"Probably a jealous husband and a hired killer," Celer pronounced. "That's what it usually is. Political matters haven't reached the killing stage lately."
"I'm not so sure, " I said. "Business disagreements can get just as vicious."
"He was a patrician," Celer said. "They're not supposed to engage in business. Not that they don't anyway."
While we spoke the Senate was assembling. The curule magistrates, accompanied by their lictors, climbed the steps, stifling yawns like everybody else. Cato was there, virtuously barefoot. The adherents of Pompey formed a grim, determined knot, ready once again to press their suit for his triumph. The usual gaggle of Metellans formed around us. Creticus was there, and Pius the pontifex, although he was an adopted Metellus, actually a Scipio. Of the prominent Metellans only Nepos was not with us. He was always to be found among Pompey's faction. For a wonder, there was not a single prominent Metellan governing in the provinces that year.
"I've spoken to you all," said Celer. "You know how the vote is to go." There were murmurs of assent. Besides the great Metellans, there were at least thirty like me: Senators who had served in the lower offices but were otherwise undistinguished.
"Then to your seats," Celer ordered. Obedient as a veteran legion, we trooped into the Curia.
The interior of the Senate house was dim, and it was musty with damp wool, for it had been raining that morning, and the finest toga is not a fragrant object when it is wet. The fullers use human urine in their whitening process.
Thus my first Senate meeting was not fully as edifying as I might have wished. At least, I thought, it would be the day of a memorable vote. Only the Senate could grant a triumph, one of the few privileges it had managed to keep from the popular assemblies.
The first part of the morning was devoted to arguments. Pompey's adherents reeled off the stunning list of his accomplishments: enemies slain, enslaved or brought under Roman control; territory added to the empire; riches brought to the Roman treasury.
Then the aristocratic party had its hour, belittling the upstart's accomplishments, complaining that the seas were as dangerous as ever despite his campaign against the pirates (this was outrageously untrue, but the aristocrats were grasping at straws by that time) and accusing Pompey of offenses against the gods.
Then the presiding Consul, Niger, called for the vote. The Princeps stood. Quintus Hortensius Hortalus was Princeps of the Senate at that time, and he cast his vote for Pompey with a brief (for Hortalus) and undeniably eloquent speech. Even at his advanced age, Hortalus had the most beautiful voice in the world. Cicero rose and cast his vote likewise. There were no boos even from the aristocratic party. Everyone knew that Cicero didn't like Pompey. They hated him for the Catilinarian executions and awaited a chance to bring him down on that charge.
Then Metellus Celer was called. He stood and said simply: "I withdraw my former opposition. Let Pompey have his triumph. Let the soldiers of Rome be honored." He sat amid a huge, collective gasp. Everybody knew it was all over. Even such a qualified vote meant that the whole clan of Caecilius Metellus was now behind the triumph.
After that, it was mere confirmation. Permission for Pompey's triumph passed with an overwhelming majority. Even Pompey's bitterest enemies voted in favor, rather than give the appearance of a futile resistance. After all, Celer had given them an out: the assertion that they were honoring the soldiers as a whole, rather than the general in particular. This little qualification was to have serious consequences they did not foresee at the time.
We all went out of the Curia in a mixed mood. Some were jubilant, others subdued. Everyone had a sense that some serious, irrevocable step had been taken and that the Roman state, tranquil for a number of years, was poised on the brink of another period of turmoil. When a leader of the aristocrats was willing to yield even an inch to Pompey, things were unsettled.
On the steps of the Curia, I all but collided with Lucius Licinius Lucullus, celebrated conqueror and enemy of Pompey. He seemed not at all put out by the vote and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Well, that's that, eh, Decius? I hate to see that swine riding in triumph down the Via Sacra, but it was a wise political move."
"A man with an armed legion outside the gates cannot be snubbed forever," I said.
"Exactly. There'll be no more business of note today, and all this has made me hungry. Come to my house for some lunch. Let's see who else could stand a bite." We descended the steps and found Cicero and Milo in conversation. Milo was wearing a splendid white toga, a sure sign that he was embarking on a serious political career.
"Cicero," Lucullus said, "come join me for lunch. You, too, Titus Annius. And I see Cato's sour face. Cato, you need feeding. Come with us."
Milo grinned hugely. "I shall be most honored, Lucius Licinius." Clearly, this was the first time he had received such an invitation. It was as good as a confirmation by the Censors. Cicero and Cato looked a little peeved.
"Lucius," said Cicero, "you're not going to throw a banquet again and call it lunch, are you?"
Lucullus was all offended innocence. "Now how could I do that? I've given my staff no such instruction. It shall be just the usual simple fare they set out for me every day."
These invitations were much sought after. The whole idea of lunch was rather new to Romans. We made a practice of starving ourselves all day. Dinner was not only the most important social occasion, but virtually the only genuine meal of the day.
By this time an album had been set up on the Rostra announcing the decree of the Senate, and there was much cheering from the populace. Everyone loved a triumph, and this one had been long anticipated. Heralds had been dispatched to Pompey's camp to tell him of the Senate's decision, but his toadies were already heading that way on fast horses.
By the time we reached the border of the Forum, Lucullus had picked up Celer, my father, both Consuls and a gaggle of others for his little impromptu luncheon.
"Prepare to be shocked," Cato said to me as we walked toward the Palatine. "Our host's taste for vulgar luxury has grown legendary. He outdoes the richest freedman in base, wretched excess."
"I'm looking forward to this!" I told him.
"On the other hand," Cato allowed, "he has not been utterly idle in his use of his wealth. He is building a library in imitation of the one at Alexandria, and he has brought cherry trees to Italy for the first time. He's established a cherry orchard near Naples and will make seedlings and cuttings available to all."
"That's indeed good news," I said, "about the cherries, I mean." For all our conqueror's strut, we still took a real delight in agricultural matters. Bringing a new melon to Italy would make your reputation as surely as conquering a new province.
"And his fishponds are extraordinary." Cato had to say these things so that he could endure the guilt of enjoying lunch. There should be a religion for people like Cato. Stoicism is simply not up to the task.
Milo came to join us and Cato walked away to talk with Cicero. His aristocratic soul rebelled at the thought of political adventurers like Milo. I never noticed that this bothered Milo in the least.
"Tell me about last night," Milo said. The story had been all over the Forum by first light. I sketched the details of Capito's murder, then told him about the alleged poisoning attempt.
"That may be my slave's wild imagination," I cautioned, "or an attempt to ingratiate himself with me."
"Best not to take chances where Clodius might be concerned. I'll leave that to you, but I'll see what I can find out about Capito's killer. I don't know of anyone who uses that two-blow technique. It reminds me of the way sacrificial animals are killed: a knock on the head and a cut throat."