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Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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them.”
I felt a sudden chill. I had just come from a place where savage gods were called upon all the time and seemed more than eager to take part in the affairs of men—the bloodier the better.
“And you are one who knows how to bend these deities to your will?” I asked.
“I am,” he said, smugly.
I stood. “Tribune, you tread close to the edge of sorcery.There are laws against such practices—laws that carry with them terrible punishments. It is my firm belief that religion and trafficking with the supernatural should have no part in the conduct of State business, except for the sacrifices, festivals, and omen-taking sanctioned by the constitution, all of which are more than adequately defined by ancient law.”
“Don’t be a fool, Metellus!” he cried, dropping his geniality. “We are prepared to take the strongest measures to stop Crassus, and if you are not with us, we must regard you as an enemy.”
The rest looked a little shamefaced, as if they were embarrassed by their colleague’s excessive reaction. “There is no need for a breach between ourselves and the house of Metellus,” Silvius said, trying to smooth things over. “The senator is clearly an anti-Crassan—”
“Join us, Metellus,” Ateius said, “or suffer the consequences with the rest.”
“Am I to regard this as a threat?” I said coldly.
“It is a warning I offer in good faith as tribune and priest,” he said with the same lunatic certainty that characterized the rest of his drivel. Tribune and
priest?
The tribuneship carried no sacerdotal duties to my knowledge. Obviously, the man was mad. Of course, being crazy was no impediment to a successful political career. Look at Clodius.
“Then good day to you. I have kept you from the citizens too long.” I swept out with what I hoped was imposing dignity. Behind me I heard an agitated muttering, as of an overturned beehive.
It had been one of the oddest interviews I had experienced in a career full of oddities. That night I described the bizarre business to Julia.
“Don’t let it upset you,” she said, sleepily. “The man is insane, and he’ll be out of office in less than three months.”
“Still, I dislike having a tribune announce himself to be myenemy, and lunatic enemies can be the worst kind. They are unpredictable.”
“Out of office he’ll be harmless,” she insisted. “After that, your sane enemies will give you all the worries you need.”
She made sense, but I had a definite feeling that sense would play little part in this matter, and I was right. I did not sleep soundly that night.
4
A ND SO THE GREAT DAY DAWNED . Since it was one of the most famous days in the long course of those agonizing years, it behooves me to describe it in some detail. All the more so because it has been described wrongly by many who were not there or who were there but had reasons of their own to falsify the events, and by no few who weren’t even born at the time.
Many, for instance, will tell you that it was a dark, gloomy day, with lowering clouds and ominous rumblings from the heavens, since this is supposed to be the sort of weather that accompanies dreadful events. Actually, it was a crisp, clear day in November. There was a bite to the breeze but the sun shone brightly. In truth, it was not the weather but the citizens who displayed every sign of depression. The streets were thronged as they were on all such occasions, and there was scarcely room in the Forum for a small dog to dart about between people’s feet.
It was from this crowd, not from the clouds, whence camethe ominous rumblings. Ateius and Gallus and many others had whipped them into a near frenzy against the departure of Crassus. A riot was in the offing.
The Senate had assembled before dawn, and I was there, yawning and stamping my feet, trying to get warm. Things were better when the sun rose to display the senators in their full majesty, struggling hard not to look as cold as the citizenry.
I felt a sudden chill. I had just come from a place where savage gods were called upon all the time and seemed more than eager to take part in the affairs of men—the bloodier the better.
“And you are one who knows how to bend these deities to your will?” I asked.
“I am,” he said, smugly.
I stood. “Tribune, you tread close to the edge of sorcery.There are laws against such practices—laws that carry with them terrible punishments. It is my firm belief that religion and trafficking with the supernatural should have no part in the conduct of State business, except for the sacrifices, festivals, and omen-taking sanctioned by the constitution, all of which are more than adequately defined by ancient law.”
“Don’t be a fool, Metellus!” he cried, dropping his geniality. “We are prepared to take the strongest measures to stop Crassus, and if you are not with us, we must regard you as an enemy.”
The rest looked a little shamefaced, as if they were embarrassed by their colleague’s excessive reaction. “There is no need for a breach between ourselves and the house of Metellus,” Silvius said, trying to smooth things over. “The senator is clearly an anti-Crassan—”
“Join us, Metellus,” Ateius said, “or suffer the consequences with the rest.”
“Am I to regard this as a threat?” I said coldly.
“It is a warning I offer in good faith as tribune and priest,” he said with the same lunatic certainty that characterized the rest of his drivel. Tribune and
priest?
The tribuneship carried no sacerdotal duties to my knowledge. Obviously, the man was mad. Of course, being crazy was no impediment to a successful political career. Look at Clodius.
“Then good day to you. I have kept you from the citizens too long.” I swept out with what I hoped was imposing dignity. Behind me I heard an agitated muttering, as of an overturned beehive.
It had been one of the oddest interviews I had experienced in a career full of oddities. That night I described the bizarre business to Julia.
“Don’t let it upset you,” she said, sleepily. “The man is insane, and he’ll be out of office in less than three months.”
“Still, I dislike having a tribune announce himself to be myenemy, and lunatic enemies can be the worst kind. They are unpredictable.”
“Out of office he’ll be harmless,” she insisted. “After that, your sane enemies will give you all the worries you need.”
She made sense, but I had a definite feeling that sense would play little part in this matter, and I was right. I did not sleep soundly that night.
4
A ND SO THE GREAT DAY DAWNED . Since it was one of the most famous days in the long course of those agonizing years, it behooves me to describe it in some detail. All the more so because it has been described wrongly by many who were not there or who were there but had reasons of their own to falsify the events, and by no few who weren’t even born at the time.
Many, for instance, will tell you that it was a dark, gloomy day, with lowering clouds and ominous rumblings from the heavens, since this is supposed to be the sort of weather that accompanies dreadful events. Actually, it was a crisp, clear day in November. There was a bite to the breeze but the sun shone brightly. In truth, it was not the weather but the citizens who displayed every sign of depression. The streets were thronged as they were on all such occasions, and there was scarcely room in the Forum for a small dog to dart about between people’s feet.
It was from this crowd, not from the clouds, whence camethe ominous rumblings. Ateius and Gallus and many others had whipped them into a near frenzy against the departure of Crassus. A riot was in the offing.
The Senate had assembled before dawn, and I was there, yawning and stamping my feet, trying to get warm. Things were better when the sun rose to display the senators in their full majesty, struggling hard not to look as cold as the citizenry.
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