The Tribune's Curse(60)
I glanced at the angle of the sun. There was still plenty of time left before nightfall. I needed a walk to clear my head, anyway. I set out for the Capena Gate.
10
AT THAT TIME THE SERVIAN WALL had some sixteen gates in common use, and two or three others for ceremonial purposes. I know this does not sound very impressive for a city as important as Rome. After all, Egypt boasts “hundred-gated Thebes.” Well, I have visited Thebes, and it doesn’t have a hundred gates, nor anything close to that number. That is just Egyptians for you. They like to think everything they have is bigger than anyone else’s. But there is no denying that Rome’s walls and gates were rather humble in comparison to those of, say, Syracuse or Alexandria or Babylon. They were, furthermore, in a state of perpetual disrepair. But then, we believed that the best defense of the City consisted in keeping our enemies several hundred miles away and prostrated by defeat.
Nonetheless, we maintained a tiny guard keeping watch in a minimal state of readiness at each gate. These men were unarmed in keeping with the law forbidding armed soldiers within the City, but they wore military insignia. Real soldiers laughed at them.
I found the captain of the gate watch lounging against one of the massive, oaken gateposts, arms folded and one booted foot propped behind him, head down, apparently napping in this half-upright position. At my approach a lesser guard nudged him.
“Sorry to disturb your repose, Captain,” I said, “but I must ask you some questions.”
The man blinked and came to a sloppy version of attention. “Yes, sir!” He wore a red tunic and over that a harness of handsomely polished leather straps arranged in a lattice. It made him look military, although it had no discernible function, since it neither supported armor nor suspended weapons. He was clearly a freedman who had lucked into this easy job through patronage.
“Were you on duty the other morning when the consul Marcus Licinius Crassus made his memorable exit?”
“I was, sir,” he nodded.
“Excellent. Doubtless you recall the activities of the late tribune Caius Ateius Capito atop this very gate?”
“Hard to forget, Senator.”
“Even better. Did you by chance notice how the tribune made his exit?”
“To be honest, sir, I was rooted to the spot like everyone else, until the consul Pompey and the virgo maxima got things under control.”
“I see. Did, may I hope, any of your stalwart companions take note of his route of escape?”
“Those buggers?” he laughed. “They took to hiding when Ateius started reciting his curse.”
“I should not have bothered to ask. What about outside the gate? Is anyone out there now who was there that morning?”
“There’s a whole crowd of vendors and beggars that’re out there every day, Senator.”
“Splendid. Might any of these be considered reliable informants?”
“Well, sir, I wouldn’t bother asking Lucius the sausage-seller. He’s blind. And the foreigners are all liars, so you can forget about them. The rest might’ve seen something, if they weren’t covering up their heads from terror.”
“Thank you, Captain, you’ve been a great help. Nice outfit, by the way.”
“Thank you, Senator,” he beamed. It was certainly a good thing that our legions kept everyone terrorized.
I went through the gate, which was just about wide enough for two oxcarts to pass through, if the oxen were thin. It was an amazing contrast to the magnificent road just outside, the Via Appia, first and still the greatest of our wonderful highways. Built more than two and a half centuries before by the Censor Appius Claudius, it connected Rome with Capua before being extended all the way to Brundisium. It cut through mountains, bridged valleys and swamps, tunneled through hills, and ran straight as a taut bowstring from one city to the next, perfectly usable all year in any weather because of its perfect drainage and solid construction. Where it crossed soft or marshy ground, it was more like a buried wall.
Just outside the gate, the first mile or so was lined with fine tombs, interspersed with the occasional crucified felon. It was also mobbed with beggars and with vendors who thus escaped paying the market fees. People sold all manner of goods, both sound and fraudulent. Others offered to act as guides for visitors to Rome, and it was not a bad idea to hire one. The Labyrinth of King Minos was not as confusing as Rome to a stranger. Unlike the great Greek and Roman colonial cities, which were usually laid out in a grid, Rome was an overgrown village of narrow, tangled streets and alleys. I got lost there myself, sometimes.
Very near the gate, a stout peasant woman sat beneath an awning, surrounded by straw cages holding doves, cocks, and other sacrificial birds. By law, all livestock, including sacrificial animals, were to be sold in the Forum Boarium under the supervision of the aediles. The commons assumed that the authority of City officials extended only as far as the walls. This was not true, but it is notoriously difficult to convince people that their inherited folk beliefs have no legal basis.