Murder on the Appian Way (15 page)

"And if it puts a little jingle in your purse ..." said Eco. "Why not?"

"Yes, why not? Well, I'll talk to you later, citizen. Perhaps we'll meet again at the Three Ducks."

"The Three Dolphins?" said the fuller.

"Exactly!" Eco smiled and withdrew, taking my arm. "Well, Papa, was I right about the fellow?"

"On the contrary, Eco, I was right. Just as I speculated, our friend the fuller came here today to support law and order."

"Indeed not! Papa, the man was bribed to be here, probably like three-quarters or more of the rest of this crowd. I knew I'd seen some of Milo's lieutenants passing out money when I walked through the Forum earlier this morning, on my way to your house. I suppose we should be insulted that we weren't offered anything."

"The bribe dispensers all know us by now, Eco."

"I suppose that's it. This little gathering is costing Milo a tidy sum."

"Yes, but I was still right."

"About what?"

"About why our friend the fuller is here. He's looking for the rule of law and order."

"And a bribe," said Eco. "And a bribe," I conceded.

Caelius and Milo soon arrived, surrounded by a large retinue. As they made their way through the crowd, people craned their necks to get a look at Milo, and when they saw him many began to cheer. Their excitement seemed genuine, and why not? For better or worse, Milo was the man of the hour, and this was his first appearance in public since the incident on the Appian Way. All eyes were on him
.
All ears were eager to hear him speak.

With or without bribery, Milo had many supporters. He had been campaigning for the consulship for a long time, and in an effort to expand his support beyond the Best People he had spent a fortune on extravagant games and shows. Rome loves a politician who knows how to stage a spectacle. Some magistrates are required to put on shows at various annual festivals, at their own expense, as part of their official duties for the year. Other men put on shows as private citizens, in the guise of funeral games. Whatever the pretext, every politician ascending the rungs of the magistracies is obligated to outdo his rivals in producing the most memorable races and comedies and gladiatorial combats. The practice is so accepted that no one ever seems to notice that providing expensive public entertainments is just as much a kind of electoral bribery as putting coins directly into the purses of voters. Nowadays, people seem to have lost the will to object even to that.

Marcus Caelius ascended the platform and called the contio to order.

Caelius had been trained in oratory from boyhood by both Cicero and the late Marcus Crassus. He was their most brilliant pupil. He had mastered the formal challenges of constructing a speech, as well as the technical skills of modulating his voice and casting it to great distances, but more notably, over the years he had crafted a wickedly sarcastic style which set the tone for his whole generation. When older orators striving for new effects attempted to emulate this style, the result was often blatant and shrill, but it was. never so when practised by Caelius himself This was his genius, that he was able to cast over a large crowd the same charm that he emanated in closer quarters, but without the ironical undercutting that one often felt in his immediate presence. He was able to utter the most vicious innuendoes and obscene double entendres at a public gathering without seeming vindictive or vulgar. Instead, he seemed only effortlessly clever and witty, and quite sincere. This gave him tremendous power as an orator.

Caelius was not really in his element playing the rabble-rousing tribune at a contio. He was more suited to courts of law, especially as a prosecutor, where he could pour his acid over a squirming victim before an appreciative audience of cultured jurors, educated men like himself who appreciated swift, convoluted wordplay. Still, Caelius commenced his contio displaying the self-assurance he was known for, of the sort that cannot be faked.

"Good citizens of Rome! You see beside me on the platform today a man you all know — Titus Annius Milo. His name has been on all your lips of late. You have gone to bed at night thinking about him, asking yourselves just what sort of man is this Milo? You've awakened in the morning wondering where on earth he might be. And every hour of every day you have considered the same pressing question which you must be considering even now: When will this madness be over?

"Well, we are here to get some answers. Not tomorrow, not somewhere eke, but here and now. First, wonder no more where Milo is — he's standing right in front of you, his head held high, proudly showing himself in the heart of the city he has served so long and so faithfully. You may have heard a wild rumour that Milo had left Rome for good and was never coming back. Yes, I see some of you nodding; you know the rumour. Ridiculous! Think of that which you love best in all the world. Would you ever let yourself be parted from it, or abandon it for any reason? No! Not if you had to die first. Not even" - he lowered his voice - "if you had to kill. That is how much Milo loves Rome. He will never forsake her.

"Which brings us back to the first question: What sort of fellow is Milo, what is his character? That's something each of you may decide for yourself, when you have had a chance to hear him out. Yes, Milo himself shall speak to you today. The rules allow him to speak, since Milo is himself the subject of this contio, and I demand that he speak, since I am the tribune who called this contio. Demand him to speak, I say, because Milo did not come here willingly. Oh no! I had to drag him here today, against his will. Do you think he wanted to leave his safe house to go walking in a city where madmen run riot, crying out for his death? Milo is exceedingly brave, but he's not a fool. No, he came only because I insisted that he come, only because I, as your tribune, demanded it.

"Which brings us to the third question, which weighs like a stone on all of us, which fills our heads like the stench from the smoking ruins of the Senate House over yonder When will this madness
be over? Not until something is done about the death of Clodius, I'm afraid. Not until the whole ugly incident is put to rest, as the shade of Clodius himself was supposedly put to rest when his friends set fire to him like a faggot in the Senate House. How did Clodius die, and why, and who killed him? The friends of Clodius claim that he was viciously attacked and killed without cause. They point the finger of blame at Milo. They call him a murderer. They insinuate that he intends to kill again, and that next time his victim will be a man far more revered, far greater than Clodius ever was.

"Then let us put Titus Annius Milo on trial. Yes! Right here, right now, let us put him on trial for murder. Not a trial such as the magistrates hold, with jurors chosen from the Senate and the higher orders. It is you, the people, citizens of Rome, who have suffered most from the chaos of the last few days, and so I bring this matter directly to you, the people, and earnestly solicit your judgment You see, I have not come to praise Milo; I have come to try him! And if you should determine that he is a vicious murderer, that he plots more murders, then let him leave our midst. Yes! Let him be banished, let us send him into exile and make that vicious rumour real. Let us drive Milo from the heart of the city he loves into the wilderness!"

At this there were scattered cries of indignation from the crowd, as if the idea of Milo in exile outraged them. I noticed that our friend the fuller was among the first to raise his voice in protest. He was soon joined by a swelling chorus of dissent. Someone had done a thorough job of seeding the crowd. But I noticed that the man I had called a banker was yelling in protest, too, and gesturing for those in his retinue to raise their voices; surely a man of his means had not been bought with a mere fifty sesterces.

Caelius raised his hands for silence and put on an expression of dismay. "Citizens! Please, restrain yourselves! You love Milo, as Milo loves Rome; I understand that. Still, he must be called to account. He must be judged, and we must be sober in our verdict. No more cheering or jeering, I beg you. This is not a candidate's rally. This is a contio held in time of dire emergency, a solemn inquiry into a matter that has crippled our city with riot and fire. What we do here today will be talked about all over the seven hills and beyond the city walls. Those who cannot be here today, great and small alike, will take notice of your judgment. Remember that!"

Eco spoke in my ear: "Another reference to Pompey?"

Caelius stepped to one side of the platform. "Milo, come forwards!"

Proud and with head held high - that was how Caelius had described Milo. Certainly he did not have the scurrying gait or furtive look of a man haunted by guilt. He swept forwards without hesitation and with a grand, almost swaggering air of confidence. His toga was better fitted than the one he had worn at Cicero's house, draped and folded to give the best impression of his short, stocky physique. His usually beard-shadowed jaw looked so pale that I wondered if he had applied some sort of cosmetic.

At a real trial he would have been expected to put on his shabbiest toga, shamble about like an old man, wear his hair unkempt and let his beard grow stubbly; jurors expect an accused man to exploit their sympathies. Clearly, Milo was having none of that. To show himself at a trial, even a mock trial, looking more like a proud candidate than an anxious defendant, was an act of pure defiance. This partisan crowd loved it. Despite Caelius's admonitions, a loud and seemingly spontaneous cheer echoed through the Forum. Milo's lips twitched into a smirk and he lifted his chin several degrees higher.

Caelius put on a stern face and raised his arms for silence. "Citizens, must I remind you what we are here for? Let us proceed. Let Titus Annius Milo make an accounting of his actions."

Caelius stepped back to allow Milo full run of the platform; Milo was of the arm-swinging school of oratory which requires an expansive stage, in many ways the opposite of Caelius. His forte was not the small jest that only later in the speech blossoms into hilarity, or the elegant understatement that veils a pointed dagger. Milo represented what Cicero had once jokingly ridiculed as the hammer and yoke school of oratory: "Pound home every point with a heavy hammer, then yoke up the metaphors and flog them all the way to market"

But not every speaker can be a Cicero or Caelius; every orator has to find the style that suits him, and dogged earnestness bordering on stolid defiance suited Milo. That morning, striding back and forth across the platform waving his arms, he seemed utterly blunt and candid, though I knew that his every word and gesture must have been carefully scripted and rehearsed again and again in Cicero's study.

"Fellow citizens of this beloved city! My friend Marcus Caelius is right - the madness that threatens us all will never be dispelled until the true circumstances of the death of Publius Clodius are made known. I don't know what you've heard about his death -1 can only imagine the ugly rumours that have been flying and the vicious aspersions that have been cast against me, and against my loyal servants, who bravely risked their lives to save my own.

"I'm not the sort to give pretty speeches. I will be brief and to the point. I can only tell you what I know.

"Nine days ago I left Rome and set out on a short journey down the Appian Way. Some of you may know that I hold a local office back in my home town, Lanuvium. Last year my fellow Lanuvines elected me their 'dictator' - a quaint way of saying chief magistrate. The office is not demanding, but occasionally I do have to go home to fulfil my obligations. This was such an occasion. I was called upon to nominate a priest to the local cult of Juno to preside over her festival next month. Juno's patronage of Lanuvium goes back to ancient times, before the Lanuvines were conquered by Rome. Her festival is the biggest day of the year in Lanuvium. Traditionally the Roman consuls attend. So I intend to return to Lanuvium next month, in that capacity -because there will be elections, and I will be elected consul!"

There was an outburst of cheering. Milo waited for it to subside.

"That morning I attended the regular meeting of the Senate, which broke up around the fourth hour of the day. Then I went home to change into travelling clothes. My wife was going with me. I would have preferred to start right away - the trip to Lanuvium is about eighteen miles, an easy day's journey if you get an early enough start. But with all her last-minute preparations— isn't that always the way with a wife? - we didn't leave Rome until well after midday. For her comfort, we rode in an open carriage bundled up in heavy cloaks. I should like to have travelled lighter, but my wife insisted on bringing her serving maids and boys along, so we had quite a long retinue.

"As you all know, the Appian Way heads south, straight as an arrow's flight and flat as a table. It's not until you reach the vicinity of Mount Alba that the road takes a few turns and you begin to ascend a bit. There are some grand homes in that area. Pompey has a villa in the woods not too far off the road. So did Publius Clodius. I wish I had remembered that, and been more cautious.

"Clodius must have known of my plan to go to Lanuvium that day-it was no secret. Perhaps he also knew that I would be accompanied by my wife and her servants, encumbered with a most unwarlike retinue. I'm told that Clodius had said outright and in public, only a few days previously, that he intended to kill me within a matter of days. 'We can't take the consulship from Milo, but we can take his life!' That's what he said. And this was the day he intended to make good on that threat, at that lonely spot on the Appian Way.

"I found out later that Clodius had left Rome - suddenly, quietly -the previous day. To be ready for me, to he in wait. He must have had scouts posted along the way, running ahead to let him know that I was coming. He chose a spot where the higher ground gave him the advantage. There I was, in a carriage, with all those women and servant boys, and there was Clodius with his troop of trained killers on horseback, hidden in the trees off the road, waiting and watching.