The Roman Conspiracy Page 9

  Now I followed the passage below, around another corner, slipping but catching myself. In front of me, the passage looked oddly familiar. Of course, I realized, the kitchen corridor! And the door at the end could only be the low doorway to the alley. Down the whole length of the passage I built up speed, hurling myself against the door, leaving the ground as I struck it with my shoulder. It flew open, and I flew out behind it, landing in the very same pile of scraps that had broken my fall before.

  But I heard the Druid following, charging down the passage.

  “Stop there, boy! Where do you think you are going?” he called, but I was already up and running fast, back towards Sicklemaker Street and the glow of the torches. Homer and Tullia had gone that way.

  I reached the street. Behind me came the voice of the Druid, filled with despair – or was it one last prayer to the gods to smite me? I turned and saw his shape silhouetted by the moonlight, arms raised up to heaven, beard shaking.

  I turned to Sicklemaker Street. Where were they? Even as I asked myself the question, I saw them not far down the street. Two guards were chasing them, Homer was tripping over his magic robes, and Tullia was almost dragging him along. I flew after them.

  The first guard snarled, nearly on them. But the guards were too intent on catching Homer to see me coming up behind. With a single sweep of my leg I caught their heels, sending them sprawling into the mud of the street.

  “Now come on!” I cried, helping Tullia with Homer. “Down here, the way we took when we arrived before. You remember, Homer?”

  It was only a little street, but it went the right way. On we ran, to exhaustion, until we deliberately lost our way and our pursuers with it. When we could hear them no more, we stopped to catch our breath.

  “Well, that was lucky,” I gasped after a while. “A black sheep! A black male sheep! Why didn’t you just say no?”

  “Easy enough for you, sir, if I may say!” answered Homer, breathing hard. “Sitting there the whole time while I had to talk! How was I supposed to know he had a black male sheep – and in the house, ready for us? Besides, I studied philosophy, sir, not anatomy!”

  “That’s enough arguing,” said Tullia. “Homer, you did splendidly. And you’re quite right, Aulus, it was lucky. Because, in the end, we did it! You read the letter, didn’t you? My plan worked! We know everything. And now there is not a moment to lose!”

  In the Hall of Justice

  decided the next morning that I would never again be chased through Volturcius’ house. Or chased at all, for that matter. My shoulder was bruised where I had slammed into the door, and my muscles ached. But I felt better when I found Homer in the garden, and I promised to buy him a new set of dice for the backgammon, to replace his lost pair. I told him he had done very well indeed – splendidly, in fact.

  “I would never have thought you had it in you, Homer,” I said. “When you were chanting that gibberish, I nearly mistook you for a real magician.”

  “It wasn’t bad, sir, if I do say so myself. Convincing, anyway. And I did manage to get in a good word about Hesiod, did you notice? Even if it was to Volturcius.” He spat.

  “It’s strange that we’ve looked him in the face. Volturcius, I mean. Can you believe he murdered my uncle?”

  “Yes, sir, I can. You should have seen him when you killed the sheep. He would have liked it even more if you hadn’t knocked it unconscious first, in my opinion. An evil man, sir, a very evil man. But we shall get him yet, won’t we?”

  We shook hands on that idea, but just then Tullia joined us and said I had to go.

  “My father will be ready shortly,” she said, “and the sedan-chair is waiting. Aulus, what’s wrong with your toga? I told you, you must keep your elbow firm against your side or it starts to slip. There,” she said, with a last dusting of my arm, “that will do. You could be a Senator’s son.”

  Tullia was almost as eager as I was, though without my nervousness. I was about to be taken to a meeting of the Judges of Rome, and her plan to retrieve the proof we had seen last night depended on my testimony. Neither of us had gotten much sleep, for we had awakened her father in the middle of the night to describe everything to him. Then Cicero had grilled me for confirmation. Now it was the first hour after dawn, but she could at least go back to bed.

  I waited by the sedan-chair, and Cicero soon appeared. Bowing, I climbed in after him. By now I was getting used to this way of traveling, the gliding on the flat stretches interrupted by those sickening lurches, the people staring in as you went by, the steady rhythm of the bearers’ marching feet. Cicero took it all for granted; and he had other things on his mind.

  “I hope this charade with Volturcius seems as rash and ill-considered to you as it does to me,” he said. “It is not a good policy for young people to throw themselves like this into the line of battle, without asking the opinion of the Consul in the next room. Still,” he frowned, “it will indeed be a remarkable stroke if we can bring it off. It was my daughter’s idea, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir, entirely,” I said. “Though I saw the possibilities right away,” I added.

  “Yes. Hmm. Incidentally, Tullia has asked me to tell you not to make any mention at this meeting with the Judges, of this Celt, this Druid, whom you saw last night. You will refrain from doing so?”

  “Of course, sir, if you say so,” I replied. “But why?”

  He sighed in response. “My daughter has her reasons for it. Young man, if I did not foresee that you will have many daughters, I would suggest that you not have any. Or at least,” he corrected himself, “I suggest that you do not allow them to read legends of the heroic women of the ancient Romans when they are children, followed by complicated political biographies when they are older. It can have a strange effect.”

  “Not even your own biography, sir? I can’t imagine how that could harm a girl.”

  He looked at me and chuckled. “Well, you have me there. Perhaps you can read it to your daughter, seeing as you are taking a large part in it these days.”

  We arrived at the law courts, just behind the Roman Market, and got out. Following a step behind the Consul, surrounded by his bodyguard of ax-men, I marveled at the tall pillars of the Hall of Justice, whose front steps we ascended. The bailiffs there saluted as we passed into the cool shade inside. All was deserted now, for it was one of the officially Unlucky Days, when no case was tried or lawsuit pleaded. I saw the marble jury seats, the Judge’s high chair, the witness platform, and the benches for the accused and his family. Many Senators, innocent and guilty, had sat on those benches over the centuries. Now it was strangely quiet. But we went through this hall to a room behind it, low and long, lit by sunlight filtering in from small, square windows above our heads.

  Six Judges sat there, on stools behind a polished wooden table. They were all Senators, and they ranked only one degree beneath the two Consuls. Though one of them was too old to be ambitious, the rest were no doubt eager to be elected as Consuls themselves before long. I noticed the tall man I had seen from a distance once before: Julius Caesar. He was courteous, but no more than that, when Cicero walked in, and he followed the proceedings with the most intelligent expression I have ever seen.

  “It is my pleasure, gentlemen, on this important occasion, to introduce this young man,” began Cicero. “His family and mine have been friends for many generations, and for ten years now they have been under my Protection. This is Aulus Lucinus Spurinna, from Etruria. Some of you knew his grandfather, I believe, also of that name.”

  “Welcome, Aulus Lucinus,” said the Chief Judge. “We understand that we have been called here by the Consul because you possess information concerning Catiline and the safety of the Republic. Please provide it.”

  I swallowed the sharp stabs of fear, and provided it.

  “Yesterday evening,” I said, “I was a guest of Volturcius, a Roman knight, whom some of you may know. He owns land near Faesulae in my country, and he was acquainted with my uncle. It was not know
n to Volturcius, however, that I was present. I was there because of a private quarrel between the man and my family, and for the occasion, my slave and myself …” I left out Tullia “… had disguised ourselves as … uh, well … as magicians from the East. That part is complicated,” I added apologetically. “But in the course of the evening I was shown a letter that was signed by twenty Romans, some of them Senators and the rest Roman knights.” And here I repeated the letter exactly, word for word, and added the names I had seen at the bottom. “Each signature had a wax seal from a personal ring beside it,” I concluded, “and the papyrus was of the very best quality.”

  There I ended. As each of the names had come out – and I allowed each name to resonate in that low room before adding the next – there was an intake of breath from the Judges. Some of the names brought low mutters. By the end there was a look of consternation on their faces, but, I saw with relief, no sign of doubt. The oldest Senator did interrupt to comment that a Roman citizen dressing up as a magician from the East, that such a thing could not have happened in his day, it was quite unheard of. But the Judges were clearly appalled at the possibility that the Allobroges tribe would come down to assist Catiline with those ‘ten thousand warriors.’

  “This is what comes of delaying their lawsuit these last five years,” commented one.

  “But what now?” was the universal question. “If Catiline can control them …”

  “Where is Volturcius now?” asked Caesar.

  “If I may speak, gentlemen,” said Cicero, “I will tell you that I have a plan for dealing with the situation. Volturcius is in the city, but we do not know where exactly. We searched his house before dawn, but the letter was not there, and undoubtedly he has it with him. He cannot destroy it, for as proof of good faith to the tribe, it is essential to Catiline’s conspiracy. No, he will try to deliver it, for though he may have been imposed upon with, ah, with false magicians, he does not know we are aware of his design. Moreover, thanks to our young friend here, we know that he plans to ride this very night, and so he must. As you know, my colleague Antonius will soon march against Manlius with our army, and Catiline needs those Celts.”

  He paused, and the Judges sat on the edge of their seats.

  “Gentlemen, there is only one road to Manlius’ camp, to Catiline, and from there to the north and to the Celtic tribe. The Cassian Road from the Mulvian Bridge. That is the road Volturcius must take. It is therefore my opinion that we must dispatch riders – a strong force of riders – to seize Volturcius and his most treasonous letter. I suggest that they catch him at the Mulvian Bridge. Two troops of cavalry should suffice.”

  The Judges were delighted with this plan, or perhaps that there was any plan at all, and they gave it their hearty approval. Two of them suggested men to lead the cavalry: their own nephews, by coincidence.

  “That will do well,” said Cicero. “I am glad we are all agreed. But if I may make another suggestion, I would add that young Spurinna here should accompany our force. He can identify the document in question.”

  “He seems like a capable young man,” said Caesar.

  “Good. And, gentlemen, since this time of danger for the Republic is one in which we recognize our friends – like we recognize our enemies – more clearly, I hope we may all join in affirming that without such loyal allies as this young citizen here, allies from the regions of Italy on which the strength of this city in large measure depends, we would be in still greater danger than we now are; and, therefore, as a measure of our gratitude …”

  Cicero was not looking at me as he said this, but the Judges were; and I saw they were annoyed. Certainly Cicero was about to ask one of them to take me on as part of an entourage, perhaps for a share in the rich provinces each of them would shortly go to govern. I would become somebody’s burden, a burden they could not refuse. My own spirits slumped at the idea. More than ever, I wished I were back in my own house, even with my schoolwork, without powerful people staring at me, without the prospect of being dragged out East to tackle a life I knew nothing about. But it looked like I would shortly be trapped into doing just that.

  “… of our gratitude and appreciation,” continued Cicero. “Now then, it has come to my attention that the house of Spurinna is being menaced by threats to their land. Though they are in the right, the lawsuit that would result from these troubles would nevertheless be extensive and expensive. No doubt it would eventually end up before you gentlemen as Judges. Therefore it is my hope that you will agree to sign with me, here and now, this document.” He produced a scroll from the pouch of his toga. “This document, gentlemen, guarantees the right of Spurinna and his tenants to their land, and also the Protection, the special Protection of that right, from the Senate and the Roman People forever. May I have the pen?”

  The Judges’ faces lightened. It was nothing, after all, just a land dispute, and they were happy to sign it. Within moments, as it seemed to me, the document bore their seals and signatures, and Julius Caesar himself put it into my hand.

  “It’s heartening to think,” he said, “that there are still Protectors in Italy whose first thought is for their people.”

  For my part, I did think of the tenants, and how happy they would be to see this, even if they could not read it. Aunt Hercna would be happy too. And then I thought of our old house, small enough compared to the great Roman Hall of Justice. But it was my home, and I remembered our own front hall there and my grandfather’s statue beside the door. And then I had to fight an urge to laugh, for as I pictured that statue now, in my mind’s eye, it was smiling.

  In the sedan-chair on our way back, Cicero did not say much. He was preoccupied with papers. I heard something about “the wretched grain supply,” and I left him to it, happily gazing out the window, lost in my own thoughts. But as we began to climb the hill on which his house stood, he put down his work and spoke to me.

  “No doubt you’re wondering why I’m sending you with the cavalry tonight. It’s not because you can spot a document better than the next man,” he said wryly. “No. The fact of the matter is that, though her name did not come up – you have my thanks for that, incidentally – Tullia; is going to go along as well, strange as that may sound. And you are going to look after her.” He raised his eyebrows. “You understand me on that? You will only be an acting officer, of course, and that merely for form’s sake. But you will have two or three riders under your command, and you are going to use them to see that my daughter comes to no harm whatsoever. Also,” he added, “that she does not put herself in the front of the battle, if there is one. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I will make sure of it.”

  We got out at his front door. “I’m glad you have that document from the Judges,” he added. “A useful thing. I will have my scribes make copies for you, and we will put one in the city records. While they are doing that, you may see the guards for a helmet and chain-mail, and a cavalry cloak.”

  “Thank you, sir, very much, for all you’ve done,” I said. “But may I ask if your scribes are very busy?”

  “Busy?” he asked. “I suppose not. Why?”

  “Well, sir, if they’re available, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

  Encounter at the Bridge

  omer’s donkey had been well cared for during our stay at Cicero’s house. In fact, the beast was getting fat, and Homer was headed in that direction himself. When he mounted up, both the donkey and the Greek gave a groan. I mounted my white mare, now wearing a fine red cloak (somewhat too big), a helmet, and chain-mail (just the right size). Tullia wore a veil, a deep green traveling cloak, and a wool dress. She was already in the saddle, waiting for us, and looking, to my annoyance, every inch the able rider.

  It was approaching noon, the time when the crowds thinned as most pedestrians sought shelter from the sun. The three of us rode down to the Field of Mars, to the north of the Market, where we were to meet the troops of cavalry and ride to the Mulvian Bridge. Volturcius
and the Celts, we thought, would not ride ’til the evening, but we were going to leave the city by the southern gate, taking the long way round to the bridge to avoid comment.

  And it was indeed a fine force that accompanied us. We saw the glint of them a long way off: fifty riders in their best armor, drawn up in rows beside their horses on the grassy meadow. When we approached they thumped the ends of their spears on the ground in greeting.

  Two officers sat on their steeds in front: the Judges’ nephews. The larger one, a burly young man with a golden clasp on his cloak, saluted and called to Tullia.

  “Madam,” he said, “my name is Flaccus. We are at the Consul’s disposal. My colleague’s name is Pomptinus.” He gestured at the other officer, who gave us a leer and took a swig from the fat drinking-bladder in his other hand. “Please forgive my colleague’s thirst,” said Flaccus with some embarrassment. “The heat of the day, you understand. You are Spurinna, right? Very good. These are the men you are to command. Always glad to meet a friend of Cicero. And to see you, madam,” he added with a grin. “You may not remember me, but I met you when you were about seven years old.”

  “Of course I remember, Flaccus,” replied Tullia. “You were about fifteen, and you broke my father’s Athenian vase with your slingshot.”

  “Yes, hmm. That maybe. But I’ve traded in the slingshot since then,” he answered easily. “Traded it for this troop of riders. The best in Rome. No need to fear the Celts today.” Then, more seriously, in a low voice: “We are to ride to the Mulvian Bridge, right? But we leave by the southern gate?”

  “Just so,” said Tullia. “And your men are not to make a racket or show off to the crowd, I will tell you more when we reach the bridge.”

  “Very good, madam,” replied the officer, and he told the trumpeter to blow the signal to move out.