Rome For Sale, page 35
“Leave her alone,” growled her lover. “She only wanted to pick her teeth.”
The woman turned on him and tore at his hair. They tumbled on the ground, punching, biting, their legs kicking in the air.
“Fine,” cried Chloe. “My money on the fat lady. There’s more about her than appears. I’m learning fast.”
A rose-chapleted girl peeped round the side of an upended cart and poured a bucket of water over the fighters. They sat up, shaking their heads and breathing hard. “Who stole my dagger?” said the blowsy woman, feeling round in the grass.
“Search me,” giggled Chloe, who had hidden the knife under her dress. The woman saw it, leaped across, snatched it up, and stabbed at Chloe’s breast. Munatius kicked at her, catching her under the chin and laying her out. “She’s killed me,” screamed Chloe. The dagger had passed through the fleshy part of her upper arm.
Publicius pulled the dagger out. “You’re all right. Let’s see how your blood tastes.” He kissed the wound, smeared the blood on his mouth, and then kissed the moaning Chloe. The dirty-faced man took up the fainted woman by the two heels and dragged her away under a tent.
On the other side of the cart a group of farmers were arguing about politics. “I tell you I won’t stand for those Gauls up beyond the Padus getting the vote. I had a cousin who started a farm there, and they cold-shouldered him into ruin.”
Next to them two men were discussing the trouble they had had over the frosts this year, and a trio were shouting at one another in debate over the values of pig-manure, lime, seaweed and leaf mould as fertilisers. Only on one subject was the army entirely at one: that the financiers had wrecked the world and that Catalina was the only man capable of giving a fair deal.
7
Catalina decided to keep on the defensive till his army was better trained and weaponed, and to arrange for the outbreak at Rome on the first suitable occasion. Meanwhile his cavalry scoured the country, cutting off where possible the consular levies. News came that Metellus Celer had reached Picenum and was setting hard to work to garrison the mountain-passes. The consul Antonius was encamped a little north of Rome while his general Petreius organised the levies. Catalina had no doubt of his ability to sweep that force aside as soon as the revolt at Rome was ready. He mixed with his soldiers in the camp, heartening them and gaining daily a great fidelity.
8
Aulus Fulvius took no great interest in politics, but he received his friend’s message at a time when he was unutterably bored with his country-exile. Munatius, who had written to all the youths of his acquaintance, had remembered to add a postscript for Fulvius. “Item: all bad-tempered fathers to be deprived of civil rights.” The prospect of such a revolution was too sweet for Fulvius. With the vaguest of ideas as to what the trouble was all about, he set off with a single servant after kissing the negro slave-girl whom he had been meeting in the apple-orchard; for he had been greatly struck by a chance remark of Clodius that a man should have two mistresses, a black-shaded girl for the dark and a blonde-hued girl for the light. He expected to find Clodius with Catalina, and wanted to boast that he had at least tried the first part of the recipe.
Since he took the revolt so lightly, he made no attempt to find out where the consular army lay or to hide evidence of his treasonable intentions. As a result he blundered into a party of horsemen who found in his baggage the letter from Munatius as well as one which Fulvius had himself written for Sempronia, declaring his undying love and his resolution to join the rebels. He was therefore sent under guard to his father at Rome, and his father, after staring at him in speechless anger, ordered him to be kept in chains until a family council could be held.
The council was not long in assembling, and Fulvius was brought chained before it. His father, two uncles, three cousins and a great-uncle were the members. The elder Fulvius stated the charge briefly.
“He has been whoring and squandering money. I told him to stay at the villa. He left without orders and was taken prisoner while riding to join the rebels. There is evidence in his own hand.” He flung the letters on the table and then turned to his son. “What have you to say for yourself.”
“I wanted to see some of my friends,” stammered Fulvius.
“That’s enough from you,” shouted his father. “The letters condemn you as a rebel to the state. I, am here to take the advice of the family council as to the only fitting punishment.” He looked at the embarrassed council. “As you all know, that formality is essential so that my sentence may be legalised. But you can all have no doubt as to what he deserves.”
“Send him back to the villa,” suggested one of the uncles.
“Give him a touch of the stick,” said the youngest of the cousins to the great indignation of Fulvius. The suggestion wouldn’t have been so bad coming from one of the elders, but from this youngster it was insufferable.
“I won’t be beaten,” he said boldly. “I’m a Roman citizen.”
“You’re a son who is completely in the power of his father,” replied the elder Fulvius sharply. “Even if that power needs the authority of the family council in extreme matters. Needless to say, the only possible penalty is death.”
The other members of the family gasped. Certainly they could legally impose such a penalty, but the power was never used nowadays since the state-tribunals had been set up. Fulvius could not comprehend the statement at all. “Here I say now,” he protested. “I was only going to see some friends.”
“I have the vote of the council supporting me, of course?” said his father in a ferociously interrogative voice. The other members stirred and looked at one another. The youngest cousin opened his mouth and shut it again.
“He is your own son,” mumbled one of the uncles. “The last word is for you … but I think all the same …”
“You don’t have to think,” replied the head of the family. “He is guilty of treason. He therefore deserves death. That being settled, he is no longer my son, except in so far as the relationship allows me to execute judgment and finalise the denunciation of his status.”
The others stirred again. They did not like it, and yet did not dare to face the glittering eyes of old Fulvius and invite his passionate voice. He was the father and within his rights. Let him have his way then, and on his own head be the act. They wanted to escape.
“We leave the sentence in your hands,” said the uncle.
“That is, you acquiesce in the death-sentence.”
“Yes … that is …”
Old Fulvius ignored the equivocations. “The council is dismissed.” The men filed out, unable to look at young Fulvius, who stared round in doubt and bewilderment. What nonsense was everyone talking? Then he was alone with his father.
“I won’t do it again,” he said weakly. “I only wanted to see some friends of mine.”
“You won’t do it again,” answered the old man fiercely. “That’s the truest word you’ve ever spoken.” He signed to two strong-limbed slaves. “Take him out and strangle him.”
Fulvius shrieked and rattled his chains, but the slaves were upon him, pinning his arms and clapping a huge hand over his mouth; it wasn’t often they were given a chance to murder one of their masters with impunity. Fulvius was quite helpless and forbore to struggle. He felt utterly robbed of strength, embraced by some giantess. Who would ever tell Clodius now about the little negro-girl? It was impossible to feel danger when he couldn’t shriek. All his thoughts were taken up by the difficulty of breathing through his nose, over which a thumb was pressing. One of the slaves produced a length of rope. The negro-girl’s teeth flashed and then were scattered about in starry glints. Someone was making a noise like a croupy fowl. Why didn’t someone else tell Clodius?
9
Old Fulvius called for a beaker of wine, and, wiping away the line of dried sweat from his lips, drank it with a steady hand. Then he sat staring before him. “He had no one but himself to blame,” he said in a low voice. “I warned him. He lived only to see me dead. He was a traitor.”
The iron-hearted men of early Rome were hallooing down the years. He leaned to catch the voices; but the years were windy or age had rendered his hearing weak. Did not the founder of the Republic sentence his two sons to death for treason? Perhaps this was the last year of the ancient virtue; it was well then that there was still a father who could signalise the year with an act of justice that showed no consideration for person. He was not so old. He could beget further sons.
“Send in Lalage,” he said, and drank again.
A tall copper-haired girl entered. “You sent for me?”
“Yes,” he said, and the hand which he reached out was quite steady.
X - THE BETRAYAL
I
Orestilla’s first thought in the morning after Catalina’s departure was of Cethegus. What was she to do about him? She had kept him at bay during the last few weeks by repeating to herself that she was afraid of Catalina’s presence, and that if he ever left her alone again she would take revenge by surrendering, at least once, to Cethegus. Once, only once, the voices craved lyingly; once will be enough; and she, lying, agreed. But now that she was left alone, she felt terrified. She sent at once for the maid and told her to inform the porter that on no account must Cethegus be admitted. Every step in the corridor made her shake with fear.
Then, side by side with a deeper sympathy for Catalina, there arose a stronger revolt. She remembered her daughter in the country and sent for her, arguing that she did not like to leave her there while things were so unsettled. That was what she would tell Catalina, but she could not bring herself to believe that they would meet again. That last embrace had been so crudely distant, so selfishly preoccupied on both sides, that it seemed in its completion to have severed them for ever. She feared that she would be with child because of it; for she felt that the child of such an embrace would kill her at birth, being as ruthlessly egoistic as the spasm of its conception.
As she brooded on this fear, she was inclined to send for Cethegus; but a fear still deeper held her inactive, and she awaited the return of her daughter by her first husband with growing eagerness.
2
Three scowling magicians stood in the study of Lentulus, and Lentulus was pleasantly aware of their emotion of trade-competition. There was Matthias; a pygmy of a man named Labda; and a man who looked like an albino-negro named Leucon. “Now,” said Lentulus, drumming on the table. “I want to see if experts can agree. Gentlemen, explain yourselves.”
“I have explained myself,” said Matthias without looking at his companions; his large black eyes were fixed on Lentulus as if all other objects were non-existent. “My heart is clear to you as the fires of crystal that engirdle the world.”
Leucon took out a phylactery and bound it round his brow. Labda squatted on the floor and drew triangles with his finger. “Will my lord please to spit?”
“Certainly.” Lentulus spat on the floor and Labda bent down to trace out the constellations implied by the drops. Leucon’s eyes turned inwards as if they meant to disappear inside his skull. He gave a gurgling cry and spoke in a quick unintelligible voice. Slowly some sense came out of the babble. Certain words repeated themselves.
“Lord lord I call upon him beyond me stands the lord lord lord where the wheeling wings wings wheel wings which lord lord lord …”
Matthias refused to be distracted. He took from his breast a scroll and handed it to Lentulus, who read: “In the Sibylline Leaves it is written, The three Cs shall rule Rome.”
“Three. What do you make of three?” Lentulus inquired of Leucon.
“Three is the number of a man split three split one the woman moans the man stands out of it comes the lord three three three …”
“Venus will be in occultation of the Moon,” said Labda from the floor. “Saturn rules and Mars is rising. War and triumph and a reversal of gods.”
“The three Cornelii,” resumed Matthias. “ Cinna, Sulla, and Lentulus Sura.”
“He is first that rises third on the third arises the number of a man arising …” Leucon was becoming more coherent. “I see a new Rome. I see power in his nostrils and a crown upon his head.”
Lentulus sighed. “Too much noise. But experts are always noisy in conference.” He closed his beady eyes. There was something behind all this. Why should not a liar be a mouthpiece of divine truth? Were not the lowest types most likely to be mediums of the unknown, since they could be most readily worked on by the unconscious forces of fate? He opened his eyes to find Matthias staring at him with dark-eyed insistence. Lentulus was the third Cornelius and would be king of Rome. Why not?
3
When Cethegus was refused admittance to Orestilla, he was furious. Then he grew coldly angry. He would gain her yet; but to do that safely he must first destroy Catalina. But the conspiracy must go ahead, and he did not feel sufficient confidence to seek control of it alone. His thoughts at once turned to Lentulus. The position of Cæsar worried him, for Catalina had refused to let the others know how far Cæsar was implicated. On the night of Catalina’s departure Cethegus had suddenly realised that it was necessary to know exactly where Cæsar stood, and he had sent Curius to ride after Catalina and ask him how Cæsar was to be treated. Curius caught the party up just before they reached the gates and gave his message.
“Tell him to leave Cæsar alone,” said Catalina sadly.
Curius, with his own nerves on edge, caught the note of pain in the voice. “Has Cæsar drawn out?” he asked slyly.
Catalina did not like the tone of the question. “Tell Cethegus what I said,” he replied, and turned away. He had lost all liking for Curius, and wondered for a moment what had changed him; then he dismissed the subject. He had other things to think about.
Curius was hurt again by Catalina’s snub, but he also registered the emotion that Cæsar had somehow let Catalina down badly. He was pleased to learn this, for it curiously relieved him of his own sense of guilt. Probably Cæsar was the cause of all Catalina’s troubles; the information that Curius had given Fulvia had doubtless been trivial and of no weight. This idea, while removing much of the remorse that twinged Curius, made him self-righteously enraged at Cæsar. It was one thing for Curius to provide information for his mistress with heart-rending scenes; but what excuse did Cæsar have?
When Cethegus received the message about Cæsar, he grew all the more convinced that he must build up with Lentulus a plot within a plot. Catalina had deliberately been misleading his men about Cæsar’s implication; he was not such a strong man after all; in fact he was an impostor. Cethegus and Lentulus would take charge of things and get rid of Catalina at the moment of opportune crisis.
Cethegus had a clear enough perception of men, and knew that Lentulus would be an easy tool. He began with flattery without overdoing it. “Who is Catalina after all?” he said. “It seems to me that someone with a greater name is necessary. Sulla may have been obscure at first, but surely a Cornelius is different from a Sergius?”
Lentulus watched him from under heavy eyelids. “Names are of value, my dear friend,” he agreed. “But what is the point of your remarks? I have never yet observed you waste rhetoric on a friend merely to lighten his boredom.”
“I was thinking it is as well Catalina has gone to Etruria. He’s the right man for a soldier’s job, but the way he bungled the negotiations with Cæsar shows his weakness. We need a proper statesman.”
Lentulus yawned. “I am no divine hero, as you very well know. If you think it fortunate I’m in charge here, it must be because it suits you.”
So they drifted to closer grips. Lentulus was excited by the overtures from Cethegus, for they seemed mysteriously to confirm the prophecies of the soothsayers! He listened with growing amiability, and Cethegus was encouraged to expose more of his plans. Lentulus also had a shrewd sense of men’s weaker spots, and he soon guessed that Cethegus had some grudge against Catalina. That did not matter. Rather, it was very lucky, and was not all luck the result of ruling stars? After all the prophets seemed to be getting the best of things. Cethegus had never known him so genial.
4
Sulpicius and Cato had decided to impeach Murena for bribery, and they went ahead despite all the protests of their friends. As it was necessary to make fully certain of Murena’s acquittal, Cicero, Hortensius and Crassus took up the defence. Crassus was pleased to give this help, which ensured the support of the Equites on the jury; for he wanted in every way now to dissociate himself from the radicals. Sometime before he had got together a large quantity of valuables and prepared to migrate to an estate in Asia if the revolution succeeded.
Cicero was living jubilantly from day to day; and when he stood in the court pleading for Murena, he felt himself indeed the complete statesman. It was all that he could do to keep from insulting his two friends the prosecutors, so ludicrous he felt their disregard for political expediency. He rated Sulpicius for being a legal theorist who had tied up his mind with phraseology, and Cato for being an abstract moralist who had attenuated his ethic to such a purity that it could not be applied anywhere to life. Then he spoke of the need for a worthy and strong consul like Murena. If Murena was disqualified there would have to be a new election and that would be an invitation to radical outbreaks. After the usual concluding touches of pathos, he waited for the verdict of acquittal and received it with no loss of time. The Republic was assured.
Cato gave one glance of scorn at the jurors and walked out. Sulpicius could not take things so easily; he had writhed under Cicero’s clumsy witticisms; he would abjure the world of politics where all kinds of fears twisted men from the plain facts; the consoling world of juridical analysis remained, and to that he would give himself wholly.
