Roman blood

Tiro smiled demurely. What had Bethesda done — kissed him on the cheek, flattered him, teased him, or simply flashed her eyes? 'I'm not sure where she is now. Cicero gave orders that she needn't do anything except attend to your needs, but she volunteered to help in the kitchen this morning. Until the head cook insisted that she leave.'

'Screaming after her and tossing pots, I assume.'

'Something like that.'

'Ah, well, if you see the steward tell him he can confine her to my room if he wants. Let her sit here and listen to Cicero declaiming all day. That should be punishment enough for any broken bowls’

Tiro frowned to show his disapproval of my sarcasm. A slight breeze wafted the yellow curtains and carried Cicero's voice with it: 'And it is because of the very enormity of the crime of parricide that it must be quite irrefutably proven before any reasonable man will believe it. For what madman, what utterly debauched wreckage of manhood would bring upon himself and his house such a curse, not only of the populace but of the heavens? You know, good Romans, that what I say is true: such is the power of the blood that binds a man to his own flesh that a single drop of it creates a stain that can never be washed away. It penetrates into the heart of a parricide and plants madness and fury in a soul that must already be utterly depraved. . Oh, yes, that's it, exactly. By Hercules, that's good!'

'In case you want to wash your face, I brought a bowl of water and a towel,' Tiro said, indicating the little table beside the divan. 'And since you didn't bring any clothes with you, I looked around the house and found a few things that I think will fit. They've been worn, of course, but they're clean.'

He gathered up the tunics and laid them on the divan beside me for my inspection. They could not have been Cicero's, whose torso was much longer and narrower than my own; I suspected they had been made for Tiro. Even the simplest tunic was better stitched and of finer material than my best toga. The night before, Cicero himself had given me a loose sleeveless gown to wear when he had shown me to my bed; apparently he was unaware that it was possible to sleep wearing nothing. As for the bloodstained tunic I had worn to his door, hastily thrown on as Bethesda and I made our escape, it had apparently been gathered from the floor of my room while I slept and thrown away.

While I washed and dressed, Tiro fetched bread and a bowl of fruit from the kitchen. I ate it all and sent him for more. I was famished, and neither the heat nor even Cicero's constant droning and repetitions and self-congratulations could spoil my appetite.

At last I stepped past the curtains with Tiro into the bright sunlight of the garden. Cicero looked up from his text, but before he could utter a word Rufus appeared behind him.

'Cicero, Gordianus, listen to this. You won't believe it. It's a positive scandal.' Cicero turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. 'Of course it's only hearsay, but surely somehow we can verify it. Do you know what the estates of Sextus Roscius, all combined, are worth?'

Cicero mildly shrugged and passed the question to me.

'A string of farms,' I calculated, 'some of them on prime land near the confluence of the Tiber and the Nar; an expensive villa on the main estate near Ameria; a bit of property in the city — at least four million sesterces.'

Rufus shook his head. 'Closer to six million. And what do you think Chrysogonus — yes, it was the Golden-Born himself, not Capito or Magnus — what do you think he paid for the whole package at auction? Two thousand sesterces. Two thousand?

Cicero was visibly shocked. 'Impossible,' he said. 'Even Crassus isn't that greedy.'

'Or that obvious,' I said. 'Where did you find this out?'

Rufus coloured. 'That's the problem. And the scandal! It was one of the official auctioneers who told me. He handled the bid himself.'

Cicero threw his hands up. 'The man would never testify!'

Rufus seemed hurt. 'Of course not. But at least he was willing to talk to me. And I'm certain he wasn't exaggerating.'

'It makes no difference. What we need is a record of the sale. And of course the name of Sextus Roscius on the proscription lists.'

Rufus shrugged. 'I've searched all day, and there's nothing. Of course the official records are a disaster. You can tell they've been rifled through, marked and remarked and, for all anyone knows, stolen altogether. Between the civil wars and the proscriptions, the state's records are an impossible mess.'

Cicero pensively stroked his lip. 'We know that if the name of Sextus Roscius was inserted into the proscription lists, it was a fraud. And yet if it's there it would acquit his son.'

'And if it's not, how can Capito and Chrysogonus justify keeping the property?' said Rufus.

'Which,' I interrupted, 'is no doubt why Chrysogonus and company want Sextus dead and out of the way entirely, and if possible by legal means. Once the family is wiped out there'll be no one to challenge them, and the question of proscription or murder will be moot. The scandal is self-evident to anyone who even casually inquires after the truth; that's why they've grown so desperate, and so crude. Their only strategy is to silence anyone who knows or cares.'

'And yet,' said Cicero, 'it strikes me more and more that they care nothing for the opinion of the populace, or even for the decisions of the court. Their chief objective is to hide the scandal from Sulla. By Hercules, I honestly believe he knows nothing of it, and they desperately want to keep it that way.'

'Perhaps,' I said. 'And no doubt they're counting on your own sense of self-preservation to keep you from opening an ugly scandal before the Rostra. You can't possibly cut your way to the truth without dragging in Sulla's name. You'll embarrass him at the least, implicate him at worst. There's no way to accuse the ex-slave without insulting his friend and former master.'

'Really, Gordianus, do you think so little of my oratorical skills? I shall be treading the dagger's blade, of course. But Diodotus taught me to appreciate tact as well as truth. In the hands of a wise and honest advocate, only the guilty need fear the weapons of rhetoric, and a truly wise orator never turns them against himself' He gave me his most self-confident smile, but I thought to myself that what I had heard of his speech so far only skirted the periphery of the scandal. Shocking the audience with inexplicable tales of corpses murdered in the night and lulling them with legends was one thing; dropping the name of Sulla, by Hercules, was quite another.

I glanced at the sundial. Half an hour remained before the young Roscia would begin to grow impatient. I took my leave of Rufus and Cicero and laid my hand on Tiro's shoulder as we departed. Behind me I heard Cicero launch immediately into his oration, regaling Rufus with his favourite parts: 'For what madman, what utterly debauched wreckage of manhood would bring upon himself and his house such a curse, not only of the populace but of the heavens? You know, good Romans, that what I say is true….' I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Rufus was following every word and gesture with a gaze of rapt adoration.

I suddenly realized that Cicero had not said a word to Tiro before we departed, and had only registered a cold nod of dismissal when Tiro had turned to leave. Whatever further words had transpired between them concerning Tiro's conduct were never shared with me, and if there had been a formal punishment I was not told of it, either by Tiro or by Cicero; and not once, at least in my presence, did Cicero ever again make reference to the affair.

Tiro was silent as we crossed the Forum and ascended the Palatine. As we approached the trysting place, he grew increasingly agitated, and his face became as morose as an actor's mask. When we came within sight of "the little park, he touched my sleeve and paused.