A Point of Law(77)
“Well, if this isn’t a special occasion,” I said, “then I don’t know what constitutes one. Breaking a code is a unique sort of accomplishment.”
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything so much,” she said, with apparent sincerity.
“What have you learned?” I asked.
Julia took up a small sheaf of papers. “We could have hoped for more. No names of the conspirators were used, probably for security’s sake, but probably also because they were scarcely needed, since only a tiny circle of plotters were involved. Also they are not dated. Again because the participants would know when they were written and received. These were never intended for future reference.”
“Marcus Fulvius intended to use them in the future,” I said.
“How so?” Julia asked.
“That he intended to use them at some future date I deduce from the fact that he didn’t destroy them after reading, which is what you usually do with incriminating documents. As to his motive, since he intended to be a great man, he may have wanted them for his memoirs, which he fancied would have an audience. Or, more likely, he may have intended to use them for blackmail purposes, or as insurance in case the others should someday turn against him, as I now believe they did.”
“I never would have thought of those things,” Callista admitted, “yet I find your logic impeccable, and your grasp of the various possible alternatives comprehensive. Most people who have not been trained in philosophy and logic form a single opinion, usually based on prejudice or emotion, and adhere to it stubbornly.”
“This is what makes my husband the—singular sort of person he is,” said my loving wife.
“But he employs his gift in a unique way,” said Callista. “Give me a problem of mathematics, of the nature of the universe, of natural history, or the nature of beauty, and I will bring to bear upon it all the resources of five hundred years of philosophical thought, from Heraclitus to the present day. But, confronted with the problems of human passion, of ambition, greed, lust for power, jealousy, and simple stupidity, I am as helpless as a child. Such things do not yield to analysis and philosophical rigor.”
“That,” Julia told her, “is because you have lived your life in an elevated world of the mind, where thought is the highest joy. Decius, to the contrary, is intimately familiar with all these things.”
“Well, what do we have here?” I asked, a little put out at Julia’s fulsome praise of the philosophical world. I had spent some time at the Museum of Alexandria and so had she. Among the teachers there we had found no shortage of pettiness, jealousy, and ambition.
“We’ve sorted these into what seem to be chronological order,” Callista said crisply. She took a sheet from Julia. “This one I’ve put first because the original showed signs of awkwardness in using the cipher. The ones I’ve assigned a later date show far greater assurance in the execution.”
“That makes sense,” I allowed. I took the sheet and read. It began without the usual preamble: “From so-and-so to his esteemed friend so-and-so, greeting.” Instead, it got down to business in the first line.
Our supporters are in place and have their orders. They will assist you in any way you wish, as in locating and inviting the subjects for each of your meetings, accompanying you to the Forum, etc. From receipt of this message you are not to approach us in public or in private. If you encounter one of us in a public place, there can be no more than an exchange of civilities. In public, for now, we are mere acquaintances whose families are vaguely connected. For your first gathering you will invite the following men whose sympathies we deem to be in accord with our program:
There followed a list of seven names. Those I recognized were low-level senators, two of them relatively well-known malcontents who continualy courted attention by berating the greatest men. They were tolerated because of tradition and because we liked to let the public think that the Senate is an assembly of equals, as in the good old days. When the plebs saw nonentities like these haranguing Caesar or Pompey, Cato or Cicero, to his face, right up on the Rostra, it gave everyone a sense of participation and the comforting and very deceptive feeling that Rome was in no danger of succumbing to tyranny.
“The next few,” Callista said, “are very brief and mostly list the guests he is to invite to each new meeting.” She showed me these and each of them gave a list of seven names, along with assurances that all was proceeding splendidly.
“Always seven names,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Julia queried.