The King's Gambit(82)

“Surely Claudius won’t try to murder you in public!” Father protested. Milo and I both got a good laugh out of that one.

“I still wonder why they were so lenient with me,” I said. “Granted, I did nothing wrong and pursued my duties diligently, but that never stopped those two from killing anyone.”

Milo surprised me by answering. “It’s because they’re in a good mood. You would be too if you enjoyed their good fortune.”

“Yes, that’s why I pressed for this interview tonight,” Father said. “It seemed a fortuitous occasion.”

“What happened?” I asked, mystified.

“The will of Sergius Paulus was read this morning,” Father told me. “He left the vast bulk of his estate to the Consuls and the other magistrates, including”—he tried not to gloat—"a rather generous bequest to me.”

“And freed all his slaves,” Milo said. “Every one of them, and the man owned thousands. He left each one a small cash stake to set them up as freedmen and gave all the rest to the Consuls and praetors.”

I let the implications of this seep in for a few moments, then whooped: “Sergius Paulus, you clever freedman bastard! No wonder you filed a new will every year! Cut your estate up among each year’s magistrates and no one will question all those manumissions.”

Father cleared his throat. “Yes, the will clearly violates the legal limit on testamentary manumissions, but I hardly think there will be any dispute over that.”

I laughed until tears rolled down my face. For the first time in days I felt truly fine. Paulus had proved to me that Rome could still produce decent men, even in the form of fat, rich, drunken freedmen.

We left my father at his house. Before bidding me good night, he said, “You’ve done your duty well, Decius.” It was high praise, coming from him.

At my house, Milo took his leave. “I’m sorry I can’t help you in the morning,” he said.

“I thank you for all the help you’ve given me so far,” I assured him. “At worst, I’ll get a chance to finish the job on Claudius that I started in the Forum.”

I saw his teeth flash in the darkness. “Spoken like a true Roman. I’ll pass the word tonight. Who knows, something might turn up.”

“Do you never sleep?” I asked.

“I told you before, I get ahead by working when other men rest. I’ll be here in the morning, Decius, even if I can’t get any of my boys to come.” He faded into the dark.

I had a few hours until daylight. Cato and Cassandra were overjoyed to see me, although they were shocked at my appearance. I ordered water heated for a bath and peeled out of my filthy clothes.

At least I had my affairs in order and my will made out. My few belongings went into a travel-chest and I sorted through my hospitium tokens for any that might be useful on the journey, assuming I could get out of Rome alive. It was strange to think that all the events of these past few days had turned upon a humble token like one of these. I shook my head at the thought. The ways of men and gods are imponderable, and the most trivial things can loom as large as the greatest. I decided that I would have to take up the study of philosophy, sometime when I was terribly bored with everything else.

Even the prospect of the coming day could not take the edge off my good mood. I sang as I bathed in a cramped tub and didn’t even wince when Cato shaved me, inexpertly and by lamplight. Then I lay down and had a few hours of dreamless sleep.

Despite the brevity of my nap, I woke feeling refreshed. I rose and put on clean clothes, belted on sword and dagger and threw a clean toga over all. This was no time for fussy legalities. As the first light of dawn came through my windows, I went out into the atrium. Burrus was there to greet me, and he clinked as he moved. He had put on his armor before calling on me. I was touched that the old soldier had come to meet almost certain death with me, but it would have been inappropriate to make any show of it. He wore an odd smile.

“Good morning, Patron. Wait till you see the street outside. It looks like a meeting of the Guild of Archers out there.”

I wondered what in the world he could mean. In the entryway I was further astonished to see my other two clients, both too elderly to be of any use in a street brawl, but serious about their duty to protect their patron. Then I saw what was waiting outside.

A vast throng jammed the street. And almost every head was decorated with a Phrygian bonnet, the pointed cap favored by the mercenary archers who serve the auxiliaries and worn by some priesthoods. It is also worn by slaves who have just been freed. This great mob cheered like maniacs when I appeared. To my intense embarrassment, some of them surged forward and dropped to their knees to kiss my feet.