The Sacrilege(70)

“Are you mocking me?” I demanded.

“Who, me?” His eyes went wide with innocence. “They say that slaves always come to look like their masters, sir. That must be what it is.”

“That had better be the case,” I warned him. “I will not be treated with disrespect.”

“Certainly not, sir!” he cried. We resumed walking. “But I was wondering, sir. All this questioning and people trying to kill you and all—what’s it all about?”

“That is exactly the sort of thing that I am famed for detecting,” I said.

“And have you figured it out?”

“No, but I expect to have everything sorted out soon. A little time for peaceful reflection is all it takes.”

“I don’t know about you, sir,” he said with heavy insinuation, “but I never think my best on an empty stomach.”

“Now that you mention it, it’s been a while since breakfast. Let’s see what the district offers.” Luckily, you never have to go far in Rome to find someone selling food. Before long, we had acquired bread, sausages, pickled fish, olives and a jug of wine and retired to a public garden to restore the mental faculties. We sat on a bench and watched the passing show for a while as we attacked the food and drained the jug. The streets were unusually crowded and many vendors were setting up, although it was an odd hour for it.

“Jupiter!” I said. “Tomorrow is Pompey’s triumph! I’d all but forgotten. They’re setting up now to have good spots in the morning.”

“I hear it’s going to be a great show,” Hermes said, munching and nodding eagerly.

“It ought to be,” I said. “He’s robbed half the world to finance it.”

“That’s what the world’s for, isn’t it? To make things good for Romans?” He did not say this bitterly, as a foreign-born slave might. Like most native domestics, he expected to be manumitted and made a citizen someday. We are far more easygoing about such things than most nations.

“I’m not sure that was the original intention of the gods, but that is how things turned out,” I said.

“Then it ought to be a good show,” he maintained. “I mean, who cares about a bunch of barbarians?”

“Spoken like a true Roman,” I said. “You have real citizen material in you, Hermes, even if you were given a Greek name.”

Men in blue tunics were running down the streets with paint pots and brushes in their hands, posting the schedule of events, writing with incredible speed upon walls already thick with such writings. Other graffitists had been through earlier in the day, whitewashing patches on the walls to carry the glorious news. I called a painter over and tossed him a coin.

“What’s the lineup?” I asked.

“The games will go on for days, Senator,” he said. “Just now, we’re posting the schedule for tomorrow. We’ll be posting each day for the following day’s entertainments. The big munera won’t be for three days. That’s what everybody’s waiting for.”

“What’s on for tomorrow?” I asked him.

“To begin with, there’ll be plays. Italian mime in the two old wooden theaters, but a full-dress Greek drama with masks in Pompey’s new theater on the Campus Martius. The theater’s still under construction, but there’s enough finished to hold the highest classes.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I said. “I’d prefer the mimes to Greek drama, but I suppose the Senate will have to go to Pompey’s theater. What’s the play?”

“Trojan Women, sir.”

“Sophocles, isn’t it?” I said. “Or was it Aeschylus?”

“Euripides, Senator,” he said, with a slightly pitying expression.

“I knew it was one of those Greeks. May we hope for something more lively later in the day?”

“After the plays there will be lusiones. All the men to fight in the great munera will be fighting demonstration bouts with mock weapons.”

“That’s better,” I said. “Not as exciting as the real death-fights, but fine swordplay is always a joy to watch. When will the great triumphal procession be?”

“The day after tomorrow, Senator, and it will be a ceremony of unsurpassed magnificence. Leading off will be the beasts General Pompey has collected in his travels, all to fight in the morning shows before the gladiators. Besides the usual lions, bears and bulls, he has collected leopards, Hyrcanian tigers, the biggest wild boar ever seen, a white bear from the far north…”

“It all sounds inspiring,” I said. “There’s nothing like a triumph to stir the blood and remind people what Rome is all about. And what embodies Rome these days better than Cnaeus Pompeius Magnus himself?”