Read Online SPQR III: the sacrilege by John Maddox Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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been able to entirely avoid the blood.
"Well," I muttered, "that's one who won't be Celer's colleague."
"What's that you say?" Afranius said. The others had already left, but he had been busy berating his linkboy, who was too drunk to keep his torch alight.
"Oh, a political matter. My kinsman Metellus Celer is standing for the Consulship, and I was to talk with Capito about a possible alliance." It was not the sort of thing that had to be kept confidential.
Afranius's eyes lit up. "A coitio ? Well, Capito is out of the picture. You know, I think the wine-bowl is still full in the triclinium. Why don't we go back there and talk while my boy sobers up?" We ambled back into the dining room as all around us the house was filled with wails of mourning.
----
Chapter IV
"Lucius Afranius, eh?" Celer said. We stood on the steps of the Curia in the dismal light of early dawn. "He wouldn't be a bad choice. I could count on him not to give me any trouble or try to override my acts. In fact, he was one of the ones I planned to have you sound out, eventually. Good work, Decius."
"Always happy to serve," I assured him.
"Pity about Capito, though. The janitor , too, you say?"
"Killed with the same two blows, still chained to his gate."
"The killer was probably an ex-gladiator, then. The gangs are full of them, and the stab in the throat is the arena death-blow."
That had occurred to me as well. I had known many gladiators, and among that stalwart confraternity it is a matter of honor to kill the defeated with swiftness and dignity. With a sword, this is best accomplished with a quick jab to the jugular. It is believed to be nearly painless as well, but since none who receive the blow ever talk about it afterward, this is difficult to confirm. Also, there is lots of blood, and the crowds like that.
"Probably a jealous husband and a hired killer," Celer pronounced. "That's what it usually is. Political matters haven't reached the killing stage lately."
"I'm not so sure, " I said. "Business disagreements can get just as vicious."
"He was a patrician," Celer said. "They're not supposed to engage in business. Not that they don't anyway."
While we spoke the Senate was assembling. The curule magistrates, accompanied by their lictors, climbed the steps, stifling yawns like everybody else. Cato was there, virtuously barefoot. The adherents of Pompey formed a grim, determined knot, ready once again to press their suit for his triumph. The usual gaggle of Metellans formed around us. Creticus was there, and Pius the pontifex, although he was an adopted Metellus, actually a Scipio. Of the prominent Metellans only Nepos was not with us. He was always to be found among Pompey's faction. For a wonder, there was not a single prominent Metellan governing in the provinces that year.
"I've spoken to you all," said Celer. "You know how the vote is to go." There were murmurs of assent. Besides the great Metellans, there were at least thirty like me: Senators who had served in the lower offices but were otherwise undistinguished.
"Then to your seats," Celer ordered. Obedient as a veteran legion, we trooped into the Curia.
The interior of the Senate house was dim, and it was musty with damp wool, for it had been raining that morning, and the finest toga is not a fragrant object when it is wet. The fullers use human urine in their whitening process.
Thus my first Senate meeting was not fully as edifying as I might have wished. At least, I thought, it would be the day of a memorable vote. Only the Senate could grant a triumph, one of the few privileges it had managed to keep from the popular assemblies.
The first part of the morning was devoted to arguments. Pompey's adherents reeled off the stunning list of his accomplishments: enemies slain, enslaved or brought under Roman control; territory added to the empire; riches brought to the Roman treasury.
Then the aristocratic party had its hour, belittling the upstart's accomplishments, complaining
"Well," I muttered, "that's one who won't be Celer's colleague."
"What's that you say?" Afranius said. The others had already left, but he had been busy berating his linkboy, who was too drunk to keep his torch alight.
"Oh, a political matter. My kinsman Metellus Celer is standing for the Consulship, and I was to talk with Capito about a possible alliance." It was not the sort of thing that had to be kept confidential.
Afranius's eyes lit up. "A coitio ? Well, Capito is out of the picture. You know, I think the wine-bowl is still full in the triclinium. Why don't we go back there and talk while my boy sobers up?" We ambled back into the dining room as all around us the house was filled with wails of mourning.
----
Chapter IV
"Lucius Afranius, eh?" Celer said. We stood on the steps of the Curia in the dismal light of early dawn. "He wouldn't be a bad choice. I could count on him not to give me any trouble or try to override my acts. In fact, he was one of the ones I planned to have you sound out, eventually. Good work, Decius."
"Always happy to serve," I assured him.
"Pity about Capito, though. The janitor , too, you say?"
"Killed with the same two blows, still chained to his gate."
"The killer was probably an ex-gladiator, then. The gangs are full of them, and the stab in the throat is the arena death-blow."
That had occurred to me as well. I had known many gladiators, and among that stalwart confraternity it is a matter of honor to kill the defeated with swiftness and dignity. With a sword, this is best accomplished with a quick jab to the jugular. It is believed to be nearly painless as well, but since none who receive the blow ever talk about it afterward, this is difficult to confirm. Also, there is lots of blood, and the crowds like that.
"Probably a jealous husband and a hired killer," Celer pronounced. "That's what it usually is. Political matters haven't reached the killing stage lately."
"I'm not so sure, " I said. "Business disagreements can get just as vicious."
"He was a patrician," Celer said. "They're not supposed to engage in business. Not that they don't anyway."
While we spoke the Senate was assembling. The curule magistrates, accompanied by their lictors, climbed the steps, stifling yawns like everybody else. Cato was there, virtuously barefoot. The adherents of Pompey formed a grim, determined knot, ready once again to press their suit for his triumph. The usual gaggle of Metellans formed around us. Creticus was there, and Pius the pontifex, although he was an adopted Metellus, actually a Scipio. Of the prominent Metellans only Nepos was not with us. He was always to be found among Pompey's faction. For a wonder, there was not a single prominent Metellan governing in the provinces that year.
"I've spoken to you all," said Celer. "You know how the vote is to go." There were murmurs of assent. Besides the great Metellans, there were at least thirty like me: Senators who had served in the lower offices but were otherwise undistinguished.
"Then to your seats," Celer ordered. Obedient as a veteran legion, we trooped into the Curia.
The interior of the Senate house was dim, and it was musty with damp wool, for it had been raining that morning, and the finest toga is not a fragrant object when it is wet. The fullers use human urine in their whitening process.
Thus my first Senate meeting was not fully as edifying as I might have wished. At least, I thought, it would be the day of a memorable vote. Only the Senate could grant a triumph, one of the few privileges it had managed to keep from the popular assemblies.
The first part of the morning was devoted to arguments. Pompey's adherents reeled off the stunning list of his accomplishments: enemies slain, enslaved or brought under Roman control; territory added to the empire; riches brought to the Roman treasury.
Then the aristocratic party had its hour, belittling the upstart's accomplishments, complaining
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