Saturnalia(83)
Ah, yes, Bestia. Bestia, whose voice I had recognized out on the Vatican field, muffled though it had been by his mask. I might have caught it sooner had I not been so terrified at the time. Bestia, whom I had seen only the night before, his face painted crimson, not because he had been elected King of Fools, but to hide the marks left by my caestus.
I had to marvel at the man’s slyness and his audacity. He had accomplished his ends through indirection and covered his tracks neatly. He had slipped only twice: He’d neglected to appropriate the brief mention of Harmodia’s murder in the tabularia, and he had not eliminated the slave he sent to the Temple of Ceres. Make that three times. He had failed to kill me. It was that last one he was going to regret.
13
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN I finished the letter, rolled it up, and sealed it. “Hermes!”
The boy came to my desk. He was nearly recovered from his excesses of the night before. I handed him the letter.
“Take this to the house of the aedile Lucius Calpurnius Bestia. It is on the Aventine somewhere.”
“The Aventine!” He groaned. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it can’t. Give this letter to his doorkeeper and tell him that it is a matter of utmost urgency. Don’t wait for a reply; just leave and come straight back here. Waste no time.” Something in my tone cut through the fog of his hangover, and he lost his customary insolence. He nodded and left.
I opened my arms chest and took out my swords. My military sword was a bit bulky for my purposes, so I selected a smaller gladius of the sort that is used in the arenas. It was wasp-waisted, its swelling edges honed to razor keenness, its long, tapering point apt for stabbing. I tested the edges, found a couple of spots that felt slightly dull, and stroked them lightly with a small whetstone. Then I did the same with my dagger.
When all was in order I sat back and looked out my window to the west. Storm clouds were piling up beyond the Capitol, black and ominous. I lay down for a while, hoarding my strength. Despite my tension, I slept.
I woke when Hermes got back. A little twilight lingered in the sky, and I heard distant thunder. I rose, feeling greatly refreshed and oddly at peace with myself. I had determined upon a course of action, and I would see it through, whatever the cost.
“He got it,” Hermes reported. “The doorkeeper said he was home and he’d deliver it right away.” He glanced at the weapons laid out on my bedside table. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself about,” I told him, fastening on my hunting boots. “Get my dark cloak.” I put on my military belt and hooked the sheathed blades to their suspension rings. Then I tucked my caestus beneath my belt. Hermes handed me my cloak and I draped it over my shoulders, hiding my weaponry. He fastened it at the left shoulder with a Gallic fibula.
“You’d better let me go with you,” Hermes said.
“There would be no point. Stay here and be ready to open the door for me later on tonight.”
“And if you don’t come back?” He was most solemn, a rare thing in Hermes.
“You’ll be taken care of,” I told him.
“Let me carry your other sword,” he urged.
“I am touched by your loyalty, Hermes, but I haven’t yet sent you to the ludus to be trained. Either matters tonight will work out as I hope or they won’t. In neither case will your presence help, and it would only expose you to needless danger. Now I must be going.”
Hermes was a little teary-eyed as he opened the door for me. He really wasn’t such a bad boy after all, on his better days. The door shut behind me with great finality.
So I set off on yet another long walk through the streets of Rome, perhaps to be my last. The light was dimming fast and soon would be inky black. The ugly clouds now piled high over the Capitol and through them snaked fitful lightning. We Romans love omens and it was altogether just and fitting that these should be such evil ones. Something bad was going to happen to someone that night.
I came into the northeastern end of the Forum and turned onto the Sacred Way. The darkness was so complete that even the whitest buildings were all but invisible, and I had to pause from time to time and wait for a lightning flash to give me my direction again. Then I was on the winding street that climbs the Capitol. The rising wind tugged at my cloak, but there was as yet no rain.
Roman law and Roman courts are the best in the world, but sometimes they fail. Very clever and ruthless men know how to circumvent the laws, how to use the courts to their own advantage, how to suborn juries and use the power of ambitious faction leaders to secure their own protection. Some of the worst men in Rome were our public officials, and they were the men best-trained in the law. At such times a man who loves the laws and customs of Rome must violate them if justice is to be served.