John Roberts - Saturnalia

I shrugged. “Who could take offense at that?” I would like to believe that I only said this because I knew that I would never leave the room alive without agreeing to his proposal. Men have drowned in the baths before.

“It is agreed then,” he stated with great finality. “Good. Begin at once. You will need to call upon Clodia. She is having a dinner tonight. You are invited.”

“This is all rather sudden,” I said.

“I am busy and have little time. You won’t be in Rome long, will you, Decius?” The way he said it brooked little disagreement.

“Only long enough to settle the matter of Celer’s death.”

“Excellent, excellent. I don’t mean that we must resume our feud when this disagreeable matter is over, but to be frank the fewer friends Milo and Cicero have in the city during my tribuneship, the happier I’ll be.” He clapped me on my wet shoulder. “We’re men of the world, eh? We all know how politics work. Just because men disagree on certain matters doesn’t mean they can’t cooperate harmoniously on other matters of mutual interest.” Like all professional politicians, Clodius could turn on the charm when necessary.

“It goes without saying,” I murmured.

“Precisely.” He splashed water over his face and hair. “For instance, Cato and I loathe one another. But I have an extremely important post for him next year, one that I would entrust to none of my friends.”

“Permit me to guess that it’s a position that will keep him away from Rome,” I said.

He grinned. “No reason why I can’t accomplish two beneficial acts with one piece of legislation, is there?”

“What’s the post?” I asked, genuinely interested. Everything Clodius did as tribune was likely to affect myself and my family in one way or another.

“Our annexation of Cyprus is coming up. I’m going to give Cato an extraordinary position as quaestor pro praetore to oversee the transfer and render a full accounting to the Senate, his authority to last as long as he thinks fit to get the job done.”

“He’s a good choice,” I admitted grudgingly. “The island is strategically important and rich. In the hands of most men that would be a license to loot the place and sow bad will among the natives for a generation to come. Cato is utterly incorruptible; not that it makes him any more likable. He’ll render an honest accounting.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I take it you don’t intend any reconciliation with Cicero?

His smile dropped away and the real Clodius flashed through. “Some things are beyond even the demands of political expediency. I’m going to drive him into exile and I’ve made no secret of the fact.”

“You realize that you’ll be robbing Rome of one of her best political and legal minds, don’t you? Cicero is one of the most capable men of our age.”

Clodius snorted. Maybe he had water up his nose. “Decius, like most of the aristocrats, you’re living in the past. Between the dictatorship of Sulla and the present we’ve had this little revival of the old Republic, but it won’t last. The important figures of our age are the men of action, men like Caesar and Pompey, not lawyers like Cicero.”

“Let’s not forget Crassus,” I said, annoyed at his all-too-accurate assessment of the times. “Men of wealth are of paramount importance, too.”

Clodius shrugged. “When has that not been the case? Even kings are primarily rich men, forget about the blood lineage. But wealthy men who are not also powerful soon lose their wealth to men with many followers and sharp swords. During Sulla’s proscriptions, wealthy men were routinely condemned so their property could be seized.”

“You seem to have all the answers,” I said.

He nodded. “I have.” He stood and his flunkies rushed to bring him towels. “I really must be going, Decius. I have a great deal to accomplish. The transition to the new government is already in process. I will see you this evening at Clodia’s.”

“Is she still living in Celer’s house?” I asked.

“Yes, for the moment. She will be moving back into the Claudian mansion after Saturnalia. It’s more secure.”

I interpreted this to mean that Celer’s will had been read and he had left nothing to Clodia. This meant that the house would probably go to Nepos, who was half-brother to Celer. He was Pompey’s man, and Clodia was aligned with her brother, who was Caesar’s. This was a not particularly complicated matter of property, family, marriage, and politics, and typical of the times.

When Clodius and his men were gone, Hermes came tiptoeing in.

“Master, I never saw them coming. I’d have warned you, but I looked up and there were those gladiators and Publius Clodius and I …”

“Quite all right, Hermes,” I said, studying the ceiling, rejoicing in the fact that I was breathing. “I rather expected that they had killed you. Clodius does so love his little surprises.”

“I thought I’d find you floating facedown,” he admitted. “I’m glad to see he let you live.”

“Then let us rejoice in our mutual survival.” I almost felt that I could get out of the bath without my knees wobbling too disgracefully. I had never been reluctant to fight Clodius one-to-one, or each of us with his own followers behind him, armed or unarmed. We’d had it out in the streets more than once, and I did not fear him on anything like an even footing. But there is something unmanning about being caught by your deadliest enemy when you are alone, hugely outnumbered, cornered without means of escape, and stark naked to boot. From a proud and pugnacious Roman, I had become something resembling a jellyfish.

“What’s happened?” Hermes asked.

“Well, how shall I explain?” I studied the ceiling some more. “The good part is, we are safe in the streets for a while. Clodius has called off his dogs. The bad part is, he, too, wants me to investigate Celer’s death, but only because he wants me to clear Clodia of guilt. I fear a certain conflict here.”

Hermes didn’t take long to figure out the problem. A slave always knows exactly where the danger is coming from.

“Prove her innocent and you alienate your family,” he said. “Prove her guilty and Clodius will kill you.”

“That is how I read it,” I affirmed. “Of course, Clodius plans to kill me anyway, no matter what I do. It’s not as if a threat from him was anything new. And my family at least won’t have me killed. I can, however, look forward to spending the rest of my life draining the swamps on the worst of the family estates.”

“You could throw your support to Pompey,” said Hermes. He was learning fast.

“No, I can’t. I won’t back Pompey or Caesar or Crassus. I am a Republican.”

“Don’t they all claim that?” His grasp of reality was improving.

“Of course they do. But they are lying and I am not. Sulla claimed that he was restoring the Republic, and he proved it by murdering half the Senate and then making his supporters senators whether they’d served in office or not. Pompey was made consul without having ever served in elective office, against all constitutional law and precedent! And Caesar is the worst of the lot because nobody knows what he is up to, except that he intends to be dictator!”

“You know,” Hermes said, “your voice sounds really good in here, the way it echoes off the walls, I mean.”

“Bring my towel,” I told him. Wearily, I climbed from the hot bath and made my way to the massage tables.

An hour later, dressed, massaged, rubbed down with fresh oil, and over my second fright of the day, I felt ready to resume my activities. Life in Rome was nothing if not stimulating. I was already wondering what Clodia would have for dinner.