“As I understand it,” I said, “he was one of last year’s duumviri, so he’s probably tight with that lot. There are about ten families in these parts who take the duumvirate in rotation.”
“I suppose he’s out, then,” said Cicero. “Well, there must be somebody suitable.”
“I’m sure there must be,” I told him. “So you’ve petitioned for a triumph?” Behind Cicero, Quintus rolled his eyes while Tiro made a careful study of his fingers, folded on the table before him. Clearly, this was another of Cicero’s late-life eccentricities. He had been sent out to Syria as governor with the task of repelling a Parthian incursion. Cicero was a lawyer and pure politician, the unlikeliest soldier Rome could have sent. He detested military life as much as I did, yet here he was, trying to vie with the likes of Caesar in celebrating a triumph. This for some doubtful successes after young Cassius had already taken care of the serious fighting.
“Exactly,” Cicero said with his customary certitude. “All the prerequisites have been accomplished, all the legalities observed; the Senate has no just cause to deny me a triumph.”
“I am sure,” I told him. I revered Cicero, and was willing to overlook his sometimes startling character flaws. I, for one, was certain that the man who could decisively whip the Parthians had not yet been born in Rome. If the Senate granted him a triumph, it would be an indication that their standards had fallen considerably.
With promises of future visits, reciprocal dinner parties, and legal consultations in the forum, our meeting broke up. With my little following I set out for the villa.
“You could have hoped for more help from Cicero,” Marcus said as he walked along beside my litter.
“I could have, but times have changed.”
“You’ve done him plenty of favors in the past,” Hermes grumped. “I could see that Quintus and Tiro wanted to help out.”
“I’m not sure they or anyone else could have,” I mused, my mind wandering.
“What’s that?” Marcus asked.
“He’s going into one of his moods again,” Hermes informed him. “No use talking to him now.”
I had a great deal on my mind, and my ruminations weren’t improved when we reached the villa and Julia got her claws into me.
“You just had to get together with that slaver’s slut, didn’t you?” she began while I was still halfway in my litter.
“Slut? She may be a perfectly virtuous wife, for all we know.”
“Spare me. We’ll have this out later. For now, we’re about to have dinner with the dictator of Stabiae and his wife and some other dignitaries of that town. Do gather up your gravitas and try to be both presentable and coherent.” She did me an injustice. Since donning the purple-bordered toga I had made a special effort to moderate my drinking and avoid loose speech. It was no use pointing this out to Julia.
In the event, the dinner was a success. For the record, in towns like Stabiae, Lanuvium, and some others the dictator was simply the senior magistrate. He had nothing like the powers of a true Roman dictator. Despite all the problems occupying my thoughts, I made sure to be witty and charming, things that have usually come easily to me.
When the last healths had been drunk and the guests helped into their litters and sent on their way with presents and good wishes, Julia resumed her interrogation, but she was somewhat mollified by my excellent behavior.
“All right,” she said as we relaxed in one of the villa’s imposing im-pluvia, “what did you learn from her?”
“I’m not sure I learned anything, but I heard a lot. Let me tell you and see what you think.” I gave her the story Jocasta had told me and Julia’s expression was more than skeptical.
“This makes no sense,” she said when my recitation was done. “These are people with everything to lose. Why would they participate in some crackbrained conspiracy against Rome?”
“My own thought,” I told her. “And while the Greeks are well-known political morons, I doubt that even Greeks could seriously entertain the idea that some old colonies might gain permanent independence from Rome and that this could be a desirable thing. So what is really go-mg on?
“I have no idea, but I am cheered to learn that you weren’t utterly besotted by the woman’s immodest dress and more than abundant flesh. I’ve known you to be distracted by these things before.”
“I won’t deny it. But I’m a serious man these days. I am a Roman praetor and such men as I do not succumb to the temptations of loose women.”
“Hah! If that’s true, you are unique among Roman magistrates of our generation.” She rolled close and wrapped an arm around my waist. “And if you are suddenly so dignified, why are you going around questioning suspects? That’s a freedman’s job.”