A Point of Law(46)

Hermes thought a moment. “Because, last year, a part of the estate went to Manilius.”

“Exactly.”

“But was Manilius being bribed for a specific favor or was it just for his cooperation during his year as tribune?”

“An excellent question. You really are learning how to do this, Hermes. Next year, when I’m praetor, you’ll make me a first-class investigator.”

“If you’re praetor next year. If you’re alive next year, for that matter.”

“Such are the vagaries of politics. But the gods are on my side, and maybe they’ll continue to favor me.” By this time we were past the Porticus Aemilia and turned rightward along the old Servian Wall toward the Ostian Gate.

“What do we know about the Claudia Marcella?” I asked as we passed beneath the portal.

“Not much,” Hermes answered. “I’ve got a feeling we’d have heard a lot about them if we’d spent more time in Rome these last few years.”

“That is what I think. We need someone who specializes in gossip, the more scurillous the better. Not a respectable type, mind you. We can’t use anyone whose party affiliation compels him to exalt his own side while defaming the others. We need someone who is shameless about vilifying anyone at all. We need—”

“We need Sallustius.”

“Exactly. I loathe the man, but I loathe him for precisely the same qualities I am in need of now. Run on ahead to the Forum, look into the baths. He’ll be wherever the news is to be had, maybe out on the Campus Martius where the legionaries are pitching their tents.”

“That’s a lot of territory to cover,” he complained.

“Sallustius won’t be hard to spot. When you’ve located him, come back and find me and lead me to him. I’ll be making a more dignified progress toward the Forum. I’ll wait for you at the Rostra.”

He dashed off and I ambled my way up the old street past the Temple of Flora and around the northern end of the Circus, stopping to chat with citizens as I went. It was still election time after all. Nobody seemed to be disturbed by my suspect status. So far, so good.

The day was getting on, but there was still plenty of daylight left. My head buzzed pleasantly from the recent wine tasting. I always take satisfaction in mixing business with pleasure.

By the time I reached the Rostra, Hermes was standing there, and Sallustius was with him. I put on my biggest, most sincere false smile and took his oily hand and clapped his hairy shoulder.

“Caius Sallustius,” I shouted, “you are just the man I wanted to see!”

“So I presumed, since you sent your man to fetch me.” He tried for a sardonic smile, but on his face it was merely ugly. “I take it that this has something to do with your current difficulty?”

I gave him a surprised look. “You mean that silly business with the late Fulvius? Not at all! I simply wished to call upon your matchless—ah, scholarship concerning the political personages of our Republic.”

“I see,” he said, not buying a bit of it. “And just what would you know?”

“Well, since I’m to be one of next year’s praetors—”

“Assuming you aren’t in exile,” he interrupted.

“I wish people would stop saying that. This murder charge is false. Less than nothing.”

“Indeed.” He put a wealth of disbelief into the word.

“Anyway, it is almost certain that one of next year’s consuls will be Caius Claudius Marcellus. It occurs to me that I know very little about the man whom I shall have to work with for the next year. I don’t know much about the family, for that matter. They’ve always been around, but they’ve become uncommonly prominent of late.”

“That,” he said, “is because they’ve made themselves spokesmen for the anti-Caesarian bloc in the Senate.”

“I’ve deduced that much. How did this come about?”

“For one thing, you Metelli abandoned leadership of the anti-tyrannical party.”

I winced. That arrow had been straight at the mark. My family’s hedging and trimming, once the sign of statesmanlike willingness to compromise, was beginning to look like timidity and weakness.

“So the Claudii have thrust their family forward as champions of good old Republican liberty, eh? They seem to have a lot of people convinced.”

“And they’re willing to go to extremes to prove it.”

We had begun strolling toward the Basilica Aemilia, where the work of restoration went noisily on despite the general holiday atmosphere. Soldiers swarmed everywhere, strutting about to great admiration.

“What sort of extremes?” I asked him.