The Sacrilege

"What do you mean by that?"

"A friend saw some of his Etruscan priests here yesterday."

"They are just soothsayers," he said quickly. "They'll have nothing to do with the fights. They said they could ensure a better show by rejecting unlucky swordsmen."

"It seems to me," I said, "that some of them will have to be unlucky, or it won't be much of a show."

"I don't think that's what they meant," Faustus said.

We were interrupted when Statilius Taurus himself arrived to take charge of his distinguished visitor. I took my leave of them and retrieved Hermes.

"Who's that?" the boy said, jerking his chin toward Faustus.

"Faustus Cornelius Sulla, only living son of the Dictator," I informed him.

"Oh," Hermes said, disappointed. Doubtless he would have preferred some illustrious criminal. Well, there were plenty of those to go around, too. I decided to call on one of them.

It took some asking, but I finally tracked Milo down in a massive warehouse near the river. His guard at the door let me pass the instant he recognized me. I was one of perhaps five or six men who had access to Titus A

Inside the warehouse, the scene was not greatly different from the one I had left at the ludus. Milo was drilling his men in some of the finer points of street-brawling. He had shed toga and dignity, and stood in his tunic while men circled him warily with clubs and knives. Hermes gasped when a man darted in and swung a club at Milo's head. Milo didn't duck the weapon like any ordinary man. He caught it instead and it made a noisy clack hitting his palm. I think Milo could have caught a sword that way. His years at the oar had given him palms as hard as the brazen shield of Achilles, and somehow they stayed that way all his life. His other hand grasped the front of the man's tunic and with a fierce wrench sent him careening into another who was approaching with a knife. Both men collapsed in a heap. Milo never carried a weapon and never needed one.

"That was good," he said. "Let's try another."

"No fair, Chief," said a gap-toothed Gaul. "The rest of us can't catch weapons like that."

"Then I'll teach you something you can use," Milo said, gri

The two groups went at it with relish, and Hermes cheered every smack of wood against flesh. These men were inveterate brawlers and they actually enjoyed the exercise. Ever since the Gracchi, mob violence had been a common fact of Roman political life. With his usual cold-blooded realism, Milo was polishing his men's technique the way Caesar or Cicero would polish a speech. When he was satisfied with their performance, he came over to me.

"They're shaping up," he said grudgingly.

"They look fierce enough," I acknowledged.

"Ferocity is common. Clodius's gang is plenty fierce. It's concerted action that wins big fights. The gladiators only know single combat and the brawlers never think past their own knuckles. I need a street army and I intend to have one."

"You had better be careful, Titus," I cautioned. "A few words in the wrong ears could get you charged with insurrection."

"I have Cicero and a good many others working on my behalf," he said. "For every Senator who wants to see me brought down, there's an enemy of Clodius who sees me as the savior of Rome."

"Cicero is not in high favor just now," I warned, "and when Pompey comes back into the city in a couple of days, he'll be the power in Rome until new alliances can be formed."

"Thanks for your concern," Milo said, "but I've been working hard for years to arrange the sort of support I need. I feel secure for the time being."

"As you will," I said. "Titus, I need to know what sort of naughtiness Mamercus Capito might have been up to.

"I can tell you right now," he interrupted. "Nothing. I looked into it as soon as I learned he was murdered. He had no meaningful contacts among the Roman underworld, which is to say, my own colleagues. As far as I was able to learn, he wasn't taking bribes beyond the acceptable limits. He had a few silent partners, mostly his freedmen, ru

"You've saved me a great deal of time," I told him.

"Then perhaps you can employ it in my behalf. Have you spoken with the lady yet?"

"No, but I go from here to the house of Lucullus. With luck, I'll get there in time for lunch."

"Enjoy yourself, but be eloquent."

"I'll do my best, which if I may say so is considerable. By an odd coincidence, I've just met with her brother at the Statilian School. The resemblance is striking, and I'm told they both greatly resemble the old Dictator. I'm afraid he's Pompey's man, though."

"That's unfortunate. I hope I don't fall afoul of him, since I intend to be his brother-in-law."

"Matrimony is often a perilous enterprise," I told him.

Hermes and I left, stepping over the writhing or inert bodies of thugs who had been practicing all too seriously. My slave was inordinately excited by the whole experience.

"Why don't you sell me to him, master?" he said. "I think I'd enjoy belonging to Milo."

"If he ever offends me mortally, I'll give you to him as a gift," I assured the boy.

I arrived at the house of Lucullus a little late for the full lunch ceremony, but a place was made for me at the table as the last course arrived, and that was far more than I could possibly eat even with the aid of the gods. I moderated my wine intake since I was to be doing some important negotiating later on.

Because I was not an invited guest, I did not feel that I could rightfully impose myself on Lucullus, but I lagged behind while the others took their leave, which all did very shortly after the meal. Luncheon was still so new that a routine for socializing afterward had not yet been developed. Before long, I was sitting with Lucullus in his garden while his slaves dug in the huge planting-beds, readying them for the spring.

"Does this involve the investigation Celer is being so sly about?" Lucullus asked. "If so, I fear I would be of little help. My wife is a Claudian first, like the rest of her family. She would never tell me anything that might get her dear little brother into trouble."

A server poured us wine from a golden pitcher. I sipped at it. It was Caecuban, of a vintage most men would have saved for the celebration of a victory, and only faintly cut with rose-scented water.

"No; for a change I come on an amatory mission."

His eyebrows went up. "On your own behalf?"

"On behalf of a friend. Titus A

Lucullus sat back and stroked his chin. "Milo. A rising man, sure to be a power in Rome in the future, if he doesn't find an early grave first."

"That grave awaits us all," I said.

"How true. And just who might be the object of that formidable man's affections?"

"Your ward, Fausta. He met her here a few days ago and was immediately felled by Cupid." I sipped again at the excellent wine. This was a new activity for me.

"I am amazed that anything can fell Milo. He is of doubtful birth," Lucullus pointed out, "and his activities are little more than criminal."