The King's Gambit(71)
He bowed, sweeping his robes gracefully. “I shall always be at your service. I cannot tell you how much more entertaining it is to serve you than to sew up athletes or diagnose the false ailments of healthy aristocrats.”
“May we always lead interesting and exciting lives,” I said. “Now I must go see whether I can make mine a long one.”
On my way from his quarters, I stopped to watch the men practicing their fighting in the exercise yard. Any or all of them could die in the next great munera, but they practiced with that inhuman serenity that gladiators always seemed to have. Sinistrus had been one of their number. The old champion Draco watched them with a critical eye, and the lesser trainers shouted out their instructions as to the proper use of dagger, sword or lance. These men never showed the faintest concern for their lives, and I decided that a Roman official, however humble, could scarcely do less.
I walked out through the school’s entrance and my old soldier, Burrus, fell in behind me, as did Milo. I stopped and turned to face that remarkable young man.
“Milo, I am sure that Macro does not wish you involved in this.”
“I didn’t ask him. I have my own reputation to build in this city. I want it known that I don’t fear Claudius and I want to be seen publicly as your supporter. After all”—he favored me with that maddening grin again—"they may pretend to despise you, but everyone secretly admires a man who’s such a fool for duty that he’ll throw his own life away for love of it.”
“Here, now!” Burrus said, outraged. He made as if to strike Milo, but I stopped him with a gesture.
“None of that. Milo, you are one of the strangest men I have ever met, but I appreciate your honesty, even if you are a criminal. Honesty is in short supply among the respectable classes these days, so it must be valued, wherever we find it.”
“Excellent. Shall we go to the house of Claudius?”
“Not yet. To the Forum first. I intend to make an ungodly show. All Romans love a spectacle, and I shall give them one.”
“Wonderful!” Milo said. “May I help?”
“I don’t know how you could, but go ahead, as long as you don’t interfere and there is no violence on your part.”
“Leave it to me,” he said.
As we walked toward the Forum, every so often Milo would make a gesture and someone would come from a doorway or a knot of idlers and Milo would whisper to him. They were all rough-looking fellows or else the sort of young street urchins who provided recruits for the gangs the way farm boys provided them for the legions. After each brief consultation the one talked to would run off. I did not ask Milo what he was up to. I was too involved with my own desperation to worry about it.
As I walked, I drank in the sights of Rome, knowing that it might well be for the last time. The whitewashed walls, the little fountains at every corner, the shrines to minor gods in their niches, all stood etched with wonderful clarity, their colors vivid as if seen through the eyes of an infant. The feel of cobbles beneath my sandals, the sound of hammering from the tinsmiths’ quarter, the very smell of frying garlic wafting from tenement doorways seemed charged with unbelievable beauty and significance. I would have preferred all this in late spring, when Rome is at its most beautiful, but one can’t have everything.
The Forum was simmering when we arrived. Crowds were gathered near the Curia, around the Rostra and before the Basilica Aemilia, where my father held court that day. I could see others coming into the Forum from side streets. I could not believe that it was all on my account. I was simply not that important. At the center of the crowd by the Rostra, though, I saw Publius Claudius. The instant he caught sight of me, he came for me, with his whole mob behind him.
I checked to make sure that my dagger and caestus were in place, for all the good they would do me in this situation. No, I thought, this is just too public. He won’t attack me here. A fat lot I knew about it.
They stormed across the all-but-empty stretch of pavement in the middle of the Forum. Scattering the few pedestrians who stood in their way, the crowd bore down upon us as if to trample us. I knew then that Claudius fully intended to kill me, right in the middle of the Forum with half of Rome looking on. He had scant judgment, but you couldn’t fault the man for sheer gall.
As if having collective second thoughts, the crowd broke step, wavered and slowed to a halt a few paces from us. I was under no illusion that they had acquired a respect for the law as they crossed the pavement, so I looked behind me. About thirty young men stood there, hard boys from the gangs. None of them displayed weapons openly, although a large number leaned on perfectly legal walking sticks, as if a sudden plague of lameness had broken out among the youth of Rome. Apparently, Milo was building up his own, independent little mob.