Pompey was there (Lisas had to invite the consul, naturally), and so were Milo and several of the other praetors, but not Clodius or Antistius or anyone else likely to start a flaming argument to mar the festivities. He neatly avoided inviting deadly enemies on the same evening. The man was the soul of diplomacy.
I endured many congratulations and backslaps for my feat in carrying the sacrificial litter. The congratulations were all right, but the backslaps were quite painful. We were in the main room of the villa (I am not sure what you would call such a room; it rather resembled Ptolemy’s throne room, but was smaller) when there was a disturbance. From the direction of the entrance came a pair of lictors, flanking a public slave wearing the brief tunic, high-strapped sandals, and cap of a messenger. He carried the white wand that opened all gates and doors and gave him the right to commandeer any horse or vehicle.
“Is he a Senate messenger?” Julia asked me in the sudden hush.
“Of praetorian rank,” I told her. “The highest.”
The man went straight to Pompey and spoke to him in a low voice. The consul’s face was a study in consternation.
“Do you think it’s a battle report?” Julia said breathlessly. “A disaster?”
“He’s not carrying a dispatch case,” I pointed out. “Whatever his message is, it’s a short one.”
Pompey raised a hand and snapped his fingers, a military signal you could hear through the whole villa. “All senators to me!”
“Wait here,” I told Julia. I hustled over to him along with about two dozen others. Milo already stood next to Pompey, and we gathered close to him, knowing that it boded no good. Like an ebbing tide, those of no official standing drew back toward the walls, leaving the men in the variously striped tunics and togas standing as it were on an island in the center. Lisas looked on with anxiety, but also with a sort of gloating anticipation. A real catastrophe would be the perfect capstone to his party.
“Senators,” Pompey said, “I have just received news of the gravest importance. The Tribune of the People Caius Ateius Capito has been discovered, murdered.”
“Hah!” said a vinegary old senator named Aurunculeius Cotta. “Serves the bugger right!” He was a well-known adherent of the aristocratic party. There were many murmurs of agreement.
“My sentiments to perfection,” Pompey said, drily. “But the man was a tribune, and at this moment the commons are in a frenzy, assembling in the Forum and ready to burn the City down. We have to go there at once and calm them, or there will be a riot such as Rome hasn’t seen in a generation.”
I went to Julia. “We’re in for a riot. Don’t try to go back home tonight. Stay here or with friends in the Trans-Tiber. Hermes!”
“Here, Dominus!” He was this formal only when he knew the situation was serious.
“You have your stick?”
“Right here.” He patted the rather indecent bulge in the front of his tunic. “I’ll guard your back.”
“No, stay with Julia. I want her—”
“Take him,” Julia urged. “I’ll go to Grandmother’s summer house; it’s just a short walk from here.”
“I’d forgotten about that place. Yes, go there. I’ll arrange with Lisas for an escort.” Even if the rioting spilled out of the City and across the river, no mob would ever have the courage to assault Aurelia’s property.
“You’re exaggerating the danger,” she said.
“Not in the least. A tribune has been murdered. That hasn’t happened in nearly thirty years, and the last time the mob rioted for three days without letup.”
“And I thought your life would be a little quieter away from Gaul.” Like the other wives present, she made no motion to embrace or kiss me. Such a public display would have been unthinkable for a woman of her breeding. Sometimes I think we carry this business of gravitas too far.
“Of a certainty,” Lisas said when I spoke to him. “I am already assembling my soldiers. They cannot pass through the gates, but I shall provide my guests an escort to any place they choose on this bank of the river. Of course, the lady is welcome to stay here if she so chooses.”
“I am most grateful,” I assured him. “I shall not forget.” He appeared about to faint at the prospect of receiving my gratitude, and I left him there, my mind set much at ease. The embassy guards were all hard-bitten Macedonians—not an Egyptian in the lot.
“Lictors to the fore!” Pompey shouted as we assembled in the courtyard. With the consular and praetorian lictors in a double file, we made a formidable procession.