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Authors: Steven Saylor
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House was destroyed, he had thought it was only that, a rumour. I took him up on the .roof so he could see the spectacle for himself. He headed back to Menenia and the twins soon after.
Even Bethesda overcame her distrust of the ladder and ventured up on the roof for a while to see what all the fuss was about. I teased her that the sight of so much rioting must have made her homesick for Alexandria, seeing that the Alexandrians were so famous for rioting. She didn't laugh at the joke. Neither did I.
The feasting and the firefighting down in the Forum continued until well after nightfall. Towards evening Belbo brought me a bowl of hot soup and climbed back down. A little later Diana joined me with her own steaming bowl. As we sat alone on the roof the sky darkened to deeper and deeper shades of blue verging into black. In every season, twilight is the most beautiful hour in Rome. The stars began to show in the firmament, glittering like bits of frost. There was even a kind of prettiness about the nickering lights down in the Forum, now that darkness hid the ugliness of charred wood and blackened stone. The fires had largely died down, but the deepening gloom revealed smouldering patches of flame in the ruins of the Porcian Basilica and the senatorial office buildings.
Diana finished her soup. She put down the bowl and pulled a blanket over her shoulders. "How did Clodius die, Papa?"
"From his wounds, I should think: Surely you don't want me to describe them again."
"No. I mean, how did it happen?"
"I don't know, really. I'm not sure that anyone does, except whoever killed him, of course. There seemed to be quite a bit of confusion about it at his house last night. Clodia said there was a skirmish of some sort down on the Appian Way, near a place called Bovillae, where Clodius had a villa. Clodius and some of his men had an altercation with Milo and some of his men. Clodius got the worst of it."
"But why did they fight?"
"Clodius and Milo have been enemies for a long time, Diana." "Why?"
"Why are two men usually enemies? Because they want the same thing." "A woman?"
"In some cases. Or a boy. Or a father's love. Or an inheritance, or a piece of land. In this case, Clodius and Milo both wanted power." "And they couldn't both have it?"
" Apparently not. Sometimes when two ambitious men are enemies, one of them has to die if the other's to go on living. At least that's how it usually works out, sooner or later. It's what we Romans call politics." I smiled without mirth.
"You hate politics, don't you, Papa?" "I like to say I do." "But I thought -"
"I'm like the man who says he hates the theatre but never misses a play. He claims it's his friends who drag him along. Even so, he can quote every line of Terence."
"So you secretly love politics."
"No! But it's in the air I breathe, and I don't care to stop breathing. Put it another way: politics is the Roman disease, and I'm no more immune than anyone else."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Certain diseases are peculiar to certain tribes and nations. Your brother Meto says that up in Gaul there's a tribe in which every person is born deaf in one ear. You've heard your mother say that there's a village on the Nile where everyone breaks out in hives at the approach of a cat. And I read once that Spaniards suffer a form of tooth rot that can only be cured by drinking their own urine."
"Papa!" Diana wrinkled her nose.
"Not all diseases are grossly physical. The Athenians are addicted to art; without it they become irritable and constipated. Alexandrians live for commerce; they'd sell a virgin's sigh if they could find a way to bottle it. I hear the Parthians suffer from hippomania; whole clans go to war with each other to lay claim to a fine breeding stud.
"Well, politics is the Roman disease. Everyone in the city catches it sooner or later, even women nowadays. No one ever recovers. It's an insidious sickness, with perverse symptoms. Different people suffer in different
Even Bethesda overcame her distrust of the ladder and ventured up on the roof for a while to see what all the fuss was about. I teased her that the sight of so much rioting must have made her homesick for Alexandria, seeing that the Alexandrians were so famous for rioting. She didn't laugh at the joke. Neither did I.
The feasting and the firefighting down in the Forum continued until well after nightfall. Towards evening Belbo brought me a bowl of hot soup and climbed back down. A little later Diana joined me with her own steaming bowl. As we sat alone on the roof the sky darkened to deeper and deeper shades of blue verging into black. In every season, twilight is the most beautiful hour in Rome. The stars began to show in the firmament, glittering like bits of frost. There was even a kind of prettiness about the nickering lights down in the Forum, now that darkness hid the ugliness of charred wood and blackened stone. The fires had largely died down, but the deepening gloom revealed smouldering patches of flame in the ruins of the Porcian Basilica and the senatorial office buildings.
Diana finished her soup. She put down the bowl and pulled a blanket over her shoulders. "How did Clodius die, Papa?"
"From his wounds, I should think: Surely you don't want me to describe them again."
"No. I mean, how did it happen?"
"I don't know, really. I'm not sure that anyone does, except whoever killed him, of course. There seemed to be quite a bit of confusion about it at his house last night. Clodia said there was a skirmish of some sort down on the Appian Way, near a place called Bovillae, where Clodius had a villa. Clodius and some of his men had an altercation with Milo and some of his men. Clodius got the worst of it."
"But why did they fight?"
"Clodius and Milo have been enemies for a long time, Diana." "Why?"
"Why are two men usually enemies? Because they want the same thing." "A woman?"
"In some cases. Or a boy. Or a father's love. Or an inheritance, or a piece of land. In this case, Clodius and Milo both wanted power." "And they couldn't both have it?"
" Apparently not. Sometimes when two ambitious men are enemies, one of them has to die if the other's to go on living. At least that's how it usually works out, sooner or later. It's what we Romans call politics." I smiled without mirth.
"You hate politics, don't you, Papa?" "I like to say I do." "But I thought -"
"I'm like the man who says he hates the theatre but never misses a play. He claims it's his friends who drag him along. Even so, he can quote every line of Terence."
"So you secretly love politics."
"No! But it's in the air I breathe, and I don't care to stop breathing. Put it another way: politics is the Roman disease, and I'm no more immune than anyone else."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Certain diseases are peculiar to certain tribes and nations. Your brother Meto says that up in Gaul there's a tribe in which every person is born deaf in one ear. You've heard your mother say that there's a village on the Nile where everyone breaks out in hives at the approach of a cat. And I read once that Spaniards suffer a form of tooth rot that can only be cured by drinking their own urine."
"Papa!" Diana wrinkled her nose.
"Not all diseases are grossly physical. The Athenians are addicted to art; without it they become irritable and constipated. Alexandrians live for commerce; they'd sell a virgin's sigh if they could find a way to bottle it. I hear the Parthians suffer from hippomania; whole clans go to war with each other to lay claim to a fine breeding stud.
"Well, politics is the Roman disease. Everyone in the city catches it sooner or later, even women nowadays. No one ever recovers. It's an insidious sickness, with perverse symptoms. Different people suffer in different
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