It was a familiar, comforting scene, one I had enjoyed most days of my life. Had the heat and smells of summer contributed to the ambience, it might not have been so pleasant but, just then, it was the Forum the way I liked to see it. However, somewhere out there, perhaps in the Forum, certainly within the city or its suburbs, an assassin moved freely, concealed as a shark is concealed beneath the surface of the sea.
“What next?” I echoed. Over the roof of the Temple of Saturn I eyed the towering façade of the Archive, its rows of arches on three levels seeming from this angle to support the temples of Juno the Warner and of Jupiter Best and Greatest, which watched benignly over all. A pair of eagles circled high above the temple rooftops. Doubtless many idlers were reading an omen into the flight of these birds, despite the fact that eagles flew over the capitol all the time. “What, indeed?”
I had just espied a little knot of men gathered beneath a statue of Caesar and recognized them as some of the year’s tribunes of the Plebs. They were arguing loudly and drawing a minor crowd of their own. These men were understandably peeved that year. Their office was one of the most powerful, with the authority to introduce legislation to the Plebeian Assembly and to veto acts of the Senate, but not with a dictator in power. Now if they wanted to introduce a law it hadn’t a hope of passing unless it was proposed first by Caesar and their power of veto was suspended. They were barely even time servers.
“This looks like amusement in the making,” I said. “Let’s see.” So we made our way toward the disputatious legislators. They were growing red-faced, and one of them, a beak-nosed individual who looked vaguely familiar, was waving a gilded object that appeared to be made from thin metal. I barged in as if I had some business there. “What’s going on, gentlemen?” I asked jovially.
The beak-nosed one glared at me for a moment. “Oh, it’s you. You’re just another of Caesar’s lackeys. Stay out of this.”
I stuck my right hand into a fold of my tunic and slipped the bronze cestus over my knuckles, just in case. “No need to call names, ah, Flavus, is it?” At last I recognized him as Caius Caesetius Flavus, a tribune decidedly in the anti-Caesarian camp, meaning he was a man with few allies. One of these, another tribune named Marullus, now spoke up.
“You should have died with the rest of your family, Metellus. They were better men.”
I decided the bridge of his nose would do nicely for a target. One smack for him, then a half-turn and lay another one on Flavus’s jaw. I bet myself that I could put them both on the pavement in the same moment, but this time Hermes played peacekeeper.
“What’s that thing you’re waving around?” he asked.
Flavus held it up. “Last night someone put a crown on the head of Caesar’s statue!”
“What of it?” I asked. “The Senate has granted Caesar the right to adorn his statues with the Civic Crown and the Siege Crown.” I gestured around the Forum, where a minor crowd of Caesar’s statues stood in prominent places. He really was overdoing it in those days.
“This is not one of the crowns of honor,” Marullus hissed. “It is a diadem, a royal crown!”
“Put it back,” yelled yet another tribune. I did not recognize this one. You hardly saw them in the Senate since they lost their veto.
“Shut your mouth, Cinna!” Flavus bellowed. Cinna charged and for a while a good-sized brawl erupted at the base of the statue, with numerous bystanders taking part. Hermes and I kept out of it. A tattered golden object came flying from the pile of struggling men and Hermes caught it adroitly. I examined it and found it to be made of gilded parchment, not metal.
Eventually the disputants were separated. Flavus and Marullus were taken off to their houses, much the worse for wear. Cinna sat on the steps blotting at the blood running freely from his nose. I handed him a kerchief and he pressed it to his nose, tilting his head back for a while. When the bleeding stopped he stood.
“Many thanks, Senator Metellus.”
“Think nothing of it. You’re not Cornelius Cinna, I know him. Are you Cinna the poet?”
“Helvius Cinna, and yes, I flatter myself that I write verses of some merit. Come, I need a drink, and I’ll stand you to some wine as well.”
“Bacchus lays his curse on a man who turns down a free drink,” I said. “Lead on.”
We went down an alleyway that led to a small square with a fountain in its center. The tavern had outdoor tables covered by arbors that provided shade in summer. Just then the sun overhead and the buildings on all four sides kept the temperature tolerable for dining or drinking in the open.