“I’ve spent so much time away from Rome these past few years it’s hard to keep track of everyone. Baiae, you say?” I tried to make some sort of connection. Then it dawned on me. “Is this man Clodius’s brother-in-law?”
He grinned his ugly grin. “He’s Fulvia’s brother.”
Fulvia, the widow of my old enemy, had quite possibly the worst reputation of any woman in Rome.
“But since Clodius was killed, she’s taken up with Marcus Antonius, and he bears me no ill-will. It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re just a convenient target, Decius. You’re just back from overseas with a little glory and a lot of money, and you’re standing for praetor. Why assume that it’s personal?”
“You’re probably right. I’ll just handle him the usual way.” Since a serving magistrate couldn’t be prosecuted, my best tactic would be to stall until after the elections. By the time I stepped down, this pest would have found somebody else to plague.
“Like most ambitious men,” Sallustius said, “he’s poor. He may be amenable to a bribe to drop the charges. Would you like me to sound him out?” How like Sallustius. If I’d shown a liking for his sister, he’d have offered to act as pimp.
“No, I’ll avoid the trouble if I can, but I refuse to buy my way out of a charge of which I’m innocent.”
“I don’t see why not. Innocence rarely exempts a man from the consequences of a false accusation. Counterattack is usually the way to go. Don’t tell me you’ve spent all your money already?”
“Thank you for the news and advice, Sallustius. I’ll deal with this my way.”
I looked around until I spotted Hermes, near Vulcan’s altar, talking me up to a little group of voters. One of the rules was that a candidate could not canvass for votes personally. Instead, our clients and freedmen did it for us. I caught his eye and beckoned.
“You don’t want a drink already, do you?” he asked as he joined me. “It’s going to be a long day.” This insolence was the result of his years as my personal slave. Also, he knew me all too well.
“It’s about to get longer, wretch. Go get my father and any other men of the family who may be standing around and my highest-placed supporters. There’s going to be trouble.”
He grinned. “An attack?” Hermes was an inveterate brawler.
“Not the kind you enjoy. A political offensive from an unexpected quarter.”
“Oh,” he said, downcast. “I’ll find them.”
My mind seethed even as I smiled and shook hands with well-wishers. How serious was this man’s support? How would I counter his charges? How much support could I get behind me? How long could I stall? I was going to need legal advice. For this I would automatically have gone to Cicero, but a sea lay between us that year.
Father limped toward me, his face as grim as a thundercloud. Hortensius Hortalus was with him, as were Metellus Scipio and Creticus and even Cato. Much as I disliked Cato, I was ready to welcome anyone’s support.
“We’ve already heard,” Father said, before I could speak. “How did a worm like Marcus Fulvius set this up without us knowing of it?”
“Because we’ve paid him no notice at all, I don’t doubt,” Hortalus rumbled.
“Whose court was it?” I asked.
“Juventius,” Cato said. He meant Marcus Juventius Laterensis, once a close friend of Clodius.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Even dead, Clodius can cause me trouble.”
“Time is on your side,” Cato said. “With the election coming up, the court will be sitting for only four more days.”
“If Juventius is willing to move fast,” I pointed out, “four days is plenty of time to prosecute me.” I didn’t have to point out that a guilty verdict could prevent me from taking my place among the candidates on election day. Even if I were to be voted in anyway, I could be prevented from assuming office on the new year.
“We have to get your backside planted on that curule chair before the bugger can haul you before a court,” said the eminently practical Creticus.
“Tonight,” Hortalus said, “I’ll go outside the walls and take the auguries. Perhaps I’ll see a sign that the courts can’t meet for the next few days.”
“You’re known as my father’s closest friend,” I said. “You’ll be denounced before the Senate for falsifying auguries, even if you see a thunderbolt strike a night-soaring eagle.”
“I’ll take Claudius Marcellus with me. Nobody will question his auguries.” He did not refer to the Claudius Marcellus who was one of that year’s consuls, nor to the Claudius Marcellus who was to be one of the next year’s consuls, nor yet to the Claudius Marcellus who was consul the year after that, but rather to yet a fourth Claudius Marcellus, who was the oldest member of the College of Augurs and trusted the way we always trust men who are too old to do much harm.