"Well," I muttered, "that's one who won't be Celer's colleague."
"What's that you say?" Afranius said. The others had already left, but he had been busy berating his linkboy, who was too drunk to keep his torch alight.
"Oh, a political matter. My kinsman Metellus Celer is standing for the Consulship, and I was to talk with Capito about a possible alliance." It was not the sort of thing that had to be kept confidential.
Afranius's eyes lit up. "A coitio? Well, Capito is out of the picture. You know, I think the wine-bowl is still full in the triclinium. Why don't we go back there and talk while my boy sobers up?" We ambled back into the dining room as all around us the house was filled with wails of mourning.
Chapter IV
"Lucius Afranius, eh?" Celer said. We stood on the steps of the Curia in the dismal light of early dawn. "He wouldn't be a bad choice. I could count on him not to give me any trouble or try to override my acts. In fact, he was one of the ones I planned to have you sound out, eventually. Good work, Decius."
"Always happy to serve," I assured him.
"Pity about Capito, though. The janitor, too, you say?"
"Killed with the same two blows, still chained to his gate."
"The killer was probably an ex-gladiator, then. The gangs are full of them, and the stab in the throat is the arena death-blow."
That had occurred to me as well. I had known many gladiators, and among that stalwart confraternity it is a matter of honor to kill the defeated with swiftness and dignity. With a sword, this is best accomplished with a quick jab to the jugular. It is believed to be nearly painless as well, but since none who receive the blow ever talk about it afterward, this is difficult to confirm. Also, there is lots of blood, and the crowds like that.
"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.