“Not to me, it wasn’t. Many distinguished men were on the steps of the basilica that day, not only members of my own family but the praetor Juventius, the consular Appius Claudius Pulcher, as well as many honest citizens of all classes. The terrible wounds on the body of Fulvius were apparent to all, but not such subtle details as the fact that he was restrained.”
“It just makes sense!” he cried.
“Not without a certain amount of examination, an impossible task on those steps, in the dim light of early morning. In fact, I had the body taken to the Temple of Venus Libitina and there examined by the famous Asklepiodes. That learned man pointed out to me that Fulvius’s wounds were all on the front of his torso, that he had been unable to turn or to bring his arms into play. Hence, he must have been restrained.
“When I speculated that he might have been bound, Asklepiodes informed me that, in that case, the marks of cords or shackles would have been plainly visible. They were not, hence Fulvius was held, from behind, by at least two powerful men while his assailants plunged their blades into his body. You are no Greek physician, Manilius. How did you know?”
There was dead silence throughout the Forum, and this was more ominous than the growling and shouting had been.
“But I had no cause to wish the death of Fulvius! Citizens, don’t listen to this fool!”
“Oh, you barely knew the man. But then, you don’t act for yourself, do you? Who told you to get rid of him? Might it have been the same person or persons who gave you that fine, rich villa in Baiae? One that is almost as fine as Cicero’s or Pompey’s?” A bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. I pointed up at the great building cloaking the hillside to the west. “The evidence is right there, Citizens! In the Tabularium! Last year, when he declared himself a candidate, he listed among his assets a splendid villa in Baiae that he did not own on the last census!”
The low rumble came again from the crowd. Even when I was inciting it, I was dismayed and frightened by how easily they could be swayed. One minute they thirsted for my blood, the next for his.
“He was bought! Tell us, Manilius! Who owns you? Who were your accomplices in the murder of Marcus Fulvius? Were they one and the same?” Now I looked around again. The Marcelli were nowhere to be seen, but they could be lurking in the shade of porticoes or hiding in covered litters. Curio had gone pale. Curio, who had told me that he and Manilius had worked closely together the previous year. Curio, who had somehow known that Fulvius had been murdered elsewhere and carried to the basilica steps.
“You barely knew the man. But there are men in the Senate, and prominent members of the Equestrian Order, who know otherwise. In the last year, Fulvius gave a number of dinners where radical politics were discussed. You were at every one of those gatherings, weren’t you, Publius Manilius? Remember, this crowd is full of witnesses who know the truth, though they may be hesitant to speak up now. They also know that the policies you now espouse are at variance with those discussed in those meetings. You and Fulvius had a falling-out, didn’t you? A deadly one.”
Manilius drew himself up. “You may not accuse, nor lay violent hands upon, the person of a Tribune of the People!”
“Until sundown, Manilius,” Cato shouted, pointing at the angle of the sun. “At sundown you and all the other tribunes lay down your powers and become ordinary citizens. How far can you get by sundown, Manilius?”
“I declare this procedure at an end!” Manilius cried. “All citizens are to disperse!” With the shreds remaining of his dignity, he descended the steps and began his long walk across the Forum. People drew back from him as if he carried some deadly contagion. It gave new meaning to the word “untouchable.”
Cato strode to the edge of the podium and spoke to the soldiers. “A tribune loses his powers and his sacrosanctity if he passes the first milestone. Post men on all the roads out of the city and arrest him as soon as he passes the milestone.”
“Bring him back here alive,” I told them. “I want the names of his accomplices.”
“What are the chances,” Father asked, “that he’ll even reach one of the gates?”
“Slim,” I acknowledged. “Too many people need to clean up after themselves.”
“Unfortunate,” said Metellus Creticus. “It would be nice to get the Marcelli barred from the consulship.”
“Yes,” I said, “and now we’ll have to keep an eye on Curio.”
“Curio is Caesar’s man,” Scipio said. “Why would he be involved in this?”