concentrate all their fears and hatreds on a single man, preferably a foreigner. These people were in far more danger from their own generals and politicians, but that would never occur to them. At any rate, everyone felt that it was all up for Mithridates. Pompey said nothing publicly about Lucullus's intention to invade Armenia, merely that he would demand the surrender of Mithridates from Tigranes.
In honor of the occasion, Pompey decreed an extra distribution of grain and wine, and a day of races to take place in one week. Even louder cheers greeted this, and the assembly began to break up as the people went off to the temples to observe the sacrifices. Quite aside from their genuine love of ritual and gratitude to the gods for a Roman victory, there would be plenty of meat for everybody that night as the carcasses of the sacrificial animals were cut up and distributed.
As the crowd around me began to thin, I caught sight of the young tribune, Carbo. He was alone now, his brief moment of glory past, when he had the sole attention of the most powerful deliberative body the world had ever known. He looked lonely standing there, and I had already determined to make his acquaintance, so I walked over to him.
"Tribune Carbo," I said, "my congratulations on your safe return. I am Decius Metellus, of the Commission of Twenty-Six."
"The praetor's son?" He took my hand. "I thank you. I was just about to go to the Temple of Neptune, to give thanks for my safe sea voyage."
"That can wait," I assured him. "All the temples will be jammed with people today. You can go in the morning. Will you be staying with your family while you are here?"
He shook his head. "I'm from Caere. I have no family here in the city. Now my duty is done, I suppose I'd better see about quarters for the night."
"No sense being put up in some tiny officer's cubicle on the Campus Martius," I said. "Come stay at my house while you're in the city."
"That is most hospitable," he said, delighted. "I accept gladly."
I confess I was not motivated by a pure spirit of gratitude to one of our returned heroes. I wanted information from Carbo. We walked down to the river docks and arranged for a porter to carry his baggage to my house. First he removed a clean tunic from his pack and we went to one of the public baths near the Forum, where he could wash off the salt and sweat of several weeks of travel.
I did not wish to burden him with serious discussion while he was relaxing, so I confined myself to city gossip while we bathed and were pounded by the masseurs. Meantime, I studied him.
Carbo belonged to one of those families of the rural gentry in which the military obligation was still taken very seriously. His arms, face and legs had the deep tan of long service in Asia, and there was a broad welt on his forehead and a small bald spot on his crown from the incessant wearing of the helmet. He had all the marks of hard training with arms. I liked the look of him, and it gave me hope to see that we still had such soldiers in Roman service.
We were both hungry after the baths, but there would be only lean pickings at my house, for the markets would all be closed. So we retired to a delightful little tavern run by a man named Capito, a client of my father's. It was on a side street near the Campus Martius, with a beautiful courtyard surrounded by a vine-arbor that provided cool shade in summer. The arbor was rather bare at this time of year, but the day was clear and warm, so we elected to sit at an outside table. At my order, Capito brought us a platter heaped with bread, cheeses, dried figs and dates, and another piled with tiny, grilled sausages. He and his wife and servers made much over Carbo, the hero of the hour; then they retired to let us eat in peace. We tore into this minor banquet with great appetite, washing it down with a pitcher of excellent Alban wine. When I judged that we were safe from death by starvation, I began to sound him out.
"Your general
In honor of the occasion, Pompey decreed an extra distribution of grain and wine, and a day of races to take place in one week. Even louder cheers greeted this, and the assembly began to break up as the people went off to the temples to observe the sacrifices. Quite aside from their genuine love of ritual and gratitude to the gods for a Roman victory, there would be plenty of meat for everybody that night as the carcasses of the sacrificial animals were cut up and distributed.
As the crowd around me began to thin, I caught sight of the young tribune, Carbo. He was alone now, his brief moment of glory past, when he had the sole attention of the most powerful deliberative body the world had ever known. He looked lonely standing there, and I had already determined to make his acquaintance, so I walked over to him.
"Tribune Carbo," I said, "my congratulations on your safe return. I am Decius Metellus, of the Commission of Twenty-Six."
"The praetor's son?" He took my hand. "I thank you. I was just about to go to the Temple of Neptune, to give thanks for my safe sea voyage."
"That can wait," I assured him. "All the temples will be jammed with people today. You can go in the morning. Will you be staying with your family while you are here?"
He shook his head. "I'm from Caere. I have no family here in the city. Now my duty is done, I suppose I'd better see about quarters for the night."
"No sense being put up in some tiny officer's cubicle on the Campus Martius," I said. "Come stay at my house while you're in the city."
"That is most hospitable," he said, delighted. "I accept gladly."
I confess I was not motivated by a pure spirit of gratitude to one of our returned heroes. I wanted information from Carbo. We walked down to the river docks and arranged for a porter to carry his baggage to my house. First he removed a clean tunic from his pack and we went to one of the public baths near the Forum, where he could wash off the salt and sweat of several weeks of travel.
I did not wish to burden him with serious discussion while he was relaxing, so I confined myself to city gossip while we bathed and were pounded by the masseurs. Meantime, I studied him.
Carbo belonged to one of those families of the rural gentry in which the military obligation was still taken very seriously. His arms, face and legs had the deep tan of long service in Asia, and there was a broad welt on his forehead and a small bald spot on his crown from the incessant wearing of the helmet. He had all the marks of hard training with arms. I liked the look of him, and it gave me hope to see that we still had such soldiers in Roman service.
We were both hungry after the baths, but there would be only lean pickings at my house, for the markets would all be closed. So we retired to a delightful little tavern run by a man named Capito, a client of my father's. It was on a side street near the Campus Martius, with a beautiful courtyard surrounded by a vine-arbor that provided cool shade in summer. The arbor was rather bare at this time of year, but the day was clear and warm, so we elected to sit at an outside table. At my order, Capito brought us a platter heaped with bread, cheeses, dried figs and dates, and another piled with tiny, grilled sausages. He and his wife and servers made much over Carbo, the hero of the hour; then they retired to let us eat in peace. We tore into this minor banquet with great appetite, washing it down with a pitcher of excellent Alban wine. When I judged that we were safe from death by starvation, I began to sound him out.
"Your general
Similar Books
