A Point of Law(39)

“I know their father,” I said. “A few years ago, when Octavius was praetor, Clodius and I brawled our way right into his court. I’d have cut his throat right there in public if the lictors hadn’t separated us.”

“Just as well you didn’t succeed,” Julia observed. “I heard there was a Vestal present in the court that day.”

“Right,” I said. “They’d probably have hurled me off the Tarpeian Rock or tied me in a weighted sack and tossed me off the Sublician Bridge.”

“You Romans have such imaginative punishments,” Callista said.

“That’s nothing,” I told her. “You ought to see what we do to parricides or arsonists.”

“And yet you are not under arrest even though you are charged with murder.”

“We Romans,” Julia told her, “have a robust sense of justice. We reserve our harshest punishments for crimes that endanger the whole community. Rome is a firetrap so arson is the most serious of crimes. Treason endangers us all. Sacrilege, parricide, and incest anger the gods and draw the wrath of the immortals upon the whole City.”

“Exactly,” I put in. “But a grown citizen is expected to be able to take care of himself. If someone tries to kill you, you should kill him first. You’re a poor prospect for the legions if you’re unable to defend yourself.”

“There are exceptions,” Julia pointed out. “Murder by subterfuge, especially if poison or magic are involved, are not tolerated. Likewise, violence toward sacrosanct personages, such as Tribunes of the People or Vestals, draws harsh punishment.”

“Ordinary senators, on the other hand,” I said, “get no such consideration. In really rough times, I’ve seen as many as half a dozen senators carried dead out of alleys. There are always plenty more where they came from. The Curia is too crowded as it is.”

“I see. And these political marriages of yours: Just what is the point of them since they are so easily dissolved?”

“They’re traditional,” I told her. “They hark back to a day when divorce was much more difficult. At one time only patricians had full citizenship, and they had a special form of marriage—conferratio—that was indissoluble. In those days a political marriage genuinely bound the two families.”

“We Roman women of the great families put up with a great deal from our men,” Julia said. “It is bad enough being pawns in a political game, but it would be nice if we were at least pawns that counted for something.”

“Between your multiple marriages and divorces, and your habit of adopting each other’s sons, I’m surprised you bother with these family names at all. They can hardly have much meaning by this time.”

“It is odd, isn’t it?” I agreed. “Yet we still behave as if our names were of utmost significance.”

“I suspect,” Julia put in, “that is because adoption takes place only among a limited number of families, ones that have traditional relationships and a good deal of shared blood.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Metellus Scipio, for instance, is the last of the Cornelia Scipiones, but he is a Metellus on his mother’s side, so he’s a cousin with or without the name.”

“I find it all very confusing,” Callista said.

“Be happy that you don’t have to worry about such things,” Julia advised her.

“Greek women have been known to seek revenge when treated in such a fashion. We remember Medea.”

“Upper class Roman wives are usually ready for a change of husbands after a year or two.” I saw Julia glowering at me. “There are exceptions, of course.”

For another hour or so Julia and Callista talked of philosophical subjects upon which I wisely declined to intrude, save to make occasional noncommittal noises, as if I were following their discussion intently. To my great amazement, Julia seemed to genuinely like the Alexandrian woman. Of course, she had come calling that morning to see what sort of woman I was visiting. She must have been surprised to find a kindred spirit instead of some foreign temptress. Not that Callista wouldn’t have made a fine foreign temptress had she chosen to adopt that role.

Then Hermes returned, having flown upon winged heels, as promised. He entered the peristyle with a bulky bundle over one shoulder and grinning like an African ape.

“I told you to bring back that scroll,” I told him, “not to sack the house.”

“I thought as long as I was taking one book, I might as well take them all.”

“There’s no stopping a born thief,” I said. “Actually, it isn’t such a bad idea. One of these others might be the key.”