Under Vesuvius

'And who will speak for Gelon?' Julia asked. 'It seems that his father didn't live long enough to engage a lawyer.'

'I may have to select one myself,' I said. 'Marcus, you could use some practice before the bar. Would you like to defend Gelon?'

'Impossible!' Julia protested. 'For a member of the praetor peregrinus's own party to take part would seriously compromise the trial.'

'Why?' Circe asked. 'It happens all the time in Rome. Just last year I saw a Claudius prosecute a Claudius with a third Claudius defending and a fourth sitting as praetor.'

'Rome is hopeless,' Julia said, 'but we must set a better example for the municipalities and the provinces.'

'I suppose so,' I concurred. 'Pity Cicero wouldn't consider it.'

'What about his brother?' Marcus asked.

'He does what Cicero tells him to,' Hermes said. 'But what about Tiro? He's a freedman now and a full citizen, so he can plead in court, and as a freedman it would not be a disgrace for him to defend a slaver's son. He's been Cicero's secretary since the beginning of his career, so he must know the law just as thoroughly. Plus, Cicero could coach him during the trial.'

'Brilliant!' I approved. 'I'll talk to Cicero this afternoon.'

I wondered why I had not thought of it already. With Cicero defending through a proxy, Gelon would have a decent chance. Just as important, the trial was sure to be entertaining. A good legal spectacle might be just what was needed to restore the district to its customary mood of slothful good humor.

That afternoon I called on Cicero. He was socializing at the baths with a number of cronies and no few sycophants. In the Baiaean game of social one-upmanship, having the famous ex-consul among your intimates was a coup. And Cicero, for all his superiority of intellect, was not immune to such sycophancy.

The very fact that he was petitioning the Senate for a triumph was a sign of his declining powers of self- criticism. If ever Rome had produced a man of high political capacity who was utterly lacking in soldierly qualities, it was Cicero. His inflation of some trifling successes in Syria to a victory worthy of a triumph was a matter for considerable amusement in high political circles. The man who had saved the Roman situation there was young Cassius Longinus, and he had received no recognition at all.

My arrival was greeted with enthusiasm, for while my highhandedness had rankled the duumviri and a few others, my bloody brawl with the bandits had raised me in the esteem of most. After a long soak I got Cicero aside and made my proposal. He was at first astonished, but quickly came around to my point of view. He summoned his brother and Tiro and we discussed the matter.

'So you really think the boy is innocent?' Cicero said.

'Something is just not right. He is too convenient and there are too many other contenders.'

'Decius always has good instincts in these matters, Brother,' said Lucius, 'and Tiro could certainly use the exposure. Trying a capital case in Rome might be too ambitious a start, but Baiae is just right-plenty of wealth without the distraction of great political power.'

'I agree,' Cicero said. 'How about it, Tiro? Would you like to launch your career as a barrister here?'

'Well,' Tiro said, 'as a former slave myself, I might be reluctant to defend a slaver's son. However, since he plans to renounce his father's business and become a respectable thief and raider, how can I refuse?'

We were just leaving the baths when a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of my reinforcements. The forum crowd gawked as a full turma of thirty cavalrymen rode in, their scarlet cloaks streaming gaily. They wore glittering mail coats split at the sides to facilitate riding and scarlet-crested helmets of shiny bronze. Instead of the long, oval shields carried by Caesar's cavalry, these had the old-fashioned pompanum shield, so-called for its resemblance to the round, bossed cake used in sacrifices. Their long, slender spears waved gracefully. They were fine-looking young men and had all the earmarks of the sons of wealthy equites of southern Italy, too well-bred to slog around behind a shield in the legions. Still, they were full of spirit and verve.

Their leader was an even handsomer youth who wore a bronze cuirass sculpted to resemble the torso of Hercules. It was an immensely uncomfortable thing to ride in, as I knew from sore experience, but a splendid thing to see. His helmet was skinned with silver artfully embossed to resemble a head of curly hair. He reined in and spoke to Cicero.

'I am Marcus Sublicius Pansa, optio of the Ninth Turma, attached to the eleventh Legion, now being raised at Capua by the proconsul Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. Have I the honor of addressing the praetor peregrinus Metellus?'

'No, you address the proconsul Marcus Tullius Cicero,' I told him. 'I'm Metellus.' Technically, Cicero was still proconsul while he awaited his triumph, and would not lay down his office until he reentered Rome. The boy had made a natural mistake but he looked mortified.

'My apologies, sir! I thought-'

'Quite understandable,' I told him. 'It's only natural to think the most distinguished-looking man with a purple stripe is the one in charge. As it occurs, I am the one who sent for you. Who is your commander?'

'Sextus Pompeius, sir, the proconsul's son.' The young man's diction reeked of the Greek rhetoric schools that were considered essential for a public career.

'Marcus Sublicius,' I said, 'we've had an outbreak of banditry in the region. I was personally assaulted and I take that as an insult to the dignity of Rome. I want them scoured out, and a few brought back alive for questioning. They are most likely on their way to the crater of Vesuvius, although they probably won't venture inside until the current venting dies down. Do you think you can handle that?'

He grinned. 'It will be good training for the boys.' The boys. He had to be all of nineteen years old.

'Good. Go first to the Villa Hortensia and get the horse master there. His name is Regilius and he's an old cavalryman and scout. He knows this countryside intimately and will guide you where you need to go. You have my authority to requisition supplies, grain, and remounts if need be anywhere in this district. With or without those men, be back here on the morning after tomorrow, in case I need you to keep civic order here.'

'It shall be as you command, Praetor.' He saluted, whirled, and rode out with his turma clattering at his heels.

'They seem to be a likely band of young men,' Cicero said. 'What do you think, Decius? You served with Caesar's cavalry. How would these match up to Caesar's?'

I didn't have to think about it long. 'They're smartly turned out. Lots of glitter and panache, but they look like the horsemen of Scipio Africanus two hundred years ago. Caesar's cavalry look like bandits who plundered their gear off a battlefield. If it came to a fight, they'd eat those boys alive.'

Cicero sighed. 'That was what I was afraid you'd say.'

12

The local festival was an annual celebration in honor of Baios, the helmsman of Ulysses, whose tomb I had been shown outside the gates. It commenced with a sacrifice at the tomb, accompanied by much pomp and ceremony. This I attended as a visiting dignitary. All the priests of the region turned out, many of them dressed in regalia peculiar to the district. Diocles was there, representing the Temple of Apollo, looking no more solemn than usual.

Young girls robed in white danced before the tomb and draped it with wreaths and garlands of flowers, and libations of wine and oil were poured over the altar. Then the girls led the procession back into the town amid loud singing from the civic chorus, scattering flower petals lavishly.

In the forum, stages had been erected upon which dancers and actors performed stories connected to the epic voyage of Ulysses, many of these extremely salacious. Calypso was portrayed by a Spanish dancer from Gades whose joints seemed to bend in all directions. We also learned

that Circe and her attendants still had uses for Ulysses' men even after they were transformed into beasts.