A Point of Law(78)

“Wait awhile,” I said, studying the lists. “Things are beginning to shape up.”

“I love it when he’s like this,” Julia said.

“He is communicating with his muse,” Callista affirmed.

I ordinarily resent it when people talk about me as if I were not present, but this time I was too preoccupied to take umbrage. As the messages progressed according to Callista’s chronological table, the names of the senators and others got less safe. More prominent men began to show up, men known to have reservations about the trend of Roman politics, but not radical. Some names began to be repeated. These must have been the ones inclined to fall in with Fulvius’s crackpot scheme. I mentioned this to the two women.

“That makes sense,” Callista commented.

“The equites,” I said, “at least those whose names I recognize, are not in the banking or moneylending fraternity. Most seem to be members of prominent business families. These are probably men who have squandered their wealth and are in danger of being degraded from equestrian status.”

“I notice,” said Julia, “that while some of these names are prominantly anti-Pompey or anti-Caesar, none are famously pro-Pompey or pro-Caesar.”

“Very astute, my dear. No, these are mostly malcontents, those perpetually jealous of the great men but adhering to none of them. You may also notice that none of Cato’s patriotic little band are here either. And this despite the fact that Fulvius’s walls were decorated with their favorite historical patriots.”

Julia thought about that for a moment. “Those men are veritable ancestor worshippers, but they are also against any sort of tyrant.”

I put down the papers for a moment and gestured to a nearby slave, who refilled my rhyton. I no longer even noticed the resinous taste. My mind was working like one of those German ale vats, where little clumps of spirit-inspired particles swarm around like bees.

“Do you recall what I told you about the wardrobe Hermes and I found in Fulvius’s house?” I looked around. “By the way, where is Hermes? I haven’t seen him all afternoon.”

“He said he had to go locate some people, and he’d catch up to you later. As I recall you found some equestrian tunics, some senatorial tunics, a plain, white toga, and a toga praetexta.”

“Very good. At the time this told me that the man had vaunting, presumptuous ambitions. He was ready to assume a seat in the Senate and curule office. What escaped me at the time was what was not there.”

“This being?” Julia queried.

“He had no toga candida and no toga trabea.” I caught Callista’s quizzical look and elucidated. “The candida is the specially whitened toga we wear when standing for office. The trabea is a striped robe worn by augurs and some orders of priesthood.”

“He could have had the plain toga whitened,” Julia said.

“That would have left him with no toga for everyday purposes: Senate meetings and sacrifices and such.” More and more in those days, Roman men were discarding the toga except for formal occasions.

“So what do you deduce from this?” Callista wanted to know.

“First of all, that he expected to get a Senate seat, and even curule office, without standing for election.”

“Only a dictator can place a man in the Senate without election. At the very least it takes a vote of the full Senate.”

“Exactly.”

“Why not a priestly robe?” Callista asked.

“Most colleges of priesthood are filled by co-option. A priesthood is held for life. On the death of, say, an augur, the College of Augurs meets and votes in a new member. Likewise with most other priesthoods. A flamen can be appointed by a dictator, but they have to be patricians, and Fulvius didn’t qualify. Certain positions, such as Pontifex Maximus, are elective. But once elected, the pontificate is for life. The men behind Marcus Fulvius promised him a Senate seat and a curule office without having to stand for election. They couldn’t make him an augur or a pontifex, so they didn’t bother making the offer.”

“So somebody intended to become dictator,” Julia said, “and Marcus Fulvius was going to help him do it. But who? Pompey’s supporters have been trying to get a dictatorship for him as long as I can remember, but Fulvius approached none of them.”

“The Claudii Marcelli,” I said, “have been fomenting political hysteria in Rome. They’ve got everybody thinking that we are about to be tyrannized by either Caesar or Pompey. And they’ve been successful in this. Nobody seems to notice that Caesar is a prodigiously successful and ambitious but meticulously constitutional proconsul, and Pompey is a used-up old man content to rest on his laurels. They have us all drawing our swords against phantoms.”