Read Online Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4) by Steven Saylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Saylor
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the city.’
Cicero looked as if a bad tooth were worrying him. He raised his hand to silence me. I raised my own hand to stave him off.
‘I’m only now reaching my point. You see, it wasn’t only the rich and powerful who suffered during the proscriptions, and still suffer. Once Pandora’s box is opened, no one can close it. Crime becomes habit. The unthinkable becomes commonplace. You don’t see it from here, where you live. This street is too narrow, too quiet. No weeds grow through the paving stones that run by your door. Oh, no doubt, in the worst of it, you had a few neighbours dragged from their homes in the middle of the night. Perhaps you have a view of the Forum from the roof, and on a clear day you might have counted the new heads added to the pikes.
‘But I see a different Rome, Cicero, that other Rome that Sulla has left to posterity. They say he plans to retire soon, leaving behind him a new constitution to strengthen the upper classes and put the people in their place. And what is that place, but the crime-ridden Rome that Sulla bequeaths to us? My Rome, Cicero. A Rome that breeds in shadow, that moves at night, that breathes the very air of vice without the disguises of politics or wealth. After all, that’s why you’ve called me here, isn’t it? To take you into that world, or to enter it myself and bring back to you whatever it is you’re seeking. That’s what I can offer you, if you’re seeking the truth.’
At that moment Tiro returned, bearing a silver tray set with three cups, a round loaf of bread, dried apples, and white cheese. His presence instantly sobered me. We were no longer two men alone in a room discussing politics, but two citizens and a slave, or two men and a boy, considering Tiro’s innocence. I would never have spoken so recklessly had he never left the room. I feared I had said too much already.
V
Tiro set the tray on a low table between us. Cicero glanced at it without interest. ‘So much food, Tiro?’
‘It’s almost midday, Master. Gordianus will be hungry.’
‘Very well, then. We must show him our hospitality.’ He stared at the tray, hardly seeming to see it. He gently rubbed his temples, as if I had stuffed his head too full of seditious ideas.
The walk had made me hungry. The talk had left my mouth thick and dry. The heat had given me a deep thirst. Even so, I patiently waited for Cicero to initiate the meal – my politics may be radical but my manners have never been questioned – when Tiro gave me a start by leaning forwards eagerly in his chair, tearing a piece from a loaf, and reaching for a cup.
At just such moments one learns how deeply convention is bred into the soul. For all that life had taught me about the arbitrary nature of fate and the absurdities of slavery, for all that I had endeavoured from the moment I met him to treat Tiro as a man, I still let out a quiet gasp at seeing a slave take the first food from a table while his master sat back, not yet ready to begin.
They both heard it. Tiro looked up, puzzled. Cicero laughed softly.
‘Gordianus is shocked. He’s not used to our ways, Tiro, or to your manners. It’s all right, Gordianus. Tiro knows that I never eat at midday. He’s used to beginning without me. Please, eat something yourself. The cheese is quite good, all the way from the dairy at Arpinum, sent with my grandmother’s love.
‘As for me, I’ll have a bit of the wine. Only a bit; in this heat it’s likely to turn sour in the stomach. Is it only me who suffers from that particular malady? I can’t eat at all in midsummer; I fast for days at a time. Meantime, while your mouth is busy with food instead of treason, perhaps I’ll have a chance to say a bit more about my reasons for asking you here.’
Cicero swallowed and gave a slight wince, as if the wine had begun to sour the moment it passed his lips. ‘We strayed from the subject some while ago, didn’t we? What would Diodotus say to that,
Cicero looked as if a bad tooth were worrying him. He raised his hand to silence me. I raised my own hand to stave him off.
‘I’m only now reaching my point. You see, it wasn’t only the rich and powerful who suffered during the proscriptions, and still suffer. Once Pandora’s box is opened, no one can close it. Crime becomes habit. The unthinkable becomes commonplace. You don’t see it from here, where you live. This street is too narrow, too quiet. No weeds grow through the paving stones that run by your door. Oh, no doubt, in the worst of it, you had a few neighbours dragged from their homes in the middle of the night. Perhaps you have a view of the Forum from the roof, and on a clear day you might have counted the new heads added to the pikes.
‘But I see a different Rome, Cicero, that other Rome that Sulla has left to posterity. They say he plans to retire soon, leaving behind him a new constitution to strengthen the upper classes and put the people in their place. And what is that place, but the crime-ridden Rome that Sulla bequeaths to us? My Rome, Cicero. A Rome that breeds in shadow, that moves at night, that breathes the very air of vice without the disguises of politics or wealth. After all, that’s why you’ve called me here, isn’t it? To take you into that world, or to enter it myself and bring back to you whatever it is you’re seeking. That’s what I can offer you, if you’re seeking the truth.’
At that moment Tiro returned, bearing a silver tray set with three cups, a round loaf of bread, dried apples, and white cheese. His presence instantly sobered me. We were no longer two men alone in a room discussing politics, but two citizens and a slave, or two men and a boy, considering Tiro’s innocence. I would never have spoken so recklessly had he never left the room. I feared I had said too much already.
V
Tiro set the tray on a low table between us. Cicero glanced at it without interest. ‘So much food, Tiro?’
‘It’s almost midday, Master. Gordianus will be hungry.’
‘Very well, then. We must show him our hospitality.’ He stared at the tray, hardly seeming to see it. He gently rubbed his temples, as if I had stuffed his head too full of seditious ideas.
The walk had made me hungry. The talk had left my mouth thick and dry. The heat had given me a deep thirst. Even so, I patiently waited for Cicero to initiate the meal – my politics may be radical but my manners have never been questioned – when Tiro gave me a start by leaning forwards eagerly in his chair, tearing a piece from a loaf, and reaching for a cup.
At just such moments one learns how deeply convention is bred into the soul. For all that life had taught me about the arbitrary nature of fate and the absurdities of slavery, for all that I had endeavoured from the moment I met him to treat Tiro as a man, I still let out a quiet gasp at seeing a slave take the first food from a table while his master sat back, not yet ready to begin.
They both heard it. Tiro looked up, puzzled. Cicero laughed softly.
‘Gordianus is shocked. He’s not used to our ways, Tiro, or to your manners. It’s all right, Gordianus. Tiro knows that I never eat at midday. He’s used to beginning without me. Please, eat something yourself. The cheese is quite good, all the way from the dairy at Arpinum, sent with my grandmother’s love.
‘As for me, I’ll have a bit of the wine. Only a bit; in this heat it’s likely to turn sour in the stomach. Is it only me who suffers from that particular malady? I can’t eat at all in midsummer; I fast for days at a time. Meantime, while your mouth is busy with food instead of treason, perhaps I’ll have a chance to say a bit more about my reasons for asking you here.’
Cicero swallowed and gave a slight wince, as if the wine had begun to sour the moment it passed his lips. ‘We strayed from the subject some while ago, didn’t we? What would Diodotus say to that,
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