Rivals of the Republic Read online

  X

  THE JOURNEY FROM THE PALATINE DOWN TO THE RUMBLING BELLY OF the forum took no more than ten minutes, but to Hortensia, it was like passing from one world into another. As the broad, cypress-shaded avenues colonized by Rome’s wealthiest citizens segued into the narrow, noisy streets snaking around the base of the hill, the temperature between the high buildings on either side rose and the atmosphere became thicker and more febrile. Lying on the cushioned pallet of her litter, screened from sight by green-and-gold linen drapes, Hortensia fanned herself nervously and held a little pot of lavender balm to her nose. It was the first journey she had made into the city unaccompanied, the protection afforded by her married status allowing her to forgo the company of her mother or another family member, yet she felt stupidly vulnerable despite the presence of Lucrio walking alongside the litter, repelling the advances of beggars who would have thrust their hands inside the drapes in search of a few coins.

  As they turned on to the Sacred Way, the main street leading to the forum, the smell of bread from the many bakeries that lined the route mingled with the scent of leather from the tanneries and crushed rose petals from the perfumeries. Peering out through the gap in the curtains, Hortensia caught glimpses of greengrocers’ stalls piled high with artichokes and cabbages, and snack stands dispensing hot sausages and oysters to passers-by. She spied her gardener Rixus at one such stall, opening his mouth very wide and tipping the contents of an oyster shell into his mouth, spilling the juices down his rounded, crimson-upholstered stomach. Further along, there were drapers’ merchants displaying linens, damasks and silks in a palette ranging from ivory and ochre to murex purple and sky blue. A gaggle of brightly-dressed women were crowded around another cart loaded with cosmetics, laughing and haggling with the stall-holder as they experimented with smears of poppy paste on their cheeks. Just alongside, a row of children were sitting on a bench under a canopy, chanting in obedient response to the paedagogus who presided over their makeshift school. Hortensia thought back to her own childhood lessons in rhetoric with her father, smiling in guilty self-reproach as she remembered her precocious displays, often exhibited at Quintus’s expense.

  At last the green-and-gold entourage reached the mouth of the forum and Hortensia felt the motion of the litter slow even more. The noise from outside was almost deafening and she could see the outlines of people pushed up against the fabric of the drapes as they attempted to squeeze past. Soon they came to a complete halt and Lucrio’s dark face appeared in the narrow gap between the curtains.

  “It is too crowded to take the litter any further, domina. The whole world has decided to visit the forum today. If you wish to go on, we will have to walk from here.”

  Hortensia assented and Lucrio assisted as she alighted before dismissing the litter-bearers. Drawing her veil up higher over her black hair, Hortensia gazed in wonder at the scene around her. She had never seen the center of Rome so packed with people and the reason soon became apparent. There were posters everywhere, some advertising the recent elections, for which many people had traveled to Rome from all over Italy. Others loudly proclaimed the upcoming games in honor of Pompey’s triumphs in Hispania and Lusitania, due to be held in the middle of the month. It was also evident that the law-courts were in full session and crowds of people were milling around the entrances to numerous wooden enclosures that had been set up in the Forum itself. It was these makeshift outdoor courts that were creating most of the pedestrian traffic problems. Only Lucrio’s forbidding presence alongside her eased Hortensia’s path through the crowds. Hortensia was dimly aware that her father’s trial must be about to begin somewhere in the forum but she had no idea where it was being held or how she would find it in this crush.

  Drusilla was waiting by the steps to the Temple of Vesta as arranged but still seemed surprised to see Hortensia approaching with Lucrio in tow.

  “I didn’t hear from Rufio so I realized you must have been unable to persuade your husband to speak with him,” she began. “I really didn’t expect you to come here today. You have been very good to me but there is no need for you to stay.”

  Hortensia smiled at Drusilla with a reassurance she did not feel. “Believe me, I very much wanted to be here. I’m not so easily beaten.”

  With Lucrio walking in front to clear a path for them, the two women made their way toward the Basilica Aemilia on the far side of the forum, where several temporary courts had been set up due to lack of space in the forum itself. As they passed under the colonnaded frontage of the basilica, which was crowded with busy pedestrians exploring the shops adjoining the building, Drusilla gasped at her first sight of the courtroom interior. Colored tiles lined the length of a long aisle, flanked by two rows of tall marble columns supporting the roof. At the far end a square dais was raised before two rows of benches set on either side of the aisle, which were intended for the competing litigants and their supporters. Further seating was provided for interested members of the general public behind and in the upper story of the portico above. In the middle of the dais was the praetor’s chair. The court was apparently not in session yet but the benches were already full of people, and more spectators were milling around in the open space at the back of the court, much to Hortensia’s surprise and dismay; she had assumed that domestic disputes such as Drusilla’s would not attract large crowds.

  A portly court clerk in a black tunic was sitting at a table by the courtroom entrance, sorting through documents. Hortensia approached, trying to adopt the kind of confident air she imagined her father would have assumed.

  “Excuse me. Can you tell me if we’ve come to the right court? It’s a dispute over a dowry – the name on the petition is Drusilla and the defendant is a Marcus Rufio.”

  The clerk looked Hortensia up and down and winked knowingly at her. “My my, we are in a hurry, aren’t we. Got other marital plans lined up already my lady?”

  Glaring at the clerk with all the disdain she could muster, Hortensia was about to reprimand him for his impudence when she caught sight of the man who had just entered the courtroom through a door at the far end and seated himself in the praetor’s chair to a great deal of acclaim from the public galleries.

  “What is he doing here?” she asked incredulously.

  The clerk squinted in the direction of her gaze. “Yes indeed, my lady, we do find ourselves in hallowed company today. Consul Pompey is sitting in the praetor’s chair. Didn’t think you’d ever find yourself discussing your private affairs in front of him, I expect.”

  “But he’s not a praetor, he’s the consul,” said Hortensia uncomprehendingly.

  “Well done my lady, nothing gets past your notice.” The clerk’s tone was sarcastic but he suddenly perceived an unsmiling Lucrio looming over Hortensia’s shoulder and reluctantly adopted a more respectful tone of voice. “The praetors are rather overstretched at the moment, my lady, and consul Pompey agreed to take up some of the slack. Looks good, don’t it – makes him seem like he’s in touch with us commoners, you see?”

  But Hortensia was no longer paying him any attention and did not notice Lucrio bend over the clerk’s desk and whisper something in his ear that made the man blench and nod hastily. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Rome’s greatest general. A huge, sleepy-looking man with bags under his eyes, red cheeks and a leonine mane of dark hair which he reputedly kept long in order to emulate his hero Alexander the Great, he was receiving the banter and jokes from the crowd with much good humor. Of the two serving consuls, it was plain to see he was much the more beloved. If the wealthy Marcus Crassus was the favorite of the patricians, then Pompey Magnus was the people’s champion, a man whose extraordinary military prowess had forced the Senate to bestow the consulship on him at the premature age of thirty-six. Hortensia had heard her father refer to Pompey in disdainful terms as “a fat man with an even fatter head”, but she also knew that Hortensius had successfully defended Pompey against a charge of corruption early in both their careers. She was wondering wheth
er this might in some way be turned to her advantage in her current situation when the sound of the clerk clearing his throat forced her to interrupt her musings.

  “I, er …” The clerk’s eyes darted toward Lucrio, who stood by impassively, arms folded. “I would like to offer you my apologies for my inappropriate manner before, my lady. I mistook your identity. The case to which you were referring just now will begin shortly in the court behind me. Perhaps you would like to wait on that bench just there and I will see to it that some refreshment is brought over to you.”

  Hortensia nodded coldly and beckoned Drusilla to come and sit with her in the alcove pointed out by the clerk. But the arrival of a group of men from the other end of the colonnade had suddenly caused the blood to drain from Drusilla’s face. Hortensia had no difficulty in interpreting the identity of the weak-chinned but smoothly handsome man at the center of the group as Marcus Rufio. But she was unpleasantly surprised to realize that she was acquainted with one of his entourage, who looked equally shocked to see her, though his expression quickly changed to one of supercilious pleasure.

  “Hortensia,” he purred, bowing low in front of her. Publius Dolabella was a good-looking young man, though not physically imposing and with delicate, aristocratic features. Even so, at just nineteen years old, he carried himself with all the swagger and assurance that characterized all the men in his family. “What an extraordinary and unexpected privilege to find you here. It feels like an age since our last meeting. You can imagine my devastation on learning that you have since become a married lady. I must offer my felicitations to Caepio though I confess I feel some resentment toward him for stealing your hand.”

  Hortensia inclined her head slightly.

  “I am sure such a possibility never crossed his mind,” she said coolly.

  Publius’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment but his self-satisfied expression did not waver. “Of course not, dear fellow that he is, he has such a trusting nature,” he laughed, not appearing to notice the flash of annoyance in Hortensia’s eyes. “Are you searching for your father’s hearing? You are in the wrong place here, he is in the extortion court on the other side of the forum, but I can show you exactly where to find him. It would be my pleasure to help you follow the proceedings and enlighten you on some of the finer legal points. I am here now merely to lend support to a family connection.” He waved casually behind him to Marcus Rufio and his companions. “But I shan’t be detained very long.”

  “You are under a misapprehension I am afraid, Publius,” replied Hortensia, trying not to let the anger she felt enter her voice. “I am here to speak on behalf of a friend of mine.” She indicated to Drusilla and stared defiantly at Publius, who was still smiling broadly but looked uncomprehending.

  “To speak? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “I am here to address the court on behalf of Drusilla. Your kinsman’s wife.”

  The men with whom Publius had entered had been standing in a group chatting idly until that point, completely ignoring Drusilla. But Hortensia’s words, uttered in her rich, clear voice, stopped them abruptly in mid-conversation. The man whom Hortensia had identified as Marcus Rufio stared incredulously at his patron’s wife for a moment before turning and bearing down on Drusilla with such a wrathful expression that she flinched and stepped back from him.

  “You little whore,” he hissed at her. “How dare you go to my patron’s house and try to spread your filthy lies about me. You’ll pay for it, you hear me?”

  He brought his hand back and there was a shriek of frightened protest from Hortensia as a ringing slap echoed through the colonnade. Rufio raised his hand again but before he could strike a second time, his wrist had been grabbed by Lucrio, who spun him round and pinned him against a wall, his muscular forearm pressed to Rufio’s throat.

  “Lucrio, no!” shouted Hortensia as Rufio’s companions advanced to help their friend. But Hortensia’s cries had attracted the attention of the clerk and four burly court custodians quickly emerged from inside the court just as Publius and the others were dragging Lucrio away from a spitting Rufio. Wading into the fracas, the custodians separated the parties, though it took three of them to restrain Lucrio, whose usually cool green eyes were blazing with a fury that Hortensia had never seen before. A crowd of curious shoppers had stopped to watch and the clerk immediately began to give orders for Lucrio to be taken away. He was interrupted by Hortensia planting herself in his way.

  “You will release my attendant at once,” she commanded imperiously. “He was doing his duty and protecting my friend and me from the violent behavior of these men. If you dare contradict my authority in this matter, I will have you removed from your post. I am the wife of Servilius Caepio and my father is Hortensius Hortalus. I expect that name means something to you.”

  The clerk paused. Hortensius’s name did indeed mean something to him and he had no wish to incur the wrath of one of the court’s most celebrated practitioners. Seeing the clerk’s hesitation, Rufio shook off the restraining arm of the custodian next to him and strode forward, jabbing his finger in the clerk’s face.

  “This barbarian attacked me and I want him whipped like a dog for it. I too have powerful friends and if you value your job you will do well to consider whether it is worth offending them.”

  Hortensia rounded on him fiercely. “Perhaps you would do well to consider whether you will still have a patron if my husband discovers that you violated a companion of mine in my presence,” she hissed.

  Marcus Rufio’s face turned a deep shade of puce. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he appeared to be struggling with his emotions. Finally, he turned abruptly on his heel and stalked into the courtroom, signaling curtly to his companions to follow him.

  Seeing his control of the situation slipping away, the clerk’s shoulders sagged and he made no attempt to stop Rufio’s supporters from shrugging off their guards and leaving the scene too. But he made one last attempt to exert his authority, addressing himself sternly to Hortensia.

  “Very well my lady. As long as we don’t have any more of this kind of thing, I’ll let the matter drop. But I am going to insist that this one” – he pointed accusingly at Lucrio – “doesn’t set foot in that courtroom.”

  Hortensia tossed her head and ignored him. The clerk chose to take this as an indication of assent and returned thankfully to his desk. The curious crowd reluctantly dispersed.

  Publius Dolabella had paused before following the others into the courtroom and was now eying Hortensia with a mixture of anger and reluctant curiosity. “They’ll never let you speak, you know,” he said scornfully.

  “We’ll see,” she said shortly and turned her back on him. Incensed by this curt dismissal, Publius leant over her shoulder to issue a parting shot in her ear:

  “Take my advice, Hortensia. That one’s a born whore.” His eyes glinted mockingly at Drusilla, who was nursing her inflamed cheek and taking in deep, shuddering breaths. “You’d do well to realize it before it’s too late. People might start to speak of you in the same breath.” He straightened up and glared venomously at Lucrio, whose face was a mask once more. “And I’d keep that guard-dog of yours on a leash or he’ll get himself muzzled.”

  He strode away and did not notice the effect his parting speech had had on Hortensia. Her body had stiffened, not in anger but as though she had suddenly seen something of interest in the distance, and her head was tilted slightly like a wolfhound with a cocked ear.

  Drusilla began to speak in an unsteady voice, “This is all my fault. I am so sorry. I should never have dragged you into this …” but Hortensia shushed her impatiently with one hand raised. Her eyes were bright and she appeared to be thinking very hard. Suddenly, she turned to Drusilla and gripped her by the shoulders.

  “I have an idea. I can’t promise you it will work, in fact it may make everything worse.” She took a quick turn and paced about, her eyes fixed on the ground, before nodding. “But I think it may answer
the purpose, if you have the courage to follow my advice. Do you think you can trust me?”

  “You are the only person I know that I can trust,” said Drusilla in a low voice shaky with emotion. “I don’t care about the risk. All that matters to me now is seeing my children.”

  “Then listen to me and do exactly what I tell you.” She quickly outlined her scheme and waited anxiously as Drusilla hesitated before nodding resolutely and disappearing back out into the crowds in the forum. Next, Hortensia turned to Lucrio, who was standing by, his emotions once more hidden behind his impassive features.

  “Lucrio, I need you to find Rixus for me,” she said urgently. “He’s in the forum somewhere, I saw him on the way down. Tell him there’s a whole orchard of cherry trees in it for him if he hurries.”

  XI

  THE COURTROOM WAS PACKED BY THE TIME THE CLERK CALLED FOR PROCEEDINGS to begin in the case of Drusilla and her husband Marcus Rufio. News that the people’s favorite consul was making a rare appearance in the law court had spread around the forum and dozens more had crowded inside the basilica to catch a glimpse of him. Hortensia had stationed herself on one of the public benches at the front, just alongside a group of chattering women who were passing ostentatiously loud comment on Pompey’s handsome person. She glanced anxiously up into the gallery above, checking that Rixus was sitting where she had told him. The thought of what she had persuaded Drusilla to do was making her feel both guilty and terrified. What if she only succeeded in ruining Drusilla’s reputation? She had already wrecked any chance the poor woman might have of seeing her children again, if the decision was left to Marcus Rufio. It had been foolish of her to stake so much on the court allowing her to speak in the first place. Caepio had been right to warn her and she had not listened to him. She was on the point of turning on her heel and going back to tell Drusilla that the whole idea had been a terrible mistake when there was a loud, echoing gong.