The King's Gambit(79)

That did not sound good. Late-night Senate meetings were rare, and they usually meant something dire. I straightened my bloody toga as well as I could and ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. We left the prison and began to walk toward the Curia, preceded by one of my father’s slave boys, carrying a torch.

“You will be relieved to know that Publius Claudius is alive,” Father said.

“Actually, the news rather saddens me. I trust he is at least seriously injured?”

“Just a sore head and a few dashing scars for his face. What were you doing with a caestus anyway? That’s not a gentleman’s weapon.”

“A sword would have been much better,” I agreed. “But a good citizen isn’t supposed to bear arms within the pomerium. The caestus is sporting equipment.” Perhaps I should explain that in those days the pomerium was still the ancient boundary marked out by Romulus when he plowed the circuit with a white bull and cow. Its boundaries are now a mile beyond those in all directions.

"Hmm. You’ll be a lawyer yet.”

“The woman, Chrysis,” I said urgently, “did she confess?”

“Certainly she confessed. You don’t think I’d have bothered to haul you out of prison if you’d dragged an innocent woman into my court, do you?”

“Wonderful!” I said. “And has Claudia been arrested?”

“Eh? What Claudia are you talking about, boy? Pub-lius’s sister? What has she to do with this?”

My heart sank as suddenly as it had soared. “But what did she—”

My father silenced me with an impatient gesture. “Quit babbling. This is important and we have little time. I have used all my influence to get the charges against you dropped. I am convinced that you acted out of blundering stupidity instead of the outright villainy I might have expected. Young Cicero has told me that you went to him for advice on points of law. That is good, although our patron Hortalus knows more of the law than Cicero ever will, and is bound to give you legal advice without recompense.”

“I didn’t want to bother him,” I said. Better to leave Hortalus out of this entirely until I knew where I stood. I was beginning to feel as if I were standing on thin air.

“How you can get into so much trouble over a dead foreigner and a couple of murdered freedmen I cannot understand, but I am trying to get you released from your committee a few weeks early to precede me to Hither Spain as my legate. If you can stay out of Rome and out of trouble for a couple of years, all this may blow over and you can come home when I return to stand for the Consulship.”

This was better than nothing—a temporary banishment instead of a permanent execution. I had fantasized about dragging all of them into court and charging them with treason. Now I saw that for just what it was—a fantasy. I would see justice, but I now admitted that it would take years, not just a few days of investigation followed by some flashy jurisprudence. Well, I was only beginning my career; years were among the very few things I had. If I could just live through this.

We reached the Curia and went up the steps. Beneath the colonnade, we stopped.

“I will wait for you here,” my father said. “Remember, your very life depends upon how you comport yourself in there.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of affection from him. Roman fathers regard paternal affection rather the way most people regard loathsome, foreign diseases. “Be humble, talk small, swallow your pride. Legal formalities mean little to the men in there. They respect only power, and you have none. Such family influence as you have I have already exercised in your behalf. The men who control the Republic these days may be moved against only from a position of great strength and highest office. That takes a great deal of time and work. Now go, and for once in your life behave wisely.”

I said nothing to this, merely nodding before I turned away from him to enter the Curia. I did not hear the usual murmur of subdued talk from the Senate chamber and wondered what was amiss. When I entered the chamber itself, I thought at first that some sort of elaborate prank was being played on me. It was empty.

Then I saw that it was not quite empty. Two men sat on the lowest bench. A single, multi-wicked lamp illuminated them both. They were our two Consuls for the year that was almost over: Marcus Licinius Crassus and Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. They seemed to be discussing some documents that lay on the bench between them. One looked up as I drew closer.

“Ah, young Decius. Come join us.” That was Pompey.

Crassus looked up and studied me with chilly blue eyes. “Now what are we to do with you, Decius?”

“If you have charges,” I said, “the proper procedure would be to take me to court so that the case may be examined.”