“But the Senate would never recall a successful general,” I said, not liking the sound of this.
“Not as long as he’s successful,” Publius Claudius said, smiling. “And my brother-in-law has been very successful.” He picked up a skewer of grilled lamb and gnawed at it daintily.
“Mark me,” Catilina said, “that man is building himself an independent power base in the East, currying favor with those Asian cities by bankrupting half of Rome.” Sergius Catilina was one of those red-faced, red-haired men who looked and sounded angry all the time. He referred to Lu-cullus’s slashing of the Asian debt. When Sulla was Dictator, he had levied a tremendous assessment on the cities of the province of Asia, which they could pay only by borrowing at usurious rates from Roman financiers. To save the cities from utter ruin Lucullus had forgiven much of the debt and had forbidden high interest, earning him the undying enmity of our moneylenders.
“Perhaps Publius will be able to point out the error of his ways when he sails to join Lucullus next year,” Claudia said airily. She seemed to want to lighten the conversation and quickly changed the subject. Soon the main course dishes were cleared away and we all observed a few moments of silence as the household gods were brought in. Officiating as household priest, Publius drew his toga over his head and sprinkled the little gods with meal and wine lees. When the gods were carried out, the dessert was served.
During this time, Tigranes paid me inordinate attention, asking me to explain this or that concerning Roman custom, law or religion. He showed extraordinary interest in my career and plans for future officeholding. I might have been flattered at such interest from a man who might one day be King of Kings, but at the time I felt more annoyed that he prevented me from devoting my time to Claudia. As a result, Caesar received most of her conversation, for which I envied him.
Claudia excused herself from the drinking-bout that followed dessert, and I decided that I had better moderate my intake of wine. It had come to me during dinner that I was in the company of men with whom it would be unwise to speak carelessly. They were the sort of men who played the power game for the very highest stakes. Such men usually die by violence, and of those present at that drinking-bout, only Hortalus would enjoy a natural death. Of the nature of my own demise, I am not yet qualified to write. The politics of that time shared some aspects in common with the munera sine missione of which I wrote earlier.
Taking little part in the drinking, I watched my fellow guests with interest. Curius was well advanced in drunkenness from what he had sipped during dinner. Sergius Catilina had the sort of red face that grew redder as he drank. His voice loudened and coarsened as well. Hortalus remained as calm and jovial as always, and Cicero drank moderately, his voice never slurring.
Caius Julius was named master of revels and he decreed that the wine be mixed to a strength of only one part water to two of wine, a strong mix considering the potency of the Falernian that Publius served. I was grateful that Caesar refrained from decreeing one of those bouts where every guest had to down a specified number of cups. For instance, we might have been required to drink a cup for every letter in the name of the guest of honor. Tigranes would not have been a bad choice, but we all would have been on the floor before getting to the end of Quintus Hortensius Hortalus. Instead, we were to drink as we pleased, although a server made sure that our cups never stayed empty.
“Tonight,” Caius Caesar said, “since we have so many guests of such high standing in the world, we will discuss the proper uses of power, both civil and military, in the service of the state.” This was another Greek custom chosen to flatter our foreign guest. When Romans settle down to serious drinking, philosophical discourse is rarely chosen for entertainment, on the grounds that nobody the next day will remember what was said anyway. Wrestlers, acrobats or naked Sardinian dancers would be more like it.
“Marcus Tullius,” Caesar said, “be so good as to open the discussion. Mind you, you are not arguing before the bar, so keep your remarks brief and concise, so that men half-drunk can follow the thread of your reasoning.” Caesar himself was the very soul of tipsy good-fellowship, although I was certain that he was perfectly sober.
Cicero thought for a moment, marshaling his arguments. “We Romans,” he began, “have created something new in the world. Since expelling the last of our kings more than four hundred years ago, we have constructed our Republic, which is the finest instrument of statecraft ever devised by man. It is not an unruly, shouting rabble such as the old Athenian republic, but rather a system of duly constituted assemblies, headed by the Senate and presided over by Consuls. With apologies to our honored guest, this is far superior to the outmoded system of monarchy, for we have laws instead of arbitrary will, and all positions of power within the state are apportioned according to merit and service, and all are subject to recall upon proof of incompetence or corruption.