This concept of clientage was new to the Greeks. It turned out that, like so many Roman practices, it dated back to the primitive days of chieftains and warriors, when small peasants put themselves under the protection of a greater landowner and followed him in war. This simple relationship had grown into a complex system of interlocking obligations that included monetary and legal aid, support in the Forum, whether in trials or elections, even the obligations of death and funerals. Slaves upon manumission became clients of their former masters, and clientage was hereditary. Among Romans, no relationship was more important than that of client and patron.
Gabinius had insisted that the two Greeks move into his new house and had given each a token—a small medallion embossed with a shield of Mars—symbolizing yet another status: hospes. It was a word that translated as "guest-friend." It meant that, when visiting each other's city, each was obligated to provide the other with hospitality, with support in court should such prove necessary, with medical care when ill, even with proper funeral rites should a hospes die while visiting. This relationship was also hereditary. Should a descendant of Zeno or Izates visit Rome, he could present the token to any descendant of Gabinius and claim hospitality.
"The Romans have to have everything spelled out," Izates groused when he and Zeno were alone. "Everything involves mutual obligations and everything is hereditary."
"Maybe this is one reason for the Romans' success," Zeno remarked. "It is the great stability of all their institutions. They leave little to the whims of individual men."
"Such institutions are probably necessary because the Romans have little natural, innate sense of dignity and civility. They must have these long-established guidelines to keep them civilized."
Zeno laughed. "You always find some way to denigrate the Romans. Nothing they do ever impresses you."
Izates considered this. "That is true. I am equally skeptical of the apparent virtues of Greeks and Jews. It is part of being a Cynic. Men are full of themselves, blown up with self-importance. It takes only a little thought to find the secret inadequacy behind their vauntings. Men have feet of clay."
"Feet of what?" Zeno asked. Izates explained that the saying was from an ancient tale of his own people, about a brazen idol that rested upon feet of clay and how its weakness was exposed. Zeno protested that Izates' ancestors misunderstood the nature of the gods and their images, and Izates told him that he was missing the point. Their discussions frequently ended this way.
Now, as they inspected the impromptu shipyard and training facility, Roman method, discipline and thoroughness were once again on full display.
A small forest of masts had grown up along the shore, and men were engaged in hauling on ropes that erected these masts in artificial keels, then hauling long yards up the masts and unfurling the big, rectangular sails. Sailing masters shouted orders to the sweating sailors-in-training, making them swing the yards about so as to catch quartering winds. Experienced sailors conducted classes in how to tie the many knots required by seagoing craft.
"These are skills ordinarily learned by every sailor when he goes to sea as a boy," Zeno said. "Here grown men are trained in vast numbers, just as newly recruited soldiers learn their trade in training camps. But, there is a difference." Here Zeno paused dramatically.
"What might that be?" Izates wanted to know.
"In training camps the Romans teach skills in which they are already expert. Here," he waved an arm, taking in the huge facility, "they are teaching a multitude of skills that they do not even possess themselves!"
Izates looked at him blankly, then he turned slowly to scan the madmen's naval base. "This exceeds even a philosopher's tolerance for the absurd."
"You need a capacity for wonder. And this is not their most improbable accomplishment of late. That rogue general of theirs has the Museum accomplishing marvels, if half the tales we've heard are true."
Izates shuddered. "Philosophers behaving like mechanics! Disgusting! Speculations about the nature of matter and the properties of movement are quite proper. But this Roman has them actually building things! They should be stripped of the status of philosophers and degraded to that of mere workmen." He turned aside and spat.
"But how can their ideas be verified without creating the machines and actually testing them?"
"It is unworthy," Izates insisted. "They should content themselves with simply thinking about such things. To sully the purity of thought with the manipulation of gross matter is a desecration!"
"Romans like to accomplish things, not just think about them. For a Cynic, you are notably respectful toward philosophical pretension."