The Sacrilege(21)

By this time an album had been set up on the Rostra announcing the decree of the Senate, and there was much cheering from the populace. Everyone loved a triumph, and this one had been long anticipated. Heralds had been dispatched to Pompey’s camp to tell him of the Senate’s decision, but his toadies were already heading that way on fast horses.

By the time we reached the border of the Forum, Lucullus had picked up Celer, my father, both Consuls and a gaggle of others for his little impromptu luncheon.

“Prepare to be shocked,” Cato said to me as we walked toward the Palatine. “Our host’s taste for vulgar luxury has grown legendary. He outdoes the richest freedman in base, wretched excess.”

“I’m looking forward to this!” I told him.

“On the other hand,” Cato allowed, “he has not been utterly idle in his use of his wealth. He is building a library in imitation of the one at Alexandria, and he has brought cherry trees to Italy for the first time. He’s established a cherry orchard near Naples and will make seedlings and cuttings available to all.”

“That’s indeed good news,” I said, “about the cherries, I mean.” For all our conqueror’s strut, we still took a real delight in agricultural matters. Bringing a new melon to Italy would make your reputation as surely as conquering a new province.

“And his fishponds are extraordinary.” Cato had to say these things so that he could endure the guilt of enjoying lunch. There should be a religion for people like Cato. Stoicism is simply not up to the task.

Milo came to join us and Cato walked away to talk with Cicero. His aristocratic soul rebelled at the thought of political adventurers like Milo. I never noticed that this bothered Milo in the least.

“Tell me about last night,” Milo said. The story had been all over the Forum by first light. I sketched the details of Capito’s murder, then told him about the alleged poisoning attempt.

“That may be my slave’s wild imagination,” I cautioned, “or an attempt to ingratiate himself with me.”

“Best not to take chances where Clodius might be concerned. I’ll leave that to you, but I’ll see what I can find out about Capito’s killer. I don’t know of anyone who uses that two-blow technique. It reminds me of the way sacrificial animals are killed: a knock on the head and a cut throat.”

“I’d thought of that, too. That’s a two-man job, though.”

“You like to snoop. Get one of the praetors to appoint you iudex pedaneus.” This last was an official appointed to investigate crimes and disputes.

“I’m not on the list of names to be drawn from,” I told him. “I won’t be old enough for more than a year.”

“That’s unfortunate, but if Clodius is trying to poison you, you may not have much attention to spare for other matters.”

The town house of Lucullus was the size of many country villas, an amazing thing in the tight-packed city. His staff of slaves and freedmen was rumored to number in the hundreds. That was not unusual for a country estate, but town houses were usually more modest. I gaped like any visiting foreigner at the fabulous statuary, the ponds and fountains, the spectacular gardens, where he had had full-grown trees brought in and planted.

A triclinium is supposed to accommodate nine dinner guests comfortably, with room to wedge in a few extras. The triclinium of Lucullus would have housed a full meeting of the Senate. I was told that this was one of several dining halls, and not among the largest. We flopped onto couches upholstered with pure silk and stuffed with down and precious herbs. The platter set before me was two feet wide, as thick as my thumb and made of solid silver.

The opening course was, as usual, eggs. But these had been wrapped in an incredibly fine foil of hammered gold. It seemed that we were to eat them foil and all. Cato fastidiously unwrapped his. The next course was suckling pigs. They had rubies for eyes.

“This is your modest afternoon repast, Lucius?” Cicero said.

“Yes, when I’ve nothing in particular to celebrate.” He made a signal and musicians began to play. A troupe of beautiful Greek boys came in and began a Pyrrhic dance.

“Don’t get him started,” warned Hortalus, my father’s colleague in the Censorship. “When he wants to show off, he brings out the gold table service. It’s as massive as this.”

“I was wondering what happened to that big golden statue of Mithridates you captured, Lucius,” said Celer.

“Absurd!” Cato protested. “There was a time when only a single service was owned by the entire Senate, and it was passed from one member to another when foreign ambassadors were to be entertained.” Cato always talked as if there were something special about being a small, poor city-state. The world was full of such places, and he never seemed to admire any of them.