Murder on the Appian Way (41 page)

Cicero had explained that he was on a journey to see Julius Caesar at the' commander's winter headquarters in Ravenna. I had not yet discovered why. He and Tiro had left Rome four days previously — a bit of information which Eco had seized upon with a good deal of gloating, citing it as proof that his memory of a four-day journey at the beginning of our captivity was accurate. Indeed, his reckoning of the days and my calculation of the date proved to be exactly right: it was six days before the Ides of March, seventy-two days since the death of Publius Clodius. We had been held prisoners for forty-four days somewhere in the vicinity of Ariminum, where the northernmost spur of the Flaminian Way ends and the newer Popillian Way continues northward towards Ravenna.

"What else are they talking about in Rome?" I said. "The vendors in the fish markets, I mean. I take that as a good sign, that the markets are open."

"Yes, things have calmed down considerably in Rome since your ... misfortune. The Senate authorized Pompey to raise troops to maintain order, and they've done a reasonably good job. There have been some clashes between soldiers and civilians, and a few minor incidents of arson, but for the most part order has been restored."

"And elections?"

Cicero winced. Dyspepsia, or politics? "The question of elections became increasingly... problematic. Untenable, ultimately. Canyou imagine, thirteen interrexes since Lepidus, and no elections? That's over now. Only a few days before Tiro and I left Rome, the Senate voted to make Pompey sole consul for the rest of the year." His voice trailed away to a dry whisper. He coughed and reached for his cup of wine. The cancellation of the consular elections had to signify a great personal and political defeat for him. What would become of his champion Milo now? Would the electoral process ever return to normal?

Cicero cleared his throat and went on. "There has been a great deal of wrangling and manoeuvring in the Senate, as you can imagine." He made this comment without his usual relish. Cicero had made much of my wretched appearance, but I began to see that he looked rather tired and drawn himself. "First the Clodians tried to force Milo to hand over his slaves for questioning. Milo forestalled them there, eh, Tiro? He made the slaves in question freedmen ahead of time so that even the Senate couldn't round them up and torture them for evidence. We countered with a demand that Fulvia deliver Clodius's slaves for a bit of torture and interrogation. She and her family didn't care very much for that idea." Cicero smiled wanly at this minor triumph. "Since Pompey became consul, the Clodians have been trying to force a special inquest into Clodius's death. A show trial with Milo being crucified like a slave is what they'd like, something overblown and dramatic. Then they'll claim that Milo's offence was so spectacular that the Senate had to pass a special law just to deal with it. They proposed such an inquest, and we countered by attaching additional legislation which specifically condemned the burning of the Senate House and the attack on the house of the interrex Lepidus. That way, all three incidents would have been condemned equally in the eyes of the law, and all the malefactors would have been liable for equal penalties. Oh, the Clodians don't like the sound of that! No, no, no! They expect someone to be destroyed for the death of their precious leader, but they think they can burn down half the Forum and not pay for the crime! Well, we shall see, we shall see..." Cicero threw back his head and narrowed his eyes. It occurred to me that he had had too much to drink. I had never, ever before seen Cicero inebriated.

He wrinkled his nose. "Meanwhile, Pompey has his own ideas of how to straighten things out. He's come up with a package of new laws; these will speed up the courts and put down sedition, he says. Pompey's idea of law and order is to make it easier to convict a man and to inflict harsher penalties on him, never mind whether he's guilty or not! Some of his so-called reforms are positively ludicrous. Shorter trials, he says; that's the answer. We can't afford the luxury of letting an orator take the time he needs to build an irrefutable argument. No more of this nonsense of the prosecution and defence each taking a whole day to deliver their speeches! Instead, the prosecution will be allowed two hours, and the defence will be allowed three hours. I suppose if an advocate is in the middle of a speech when the time runs out, they'll clamp his jaw shut. And witnesses! Witnesses will come first, not last, before the speeches instead of after. That makes the witnesses the main focus of the trial, and the speeches a mere addendum! Pompey's never been much of an orator himself. He distrusts oratory, so he wants to demote it, dismiss it. But to give such prominence to witnesses is pure folly - anyone with sense knows that most witnesses are deluded, or unreliable, or bribed. And no character witnesses! Pompey has forbidden character witnesses. Never mind that a man can arrange for half the Senate to speak up for his good character, such testimony is now irrelevant. Juries will now be drawn from a list of eligible names hand-picked by Pompey himself Hand-picked by a single man, not even by two, because we have only one consul, and that one not even elected by the citizens!"

Tiro laid a restraining hand on his old master's elbow, but Cicero shook it off. "I know what I'm saying. And I'm not drunk. I'm just tired, very tired. Travelling disagrees with me. Besides, Gordianus appreciates candour. Don't you, Gordianus? Ah, but I forget, you're one of Pompey's men now, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"One could hardly help but notice all those guards keeping watch at your house for the last month. They do come from Pompey, don't they?"

"Perhaps," I said, uneasy at Cicero's scrutiny but for the most part glad to learn that Pompey had kept his word. "It doesn't mean I'm Pompey's man."

Cicero stared into his cup and blinked. "Gordianus, I have never pretended to understand your desultory allegiances. For all I know, you're spying on Pompey and not for him, and somehow managed to talk him into guarding your family while you do it."

"You were talking about Pompey's reforms," I said, wanting to change the subject.

Cicero laughed aloud. How much wine had he drunk? "So I was. You know, my very favourite is the Great One's brilliant new innovation for rooting out bribery. If a man's convicted of bribery, he can arrange for a pardon, provided he can turn around and convict two other men of bribery! Soon everyone in Rome will be standing in a circle pointing the finger of blame at the man next to him. That's one way to keep everyone busy while the Republic slips away from us. It's ludicrous, it makes a mockery of the law. But Pompey's never understood the law, never had any real respect for it, any more than he respects oratory. He respects institutions, like the Senate, but only in some vague, abstract, sentimental way. He has no regard for the law at all. He doesn't see how beautiful it is, how awesome, how it circles and binds us all together, like a golden thread. He rips his way through it like a man getting rid of cobwebs. He has the vulgar, pragmatic mind of an autocrat."

Cicero pressed his stomach and winced. "Thank the gods that Caelius is a tribune this year and has the power to veto any legislation that infringes on individual rights. Caelius has warned Pompey that he’ll use his veto on the new laws. Do you know what Pompey replied? He said, quite calmly, 'Do as you must, but I shall do whatever is necessary to defend the state.' So typical! Why doesn't he just pull out a sword and brandish it in Caelius's face? In the end there'll be a compromise, of course; there always is. We shall have to let Pompey have his way, or else he'll complain that he doesn't have enough power to keep order and demand even more. And where will that lead?" Cicero made an elaborate shrug of disgust. "Ah, but Gordianus, you've hardly spoken at all about your travails."

"You've hardly asked."

"How awful for you! Kidnapped, trundled off to some place far from Rome, kept in a pit. Who could have perpetrated such an atrocity?"

"I have wondered about that a great deal. I had much time to consider it."

"I'm sure you did! And did you come to any conclusions?" Did he look at me shrewdly, or had his eyelids simply grown heavy from fatigue and too much drink?

"Not yet."

"Ah, Gordianus, always the one to bide his time, sift every shred of evidence, seek for further revelations, postpone the final judgment. You'd have made a terrible advocate. You don't have the gift for making things up. So you have no idea who kidnapped you, or why?"

"We never properly saw our captors, and they never gave us any clue about who employed them, or why we were kept alive, for that matter."

"Ah, a mystery, then! But here you are, free again at last and safe."

"Yes, safe. But of course it matters to me a great deal to know who treated my son and myself with such contempt. We're both alive and well —"

"Amazingly well, considering!"

"But it might easily have been otherwise. If one of us had been wounded in the attack, or fallen ill in that terrible place ..." Cicero nodded vaguely. Tiro shuddered.

"But I will discover who was behind it. I suppose the prudent course, now, would be to retrace our steps to find the stable where we were kept. But I doubt we could find it again. What do you think, Eco?"

"I think we were trying too hard not to be seen to memorize an unfamiliar landscape. Besides, Papa, a disused stable on a derelict piece of farmland might belong to anyone. Finding the place wouldn't necessarily lead us to the men who captured us. They'll be long gone."

"We might make the search anyway," I said. "We would need bodyguards, of course." I turned back to Cicero, who looked uneasy for an instant and then smiled blandly.

"I would love to accommodate you, of course, Gordianus, but I really have no men to spare. I probably haven't enough protection as it is — your example has illustrated all too well the lamentable danger of the roads in these dreadful days."

"You might turn aside from your own journey for a day or two, Cicero. Join with us to search for that stable and the men who kept us."

"Impossible, Gordianus. My own mission is too important and cannot wait. Tomorrow I press on to Ravenna."

"Ah, yes, your mission, Cicero. What is it you're seeking from Julius Caesar? Or is it a secret of state?"

"There's no secret. It's Marcus Caelius again. Such a busy tribune! Caesar wants to be able to run for consul next year, but that's not possible so long as he's commanding his troops and can't come to the city. So his supporters have fashioned a special exemption allowing Caesar to run for consul in absentia. It would set a bad precedent, of course, but if Pompey can be made sole consul, Caesar's supporters think it's only fair that he should be able to run while he's still up in Gaul. It becomes an issue of preserving the peace — I mean to say, the balance - between the Great One and Caesar. But Caelius has threatened to block the special exemption, just as he's threatened to block Pompey's reforms."

"And your part, Cicero?"

He shrugged. "Certain parties have prevailed upon me to use my influence with Caelius to dissuade him from baiting Caesar. Caelius is willing to back down, but both he and I would like to make sure we have a complete understanding of Caesar's goals and attitudes. So I'm headed for Ravenna to have a friendly discussion with Caesar. To clear the air, so to speak."

"Wheels within wheels," muttered Eco.

"Better than one great wheel driving the whole engine of the world, which is what some people would like to see," said Cicero. "But I'm pressed for time. Caesar will be leaving Ravenna any day now, heading back into the field. There are rumours of a new uprising led by some Gaul with a typically unpronounceable name. What is it, Tiro?"

"Vercingetorix," said Tiro crisply. He was clearly not inebriated.

"Whatever," agreed Cicero. "So you see, I have no time to go off looking for - what did you call it, Eco? 'A disused stable in a derelict field.' And neither should you, Gordianus. Don't tempt the Fates. You're safe in my company. I'll provide all your needs. Accompany me to Ravenna tomorrow, and then accompany me back to Rome."

"We should head back to Rome at once," said Eco glumly. "For Bethesda and Menenia to suffer even one more day than they should, not knowing what's become of us —"

"Ah, but don't you have a brother who's likely to be with Caesar in Ravenna?" said Cicero. "Yes, your son, Gordianus - the one called Meto. Your family will have written to him about your disappearance, I'm sure. He'll be as distraught as they are. This is your chance to see him before he heads back north with Caesar. You see, you must come with me to Ravenna. But now, I think it's time for everyone to retire. You look weary, Gordianus, and Eco is yawning. Tonight, you'll have the best accommodations our host has to offer, with a soft bed in a private room. I arranged it for you myself I predict that you will sleep like stones."

And we did.

XXV

Caesar's residence in Ravenna was a large villa on the outskirts of the city, with numerous tents, stables and makeshift buildings set up around it. Like all military camps, it resembled a small city, where the needs of a vigorous, mostly young male population with strong appetites could be accommodated on a daily basis. One invariably encounters three things in such places: the sight of prostitutes, the constant smell of cooking, and the sounds of the crudest language imaginable.

We arrived shortly after midday. Cicero and Tiro went to seek an audience with Caesar. Eco and I went in search of Meto. He was not hard to find. A foot soldier pointed the way to a tent filled with young officers. As we stepped inside, there was a sudden hush which had nothing to do with us, followed by a rattling noise, then an outburst of raucous laughter and cursing. They were playing dice.

The four dice being used were an old-fashioned set made of bones, pointed at two ends with the numerals painted on the four flat sides. A young man stepped out of the crowd and leaned forwards to scoop them up, and I saw with a catch in my throat that it was Meto.

Since he had begun his career with Caesar, we had seen each other only a few times a year at most, and never for long enough. Each time I saw my younger son I braced myself for an unpleasant surprise — a limp, a digit missing, a fresh scar across his face to add to the faded one he received in his first battle. So far he had kept himself intact, if not unmarked. Each time I saw him I was struck anew by how young he still looked. He was twenty-six now, very much a man by every measure, with a few grey hairs at his temples already and a ruggedness to his features that comes from years of hot sun and cold wind, but when he smiled as he scooped up the dice