“Yes, just getting elected quaestor is problem enough for now,” Caius said. “And, Decius, don’t worry about Fulvius. You know how to handle people like him.”
“Yes,” said Lucius, “the man is nothing. Don’t let him distract you from the election.”
“What? Fulvius?” But they were already turning away to return the greetings of the latest batch of well-wishers.
I walked away wondering at this enigmatic advice. Which Fulvius did they mean? There were ten or twelve senators of that name known to me, and any number of equites. Which of them had it in for me?
I took up my place with the other candidates for the praetorship. After an hour of loud hailing and greeting, I was approached by one of my least favorite Romans, Sallustius Crispus. The year before he had been Tribune of the People, and in that powerful office had established himself as Caesar’s champion. Upon the death of Clodius, he had tried to fill those vacated sandals. Since he considered me Caesar’s man, too, he acted as if we were great friends.
Sullustius fancied himself a historian, and for twelve years he had tried to weasel from me everything I knew about the sorry Catiline business. He was an insinuating, sleazy wretch with overlarge ambitions. Actually, I suppose he was a typical Roman politician of the day and no worse than many others I knew. I just couldn’t help disliking him.
One thing was for certain: with his love of gossip, Sallustius would know who this Fulvius might be and what sort of grievance he had.
“Fine day for politicking, eh, Decius Caecilius? I’d have been at your monument dedication, but I was seeing my brother off.” His younger brother, surnamed Canini for some reason I never learned, had been another of the year’s quaestors.
“Where is he bound?” I asked, waving heartily to a band of my Subura neighbors who were there to support me and others of our district standing for office that year.
“Syria. He’s to be proquaestor for Bibulus.”
“He’ll be safe, then. Bibulus is a cautious man. He’s doing as little fighting as possible and leaving what there is to his legates.” Bibulus had been careful to arrive late to take up administration of his province. Young Cassius Longinus, a mere proquaestor who had survived the debacle at Carrhae, had been successfully driving the Parthians back until he arrived. The boy deserved a triumph for it; but with the tiny forces at his command he had been unable to score a decisive victory, and he was considered too young and too low-ranking for such an honor. So little praise for so much accomplishment may well account for his later hostility toward Caesar—but I get ahead of myself.
“Just as well,” Sallustius was saying. “The talents of my family lie in the literary field, not the military.” I would have said neither, but I didn’t.
“A little while ago I was told to ignore somebody named Fulvius. Who is he and why should I ignore him?”
“You haven’t heard?” he said gleefully. Sallustius loved to be the bearer of bad news. “This morning one Marcus Fulvius denounced you before the extortion court for corruption and plundering in Cyprus and adjacent waters.”
“What!” At my shout heads turned so violently that you could hear vertebrae popping all over the Forum.
“Calm yourself, Decius.” He smiled. “The man’s just an aspiring politician out to make a name for himself. Prosecuting a successful man for corruption is how it’s usually done. It’s how Cicero made his reputation, you know.”
“Yes, but Verres really did plunder Sicily with legendary thoroughness. I did nothing of the sort in Cyprus!”
“What difference does that make?” he asked, honestly puzzled. “You should be glad it’s an accusation of extortion and plunder. It might’ve been for screwing a Vestal Virgin, and think how undignified the trial would’ve been then.”
“I’m to take it that his accusation contained more than just a lot of noise and wind?”
“He says he has a number of witnesses to back him up.”
“Cyprians? He’ll be laughed out of Rome if he hauls a pack of half-Greek mongrels before a Roman jury.”
“He claims he has Roman citizens ready to swear before the gods what a bad boy you were.”
“Damn!” I had offended a number of Romans during my stay on Cyprus. Most were businessmen and financiers, who were profiting handsomely from the pirates’ activities. “Who is this man and where is he from?” I suspected Sallustius would know, and he didn’t disappoint me.
“He’s from Baiae, been here in Rome for the last few months, making connections and learning politics from high-placed friends. I don’t doubt he’s had some expert advice as to how to go about it.”