"Milo, why is Clodius still in Rome?"
"His presence has not escaped me," Milo said. "Nor has the fact that Caesar shows an uncharacteristic fondness for our city when his fortunes are to be mended elsewhere."
"Caius Julius doesn't amount to much," I said.
"Not yet, but keep your eye on him. And Clodius is Caesar's man."
I remembered the odd tableau that morning. "You think it's connected?"
"I know that Clodius does very little these days without Caesar's permission."
My cup paused halfway to my lips. "That's new. Were some new lines drawn while I was away?"
"The lines are much the same as always, but the number of players in this game has narrowed. There used to be many gangs controlling the streets of Rome. Now there are just two: mine and Clodius's. Once there was a large number of soldier-politicians and lawyer-politicians contending for mastery of Rome and its empire. Most have dropped out or been eliminated. Lucullus, Hortalus and the rest have left the big struggle for power."
"Hortalus is Censor with my father," I pointed out.
"An office with great prestige but no imperium. No, Decius Caecilius, the contenders are now Pompey, Crassus and Cicero, with Caesar soon to join them. See what he is like when he gets back from Spain."
"I trust your instincts," I said. "So you say Clodius has become Caesar's man. Celer tells me that you are now closely linked with Cicero."
"Cicero and I are not friends, but he needs me. The men who want to control the empire must be away from the city much of the time. They must have an ally to control the city in their absence, and there is no constitutional office for that purpose."
I always admired this quality in Milo. He knew the branchings of power as a farmer knows the branching of his grapevines. He knew which branches showed promise and which needed pruning. He was utterly un-trammeled by the constitutional precedents and traditions that shaped the political thinking of more orthodox Romans.
"What is Cicero's standing these days with the Senate and the public in general?"
"Precarious for the moment. He has his adherents, but his enemies charge that he was high-handed in executing the Catilinarian conspirators without trial. And many are resentful of his indifferent origins. They can't accept the idea of a new man rising as Cicero has. Some are jealous of his new house on the Palatine. They're charging that he embezzled public funds to build it."
"How do you read the situation?" I asked.
"The Catilinarian scandal will fade in no great time. Nothing gets old as fast as yesterday's scandal. Catilina never had any firm base among the powerful men of Rome. With Pompey coming back, all attention will be on him, and lately Cicero's thrown his support behind Pompey."
"Cicero?" I said. "He was always with the anti-Pompeians before."
"But he understands the inevitable. Something has to be done to placate Pompey's veterans. You know, when Pompey comes into the city for his triumph, it will be the first time in years that Pompey, Crassus and Caesar will all be in Rome at the same time."
"You see a connection?" I knew Milo wasn't just musing aloud.
"There's a rumor floating around. Just a rumor, mind you, but there are those who say that Caesar can't leave because of his debts. Some of those he owes money to are very highly placed."
"But if he can just get to Spain, he'll enrich himself like any other bandit," I said. "Then he can pay his debts."
"Or he may get killed. He has a reputation for recklessness. Remember those pirates?"
It was a famous story. When he was quaestor, Caesar had been captured by pirates and held for ransom. He had behaved arrogantly and demanded that his ransom be appropriate to his rank. He had unbraided his captors, promised that he would return with a flotilla and crucify them all, and made them listen to his speeches. The pirates had been highly amused and treated him as a sort of mascot while he resided among them. In time his ransom arrived and he was sent on to the nearest Roman port. He immediately raised a flotilla, returned and crucified all the pirates exactly as he had said he would. It was the sort of tale that tickled the Roman fancy and made him a minor celebrity for a while.
"So his creditors want some sort of security? What can he do? Caesar spends so freely he barely owns the clothes on his back. Pontifex Maximus is a fine old position, but it never made anyone a copper as that I ever heard of."
"There is a further rumor," Milo said. "A loan. An enormous loan to stand surety for the bulk of his debts while he is away. All out of one man's purse."
Now things began to make sense. "Crassus," I said.
"What other man in the world has that kind of money?"
"Crassus is not a charitable man. He will want something in return for a loan like that. What can Caesar do for the likes of Marcus Licinius Crassus?"
"That is something I would give a great deal to know," Milo said.
Chapter III
The house of Mamercus Aemilius Capito was located in a beautiful district on the Aventine, with a fine view overlooking the Circus Maximus. As I walked up the hill I could smell the incense wafting from the nearby Temple of Ceres. Gazing across the valley, I could see the magnificent new house of Lucullus. It had been under construction when I had last climbed the Aventine, and was said to be far and away the most magnificent dwelling in Rome, built with the spoil of Pontus and Asia. Lucullus was not as rich as Crassus, but whereas Crassus used his wealth to gain more money and power, Lucullus used his to indulge himself.
The guests were already ranging themselves in the triclinium when I entered, and I took my place on one of the couches. Hermes took my sandals and stood behind my place, ready to serve me. I had ordered him to keep absolutely silent and observe closely. For a wonder, he obeyed.
As was customary, Capito had invited a mixed company. He did, however, have more than the usual proportion of exceptionally distinguished guests, a sure sign of his political ambitions for the year to come. Occupying the place of greatest honor was Marcus Pupius Piso Frugi Calpurnianus, one of the Consuls of the year. Like his colleague Messala Niger, he was a time-server of little importance. Like many such men, he insisted on using his whole great epic of a name instead of some shortened form. Men assured of their own greatness prefer to use a single name, as if they alone possessed it. Thus we have Alexander, Marius, Sulla, Pompey, Crassus and, let us not forget, Caesar. Watch out for men who use a single name.
At the other end of the head couch resided the pontifex Quintus Lutatius Catulus. Catulus was esteemed one of the greatest Romans of the day, but his star was setting like those of Hortalus and Lucullus as the ambitious military men gained ascendancy. Between Catulus and Piso was our host, Capito.
At the table facing mine reclined Lucius Afranius, a man of some dignity and little importance, like Capito himself. He had served as praetor some years before. The other two at that table I no longer recall, so they could not have amounted to much. My companions on the third couch were an unusual pair. To my right, on the side of the head couch, was the poet Catullus, not to be confused with the great Catulus, who spelled his name with a single l. The poet had been mooning around Rome for a couple of years, cadging free meals and writing his verses. Friends of a literary bent assure me that these poems are rather good. Many of those he indited at this time were addressed to a hard-hearted woman of mystery called Lesbia. It was the opinion of most that Lesbia was actually Clodia, who had the requisite cruelty and love of poetry. He had lived in the house of Celer, but I rather doubt that he had been her lover, because he survived.
My neighbor on the other side, at the foot of the couch, was the greatest surprise. It was young Appius Claudius Nero.
"Twice in one day, young Nero," I said. "If I believed that Oriental nonsense about astrology, I would believe that our stars are intertwined."