“But,” said a very young man I did not recognize, “it can’t be much, can it? I mean, they’re all women, after all.” The others drew back and made disdainful noises at such callowness.
“I’ll wager it’s worth seeing, eh?” said Clodius. I thought of stepping over and hitting him on the head with a vase or something. I just could not abide that voice. It wasn’t just the subject. He could comment on the weather and it would come out sounding like that.
“Worth a man’s life, you mean,” said an older and presumably wiser man. Then conversation ceased as Celer arrived and began greeting the callers. When he got to me he put a hand on my shoulder in that gesture that always says that this is a private conversation. The others turned discreetly away.
“Decius, today I want you to call on Mamercus Capito and sound him out. Politically he’s a nobody, but nine in ten Consuls are. More to the point, he’s agreeable, which is to say he’s pliable, and as an Aemilian, he’s as noble as you can get in Rome without being enrolled among the gods. He’d be a suitable colleague for me and he’s talked about standing for the office. See if he’s amenable to a coitio, so long as he agrees that I’ll be the senior colleague.”
“I’ll call on him at once.” This was the sort of politicking I liked. It was how a great deal of our public life was carried out. Personal relationships usually had as much to do with it as party affiliations. Debates in the Senate were often just so much noise and bluster, with the real decisions reached and agreed to at dinner parties, in the baths, even in the stands at the Circus.
I hurried out, hoping to catch Capito at home. The Aemilii had been among our most illustrious families, but the line had dwindled and there were few of them left. Those of the present generation were undistinguished except for the name. Capito had plodded his way up the ladder of office, attaining seniority without military or political distinction. He was like two hundred or more of his fellow Senators: colorless functionaries who won office on the basis of family history, served as soon as age and seniority permitted, and lazed through their terms of authority with as little effort as possible, generally using position only as a way to get rich.
In short, Capito was an ideal colleague for an energetic man like Celer, who wanted to pursue the activities of his office with minimal interference. And as senior colleague, he would get the better of the proconsular provinces when he stepped down from office. By that time, the main reason men wanted to be Consul was to get their hands on the rich proconsular provinces. These were supposedly chosen by lot, but everyone knew the choice was rigged. A man who gained sufficient senatorial support would get one of the plums, while one with many enemies in the Senate got a worthless place, rich in nothing but disagreeable natives.
The Senate could come up with some real oddities for unusual Consuls. There had been the time when Pompey was given command over the entire Mediterranean and its littoral to rid us of the pirates, for instance. In later years, Caesar as Consul presided over a Senate that was not only hostile but possessed a sense of humor. Instead of a province, he was given the upkeep of Italy’s roads and cattle paths. He made them regret it later, of course.
Yes, the Consulship was an office worth pursuing, although it was not without its hazards. I fully expected to be Consul someday, not because I was particularly ambitious, but because that was what you did when your name was Caecilius Metellus. Not that anyone ever accused me of being a man who lazed through office on his family name. No amiable political hack ever weathered as many murder attempts as I did. A man’s seriousness as a public official can usually be gauged by the number and homicidal habits of his enemies.
I reached the house of Capito just as his morning callers were leaving and he himself was on his way to an annual sacrifice given by the Aemilii in memory of some victory or other. I knew him only slightly, but he greeted me hospitably and professed himself glad to see me again. I hinted at political business and he invited me to dinner at his house that evening.
Things were shaping up well, and now I had the rest of the day to myself. It was a short walk to the Forum, where I wandered about, soaking up sun and the attentions of a good number of publicani. Most of these were builders, but one intriguing fellow had a novel item to sell: a new design of shields for the legions.
“It’s much better than the old scutum,” he explained earnestly. “Just as thick and protective, but cut off straight at the top and bottom.”
“It’s hard to get soldiers to accept something new,” I said. “What’s the advantage?”