The Catiline Conspiracy (14 page)

Parthia was a problem for us, and it was sure to become a greater problem now that Mithridates and Tigranes were both out of the picture. One of several kingdoms squabbling over control of the old Persian empire, Parthia was in the happy position of sitting smack astride the silk route, and had grown rich thereby. Silk was a great mystery to us. It was the most prized of fabrics, indeed the most prized of substances, more valuable than gold. Light, strong, its dyes unfading, it was so esteemed that from time to time the Censors forbade its wear as an Oriental extravagance. Men and sometimes even women were subject to fine if caught wearing silk in public. Both sexes sometimes took to wearing a silk
subligaculum
beneath the garments. If one could not have the ostentation of flaunting silk publicly, one could at least enjoy the lubricity of wearing the sensuous fabric in a more intimate fashion.

The kingdom of Parthia was not a central monarchy in the old Egyptian or Persian sense. It was far too primitive for that. Rather, it was a loose confederation of quarreling chieftains, the strongest of whom called himself King of Kings, like the old Persian monarch, and lorded it over the others. In the usual Eastern fashion, the royal families indulged in mutual homicide. The kings bred innumerable sons, which they then felt compelled to murder. If one or more survived to manhood, one of them would sooner or later kill his father unless the old man managed to eliminate him first. At this time, the king was one Phraates III, who had not one but two grown sons in rebellion against him.

They were little more than primitive tribesmen recently arrived from the great eastern grasslands, and this was the source of their single strength, for they had a most unique method of waging war. Alone of all peoples in the world, the Parthians fought entirely from horseback, and their only weapon was the bow. Devoid of armor and swift as birds, they darted about the battlefield, raining shafts on enemies confined to the speed of a man on foot. They might have been truly formidable had they possessed any sort of organization. It was our own intent to supply them with good Roman organization, whether they wanted it or not. With the rest of the East pacified, Parthia remained as the only decent realm for further conquest.

Pompey had formed an alliance with Parthia when fighting Tigranes, but treaties were never more than a convenience for him, and he had offended Phraates by concluding a treaty with Tigranes without consulting the Parthian. Undoubtedly, this little problem would constitute the greater part of the ambassador's business in Rome. Much good would it do him.

It offended us that a contemptible pack of horse-eating savages should control so important a commodity as silk. It especially offended us that they should have grown so rich doing it. The answer to all this offense, naturally enough, was to conquer the place, and even now we were searching for an excuse. When we should have conquered Parthia, of course, it would only mean that the next nation to the east would become the one controlling the silk route. There seemed to be quite a lot of land between us and the land of the Seres, where the silk was made. But then, that was how we had built our empire: one nation at a time. Eventually, we would reach the land of the Seres and conquer them as well. We knew nothing about them except that they made silk, but being Asiatics they couldn't amount to much.

First, though, we would conquer Parthia. If only we had known at the time what a struggle that would entail.

But I was not thinking of these things when I presented myself at the door of Orestilla's house. I was thinking of Aurelia. I had been doing far too much of that lately. So much so that, when the
janitor
admitted me, I thought that it was Aurelia whom I saw coming to greet me, but I was mistaken. The woman crossing the
atrium
was her mother, Orestilla. She was still a great beauty, and with none of Aurelia's abstracted air. For the moment, I could well sympathize with Catilina. I might have murdered a son or two myself for such a woman.

"
Quaestor
Metellus, welcome to my house." Her smile was dazzling and she took my hands in both of hers. She was constructed just like her daughter, with a few extra pounds that did nothing to distract from her beauty. "Did you bring any friends?"

I looked around to make sure. "No. Should I have?"

"It's just that everyone else this evening has shown up with someone in tow, so we're having to move the dining tables and couches out to the
peristylium
. Our little dinner reception has turned into a minor banquet. It will be a fine affair, but please forgive me if things don't happen exactly according to schedule." She was a woman of infectious gaiety, as her daughter was one of brooding melancholy.

"I promise only to be overwhelmed by your hospitality and your equally renowned beauty. Speaking of which, that is a most spectacular gown." She was wearing a sheer
stola
made of what appeared to be pure silk, emerald-green in color. The thought of its cost was un-settling.

"Isn't it amazing? It's a gift from our guest of honor. I never expected anything so splendid. He brought another for Aurelia. She's off somewhere trying hers on and admiring her reflection, no doubt. Come along, everybody's out in the
peristylium
and getting in the way while the house slaves are trying to set up." She took my hand and all but towed me out into the open colonnade. Her
peristylium
had an unusually large
compluvium
, transforming it into a virtual courtyard. Instead of the usual central pool, it had a grated drain running around the base of the columns, making it possible to use the enclosure for large parties such as this one. There were at least thirty people there already, and it seemed that more were to arrive. They stood about on a floor of exquisite mosaic. Mosaic floors in private houses were still rather new in Rome, except for the tessellated kind made of squares and rectangles of colored marble, making abstract designs. This was a genuine picture-mosaic, made of tiny bits of colored stone, glass and even fragments colored with gold or silver leaf. It depicted a pastoral scene of gods and goddesses, nymphs, satyrs, centaurs and such amid vines and cedar-clad hills. Gods and fabulous creatures danced, feasted and flirted among mortal shepherds and the occasional hero. Quite aside from its breathtaking beauty and artistry, the design was perfect for an area intended for entertainment and I strongly suspected that Orestilla had deliberately arranged for the unexpected guests so that she could get everyone out here to admire her mosaic.

The evening was wonderfully warm and clear for October, almost like a fine summer evening. There was still plenty of light, because it was still considered disgraceful for an entertainment to run on after dark, so we usually got started during the hours of daylight. As for calling it quits with the onset of darkness, nobody paid any attention to that nonsense anymore.

I saw that all the most beautiful, scandalous and best-bred ladies were there: Sempronia, Fulvia, Orestilla herself, of course, Clodia and a few others who were quite famous at the time but whose names have faded from my memory. Aurelia had not made her appearance yet,

The men were as distinguished, by notoriety if not by beauty. Catilina and Curius were there, and Lisas, the Egyptian ambassador. Crassus had not arrived yet, but Caesar was there, for
populares
and
optimates
mingled freely at this sort of affair. He had won a praetorship for the next year and was therefore a bit more aloof than when actually standing for election. He was chatting amiably with Catilina. They were both patricians, after all, and that was a more binding connection than mere political convenience. Indeed, except on the floor of the Senate and on the public speaking platform, it was very difficult to tell one party from the other. Politicians always denied belonging to any faction at all, claiming to act only from disinterested motives of statesmanship. It was their enemies who belonged to parties, they claimed.

There were three men dressed in exotic garb: short jackets with long sleeves, trousers and soft boots. These were the Parthians. As heirs to the Persian empire, they claimed to be civilized and we humored them, as if people who wore trousers could be considered anything but barbarians. They also wore headgear indoors, something done by no Roman except the
Flamen Dialis
.

I forgot about them when Aurelia appeared. She wore a gown like her mother's, but hers was of flame-colored silk. The material was so thin that it clung when she moved and floated free when she was still. To my great amazement and delight, she ignored the other guests and came to me first. We exchanged formal greetings and then got down to serious dalliance.

"The ambassador's gift is most becoming on you," I said.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she said, her eyes alight. "I'm so glad I got the red one. It suits my coloring much better than the green would have."

"I can only agree."

"Mother looks wonderful in hers, don't you think?"

"Yes, but not as stunning as you." I was enjoying this.

"That's because she hasn't yet realized the possibilities of the material." She smoothed the silk downward, drawing it taut. "For instance, she's wearing a
strophium
and
subligaculum
under hers. Well, I suppose when I'm her age I'll need a
strophium
too, but what's wonderful about a pure silk
stola
is that it combines the advantages of being decently clad with those of being naked."

I cleared my throat needlessly. "Truly, a marvelous fabric."

"I hear that you will be captain of the Suburrans the day after tomorrow. How exciting."

"Well, one must uphold the honor of the district. I am amazed that you've heard about it so soon. I only accepted the honor yesterday evening."

"It's all over the city. I think it's terribly brave." Her look of adoration almost made up for my fear.

"Oh, the danger is greatly exaggerated. I'm looking forward to it." I could lie with the best of them, in my youth.

"I'll be watching," she promised. "From a safe spot. Now, have you met our guests of honor? I suppose you haven't, the way Mother's been fluttering about. Come along with me." She took my hand and towed me to the group of Parthians. "Ambassador, this is the
Quaestor
Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger. Decius, his Excellency, the ambassador Surena."

The Parthian smiled and bowed slightly, his fingertips extended and touching his chest, then his lips and brow. He wore a pointed chin-beard and his long hair was dressed in scented, oily ringlets. The Parthians followed the disgusting Oriental practice of wearing cosmetics. His face was dusted with white powder, with scarlet rouge on lips and cheeks. His eyebrows had been augmented by kohl into a single, black line, high-arched over the eyes and drawn down into a point over the bridge of the nose, so that they resembled a gull in flight, as seen from a distance. More kohl outlined his large, brown eyes. What a prize fop, I thought.

"I bring the greetings of King Phraates," he said. It was a practiced formula and his accent indicated that he was not comfortable with Latin.

"And the Senate and People of Rome extended their warmest greetings to his envoys," I said in Greek, which was spoken everywhere in the East and which, like all wellborn Romans, I was forced to learn in childhood. I longed for the day when we would be able to beat the Greek out of these barbarians and teach them a decent language.

"I think I hear Crassus arriving," Aurelia said. "Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen." I was grieved to see her go, but it gave me an opportunity to admire her shapely bottom as the silk gown performed exactly as she had indicated.

Surena did not seem to be as enthralled with the sight, but then easterners have strange tastes. "Wonderful stuff, silk," I muttered. Surena's eyes brightened within their rings of kohl. Apparently he liked silk better than what it contained.

"It is the gift of the gods. You must come to Parthia some time, and see the great silk bazaar at Ecbatana. It arrives by the camel-load from the Far East."

I was always intrigued by tales from far places. "Are the caravans manned by the Seres?"

He shook his head. "No one in the West has ever seen those people. The silk is many months, even years on the trails before it arrives in Ecbatana. It is traded from one caravan to another and as far as I know nobody has ever traveled the entire route. The Seres are said to be a small, yellow people with tilted eyes, but that could be fable."

"And what is the origin of silk?" I asked him. "One hears the most unlikely theories."

"Then you hear as much as we do," he admitted. "Some think it comes from a plant, like flax, others say that it is spun by giant, domesticated spiders. There is a belief that it is hair from the heads of women, which seems most unlikely, and some maintain that it is produced by tiny worms that eat the leaves of the mulberry bush. Whichever, it makes the lightest, the strongest, the most beautiful fabric in the world." He was wearing a good deal of it himself. "I delivered many bolts, a present from my king, to your General Pompey when we concluded our alliance against Mithridates and Tigranes."

"You were acting as envoy at that time?" I asked.

"No," he said, smiling, "as general of the Parthian forces."

The idea of this overdressed, bedaubed, effeminate foreigner leading an army seemed faintly ludicrous and I assumed that, as in so many monarchies, he received rank through his family relationship to the king. I did not know, of course, that I was speaking to the most powerful man in the Parthian empire. The kings of Parthia were just figureheads selected by the great families of Scythian descent, of which the house of Surena was the greatest. Ten years after this evening, he was to show Crassus and Rome that silk and cosmetics had done nothing to soften Parthia's warlike ferocity.

Then Aurelia and Orestilla arrived, towing Crassus. He exchanged fulsome greetings with the ambassador and, as soon as he could, took me aside. The recent marriage alliance of our families had made him benevolent toward me. Temporarily, at any rate.