John Roberts - A Point of Law

Leave it to Fulvia to look good in mourning. In tribute to her recently departed brother, she wore a black gown, its fabric sheer to near-transparency, the gatherings of the sleeves drooping so low as to leave her arms and shoulders almost bare.

“Decius Caecilius!” She came forward, one hand extended. “Just yesterday your wife called for the first time in years; today I have the pleasure of your company. Dare I hope this signifies a warming of relations between us?” Her furry voice was as sensuous as her tiny, voluptuous body.

I took her hand. “My feelings for you have always been of the warmest, Fulvia, although your late husband and I had our differences. And speaking of relations, please accept my condolences on the untimely death of your brother.”

I fought to suppress the usual effect this woman had on me. Fulvia was in her midtwenties and at the height of her beauty. She was, in fact, one of Rome’s great beauties, more so even than Clodia and the equal of Fausta, the daughter of Sulla. But where Fausta’s beauty was icily patrician, Fulvia’s had a carnality we usually associate with Alexandrian whores and Spanish dancers from Gades. Her abundant, tawny hair; her huge, heavy-lidded gray eyes; her wide, full lips, all held promise of infinite depravity.

“Very kind of you, Decius, but I scarcely knew him.” She sat and one of the twins filled a cup for her. In those days women weren’t supposed to drink unwatered wine, but they weren’t supposed to wear those sheer gowns either. “People are saying you killed him, but I don’t believe it. I’ve heard he was butchered horribly, and I know that you would do a quick, clean job of it.”

“You flatter me. Yes, I’ve never killed a man willingly, but when forced to it I’ve always gotten the business done with as little fuss as possible.”

“I’ll have to see to his funeral arrangements. I still have a few friends. One of them is coming here soon to handle the details. I think I’ll just have him cremated here and send his ashes back to Baiae for the full funeral treatment and interment in the family tomb. It’s on a beautiful site beside the bay.”

“That would be best,” I told her. “With so few friends and relations here in Rome, he wouldn’t get a send-off proper to a man of his ancestry.”

“I’m so glad you agree. I have a bad enough reputation without appearing dry-eyed at the funeral. I am really not very good at wailing and clothes rending, although I did my best for poor Clodius.”

“That was a noisy funeral, what with the riot and the burning of the Senate house. I’m sorry I missed it.” I took another long drink of the Caecuban and held out the cup for a refill. “On a happier note though, I understand congratulations are in order. You are to marry Scribonius Curio?”

“Oh, yes. I know Antonius will be disappointed, but he’ll just shrug and wait for me to be widowed again. It happens often when your husband is in politics.”

“Too true. I don’t envy you if he wins the tribuneship.”

She rolled her eyes. “All the gods protect me! I’ve been a tribune’s wife before-people tramping through the house at all hours, stuck here in Rome in the hottest weather, constant political meetings-it’s all a great bother, but it establishes a man’s political reputation like no other office.” Among other things, a Tribune of the People was forbidden to lock or even close the doors of his house. He had to be accessible to the people at any hour.

“So it does. Might I ask how it comes about that you are going to marry this man?”

Fulvia looked as if she needed to give this some real thought. “To be honest, he asked. I haven’t been exactly mobbed by suitors lately. Men want me, but they are intimidated by me.” She said this as matter-of-factly as she would have if someone remarked upon the color of her eyes. “Or they are afraid of the memory of Clodius-of having to bear comparison with him. That was one thing that attracted me to Antonius-he’s afraid of nothing and nobody. Curio is the same way.”

“Antonius is rather dense,” I told her. “Fearless men often are.”

“Curio isn’t dense. You haven’t met him?”

“Never had the pleasure. I know Cicero regarded him as something of a protege at one time, thought he possessed great gifts.”

“Cicero!” she said with venom. “I hate that man! He pretends to be such a virtuous and pure servant of the Republic, but his brand of politics is no cleaner than Clodius’s was. And Clodius really did things for the people. Cicero fawns on the aristocrats and acts as their mouthpiece-people who despise him as an out-of-town upstart if he only knew it!”

I was a little taken aback by this sudden fury, but she shed it as quickly as it had appeared.

“Forgive me. I get angry when anyone mentions that man. It wouldn’t be so bad if Cicero wasn’t such a hypocrite.”

“Do you think it was a tribuneship your brother was pursuing when he came to Rome?”

“It might have been. I am sure the action and drama of a tribune’s life would have appealed to him far more than the drudgery of a quaestorship.” These were the two offices that would boost a man into the Senate.

“But all political offices are costly. He would have needed a wealthy patron to underwrite his expenses, unless he had family money.”

“No, our eldest brother, Manius, has control of that. And he’s quite happy being one of the biggest frogs in the pond of Baiae.”

“Baiae is a wonderful place,” I said. “I wonder that any of you left.”

“Luxury is good,” she said. “Power is better.” She took another sip and looked around her. “Luxury with power is best of all.”

I could scarcely argue with the logic of that statement. Moments later the comely housekeeper arrived with the news that Fulvia’s obsequy-arranging friend was in the atrium.

“Bring him in, Echo. I want Decius Caecilius to meet him.”

Moments later a well-favored young man entered the peristyle. “Decius Caecilius,” Fulvia said, “I want you to meet Caius Scribonius Curio, my dear friend, future husband, and soon to be Tribune of the People.”

I took his hand and we studied each other. Curio was about twenty-five, well built, with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. His hand had broken knuckles and calluses only in the places where weapons-training will put them. His square face was hard and belligerent, which was a good sort of face for a tribune to have in those days. His nose was slightly askew, his ears a bit deformed, and his eyebrows scarred, all marks of the boxing enthusiast. This was something of a rarity among upper-class Romans, who preferred wrestling or armed combat. What he saw I cannot say for certain, but I suspect he classified me as a man approaching his middle years who lived too hard and drank too much. In other words, typical of my generation and class.

“You are a man to whom Fortuna has been generous, if all that I hear is true,” I said.

“I’ve wanted to make your acquaintance for a long time,” Curio responded, “but I scarcely expected to find you in this house this day.”

“Believe me,” I said, “I am not polluted with the blood of Fulvia’s brother. I didn’t even step in it. I came to ask about him, since I may have to defend myself in court.”

“I’m sure Decius didn’t do it,” Fulvia said. “His reputation is that of a forthright brawler, not a murderer.”

“I’ve heard that manly combat is the technique of heedless youth, careful assassination that of maturity. But I am certain that you are right, my dear. The fact that you entertain Decius in your house proclaims his innocence.”

“If you believe it,” I said, “why not bring it up at the contio this afternoon?”