Under Vesuvius

anything the First Citizen doesn't like.

'Treason,'' she reaffirmed. 'We don't engage in Roman-style power politics down here, but we aren't entirely unaware of how it's played. Campania and points south are old Pompeian territory, full of his clientela.'

'I can hardly be unaware of that.'

'Before much longer, it's going to come to a showdown between Caesar and Pompey.'

I closed my eyes. Finally, those two names. I had thought I was away from it all, but no chance of that. 'The names are not unfamiliar to me. But activity on behalf of one or the other scarcely merits the onus of treason.'

'It does when dealings with foreign powers are involved.'

Perhaps I should clarify something here. Clientage-that interlocking series of relationships that so closely binds men not necessarily of the same family-has always been a bedrock of Roman society and remains so even now. But in my younger days it carried even greater import. Citizen clients were obliged to vote for you, and noncitizen clients owed you all the accustomed duties. Hence, politically ambitious men took every pain to expand their clientela. Great men had millions of clients, encompassing whole districts. In Italy, this meant a great well of loyal manpower when raising legions. The greatest men, like Caesar and Pompey, had foreign kings and by extension their kingdoms, among their clientela. Needless to say, the First Citizen put an end to that upon assuming dictatorial power.

Once again, my cup paused in its ascent.

'Before we proceed further,' I said, 'I should very much like to know how it happens that you know what these men have been up to.' Men in my experience generally did not make their women a part of their political lives. There were exceptions, of course. Clodia, for instance. Or, for that matter, my wife, Julia.

'My husband's business subjects him to long absences from Italy. During those times, I conduct his affairs here. Whether they like it or not, those men have to deal with me frequently.'

This did not satisfy me, but I let her go on.

'I am quite aware when one or more of those men are in financial difficulties, and when one is, they all are. They try to conceal this from me and everybody else. The pattern of their dealings changes and they begin to meet in secret. Their meeting place is always the same: the Temple of Apollo.'

'Mere changes in commercial habits should not reveal such a thing to you. How did you come by this knowledge?'

'The usual way. I employ spies in their households.'

Immediately, I thought of the unfortunate Charmian, now languishing in the ergastulum with her back cut to pieces. I would have liked to surprise Jocasta with this knowledge, but it's always good to keep something in reserve.

'What did your spies report?'

'That the duumviri and certain others met with the priest and discussed the secession of the former Greek colonies of southern Italy, Baiae, Cumae, Stabiae, Tarentum, and Messana, and several others. Soon after these meetings their pecuniary problems cleared up as if by magic.'

'Whose money?' I demanded.

'Who wants to see Rome brought low? There is no shortage of candidates, but the remaining free Greek states seem the likeliest, don't you think? Macedonia is always fretful and in a state of rebellion.'

'Macedonia is poor.'

'Rhodes is not. Rhodes is rich and powerful and still, just barely, independent. Ptolemy chafes under the Roman heel and might like to be truly independent instead of a Roman puppet. And Alexandria is a Greek city. They might all see a coming civil war as their last chance. If all of them subscribed to a bribe fund, it would scarcely dent their resources to buy powerful sympathizers in all the humiliated towns.'

'With the priest as go-between?'

She said nothing, merely selected an especially fat cherry and dipped it in honey. There was a great fad for cherries back then. A few years previously Lucullus had brought the first cherry trees to Italy as part of the loot from his eastern campaign. He had planted a vast orchard and made seedlings and cuttings available to Italian farmers at only a nominal cost-one of those acts of euergesia Julia had spoken of. The new trees were just beginning to bear and everyone was eating cherries.

'What is the girl's part in all this?'

'As I said, she was spreading herself thin among the local male population, and it seems she had a habit of babbling in the throes of passion. I don't think the priest would have killed his own daughter for it, but any of the others would have.'

I set down my cup. 'These are no longer the days of Sulla. It is not sufficient to bring charges against a prominent citizen to see him executed and claim a part of his wealth.'

'You wrong me, Praetor!' she said, smiling. 'I am merely zealous in my devotion to the Senate and People of Rome.'

'I daresay. And what is your husband's part in all this?'

'None at all. He is Numidian, not Greek.'

'But you are Greek,' I pointed out.

She shrugged. 'I am a woman. I can't vote in anyone's elections or hold office or even express myself publicly on any matter of importance. Greek, Roman, Numidian-what's the difference to me?'

'I can't bring charges against anyone on a basis of what you've told me.'

'Who said anything about bringing charges?' she said, popping another honeyed cherry into her mouth. 'I believe it simply bears thinking about. Don't you agree?'

6

Hermes and Marcus were waiting for me when I left Jocasta's town house.

'Julia's furious,' Marcus informed me cheerfully. 'She says you've already demeaned yourself by, first, doing your own interviewing instead of sending one of us; second, going to that woman's house alone; third-'

'Enough,' I told them. 'I'll hear all about it when I get back to the villa, never fear.'

'You'll never guess who's in town,' Marcus said.

'Come along to the baths,' Hermes advised.

Intrigued, I walked along with them, my lictors clearing the way before us. The town baths were, predictably, lavish, located just off the forum. There was a small crowd gathered on its steps, surrounding three men, two of them wearing purple-bordered togas like mine. These two weren't serving magistrates that year, though. There was no mistaking who

they were. I had my lictors push through the crowd and threw my arms wide.

'Marcus Tullius!' I cried. 'Quintus! Tiro!'

The oldest of them grinned. 'Decius Caecilius! Praetor Metellus, I should say. Congratulations!'

It was, indeed, Marcus Tullius Cicero; his brother, Quintus; and his former slave, now freedman, Tiro.

'I thought you would never get back from Syria,' I told Cicero, taking all their hands in turn. 'And I never expected to see you here! I would have thought you'd be in Rome, where all the political action is going on.'

'I've petitioned the Senate to celebrate a triumph, so I can't go into the City until I get permission. I'd rather spend the hot months down here than hang about outside the walls, missing everything.' Cicero had been one of the first prominent Romans to build a vacation villa near Baiae. The whole district adored him as if he'd been a native, instead of from Arpinum. That was probably one reason why he loved the place. In Rome, the aristocrats never let him forget that he was a New Man from a small town, not one of their own.

I grasped Tiro's hands warmly. 'Tiro, my heartiest congratulations. I hear you are a country squire now.'

Quintus Cicero grinned. 'He's a landowner and a gentleman now, and increasing his holdings all the time. He'll be looking down on us all soon.'

Tiro smiled modestly. 'I hope not. Praetor, I see that your Hermes has also donned the toga.' He took