Rome For Sale, page 21
Hortensius welcomed the two youths with good-natured ease of manner, delighted that he would have a chance to show off his garden and Thracian Glen (where a piper dressed as Orpheus piped out a number of tame animals) to Fulvius, who was making his first visit. The evening was mild as the guests sat eating in the rays of the declining sun under a colonnade with trailing vines. Hortensius was a rich man, though he had never peculated in the provinces or worried with investments. His methods were simple. He defended the peculating governors in the courts, and took a percentage of their plunder. It would have hurt him to oppress provincials, but, once the deed was done, he felt no compunction in mulcting the oppressors. “It’s no use saying that my success in getting them acquitted encourages them,” he said cynically to his friends. “If they didn’t pay me, they’d spend the money in bribing the jurors for the same end. It’s better that my skill in oratory should be rewarded than that the jurors should be made even more corrupt.”
Cæcina, a fattish Etruscan who, like Clodius, had just come from Rome, was bursting with information. “Cæsar has been bribed half a million by Catalina.”
“Where did Catalina raise the money?” asked Clodius hotly.
Cæcina looked at him. He recalled that Clodius had rebel-affiliations. “Where does a man like that always get his money? I’ve heard that he runs a secret gang of thieves and brigands. Isn’t it suspicious that he’s spent so much of the last year in Campania and Etruria? There was a moneylender murdered last week. Myself, I connect that obviously with this bribery of Cæsar.”
Clodius swallowed his rage. When away from Catalina, he felt intensely loyal. He wondered now why he had left Rome. But Lamia, another guest, broke in and maundered into a long discourse. Who could marvel that things were going to the bad? Look at the way children were educated by a herd of mongrel Greeks. In schools too—all the social classes intermingled. Schools meant the end of all real education. There was no time for home-life.
Fulvius asked him if he knew anything about carrier-pigeons, remembering the crate of birds for which he had exchanged his racing-gig; and Cæcina answered. He had scores of them. When in Etruria, he had them loosed from Rome with the colours of the winning horses tied to their feet, so that he could learn at once how his bets had fared. He sent them off also for the folks at home when he was at Rome; for they all wanted to know how the races went, even those who had never seen any of the horses.
Hortensius surveyed the diners benignly. Everyone was cheerful when stomachs were full. Therefore politics was only the art of filling stomachs; and yet the problem was beyond human capacity; perhaps the cooks should govern the world. A successful man, he simply could not understand lack of success in others, and looked on the hungry populace as naughty children who queerly were sent, not by the parents, but by themselves supperless to bed.
Lamia, an elderly hard-faced man, began again talking of the nearing end of the world. “You’re quite wrong,” said Hortensius. “I’ve lived through several revolutions, and prospered, solely because I took no sides. I can recall how everyone prophesied the ruin of Rome when the vote was given to the Italians, after they’d spattered Italy with blood. And what happened after all? Did the Italians troop along to vote for all kinds of treasons? Nothing of the sort. The only result of the enfranchisement was a land-boom because of the increased ease with which land could be sold.”
The company was disturbed by a deep groan from Fulvius. His face had turned ashen, and he dropped his goblet to the floor. “Is the man ill?” asked Hortensius, “or is he merely cursed by heaven?”
Fulvius had no ears for sarcasm. He had suddenly remembered that to-day there came due the bill he had signed as security for Sempronia and that the moneylender had been distinctly nasty, having ascertained that Fulvius himself had no hope of obtaining the money for repayment. Fulvius had begged him to wait till his father died. The man, a wizened Asiatic, had refused and made pointed remarks about the lies Fulvius had told in getting him to accept the signature; he grew even more angry when Fulvius proffered the explanation that the lies were invented by Sempronia. Sempronia merely laughed. She had held Fulvius in leash for one week, at the end of which she took his signature and closed the door in his face. Now the moneylender would go to Fulvius senior, and then—Fulvius found his mind go dark at the thought. But he had all the rest clear at last. He had got drunk last night because he had been aware that if he didn’t get drunk he’d remember the debt; and he got drunk so effectively that he banished the subject altogether. The night’s sleep had been earned too dearly. What could he do? He must talk it over with Clodius as soon as possible.
Hortensius, who did not like a meal to pass without some literary flavouring, had introduced the set-theme: Which hand of Venus did Diomedes wound? But as no one had any suggestions save himself, he discoursed for almost half an hour in his best style.
Clodius looked out at the setting sun. The rosy clouds drifted through a sky blue-green at the edges, and the lower leaves of the trees glistened. A great silver shaft struck through to the earth. How dull was the sage conversation of men beside the meaningless chatter of a young girl with mischievously appealing eyes who read poetry and loved it and didn’t understand a word! That was the best way to read; she was the poet’s only reader.
Lamia had recaptured the conversation. “The slaves are too well treated nowadays. Feed them on the fallen olives and the brine from pickled fish. That gives them something to sop up the bread with.”
“I prefer,” said Hortensius, “to undermine the state than to see pinched faces about me. My slaves I feed well for that base reason. I admire all you strong-minded men, but it’s so much easier to be kindly.”
5
There was a great sensation at Rome when Metellus Nepos, half-brother of Clodia’s husband, arrived. He had been serving under Pompeius, and travelled with lengthy mule-trains which rumour said were filled with silver and gold from the plundered East. Everyone was at least certain that Nepos was the envoy of Pompeius and that his task was to act at the elections for his master. When he announced his candidature for the tribuneship, his orders were obvious; and his success, what with the bribery-gold and the respect still paid to Pompeius by the middle classes, was assured.
Would he covertly join the radicals? For a while he remained quiescent. A rumour spread that Cato had snubbed him; but his first open act was to call on Cæsar. After that he was continuously at Cæsar’s house. Catalina he did not visit; and Cæsar arranged to conduct all the negotiations.
The matter needed careful handling. The diehards could be relied on to alienate Pompeius with their fear of a military dictatorship; yet if too revolutionary a procedure was adopted before Pompeius had disbanded his army, there was the risk that some accident might break down the prejudices of the diehards and make them seek an alliance with Pompeius. And above all was the risk that Pompeius might take the dictatorship which was easily within his grasp. Still, he was a political coward. If he was presented with an accomplished fact, he would be unlikely to object—as long as he were voted all kinds of public honours. At the same time efforts could be made to detach his soldiers by voting them large donations and pensions. Once the army was disbanded, there would be no problem.
Cæsar did not find it hard to work on Nepos. Cato as usual made things easy for the radicals by searching questions about the contents of the mule-baggage. He learned the provisions of the new bribery-law by heart and hurled them at Nepos, while demanding by what right Pompeius had been settling boundaries and governmental issues in Asia without even the aid of a senatorial committee.
Mucia tried to draw her half-brother out on the subject of her husband’s attitude towards her. She did not like to ask directly if he had heard stories about her doings, but persisted with questions about his health and with complaints because she had received no letter.
“He is in the very best of health,” repeated Nepos shortly.
“He’s been so long away from poor me,” said Mucia “I’ve forgotten I ever was married. You’re sure he still loves me as much as ever?”
“I’m sure he hasn’t changed his character.”
“He isn’t in love with all those princesses that he’s been capturing, is he? Of course I’d forgive him. He’s so far away, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mean it. But you might tell me, so I can forgive him.”
“He’s been far too busy commanding his army even to speak to the womenfolk of Mithridates. Besides, several of them committed suicide. And all the concubines that were captured he sent off with their jewels and wardrobes untouched.”
“Now isn’t that like him!” said Mucia bitterly. “He knows I love jewellery. What can those women want the things for? Concubines, you said. It was downright immoral for him to lend them the tools of their trade. I’m sure you told him so.”
“I’ve left that for you,” said Nepos grimly.
“He might have written to me. Perhaps he doesn’t love me anymore.”
“You’ll learn in due time. If you’ve behaved yourself, there’s no cause for fear. You know he’s always just.”
“I haven’t any faith in him,” protested Mucia miserably, “after what you tell me about him giving all those jewels and clothes away to a lot of women who ought to be wearing chains and things. I can see that everyone’s going to tell lies about me, and this story of yours proves it. For he wouldn’t act as he’s acted unless he didn’t love me anymore, and if he doesn’t love me any more he’ll believe any lie that’s told, and everyone will tell him lies because they’ll see that he doesn’t love me anymore, and they’ll want to worm into his favour. So there isn’t any hope for me, and it’s all your fault because you’ve confessed yourself that you didn’t say a word when he piled jewellery and things on those women, and I’m sure that if you’d stood up for me, your sister, he would have stopped doing it, because you’ve admitted with your own mouth that he’s a just man. So what you did amounted to helping him against me and encouraging him to believe lies, and if he turns on me it will be all your fault.”
Nepos showed no expression on his face. Mucia, watching him carefully through her tears, was unable to guess for certain what he was feeling.
“Anyway,” she went on, drying the tears that had failed in their end, “if Gnæus doesn’t treat me properly, Quintus will ruin him.”
Nepos made no reply, but could not repress the ghost of a smile. Haughtily drawing her stola round her, Mucia signified that she was above the reach of fear or suspicion, and moved from the room. The face of Nepos twitched slightly. He did not mean to get into bad odour with Pompeius because of anything Mucia had done; he knew where his future lay, and if his half-brother Quintus was obstinate enough in talking about the family-honour to oppose Pompeius, it was Quintus who would be hurt.
6
Sestius the quæstor was a man resolved to rise in the world. Though poorly educated, irascible, and lacking in initiative, he owned a steady determination and had attached himself to the conservatives. In Cicero he had seen his chance; and when allotted to the staff of the consul Antonius, he had quickly informed Cicero that he intended to act as spy and supervisor of his superior’s activities. Antonius, unable to carry out his bargain with the radicals, had slackly surrendered to the conservatives and was only too glad to leave as much of his business as possible to the officious Sestius, who was prevented from making any mistakes by referring everything to Cicero. Antonius scarcely appeared at all in public, pleading illness and only attending unimportant sessions of the Senate. His sole interest was the province that he would gain at the end of the year.
Sestius received the message from Flavius and was doubtful what to do. He had no thoughts for women; there was a wife at home to satisfy his needs, and the rest of his life was his career. But he was indefatigably concerned about the career, and the suggestion that Fulvia had something to narrate involving the commonweal was enough to draw him to her house. Probably the woman was lying and merely wanted to blackmail him in some way, but he wasn’t frightened of her. He made Flavius repeat his story before two witnesses on whose tact he could rely; and then he called on Fulvia.
She frankly told him the whole story, requiring only that he should reveal nothing to Flavius. He listened with furrowed brows and scratched the tip of his nose with curved forefinger.
“There isn’t anything new in that,” he said after she had recounted the threats of Curius. “Everyone knows that Catalina is desperate and that if he loses the consulship—as of course he will—he’ll have to do something or he’ll be ruined by his creditors.”
“Exactly; and who but myself is in the position to find out the precise plans as they arise? Naturally, nothing will come to a head till after the elections.”
“You’re right,” said Sestius, searching her face. “What do you want for it?”
Fulvia stretched herself with luxurious slowness, her hands behind her head. “What it’s worth.”
“I can’t tell you that till I know what you’ll learn.”
She stared into his straightforward inquisitive eyes. “If I find something that enables all you creatures to ditch Catalina, it will be worth quite a lot?”
“Quite a lot.”
She yawned. “You can go now.”
He gave her a long searching look, and went. She was troubled by that look; it had been so entirely void of desire for her, so purely concerned with getting behind her mental defences. For a moment she wanted to call him back and see if she could seduce him. She held her breath. He wasn’t that kind; she would only ruin things and frighten herself; she didn’t want him. She was only frightened and trying to frighten herself more.
But his look searching for her motive still troubled her. Why was she offering to betray Catalina and his friends? It wasn’t the money. She could get as much in pleasanter ways. It was hate of Curius, she told herself, hate for the way that he was taking her money and becoming so blusterously self-pitiful. Why didn’t she turn him away? Perhaps he would kill her if he found out what she was doing. She wasn’t making things safer, and yet that was what she had meant to do. She sought for a way out of the net. She had let herself in for this complication, and she must solve it. Then she saw the way. She must inveigle Curius in the betrayal. He must do the betraying. She would force him to lose what little fragment of self-respect he still possessed. Then it would be safe to turn him away.
7
June was the month when the shrine of Vesta was opened for a week. On the 7th the Storeroom was opened, and all matrons might enter there. For seven days barefooted the matrons were to be seen coming and going about the chapel. Within they watched the Vestals at work, prayed for their households, and were thereby swept clean and reprovisioned for the following year by the influence of Vesta. Marriages were ill-omened during this week and the Flaminica might not open to her husband, the Flamen of Iuppiter, until the Storehouse was cleansed and once more closed.
On the 15th the Chapel was swept out, and all dust and refuse were taken and thrown over the slope of the Capitoline Hill at a spot where there was a break in the cliff.
Other festivals there were. For throughout the year the foundation-days of the numerous temples were celebrated, and this month among other deities were the great birth-goddess Fortuna and Mater Moneta worshipped. Far back went these birth-worships, and the Temple of Mater Matuta near the Great Circus was built over an old shrine. Only the wife of a first marriage might deck the image; the sacred cakes were cooked in earthen-ware; and only free women were admitted. One slave girl was sent in and then driven out with a box on the ear. The women prayed first for their nephews and nieces and then for their own children.
8
The prætor Lentulus with his suave smile and horse-face was a man without principle. Catalina did not like him but accepted his aid because of the value of his name. So many waverers were liable to be caught by the sound of an ancient name, and Lentulus belonged to the clan of the Cornelii from which both Sulla and Cinna had come. The scoundrelly qualities of men like Cethegus did not worry Catalina; for he believed that he could control them, and had sympathy for scoundrelism as the thwarted expression of vigorous individuals. Cethegus was less a reprobate than one of the lordly oligarchs who bled a province. Energy must be accepted and used wherever it appeared; to reject it when tainted would be merely to confess a failure to realise and control the thwarted side of oneself. But there was something repellently cold about Lentulus.
He had profited greatly under Sulla, but had long past squandered his gains. His methods had been so callous that he had been attacked in the Senate even under Sulla, but had retorted with a sneer. Then, when later prosecuted, he bribed the jurors, and, finding himself acquitted by two votes, complained that he had wasted money, since one vote would have been sufficient. He was stepfather of Marcus Antonius, but had exercised no control for years now beyond refusing to pay debts.
He was a sceptical man of the world, who believed in nothing except perhaps his own stomach, and yet he played with Chaldeans and other Orientals, soothsayers and mathematicians of the stars. He gave no credit to their words, he said; they merely amused him. He liked to see how far their science miscarried. If everything was written in the stars, then foreknowledge could not affect it; if it was not written there, no experiments could read it. But the game had its zest. After all, if it did nothing else, it disproved the whole thesis of science. If human activity was not bound by law, why should nature be? If mankind was not part of nature, then the human mind could not read nature. Therefore all science was nonsense. Star-reading was the supreme nonsense, and therefore it deserved consideration.
But though he sometimes grew angry with his Chaldeans and Egyptians, and turned them out of the house, he soon sent for them again and said, “Well, let’s get on with our experiments. If you can’t guess better next time, I’ll foreswear you for good.”
