back pushed forward. Above the general murmur, a few men scattered through the crowd-planted hirelings, most likely-began to shout. 'Speak, Marcus Caelius!' they cried, and, 'What have you come to tell us, Marcus Caelius?' and, 'Silence! Silence! Everyone shut up! Marcus Caelius is about to speak!'
Caelius continued to pace the tribunal in silence. He lifted a fist to his mouth and furrowed his brow, as if debating whether to speak or not. The crowd pressed in closer. More and more men began to shout, until their cries joined in unison and became a chant: 'Speak, Caelius, speak! Speak, Caelius, speak! Speak, Caelius, speak!'
At last Caelius stopped pacing, looked out over the crowd, and raised his hands for silence. Some of the rowdier members of the crowd continued to chant for the sheer pleasure of making noise, but they were quickly silenced by elbows in their ribs and swats to their ears.
'Citizens!' said Caelius. 'Not long ago, you heard me speak from this platform about the legislation I have introduced before the Senate demanding a six-year moratorium on the repayment of loans. I regret to tell you that, as of today, the Senate has yet to act upon my proposal.'
This was greeted by a chorus of catcalls and boos. Caelius raised his hands to quiet the crowd. 'In the meantime, my esteemed colleague, the magistrate in charge of the city'-he indicated Trebonius with a sweep of his hand-'has continued to make settlements on behalf of the moneylenders and landlords whose interests he so doggedly represents.'
This prompted a considerable uproar. Previously, Caelius had avoided making such a direct attack against Trebonius. Now his rhetorical claws were bared, and the crowd was ready to see blood drawn. He recommenced pacing back and forth, not as before, as if brooding and indecisive, but with his chin up and a swagger in his step. He looked sidelong in the direction of Trebonius, a smirk on his face and a glimmer in his eyes.
'Indeed, the magistrate in charge of the city has taken every possible action to ensure that my proposed legislation is never even considered by the Senate, much less ratified by that obsequious body of sycophants. Not a man among them appears to have a will of his own. They are all, to a man, the tools of a single intelligence- including the magistrate in charge of the city. He is, after all, a soldier first and a public servant second. I presume he was given his orders before the giver of orders left Rome, and now he mindlessly carries them out with no regard to the suffering and distress that surrounds him. Is he blind? Is he deaf?'
Caelius looked toward Trebonius, shaded his brow, and peered across the way, as if Trebonius were miles distant rather than a mere stone's throw away. 'Well, I'm fairly certain he isn't blind, because he's looking this way. To be sure, he squints a bit. Scribbling those enormous sums on behalf of the moneylenders has strained his eyes, I suspect.' This garnered a huge laugh from a crowd that was eager for any excuse to laugh at Trebonius. Across the way, Trebonius narrowed his eyes even more. The crowd before Caelius's tribunal roared with laughter.
'He's not entirely blind, then-but perhaps he's deaf,' suggested Caelius. 'Shall we find out? Help me, citizens! Call out his name with me. Like this: 'Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes!' '
The crowd enthusiastically took up the chant, raising their voices until the words rang through the Forum, creating a noise like thunder as they echoed off the stone walls of temples and shrines. Such a noise would carry all the way to my house atop the Palatine Hill. I imagined Bethesda and Diana going about their business in the kitchen or the garden and wondered what they would make of it: 'Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes! Trebonius, open your eyes!'
I looked at the object of this refrain and saw him shift nervously in his chair of state, as if the ivory inlays beneath his buttocks had grown hot to the touch. Even though the words themselves were not directly threatening, it must have been unnerving for Trebonius to hear his name cried aloud by so many hostile voices in unison. As Caelius had said, he was more experienced as a military man than a politician, more accustomed to orderly chains of command than to the volatile dynamics of the Roman mob.
At last Caelius raised his arms. The chanting gradually dwindled to silence.
'Citizens-I think he heard you!' cried Caelius. The response was a tremendous roar of shouting and applause. I looked about and realized that the crowd had grown considerably larger. The chant had served not just to send a message to Trebonius, but as a clarion call to summon others from all over the Forum and the surrounding hills.
Caelius raised his hands for silence. The crowd quieted at once. 'Trebonius, Trebonius, Trebonius!' he said, rolling his eyes and feigning utter exasperation. 'In you we find that three goods make a single bad!' The crowd, always appreciative of a terrible pun, especially at the expense of a man's name, roared with laughter. Caelius was now pitching his voice to carry as far as possible, and the object of the joke, hearing it clearly, rose red-faced to his feet, clenching his fists at his sides.
'But, citizens,' Caelius continued, 'I did not come here today to speak ill of my fellow magistrate. He is merely an obedient soldier following orders. Nor did I come today to rail against the sycophants in the Senate, who are too concerned with pleasing their absent master-and enriching themselves-to give a thought to your suffering. No, I came here today for the purpose of delivering good news! Yes, good news, if you can believe it, because in the midst of the gloom that hangs over us, there is a ray of hope. I have been thinking about the six-year moratorium on debt collection that I have proposed to the Senate-and that the Senate so far has willfully ignored-and I have decided it does not go far enough. No, not nearly far enough! The good people of Rome must have even more relief from the crushing burdens imposed upon them, not just by the moneylenders, but by the landlords, those wealthy tenement owners to whom a man must hand over his lifeblood just to keep a roof over his head.
'Today, citizens, I am putting forward a new proposal. Beginning retroactively from the month of Januarius, all landlords will remit a full year's rent to every tenant! What does this mean? It means that all rents paid since Januarius will be refunded to you, and all rent due for the rest of the year will be forgiven. It means that the renters of Rome shall finally have some money in their pockets-returned to them by rich landlords who won't miss it! It means that you shall have the security of knowing that you cannot be evicted, that you shall have a roof over your head in the uncertain months ahead.
'The moneylenders and the landlords and their minions'-he shot a look at Trebonius-'will tell you that such a measure will utterly destroy the economy of Rome. Don't believe them! They're only looking out for their own narrow interests. A sound economy is based on confidence and mutual trust, and this proposal, as radical as it may sound, is the only possible way to restore the Roman people's confidence in the future and their bond of trust with the property-owning classes. You, the common citizens of Rome, have endured a great deal due to the upheavals of the last year. You have borne the brunt of the suffering. You have suffered enough! We must all make sacrifices-not just the common people of Rome, but also the wealthy who look down from their lofty perches and think only of how to make themselves more wealthy. Let them feel the pinch for a change!'
This prompted a roar of approval from the crowd. Some resumed the chant of 'Trebonius, open your eyes!' The mood seemed more boisterous than angry. Merely by voicing such a radical proposal, no matter how unlikely the chance that it would become a reality, Caelius had given them hope and raised their spirits.
Suddenly the mood changed. The roar died down. The chanting stopped. There were cries of outrage, hisses, and catcalls from the outskirts of the crowd. I rose on tiptoes, trying to see over the heads that blocked my view. Suddenly I was lifted aloft; Davus had clutched me from behind and raised me up as if I weighed no more than a child. Such are the advantages of having a son-in-law with the strength of an ox.
I saw a cordon of bodyguards flanking some important personage-one of the chief magistrates, apparently, because the retinue was headed by lictors, the ceremonial escorts of the superior magistrates. Each lictor bore over his shoulder a bundle of birch rods called fasces, which served as a sheath for an ornately decorated ax. The use of lictors and their ceremonial weapons supposedly dated back to the time when Rome was ruled by kings. Normally, within the city bounds, the lictors would have borne their fasces without axes-but these were not normal times, and I clearly saw the flash of highly polished iron ax heads above the bundled rods.
I also caught a glimpse of the man whom the lictors surrounded and saw that his toga had a broad purple stripe. I counted twelve lictors, and knew that the newcomer could only be Caesar's fellow consul, Publius Servilius Isauricus. In Caesar's absence, Isauricus was the sole head of the state. Thus had Caesar observed the ancient tradition of electing two consuls, one to govern Rome while the other conducted military operations in the field, even though everyone knew that it was Caesar alone who determined the policies of the state. Isauricus was nothing more than a figurehead, a caretaker charged with enacting Caesar's will while Caesar was absent. He and Caesar were very old friends, and it was a sign of Caesar's complete faith in Isauricus that he had contrived to have him elected to serve alongside him as consul for the year.
I remembered seeing Trebonius, before Caelius began his harangue, dispatch one of his clerks with a message; evidently Isauricus had come in response to Trebonius's alarm. Once again Caelius was threatening to
