Imperium - Харрис Роберт (читаемые книги читать онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
QUINTUS WAS ALL FOR BEATING the last scrap of information out of the two hapless agents, and then either marching them around to the house of Crassus and demanding that he put a stop to his schemes, or dragging them before the Senate, reading out their confessions, and calling for the elections to be postponed. But Cicero kept a cooler head. With a straight face he thanked Salinator for his honesty, then told Quintus to have a cup of wine and calm down, and me to gather up our silver. Later, when we had returned home, he sat in his study and tossed that little leather exercise ball of his from one hand to the other, while Quintus raged that he had been a fool to let the two bribery agents go, that they would surely now alert Crassus or flee the city.
“They will not do either,” replied Cicero. “To go to Crassus and tell him what has happened would be to sign their own death warrants. Crassus would never leave such incriminating witnesses alive, and they know it. And flight would merely bring about the same result, except that it would take him longer to track them down.” Back and forth, back and forth went the ball. “Besides, no crime has been committed. Bribery is hard enough to prove at the best of times-impossible to establish when not a vote has been cast. Crassus and the Senate would merely laugh at us. No, the best thing is to leave them at liberty, where at least we know where to find them again, and be ready to subpoena them if we lose the election.” He threw the ball higher and caught it with a swiping motion. “You were right about one thing, though, Quintus.”
“Was I really?” said Quintus bitterly. “How kind of you to say so.”
“Crassus’s action has nothing to do with his enmity for me. He would not spend twenty million simply to frustrate my hopes. He would only invest twenty million if the likely return were huge. What can it be? On that issue I must confess myself baffled.” He stared at the wall for a while. “Tiro, you always got on well with young Caelius Rufus, didn’t you?”
I remembered the shirked tasks which I had been obliged to complete for him, the lies I had told to keep him out of trouble the day he stole my savings and persuaded me not to report his thieving to Cicero. “Reasonably well, senator,” I replied cautiously.
“Go and talk to him tomorrow morning. Be subtle about it. See if you can extract any clues from him about what Crassus is up to. He lives under the same roof, after all. He must know something.”
I lay awake long into the night, pondering all of this, and feeling increasingly anxious for the future. Cicero did not sleep much either. I could hear him pacing around upstairs. The force of his concentration seemed almost to penetrate the floorboards, and when sleep at last came to me, it was restless and full of portents.
The following morning I left Laurea to deal with Cicero’s press of visitors and set off to walk the mile or so to the house of Crassus. Even today, when the sky is cloudless and the mid-July heat feels oppressive even before the sun is up, I whisper to myself, “Election weather!” and feel again that familiar clench of excitement in my stomach. The sound of hammering and sawing rose from the Forum, as the workmen finished the erection of the ramps and fences around the Temple of Castor. It was the day on which the bribery bill was to be put to the vote of the people, and I cut through behind the temple and paused to take a drink from the tepid waters of the fountain of Juturna. I had no idea what I was going to say to Caelius. I am a most inexpert liar-I always have been-and I realized I should have asked Cicero to advise me on some line to take, but it was too late now. I climbed the path to the Palatine, and when I reached the house of Crassus I told the porter that I had an urgent message for Caelius Rufus. He offered to let me wait inside but I declined. Instead, while he went off to fetch the young man, I crossed the street and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.
Crassus’s house, like the man himself, presented a very modest facade to the world, although I had been told that this was deceptive, and that once you got inside it went back a long way. The door was dark, low and narrow but stout, flanked by two small barred windows. Ivy climbed across peeling walls of light ocher. The terra-cotta roof was also ancient, and the edges of the tiles where they overhung the pavement were cracked and black, like a row of broken teeth. It might have been the home of an unwise banker, or some hard-up country landowner who had allowed his town house to fall into disrepair. I suppose this was Crassus’s way of showing that he was so fabulously rich, he had no need to keep up a smart appearance, but in that street of millionaires it only drew attention to his wealth, and there was something almost vulgar in its studied lack of vulgarity. The dark little door was constantly opening and shutting as visitors scurried in and out, revealing the extent of the activity within; it put me in mind of a buzzing wasps’ nest, which shows itself only as a tiny hole in the masonry. None of these men was recognizable to me until Julius Caesar stepped out. He did not see me, but walked straight off down the street in the direction of the Forum, trailed by a secretary carrying a document case. Shortly afterwards, the door opened again and Caelius appeared. He paused on the threshold, cupped his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun, and squinted across the street toward me. I could see at once that he had been out all night as usual, and was not in a good humor at being woken. Thick stubble covered his handsome chin, and he kept sticking out his tongue, swallowing and wincing, as if the taste was too horrible to hold in his mouth. He walked carefully toward me and when he asked me what in the name of the gods I wanted, I blurted out that I needed to borrow some money.
He squinted at me in disbelief. “What for?”
“There is a girl,” I replied helplessly, simply because it was the sort of thing he used to say to me when he wanted money and I had not the wit to come up with anything else. I tried to steer him along the street a little way, anxious that Crassus might come out and see us together. But he shook me off and stood swaying in the gutter.
“A girl?” he repeated incredulously. “You?” And then he began to laugh, but that obviously hurt his head, so he stopped and put his fingers gently to his temple. “If I had any money, Tiro, I should give it to you willingly-it would be a gift, bestowed simply for the pleasure of seeing you with any living person other than Cicero. But that could never happen. You are not the type for girls. Poor Tiro-you are not any kind of type, that I can see.” He peered at me closely. “What do you really need it for?” I could smell the stale wine hot on his breath and could not prevent myself flinching, which he mistook for an admission of guilt. “You are lying,” he said, and then a grin spread slowly across his stubbled face. “Cicero sent you to find out something.”
I pleaded with him to move away from the house, and this time he did. But the motion of walking evidently did not agree with him. He halted again, turned very white, and held up a warning finger. Then his eyes and throat bulged, he gave an alarming groan, and out came such a heavy gush of vomit it reminded me of a chambermaid emptying a bucket out of an upstairs window into the street. (Forgive these details, but the scene just came entirely back into my mind after an absence of sixty years, and I could not help but laugh at the memory.) Anyway, this seemed to act as a purge; his color returned and he became much brighter. He asked me what it was that Cicero wanted to know.
“What do you think?” I replied, a little impatiently.
“I wish I could help you, Tiro,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know I would if I could. It is not nearly as pleasant living with Crassus as it was with Cicero. Old Baldhead is the most awful shit-worse even than my father. He has me learning accountancy all day, and a duller business was never invented, except for commercial law, which was last month’s torture. As for politics, which does amuse me, he is careful to keep me away from all that side of things.”
