to believe that it was Cleon after all, proof or no proof. Could there be two men in the world with the same soulful green eyes?
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SATURNALIA SILVER
'Gambling in the Forum! Really, Gordianus, who can countenance such behavior?' Cicero sniffed, turning his nose up at the nearby circle of men busy casting dice on the paving stones.
'But Cicero, it is Saturnalia,' I said wearily. Eco and I had run into him on our way to the house of Lucius Claudius, and Cicero had insisted that we walk with him. He was in a testy mood, and I couldn't imagine why he wanted our company, unless it was simply to swell the ranks of his little retinue of secretaries and hangers-on as he walked through the Forum. A Roman politician can never be seen with too large an entourage, even if its members include a citizen of dubious respectability like myself and a thirteen-year-old mute.
The clatter of dice was followed by squeals of glee and moans of defeat, then the jingling of coins changing hands. 'Yes, Saturnalia,' sighed Cicero. 'By tradition the city commissioners must allow such behavior in public during the midwinter festival, and Roman traditions are always to be revered. Still, it pains me to see such demeaning activity in the very heart of the city.'
I shrugged. 'Men gamble all the time in the Subura.'
'Yes, in the Subura,' he said, his polished orator's voice dripping disdain for the precinct where I lived, 'but not here in the Forum!'
From nowhere, a group of drunken revelers appeared and went careening through the midst of Cicero's retinue. The revelers whirled about, making the hems of their loose gowns spin above their knees. With their forefingers they raised their felt skullcaps off their heads and spun them in the air, making blurs of red, blue and green. In the midst of the celebrants, held aloft in a litter chair, was a hunchback dressed like old King Numa in a bright yellow gown with a papyrus crown atop his head. He nodded tipsily, squirting wine into his lips from a wineskin in one hand while waving a gnarled walking stick in the other, as if it were a scepter. Eco, delighted by the spectacle, opened his mouth in a silent laugh and clapped his hands. Cicero was not amused.
'Surely Saturnalia is my least favorite of festivals, no matter how wise our ancestors were to establish it,' he grumbled. 'All this drunken revelry and licentiousness has no place in a sensible society. As you see, I'm wearing my toga today, as usual, no matter what custom decrees for the holiday. No loose gown for me, thank you. Men whirling about to show off their naked legs, indeed! Loose clothing leads to loose morals. A toga keeps a man all in one piece, if you take my meaning.' He squared his shoulders and shook his elbows slightly, making the folds of his toga fell into an orderly pattern, then gathered one arm to his chest to keep the folds in place. To look respectable in a toga, my father used to say, a man must have a spine of iron. The toga suited Cicero well.
He lowered his voice. 'Worst of all are the liberties granted to slaves for the holiday. Yes, I give mine a day of rest and I allow them to speak their minds freely, within reason, but I draw the line at letting them go carousing through the streets wearing colored felt caps like free men. Imagine a day when you can't tell whether a stranger in the Forum is a citizen or someone else's property! The festival is consecrated to Saturn, but it might as well be Chaos! And I absolutely refuse to follow the absurd custom of allowing my slaves to wear my clothes and recline upon my dining couch while I serve them dinner!'
'But Cicero, it happens only once a year.'
'Which is once too often.'
'There are those who would say it's a good practice to turn things upside down every so often-to let a hunchback be a king, and set masters to wait upon their slaves. What better time for a bit of whimsy than midwinter, when the harvesting is all done, ships are safely docked, old magistrates are about to be booted out of their offices so that new ones can take their place, and the whole Republic lets out a collective sigh of relief at having survived yet another year of corruption, greed, backstabbings and betrayals? Why shouldn't Rome slip into some loose clothing for a few days and uncork a new wineskin?'
'You make Rome out to be a whore,' said Cicero disapprovingly.
'Instead of a scowling politician with a stiff neck? I think that Rome is both, depending on which side one looks at. Don't forget, they say that Saturnalia was established by the god Janus, and Janus has two faces.'
Cicero harrumphed.
'But I'm sure you observe at least one of the traditions of saturnalia,' I said, 'which is the exchange of gifts with friends and family.' I made this comment with no ulterior motive, only to remind him of the finer aspects of the holiday.
He stared at me gloomily, then a smile broke out across his ace as if he suddenly dropped a mask. 'That I do!' he said, and clapped for one of his slaves, who brought him a small bag from which he drew a tiny object which he placed in my hand. 'For you, Gordianus!' He laughed aloud at the expression of surprise on my face. 'What, did you think I made you walk across the Forum with me just so I could regale you with my low opinion of the revelry?'
Eco drew close to me and together we peered down at the tiny round object which glittered on my open palm beneath the dead white winter sun. It seemed to be a simple silver bead flawed by some irregularity, but when I held it closer I saw that it was fashioned like a miniature chickpea-the cicer bean, from which Cicero's family took its name. Eco let out a noiseless gasp.
'Cicero, I'm honored!' I said. From the weight of the little thing, it had to be solid silver. Silver is the substance of choice for Saturnalia gift-giving, among those who can afford such extravagance.
'I'm giving my mother a whole necklace of them,' Cicero said proudly. 'I had them made last year in Athens, during my studies there.'
'Well,' I said, gesturing to Eco to reach inside the pouch he carried, 'I have nothing to match it, I fear, only this.' No man goes out during Saturnalia without gifts to offer should the need arise, and I had given Eco a pouch to carry before we went out, containing a bundle of wax tapers. Eco handed me one, which I then held out to Cicero. It was the traditional gift of a poorer man to a man better off, and Cicero accepted it graciously.
'It's of the highest quality,' I said, 'from a little shop on the Street of the Candlemakers, dyed deep blue and scented with hyacinth. Though perhaps, given your feelings about the holiday, you won't be out tonight with the rest of the throng holding up your burning taper to set the Forum aglow.'
'Actually! my brother Quintus is joining me for a small family celebration tonight; I'm sure we'll stay in. But I often stay up late, reading. I shall use your gift to light my way when next I ponder a scroll of law. The scent will remind me of the sweetness of our friendship.' Hearing such honey from his lips, who could doubt that young Cicero was well on his way to becoming the best-known orator in Rome?
Eco and I took our leave of Cicero and made our way up the Palatine Hill. Even here, in the city's poshest neighborhood, there was open gambling and drunken revelry in the streets; the only difference was that the gambling was for higher stakes and the revelers wore gowns made of finer stuff. We came to the house of my friend Lucius Claudius, who answered the door himself.
'Reduced to a door slave!' he laughed. 'Would you believe, I told the slaves to take the whole day off and they took me quite seriously. Saturn alone knows where they all are or what they're up to!' With his red nose and plump cheeks, Lucius Claudius was the very image of benevolence, especially with his features suffused, as they now were, with a beaming and slightly tipsy smile.
'I don't imagine they'll get very far, unless they have purses to carry them,' I said.
'Oh, but they do! I gave each one of them a purse with a few coins and a felt cap. Well, how can they enjoy themselves if they can't join in the gambling?'
I shook my head in mock disdain. 'Now I wonder, Eco, what Cicero would make of our friend Lucius's reckless liberality?'
Eco took the cue at once and launched into an uncanny impersonation of Cicero, drawing his holiday gown about him like a toga, throwing back his head and wrinkling his nose. Lucius laughed so hard he began to cough, and his face turned redder than ever. At last he caught his breath and wiped tears from his eyes.
'No doubt Cicero would say that a slave owner with such a lax disposition is shirking his responsibility to maintain peace and order in society-but ask me if I care! Come, let me show you why I'm in such a good mood. The
