John Roberts - The Sacrilege

"Crassus and Caesar:" His pudgy fingers sketched idle designs in the air between us. "One hears so many rumors."

"What sort of rumors?" I asked.

"You recall the year of Caesar's aedileship?"

"Who could forget that year?" I said. "He put on the greatest games in history."

"There was a rumor at the time, just a rumor, mind you, that he had more than public duty and splendid games in mind. He is supposed to have taken part in a conspiracy to overthrow the state, in league with Crassus.

You recall that the Consuls-designate of that year were not allowed to take office?"

"I remember," I said. The year before, the consular election had been won by Publius Autronius Paetus and Publius Sulla, nephew of the Dictator. They had been convicted of bribery before they had a chance to take office, and the two runners-up were chosen to serve in their stead.

"The plan, it is said, was that Caesar and Crassus would attack the Senate house on the new year and kill all their enemies while they were gathered in one place. Then Crassus was to assume the Dictatorship and name Caesar his Master of Horse. Publius Sulla and Autronius would then serve as Consuls."

"That sounds like malcontent talk to me," I said. "Not that I'd put it past any of them, but it's rather farfetched. Neither Caesar nor Crassus had enough followers to pull it off. Now, Sulla I can understand. He's harebrained enough to try something like that. Ever since the old Dictator died, every adult male bearing the name Cornelius Sulla has been involved in every crackpot conspiracy that's come along. He was tried for throwing in with Catilina, and it took a defense by Cicero to get him off. His brother was accused and convicted, although he escaped execution."

"It was Caesar's intervention that spared him, was it not?" Lisas said blandly.

"Now that I think of it, it was. Servius Sulla was so guilty, Jove himself couldn't have got him free, but Caesar got his sentence commuted to exile." This looked suspicious, but by this time I was seeing conspiracies everywhere. I shook my head. "No, Caesar and Crassus are too shrewd for anything so desperate."

Lisas smiled his man-of-the-world smile. "So it may seem to you, my young friend, but that is not at all apparent to me. In Crassus I see a man of thwarted ambition who yearns for supreme power and glory, only to see it all go to Pompey. Caesar is a man who has watched his best years pass by without performing any deeds of note. They may have perfected a pose of serene majesty, but they are desperate men. Historically, such men have always been the overthrowers of states and the establishers of tyrannies."

"Well, perhaps among Greek and Asiatic states," I said. "But we are Romans."

"And what of that? Was Gaius Marius any different, or the great Sulla? Was Romulus, for that matter? The other great men were away from Rome that year. Had they shown enough resolution, they might well have carried out such a coup." He made a gesture intended to acknowledge the mastery of the gods in all things. "They might have, that is, had this matter been anything other than a mere rumor, which, I remind you, is all it is."

"And now," I said, "Caesar is so buried beneath his debts that he needs a province and its legions to dig him out."

"And soon he will have just such excavationary resources," Lisas said.

"Then why," I asked, "is he still in Rome?"

Lisas performed an expressive shrug. "More rumors. His creditors will not allow him to leave until he posts some surety for his debts."

"A surety only Crassus can provide," I said.

"I know of no one else."

I thanked him for his hospitality and his enlightening gossip and took my leave. A slave fetched Hermes and brought him to the atrium. He looked a bit distressed.

"They took me to see the crocodiles," he said. His breath smelled of Egyptian date wine. "There's one in there that must be twenty feet long. Biggest lizard I ever saw."

"Did you see them eat?"

"No, but I saw bones in the bottom of the pool. They looked like human bones."

"It makes you think, doesn't it?" I said. The tour of the crocodile pool was a service the embassy provided for the slaves of their guests. The "bones" were made of marble. It seems that crocodiles crunch bones to tiny fragments.

We almost made it to the door before a house slave scurried up to me with a wrapped parcel.

"The master said that you forgot this. It is for your slaves at home." At a dinner, of course, I would have wrapped some goodies in my napkin to take home to my slaves. It had not occurred to me to do so at this informal lunch. As I have said, Lisas was uncommonly thoughtful. I handed the parcel to Hermes.

"I want you to take this home to Cato and Cassandra. Don't unwrap it and eat along the way. Cato is to divide it among you after you get there."

He shrugged. "They fed me here. Better than you do."

"Lisas can afford it. Do you know where Milo lives?"

"Everyone in Rome knows that."

"Then you are to rejoin me there when you have delivered this. Wait for me in Milo's atrium and don't fraternize with his household staff. They are very bad people."

He grinned with gleeful anticipation. "Yes, sir!" That I was a Senator and a Caecilius Metellus meant little to him. That I was the friend of Titus Milo impressed him no end.

I was glad of the opportunity to walk alone and think things over. I often had my best thoughts in this fashion, ambling along in a semi-unconscious state, letting my feet take me where they would. Sometimes, my feet would lead me to a place crucial to the solution of my problem. I have often wondered why this should be, and I think it may be that the small gods of the crossroads, whose shrines I passed at every intersection, were aiding me. They are the most Roman of deities, and it was only natural that they should take an interest in my ponderings, which usually involved protecting our ancient city in some fashion.

I thought about Caesar, and Crassus, and Pompey and all the others who plagued us with their power games. And I thought of Julia. Something she had said had raised a question in my mind, but I had been so distracted by her presence that I had not been able to concentrate, and now I had forgotten what it was. I dismissed that as a lost cause and went back to Crassus and Caesar.

Crassus was unthinkably rich, but he was woefully lacking in the sort of military leadership we considered crucial to a successful political career. To wit: one that involved plenty of loot and glory. He had all the requisite experience under senior commanders. He had commanded legions in one campaign, the Servile War against Spartacus and his slave army.

Spartacus might have been the wiliest, ablest, most dangerous enemy Rome had ever faced, but he was a slave and his followers were slaves, and Romans refused to acknowledge a slave army as a worthy enemy. Worse, Crassus had conducted a prudent, plodding war of maneuver, making best use of the legions' skills of discipline and engineering. He turned in a victory that was shatteringly complete and low in Roman casualties, but lacking in the sort of dash admired by the public. As usual, Pompey had arrived from Spain after all the real fighting was over, mopped up a few bands of fleeing slaves and claimed credit for the victory. Crassus had never forgotten. He was itching for a good war, but perhaps, given his mentality, a coup was not out of the question.

As for Caesar, then as now he was an enigma. He was a man of immense capability who had done nothing. He was an aristocrat of one of the oldest patrician families who posed as a man of the people. He was an old Marian in a Rome that had belonged to the supporters of Sulla for twenty years. We Metellans had been his supporters, as had the Claudians, the Cornelians naturally enough, and most of the other great families, such as the Crassi. Even some Julians had backed him, but Caius Julius had always stressed his marriage connection to Gaius Marius, even during the years when his fortunes were the lowest. Could there be more to Caesar than I had thought? He even backed the Greens in the Circus. On this day, the guardian deities of the city did not seem inclined to guide my steps in any fruitful direction. I walked completely around the Circus Maximus, no mean undertaking. I rounded the base of the Palatine and ascended to the Forum, which was rapidly emptying of its day's occupants. I climbed the Capitol all the way to the Temple of Jupiter. I walked inside and stood watching the priests as they went through a scantily attended evening ceremony. The new statue of Jupiter still seemed out of place, although its majesty was impressive. The haruspices had declared that a new statue of the god was necessary to protect the state and expose plots against the constitution. They must have been right, because no sooner had the statue been tamped in place than the conspiracy of Catilina was exposed. I have always found the services in our temples to be restful and conducive to meditation, as long as they were not sacrificing something large and protesting. This was one of the oldest of our temples, exceeded in antiquity perhaps only by the Temple of Vesta. It had been rebuilt many times, and at one time had been a sanctuary containing no image, for the practice of giving our gods the form of human beings was relatively recent. When the Greeks became our slaves, they began reordering our city to suit their own ideas of propriety. I have never understood how it comes about that our slaves take over our lives, but it seems to be a universal rule.