“He was lucky it wasn’t Caesar,” I said. “Caesar treats his tribunes like none-too-bright schoolboys—tells them to keep their mouths shut and watch the real soldiers at work. A tribune can be with Caesar for a year without being given so much as a squadron of cavalry to command.”
“Is that because he thinks they’re incompetent or because most of them are sons of his political enemies?”
This was a very astute question. Whatever his debts and disreputable history, there was nothing wrong with Curio’s political instincts.
“Both, I believe. Everyone knows the contempt in which Caesar holds the Senate. He also makes it a policy to exalt the centurionate and the common soldiers. This reinforces his influence with the populares. Of course,” I added, “everyone who’s ever soldiered knows what an embarrassment an eighteen-year-old tribune can be. They rarely perform as well as young Cassius did in Syria this year.”
“That boy could become a power in Rome when he returns,” Curio noted. “The Senate may be stingy with the honors it owes him, but he’s sure to be a darling of the plebs for that very reason.”
“I doubt it,” Fulvia said. “I know Cassius. He’s a handsome young man, very bright, but as upright and old-fashioned as Cato. He’ll side with the aristocrats even while they kick him in the face.” There was nothing wrong with Fulvia’s evaluation of men either. Cassius did exactly as she predicted.
Our conversation may seem frank and unguarded for two men who did not know each other, but there was nothing truly unguarded about what we said. We both expected to hold office in the following year. We would have to work with one another, so it made sense to feel one another out while we had this opportunity.
“In recent years,” Curio said, “you’ve been known to break with your family’s optimate stance. Do you intend to switch to the populares?”
“I have no faction,” I intoned gravely. “I always vote for the good of Rome.” This mealy mouthed protestation raised a good laugh. It was what every last politician in Rome always claimed. You never belonged to a faction. Your opponents belonged to factions. Truthfully, I detested the faction politics of the times, but you had to choose one sooner or later. “My family tolerates a little leeway,” I went on, more seriously. “After all, we’ve been anti-Pompeians in the past, but Nepos has never been shut out of family councils even though he’s been Pompey’s lifelong friend and supporter. If I sometimes lean toward the popular cause, it’s always on an issue my family can live with. I suspect that, should it come to a clear break between the factions, I’ll side with my family as always.”
“That would be a pity,” Curio said. “Because the Metelli are sure to stick with the aristocratic side, and the day of the aristocrats is past. Power now lies with the plebs. Clodius knew it, I know it, Caesar most surely knows it.”
“And yet I understand that, until very recently, you stood solidly with the optimates.”
“For a long time I held a young man’s belief in the wisdom of his elders. But we must all grow up sooner or later. Recently, I had a very illuminating talk with Caesar, and I knew it was time to change sides.”
“Caesar covered your debts, too, I hear.”
“There’s no disgrace in that,” he said, quite unembarrassed. “Pompey offered to do as much. The disgrace is in accepting a man’s patronage and then betraying him. Admit it, Decius Caecilius: Wouldn’t it be better for a man like Caesar to manage Rome and Rome’s Empire for the good of all citizens, than for a few dozen dwindling old families to run it all for their own benefit, as if Rome were still a little city-state controlled by a few rich farmers?”
“You’re not haranguing the consilium plebis,” I told him. “There is something in what you say, but there’s also great danger. The optimales often behave foolishly and selfishly, but so do the populares. Any degree of mismanagement is better than civil war, which is what we’ll have if it comes to a contest between the two. We’ve had too much of that already.”
“So we have,” he said reasonably. “Well, let’s hope it never comes to that.”
We drank to that fond wish, and I rose. “You two have funerary arrangements to attend to so I’ll trouble you no longer.”
“Let me know how your investigation goes,” Curio said. “I’ll speak up in the contio against your being charged with the murder.”
“I thank you for that. I suspect you’ll be hearing all about my findings. Fulvia, I thank you for your hospitality at such a difficult time.”