Kaeso felt obligated to stand next to him.
The auspices had been taken; the augur had spotted several river-fowl wheeling over the nearby Tiber, a sure sign of the gods’ favor. There was a lull in the festivities while the engineers made ready to open the valves. Quintus began to grumble.
“So this is your friend Claudius’s excuse for hanging on as censor, well past his legal term—a fountain!”
Kaeso pursed his lips. “Claudius argued that his work on the aqueduct and the road is too important to be interrupted. He asked to continue as censor. The Senate agreed.”
“Only because Claudius has packed the Senate with his minions! He’s as devious and headstrong as his ancestors and just as dangerous. For his own selfish ends, he’s caused a political crisis in the city.” Quintus shook his head. “These so-called grand projects of his are merely a diversion while he continues to press for the implementation of his radical voting schemes. He won’t rest until he’s made the Roman republic into a Greek democracy ruled by a demagogue like himself—a disaster that will never happen as long as I have a breath in my body.”
“Please, cousin! We’re here to celebrate a feat of Roman engineering, not to argue politics. Surely the aqueduct is something we can all be proud of.”
Quintus grunted in reply. His frown abruptly softened. “How is the little one?”
Kaeso smiled. Galeria had become pregnant very soon after their wedding, and had recently given birth to a son. Kaeso knew that Quintus would be pleased, but he had been surprised at how avidly his cousin doted on the baby.
“Little Kaeso is in good health. He loves the gourd rattle you gave him, and all the other toys.”
Quintus nodded. “Good! He’s very bright and alert, that one. With those lungs of his, he’ll make a powerful orator someday.”
“He can certainly make himself heard,” agreed Kaeso.
Claudius mounted a platform and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Citizens! We are almost ready to fill the fountain. But first, if you will indulge me, I should like to say a few words about how this marvelous feat of engineering was achieved.” He proceeded to discourse on the importance of water to the growing city, recalled the flash of insight that had inspired him to commence planning the aqueduct, and recounted a few anecdotes about the construction. His speech, delivered from memory, was full of puns and clever turns of phrase. Even Quintus grunted an involuntary laugh at some of his witticisms.
“There are many, many men who must be thanked for their contributions to this great enterprise,” said Claudius. “Lest I forget a single one of them, I have written them down.” Claudius proceeded to read the names. Kaeso was flattered that he was mentioned early in the long list.
As Claudius continued to read, Quintus whispered to Kaeso, “Why is he squinting so?”
Kaeso frowned. Quintus had touched upon a matter of growing concern to him: the censor’s eyesight. Quite abruptly, Claudius’s vision had begun to deteriorate, to such a degree that he practically had to press his nose against his beloved Greek scrolls to read them. The list he was now reading had been written in large letters, yet still he had to narrow his eyes to make out the names.
Quintus saw the worry on Kaeso’s face. “The rumor is true, then? Appius Claudius is going blind?”
“Of course not!” said Kaeso. “He’s merely strained his eyes from working so hard.”