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*
I had left Rome as one of the tresviri capitales, a happy man though disgraced. As much as a son of the Caecilii Metelli who was to precede his father as legate to Hither Spain for a propraetorship could be called so. It had been a discreet exit from the stage, at a time when the guarantee of civilised proceedings was still as flimsy as fine Nineveh cottons. At least it had happened so close to the end of my mandate that my dismissal from office and Father’s rescue in extremis didn’t gain quite so much notice.
I returned a legate, two years later. I wasn’t triumphant with honours and fame, but I was richer than when I’d departed. My father was however a principled man, the occasional bribe notwithstanding, which meant I was only a little richer, and the province no poorer than we had found it. Even so, I was in no position to complain.
The ship docked in Ostia and I was so eager to reach Rome that I immediately embarked on the first available cargo vessel sailing up the Tiber. I forgave the river’s rank smell in summer, and the call of seagulls. I even forgave the contrary wind that made our journey slower and the rowers’ lives harder. I leaned on the thin bulwark, transfixed by the golden fields that slid by us on the banks, the rich estates, the olive groves, and the wiry trunks of the maritime pines capped by their flat green crowns.
I had not loved my time aiding Father in the administration of Hither Spain. Not because I hated the task. It was no worse than being head of the police in the Suburra district. But because I loved Rome more.
*
The sailors tied the ship to the wharf’s pillars. Burrus insisted on climbing the ladder up to the dock before I did. He suspected that Claudius, who by then styled himself as Clodius, in hearing of our arrival, might have attempted to do what he couldn’t two years prior. There wouldn’t be the equivalent of two centuriae in newly liberated slaves to protect me from his mob, this time.
« If he tries to kill me », I called after the old legionary, « you alone wouldn’t be able to stop him, so don’t fret so much. » I was grateful, nevertheless, for the straightforward, moving loyalty that Burrus showed me. I paid the ship captain for the ride, then began hauling myself and my modest luggage up the ladder. « Besides, it would take nothing short of a message from Mercury to be already aware of our arrival, don’t— »
Ahead of Burrus, in front of us right at the end of the wharf, stood Milo.
I stared in unadulterated surprise. « —You think? »
Titus Annius Milo broke into laughter. The sound was maddening in how pitch-perfect, full and rich it still was, exactly as I remembered it, and still remember it. However short a time had passed had otherwise worked sorcery on Milo. He no longer looked like a youth, due to some indefinable gravity he had acquired. His jaw had always been square and his brow strong, but now even his facial features seemed to have settled into manhood.
« How? », I demanded, marching past Burrus. « Has my arrival been trumpeted to the entire city, after all? »
« Is this how you greet me, legate? », Milo said, coming to meet me halfway. He squeezed my shoulders, with a toothy grin.
Burrus grumbled next to me, unable to forgive Milo his irreverent familiarity, but not even he pulled away from Milo when he turned for a greeting. They clasped each other’s forearms.
« It’s good to see you », I admitted, sighing.
« And you. Don’t worry, I merely kept contact with our friend Hasdrubal, the pirate liaison. Your ship was identified. »
Burrus blinked and turned to me, but I dismissed the question with a handwave. He didn’t need to know, but more importantly, the entirety of the Tiber’s commercial ports didn’t need to know, and only the forum gossips more than a harbour. Or, at least, that was the case when I was young; people don’t dawdle and prattle in the forum quite so much nowadays, lest chatter stains its marble coating more than the pigeons.
« Come », I said, « let’s be underway. I’m hungry and I must deposit my things home, then do things, see people… »
« The day has been declared inauspicious », Milo informed me. « No affairs or politics, I’m afraid. »
« All the better. Only social calls for my first day home. »
*
The congestion of streets of the Suburra was like taking a trip within my own bowels. Perhaps you shouldn’t be there, but they were familiar and intrinsically mine.
When I came to the threshold of my door, I did a small reverence to Janus Patulcius, then entered the atrium with Burrus and Milo.
Cato, my janitor, might have jumped to his feet were he not so aged; his expression made up for the lack of springing legs. « Master! », he exclaimed, sounding terribly affronted that I had dared to arrive without warning, which presumably meant that the house was not fully in working order for my arrival. I’d left it in his and his wife’s keeping while I was away. They didn’t know that I’d also left it to them in my will, were I to perish in Spain or during the journey by sea.
« Master, you could have sent word. Burrus, I marvel at you. » He trusted more in Burrus’ proper conduct than in mine, for which I couldn’t fault him.
« I’ll only leave my things », I said with a chuckle. « We will dine out tonight. You and Cassandra have time to set things up. »
As if summoned by her name, Cato’s wife appeared in the atrium from the door to the left. She was huffing something about a guest, and of course about myself, but being unprepared for full hospitality was to her the greater crime. « Please, come, be seated. I’ll have wine brought in », she told Milo, as if he had been promoted from disreputable and dangerous thug to Consul of Rome since the last time she had seen him. I realised then that I didn’t know if she had seen him in my absence, and that I would need my two housekeepers to fill me in about a great deal of things, more mundane than what had occupied my mind while travelling.
Cato stood from his chair and took what part of my luggage he could carry, leaving the rest to Burrus, while Milo was dragged away chuckling at Cassandra.
I stood there and took in the sight of my dwelling. I noticed where the meandering pattern running around the atrium needed a touch up. That wasn't my slaves’ fault. The colour had faded and the plaster had detached from the brick below years before, some even before I’d moved in; my eyes, however, were fresh from my absence.
I didn’t lament those flaws, at that moment. I ached with sudden affection for them.
I turned to the shrine to my familiar gods set in the wall and offered a prayer.
*
« How’s the Ludus Statilius doing? », I asked Milo.
« Very well. Or not any worse than before. The arena never stops thirsting for blood and the Ludus never stops providing it. »
We were both standing on the raised sidewalk and watching the taberna’s cook roast two buns cut in half behind the street-facing counter. In the small space behind him, a burly woman moved between her pots and ovens, whirling about distractingly quickly. With a long forked hook, she lifted spleen out of the pot where it simmered in lard.
« That’s where we’re going. But first, a detour to see an acquaintance. »
The cook flipped the buns, then picked up a spatula. « Liver, sir? Olive spread, chickpea paste? »
I smiled, feeling very droll. « Chickpeas, please. »
*
The janitor showed us into a side room, whose only other door led into the peristylium. It was sparsely decorated except for its dark red murals, the amphorae mounted onto a ceiling-height support structure, and the two triclinia arranged around a stand for papyri. There was nothing on the stand, which struck me as no coincidence, considering the look we’d received for our sticky warm buns with spleen and paste. The janitor instead brought in a bowl of water and a linen towel for our unsightly fingers. From the water rose a pleasant scent of lemon juice.
Milo plunged his fingertips in the bowl, then shook them and dried them on his blue tunic while I used the linen. « Say, isn’t this the house of Cicero, the curule aedile? »
« Just the one. » I shouldn’t have been surprised that Milo knew who lived there. He was not the type to sit on his hands, and I wondered when he would finally replace Macro as the de facto underworld leader of the Suburra.
Soon, the man himself appeared on the door. « You must excuse me », he said, « I was dictating and in the flow. »
Both Milo and I stood up.
« I’m most grateful for your time, Marcus. We won’t take long. »
« Decius Caecilius, back to Rome. » He looked me over, then offered me his hand. « I didn’t think I’d see the day. Of course, it helps when one has a relative for Consul. »
With that he meant Lucius Caecilius Metellus, who was a cousin of my father. I should perhaps explain that little good blood ran between Cicero and Lucius Caecilius, not since Cicero had won the trial for corruption against Verres. Verres had happened to be married to Lucius’s sister and had poured sweat in trying to postpone the trial until one of the Metelli could be in office as Consul. Attempting to get acquitted by throwing around the weight of one’s name or buying the jury has always been a time-honoured tradition. Unfortunately, he had failed, and the trial had taken place when Lucius was still governor of Sicily.
Cicero had practically swept the Basilica’s pavement with what little remained of Verres’ dignity.
As for myself, I had never seen a good reason why I should hate a man merely because a relative of mine did. I reached out and took his hand. « It helps, certainly. »
He gave me a shake. « How is your father? »
« He cannot complain. He was going to depart after me, I believe he’ll be here perhaps next week, the sea permitting. We’ve been irreproachable in Spain, so you need not worry about prosecuting us. »
Cicero chuckled softly, then turned. « Well, and my other guest? »
Milo came forward, flashing his signature smile and reaching out to take Cicero’s hand before it could retreat. He had a way of sweeping in like that.
Milo introduced himself, and Cicero eyed him with a critical, interested look. « We’ve met before, haven’t we? »
« Perhaps in the forum, once or twice », Milo said, good-humoured. Knowing him, I suspected that those dealings were not entirely over the counter.
« Hm. Good to put a name to the face. Tell me then, Decius, what can I do for you? »
« What I can do for you is more like it. Do you remember when we spoke before my departure, about the case of Tigranes, the conspiracy against Lucullus, and all those fine deeds? »
Cicero snorted, appearing thoroughly unimpressed. He reserved Milo a quick glance askance, but he was a man of quick thinking, and must have assumed that, if I freely spoke of it, then Milo was a man to be trusted with the information. « Naturally I do, and much good it did you. I can still scarcely believe that you tried to improvise an accusation of treason in the tribunal, against the Consuls, during someone else’s trial. » That had admittedly not been the brightest moment in my career.
« Regardless, I wished to thank you for the advice. Would you like to send your secretary to my house? I happen to have an original of Archias’ poetry, and you are most welcome to have it copied for your library. »
He suddenly drew his shoulders backwards and lifted his chin, perking up with beaming eyes. It was a small thing, but I had meant to do it ever since I had come to him for that legal consultation, and it was time to clear some of the debts I’d had no chance to settle before being shipped away to Spain.
« I would be delighted », he said.
« It is settled. Send Tiro over whenever he is free. »
He offered us wine, after that, but the tiredness from the journey by ship was seeping in me, and I didn’t wish to aggravate it. I had plans for the evening, wine could wait until then.
*
Cicero brought me up to date with the most relevant political-adjacent news. I was in fact rather stunned to learn that Gaius Julius Caesar’s wife Cornelia had died; his unwillingness to divorce her even under duress was perhaps the one true act of love that such a cold-minded man had ever allowed himself. I restrained myself and asked nothing of Clodia. Then he spoke of pirates and their growing boldness around Ostia’s harbour.
On our way to the Ludus Statilius, I interrogated Milo about it.
« It’s true », he admitted, twisting his mouth. « Ever since Lucullus defeated King Tigranes, there’s been a certain amount of malcontent among them. They’re not getting good deals anymore and keep track of every single ship that comes and goes. Hasdrubal says we should be worried. »
« Is that why they spotted me so quickly? »
« Regrettably, yes. »
I hesitated. « Is it possible to buy them to ensure my father’s safe passage? »
Milo raised a brow, but his eyes were twinkling. He was delighted by my newfound show of worldliness. « Probably. I’ll ask Macro about their new contact in Rome. »
The Ludus Statilius didn’t stop training its gladiators merely because the haruspices had declared an unfavourable day for public and private affairs. I paused at the entrance of the courtyard cordoned off by the gladiator barracks. Fighting schools for the circus are always a sight to behold, but they are particularly dreadful in summer time: a cloud of dust hovered on the training ground and clung to the men’s sweaty skin. Even under the portico’s shadow, it was like putting our faces in front of a grimy oven.
I asked to see the school’s physician. Asklepiodes came out of his quarters in a short Greek dress gathered at the waist, which barely reached the middle of his thighs; a thin fillet of twisted cloth kept all his hair firmly away from his forehead.
He stepped under the portico and blinked away the sun’s glare. When he saw me, he smiled as if he had just won the most lucrative bet of his life. « If it isn’t the triumvir of the Suburra. »
« Not anymore », I said, smirking. « Legate now, for better or worse. »
« Better, surely. »
He reached out and we shook hands, then I quickly introduced him to Milo. Asklepiodes studied him with keen eyes, for which I could hardly fault him: Milo was even larger than half the gladiators here, had palms as hard as leather from his years as a rower, and was very easy on the eyes. Milo bore that scrutiny easily.
« Asklepiodes », I said, « would you like to join us tonight, for a little dinner somewhere? »
His eyes cut to me, bemused. « To what do I owe the generosity? »
« For one, you virtually saved my case two years ago. And secondarily, you saved my life too, but consider it a minor matter. » I briefly touched my flank, where my tunic hid the scar of the gladius cut I’d received, a white stripe that is still very visible even now in my old age. « Therefore, if you are free… »
« I’ll make myself free. If someone comes down with a sunstroke, perhaps Apollo can cover for me. »
Despite myself, I glanced towards the courtyard to ensure that the god had not suddenly come down with the entire chariot, taunted by the jest. Milo laughed.
*
Earlier that year, as Cicero had duly informed me, one of the tribunes of the people had passed the Lex Antia sumptuaria, a law that prohibited magistrates from attending banquets. It may seem a very silly and inconsequential use of the power of a tribune, but banquets have ever been one of the most popular venues to conduct business and politics without explicitly stating so. Either Antius, the tribune in question, was a very smart man trying to curb back alley deals between our politicians, as much as any such things can ever be curbed, or he was a moralist who thought banquets and entertainment unbefitting for the great men of Rome. There’s never anything worse than eating well and having fun for the decorum of our magistrates.
Whichever the case, I had lucked out, no longer being one.
A thermopolium couldn’t be quite called a banquet, but I picked one of the better staffed and most famous in the entire city. I then went to the baths in the mid-afternoon, giving Milo and Asklepiodes appointment for the evening.
With how much I was walking around, I was certain that everyone in Rome would know of my return within the week. But that was all the same to me. I didn’t intend to return covertly, like a fugitive hiding from my fellow citizens. I did not care if and when Clodia would learn of my presence, or so I repeated myself, caught between burning disappointment and the dying embers of anger over the betrayed affections that I still felt.
So I went to meet my friends in high spirits.
The thermopolium was a long building erected shortly outside the old city walls, nearby the Campus Martius and not very far from the Statilian school for gladiators. Many of the men and youths who trained there often left an offering in the small temple of Mars in Circo, then had supper at the thermopolium’s long tables.
Beyond the large squared arch of the entrance there were three of those long tables, and several smaller ones tucked in nooks by the end wall. It was busy, it was boisterous, and it served the best fried anchovies and courgette flowers one could hope to find in Rome. The cook was an old woman with knobby hands, whose manner of pointing at people with her ladle was a better deterrent against brawls than the bouncer. Had that woman been one of our generals, I’m confident we would long have conquered all lands past the Rhine.
I found Milo and Asklepiodes waiting for me in one of those end-wall nooks, and we soon asked for watered wine and a tray of food to share.
The food filled our bellies, and the wine loosened our tongues. Tiredness was catching up with me, and I leaned against the wall with a surely unbecoming slouch, nursing my cup.
« I believe our head trainer », Asklepiodes was telling Milo, « spotted you this afternoon. Now Statilius is asking who you are. »
That amused Milo greatly. He pushed his hand through his black curls; even our scalps were heated up. « I hate to disappoint him, but I won’t get into the gladiatorial business. I have other interests in the streets. »
« Did you know », I interjected, perhaps slurring my words slightly, « that he once knocked out two thugs with a single slap for each? They were huge boys, too. That was when I ran afoul of Clodius. »
Asklepiodes was immediately interested. « Did you hit the ears? » He was a physician, but he had more than a passing interest in methods of harm. I supposed the two things went hand in hand almost by definition. « I’ve treated men who got such hits to the ears. They develop liquids that drizzle out, they can’t hear well or walk straight. If they seep blood and pus, they’re most likely done for. »
« Please », I lamented, « I’ve just eaten. »
Milo grinned. « They were bleeding all right. But let’s be mindful of Decius’ stomach. » And he produced two pairs of bone dice as if out of thin air. « A game? »
I resented the idea that my stomach was weak, so I grumbled at him. « You’re not dragging me into gambling. »
« We’ll gamble in olives », he declared, light-hearted, taking two of the cooked black olives in our tray and setting them aside. The wine fumes and the rowdy mood of the thermopolium made that statement unbearably funny, and I, startled, began laughing.
Milo too laughed. « Come, I’m serious! »
Asklepiodes, who was a lean man and the oldest of us three, and who despite that seemed to hold his wine the most easily, chuckled. He seemed curiously smug and knowing. « You keep bad but very fetching company, Decius Caecilius. »
I quickly looked at Milo. He had a hand on his chest and his shoulders shook with his held-back laughter. Luckily, he was taking the Greek inclination on display as a compliment, one that perhaps he’d gotten before, and in less tasteful terms. He then rubbed the tears away from his eyes and shook his head. There was a sheen of sweat on his arms, and a faint hint of happy wrinkles on his temples.
I was thoroughly dazed by this young Hercules in a light tunic who wanted to gamble in olives, and afterwards I blamed the alcohol for my staring, but I couldn’t fool Asklepiodes’ piercing look. I hastily understood that they both saw something in my mood of which I was only marginally aware myself, and glared at the physician for it.
« I’m having you arrested », I threatened in jest.
Asklepiodes shrugged. « You are not police anymore, yes? »
« I will reapply for a position in the tresviri capitales. Just for you, specifically. » That, of course, was never going to happen.
He snorted, then reached out to take olives both for me and for himself. « Let’s do that game. And another round of wine. »
I remember thinking, so clearly, as Milo smiled with his clinking dice in his palm: sweet mother, I am so drunk.
*
That night, when I fell into my long-empty bed lovingly arranged by Cassandra, my face and jaw hurt from all the laughing. My thoughts swam in joy, and whatever new things, some good and many most likely rather bad, Rome would bring me next, I was ready to face them chest first or welcome them with open arms. I sank into my pillow, smelled the sheets, tested the whining of the wood when I turned. All familiar, all dearly beloved.
My homecoming took place one day in the summer of the year 686 ab Urbe condita, during the Consulship of Metellus and Marcius Rex.