"There'll be no trial," said Caelius confidently. "By the time there are praetors to hear the case, it will be a distant memory. One good thing about the present state of anarchy: if some tribune of the plebs who bears Milo a grudge—Sallustius Crispus, for example—tries to institute a trial in the Plebeian Assembly, I'll veto it. And tell Sallustius what I think of men who seize an unhappy accident as an excuse to get back at a man who flogs another man for plundering his wife's virtue!"
They both smiled.
"I wish I knew exactly where Magnus stands in all this," said Cicero fretfully. "He's grown so cagey in his old age that one can never be sure what he thinks."
"Pompeius Magnus is suffering from a terminal case of overinflated self-importance," said Caelius. "I never used to think that Julia was an influence for the good, but now she's gone I've changed my mind. She kept him busy and out of mischief."
"I'm inclined to back him for Dictator."
Caelius shrugged. "I haven't made up my mind yet. By rights Magnus ought to back Milo to the hilt, and if he does, then he's got my support." He grimaced. "The trouble is, I'm not sure he does intend to back Milo. He'll wait and see which way the wind in the Forum is blowing."
"Then make sure you give a terrific speech for Milo."
Caelius did give a terrific speech in support of Milo, who appeared dressed in the blindingly white toga of a consular candidate and stood to listen with a nice mixture of interest and humility. To strike first was a good technique, and Caelius an extremely good orator. When he invited Milo to speak as well, Milo gave a version of the clash on the Via Appia which firmly placed the blame for it on Clodius. As he had worked up his speech very carefully, he sounded splendid. The Plebs went away thoughtful, having been reminded by Milo that Clodius had resorted to violence long before any rival street gangs had come into being, and that Clodius was the enemy of both the First and the Second Classes.
Milo himself proceeded from the Forum to the Campus Martius; Pompey was definitely home again.
"I'm very sorry, Titus Annius," said Pompey's steward, "but Gnaeus Pompeius is indisposed."
A great guffaw of laughter emanated from some inner room, and Pompey's voice came clearly on its dying echoes: "Oh, Scipio, what a thing to happen!"
Milo stiffened. Scipio? What was Metellus Scipio doing closeted with Magnus? Milo walked back to Rome in a lather of fear.
Pompey had been so enigmatic. Had he made a promise? "You might be pardoned for thinking so" was what he had said. At the time it had seemed crystal clear. Do away with Clodius, and I will reward you. But was that really what he meant? Milo licked his lips, swallowed, became conscious that his heart was beating much faster than a brisk walk could provoke in such a fit man as Titus Annius Milo.
"Jupiter!" he muttered aloud. "He set me up! He's flirting with the boni; I'm just a handy tool. Yes, the boni like me. But will they go on liking me if they learn to like Magnus better?"
And to think that he had gone today prepared to tell Pompey he would step down as a candidate for consul! Well, not now. No!
Plancus Bursa, Pompeius Rufus and Sallustius Crispus called another meeting of the Plebeian Assembly to answer Caelius and Milo. It was equally well attended, and by the same men. The best speaker of the three was Sallust, who followed the rousing speeches of Bursa and Pompeius Rufus with an even better one.
"Absolute claptrap!" Sallust shouted. "Give me one good reason why a man accompanied by thirty slaves armed only with swords should attack a man whose bodyguard consisted of one hundred and fifty bully-boys in cuirasses, helmets and greaves! Armed with swords, daggers and spears! Rubbish! Nonsense! Publius Clodius wasn't foolish! Would Caesar himself have attacked were Caesar in a similar situation? No! Caesar does spectacular things with very few men, Quirites, but only if he thinks he can win! What kind of battleground is the Via Appia for a heavily outnumbered civilian? Flat as a board, no shelter, and, on the stretch where it happened, no help either! And why, if it happened the way Milo's mouthpiece Caelius—and Milo himself!—say it happened, did a defenseless, humble innkeeper die? We are supposed to believe that Clodius killed him! Why? It was Milo stood to gain by the despicable murder of a poor little man like the innkeeper, not Clodius! Milo, who freed his slaves, if you please, and so very generously that they've scattered far and wide—can't be traced, let alone found! But how clever to take along your hysterical wife on a mission of murder! For the only man who might have been able to give us the true story, Quintus Fufius Calenus, was so busy inside a carpentum dealing with a panicked woman that he can say— and I believe him, for I know the lady well!—"
Chuckles everywhere.
"—he can say he saw nothing! The only testimony we can ever hear about the circumstances in which Publius Clodius actually died is testimony from Milo and his henchmen, murderers all!"
Sallust paused, grinning; a neat touch, to disarm Caelius by himself referring to his affair with Fausta. He drew a long breath and launched into his peroration.
"All of Rome knows that Publius Clodius was a disruptive influence, and there are many of us who deplored his strategies and tactics. But the same can be said for Milo, whose methods are far less constitutional than Clodius's. Why murder a man who threatens your public career? There are other ways of dealing with such men! Murder is not the Roman way! Murder is inevitably an indication of even nastier things! Murder, Quirites, is the way a man starts to undermine the State! To take it over! A man stands in your path and refuses to get out of it, and you murder him? When you might simply pick him up—is Milo a weakling?—and lift him out of your path? This is Milo's first murder, but will it be his last? That is the real question we should all be asking ourselves! Who among us can boast a bodyguard like Milo's, far larger than the mere one hundred and fifty he had with him on the Via Appia? Cuirassed, helmeted, greaved! Swords, daggers, spears! Publius Clodius always had a bodyguard, but not like Milo's professionals! I say that Milo intends to overthrow the State! It's he who has created this climate! It's he who has started on a program of murder! Who will be next? Plautius, another consular candidate? Metellus Scipio? Pompeius Magnus, the greatest threat of all? Quirites, I beg you, put this mad dog down! Make sure his tally of murder remains at one!"
There were no Senate steps to stand on, but most of the Senate was standing in the well of the Comitia to hear. When Sallust was done, Gaius Claudius Marcellus Major raised his voice from the well.
"I convoke the Senate at once!" he roared. "The temple of Bellona on the Campus Martius!"
"Ah, things are happening," said Bibulus to Cato. "We're to meet in a venue Pompeius Magnus can attend."
"They'll propose that he be appointed Dictator," said Cato. "I won't hear of it, Bibulus!"
"Nor will I. But I don't think it will be that."
"What, then?"
"A Senatus Consultum Ultimum. We need martial law, and who better to enforce it than Pompeius? But not as Dictator."
Bibulus was right. If Pompey expected to be asked again, and this time officially, to assume the dictatorship, he gave no sign of it when the House met in Bellona an hour later. He sat in his toga praetexta in the front row among the consulars, and listened to the debate with just the right expression of interest.
When Messala Rufus proposed that the House pass a Senatus Consultum Ultimum authorizing Pompey to raise troops and defend the State—but not as Dictator—Pompey acceded graciously without displaying any chagrin or anger.
Messala Rufus gave him the chair gratefully; as the senior consul last year, he had perforce been conducting the meetings, but beyond organizing the appointment of an interrex he could do nothing. And in that he had failed.
Pompey didn't. The big jars full of water which held the little wooden balls of the lots were brought out on the spot, and the names of all the patrician leaders of the Senate's decuries were inscribed on the wooden balls. They fitted into one jar; the lid was tied down, the jar spun quickly, and out of the spout near the top a little ball
popped. The name on it was Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, who was the first Interrex. But the lots proceeded until every wooden ball was ejected from the jar—not that any member of the Senate wished an endless string of interreges, as had happened last year. The order had to be established, that was all. Everyone confidently expected that the second Interrex, Messala Niger, would successfully hold the elections.
"I suggest," said Pompey, "that the College of Pontifices insert an extra twenty-two days in the calendar this year after the month of February. An intercalaris will afford the consuls something fairly close to a full term. Is that possible, Niger?" he asked of Messala Niger, second Interrex and a pontifex.
"It will be done," said Niger, beaming.
"I also suggest that I issue a decree throughout Italia and Italian Gaul that no male Roman citizen between the ages of forty and seventeen be exempted from military service."
A chorus of ayes greeted this.
Pompey dismissed the meeting, well satisfied, and returned to his villa, where he was joined shortly afterward by Plancus Bursa, who had received the nod from Pompey indicating a summons.
"A few things," said Pompey, stretching luxuriously,
"Whatever you want, Magnus."
"What I don't want, Bursa, are elections. You know Sextus Cloelius, of course."
"Well enough. He did a good job on the crowd when Clodius burned. Not a gentleman, but very useful."
"Good. Without Clodius I understand the crossroads college dissidents are leaderless, but Cloelius ran them for Clodius, and now he can run them for me."
"And?"
"I want no elections," Pompey said again. "I ask nothing else of Cloelius than that. Milo is still a strong contender for the consulship, and if he should get in, he might manage to be a bigger force in Rome than I'd care to see him become. We just can't have Claudians murdered, Bursa."
Plancus Bursa cleared his throat noisily. "Might I suggest, Magnus, that you acquire a well-armed and very strong bodyguard? And perhaps give it out that Milo has threatened you? That you fear you might become his next victim?"
"Oh, good thinking, Bursa!" cried Pompey, delighted.
"Sooner or later," Bursa said, "Milo will have to be tried."
"Definitely. But not yet. Let's wait and see what happens when the interreges can't manage to hold elections."
* * *
By the end of January the second Interrex was out of office and the third Interrex took over. The level of violence in Rome rose to a point whereat no shop or business within a quarter of a mile of the Forum Romanum dared open its doors, which in turn led to job dismissals, which in turn led to fresh violence, which in turn spread further throughout the city. And Pompey, empowered to care for the State in tandem with the tribunes of the plebs, spread his hands wide, opened his once-arresting blue eyes wide, said flatly that as there was no genuine revolution going on, the control of all this rested with the Interrex.
"He wants to be Dictator," said Metellus Scipio to Cato and Bibulus. "He doesn't say it, but he means to be it."
"He can't be let," said Cato tersely.
"Nor will he be let," said Bibulus calmly. "We'll work out a way to make Pompeius happy, tie him to us, and proceed to where the real enemy is. Caesar."
Who had just intruded into Pompey's nicely turning world in a manner Pompey did not appreciate. On the last day of January he received a letter from Caesar, now in Ravenna.
I have just heard of the death of Publius Clodius. A shocking affair, Magnus. What is Rome coming to? Very wise of you to get a good bodyguard together. When assassination is so blatant, anyone is a likely victim, and you the most likely victim of all.
I have several favors to ask of you, my dear Magnus, the first of which I know you won't mind granting, as my informants tell me you have already personally requested Cicero to bring his influence to bear on Caelius, make him stop stirring up trouble for you and support for Milo. If you would ask Cicero to take the journey to Ravenna—a delightful climate, so no real hardship—I would be grateful. Perhaps if my pleas are joined to yours, he will muzzle Caelius.
The second favor is more complex. We have been dear friends now for eight years, six of them spent in the mutual delight of sharing our beloved Julia. Seventeen months have gone by since our girl perished, time enough to learn to live without her, even if neither of our lives will ever be the same again. Perhaps now is the time to think about renewing our relationship through marriage ties, a Roman way to show the world that we are in communion. I have already spoken to Lucius Piso, who is happy if I settle a very comfortable fortune on Calpurnia and divorce her. The poor creature is completely isolated in the female world of the Domus Publica, my mother is no longer there to keep her company, and she meets no one. She should be given the chance to find a husband with time to spend with her before she reaches an age when good husbands are not easy to find. Fabia and Dolabella are a good example.
I understand that your daughter, Pompeia, is not at all happy with Faustus Sulla, especially since his twin, Fausta, married Milo With Publius Clodius dead, Pompeia will be forced into social contacts very much against her taste and her father's wishes. What I would propose is that Pompeia divorce Faustus Sulla and marry me. I am, as you have good reason to know, a decent and reasonable husband provided my wife keeps herself above suspicion. Dear Pompeia is all that I could ask for in a wife.
Now I come to you, a widower for seventeen months. How much I wish that I had a second daughter to offer you! Unfortunately I do not. I have one niece, Atia, but when I wrote to ask Philippus how he would feel about divorcing her, he answered that he preferred to keep her, as she is a pearl beyond price, above suspicion. Were there a second Atia, I would cast my net further, but, alas, Atia is my only niece. Atia has a daughter by the late Gaius Octavius, as you know, but again Caesar's luck is out. Octavia is barely thirteen years old, if that. However, Gaius Octavius had a child by his first wife, Ancharia, and this Octavia is now of marriageable age. A very good and solid senatorial background, and the Octavii, who hail from Velitrae in the Latin homelands, have had consuls and praetors in some of their branches. All of which you know. Both Philippus and Atia would be pleased to give this Octavia to you as a wife.
Please think deeply, Magnus. I miss my son-in-law greatly! To be your son-in-law would turn the tables nicely.
The third favor is simple. My governorship of the Gauls and Illyricum will finish some four months before the elections at which I intend to stand for my second term as a consul. As we have both been the targets of the boni and have no love for them from Cato to Bibulus, I do not wish to afford them the chance to prosecute me in some court rigged so hard and fast against me that I will go down. If I have to cross the pomerium into the city of Rome in order to declare my candidacy, I will automatically give up my imperium. Without my imperium, I can be forced to trial in a court of law. Thanks to Cicero, candidates for the consulship cannot stand for it in absentia. But this I need to do. Once I'm consul, I'll soon deal with any false charges the boni would bring against me.
But those four months must see me retain my imperium. Magnus, I hear that you will very soon be Dictator. No one could handle that office better. In fact, you will bring it back into luminous distinction after Sulla dirtied it so disgracefully. Rome need not fear proscriptions and murder under the good Pompeius Magnus! If you could see your way clear to procuring me a law enabling me to stand for the consulship in absentia, I would be enormously grateful.
I have just had a copy of Gaius Cassius Longinus's report to the Senate on affairs in Syria. A most remarkable document, and better writing than I thought any Cassius was capable of, apart from Cassius Ravilla. The epilogue of poor Marcus Crassus's progress to Artaxata and the court of the two kings was heartrending.
Keep well, my dear Magnus, and write to me at once. Rest assured that I remain your most loving friend, Caesar.
Pompey laid the letter down with trembling hands and then used them to cover his face. How dare h
e! Just who did Caesar think he was, to offer a man who had had three of the highest-born brides in Rome a girl who was a bigger nobody than Antistia? Oh, well, Magnus, I don't have a second daughter, and Philippus—ye Gods, Philippus!—won't divorce my niece for you, but my dog once piddled in your yard, so why don't you marry this nobody Octavia? After all, she shits in the same latrine as a Julian woman!
He began to grind his teeth; the fists clenched, unclenched, A moment later his horrified household heard the unmistakable sound of something they hadn't heard during Julia's time. A Pompeian temper tantrum. There would be bent metal from precious to base, smashed vessels, tufts of hair, specks of blood and shredded fabric to clear up. Oh, dear! What had the letter from Caesar said?
But after the spasm was over, Pompey felt much better. He sat down at his ink-splattered desk, found a pen and some untorn paper, and scribbled the draft of an answer for Caesar.
Sorry, old chap, I love you too, but afraid none of the marriage business is remotely possible. I have another bride in mind for myself, and Pompeia is perfectly happy with Faustus Sulla. Appreciate your dilemma over Calpurnia, but can't help, really, really can't help. Glad to send Cicero to Ravenna. He has to listen to you, since you're the one he owes all the money to. Won't listen to me, but then I'm a mere Pompeius from that nest of Gauls, Picenum. Happy to oblige with that little law about in absentia. Do it the moment I can, rest assured. Be quite a coup if I can persuade all ten tribunes of the plebs to endorse it, eh?
A runnel of blood trickled down his face from his lacerated scalp, reminding him that he had made rather a mess of his study. He clapped his hands for his steward.
"Clean up, will you?" he asked in the tone of an order, and not according Doriscus his name because he never did. "Send my secretary in. I need a good copy made of a letter."