Instantly, she grew more animated. "Milo! He is no ordinary man, to be sure. I found him fascinating. But his family is unknown to me. He has an adoptive name. How did that come about?"
"His father was Caius Papius Celsus, a landholder from the south. When he came to Rome he had himself adopted by his maternal grandfather, Titus Annius Luscus. This was strictly for political reasons, so that he would have city residency and membership in an urban tribe." At least this was simple. A patrician pedigree might have forced me to drone on for an hour.
"But the rural tribes are more respectable," she pointed out. "All the best families belong to rural tribes."
"That was the old days, my lady. Power in Rome now resides in the urban mob, which Milo intends to lead. Forget names and lineages. Milo intends to make his own name and he is well on his way. Many men with fine old patrician names live in near-beggary. Marry respectability and that is all you get. With Milo you would lead what can only be described as an interesting life."
"That does sound intriguing. I suppose he has a city house of suitable magnificence?"
"One of the largest and best-staffed in Rome," I assured her. I suppose I should have told her that it was a fortress and its staff consisted of thugs, arena-bait and cutthroats such as one rarely encounters, but why deprive her of a unique surprise?
"I get so many suitors," she said, "and they are all so boring. I am twenty-seven years old, you know. I had all but decided to remain unmarried, even if that meant remaining a legal child under the care of Lucullus. This is the first interesting offer to come my way. You may inform Milo that I am willing to entertain his suit. He may call upon me informally, but he is to understand that any agreement must be between the two of us. I have sworn to open my veins rather than submit to an arranged marriage."
"Perfectly understandable. You could end up married to Cato otherwise. I am sure that this news will give Milo the greatest joy. Would you care for some more of this excellent Caecuban?" She shook her head. I do not believe she had so much as sipped at her own cup. I refilled mine. "Now that that is settled, I don't suppose you would like to enlighten me concerning the scandalous evening that has become the delight of all Rome?"
"I'm afraid that I can't," she said.
"Ah. Forbidden by ritual law, like everyone else?"
"Not a bit of it. I didn't go to Caesar's house that night."
The cup stopped halfway to my mouth. "You did not? But you were seen there."
Her eyes didn't flicker. "Then someone was mistaken or else lying. Only married women take part, and I wasn't about to waste an evening gossiping with a pack of wellborn girls half my age."
"Then I must have been misinformed," I said. "Please forgive me."
"Why? I haven't been offended. Tell Milo I shall look forward to hearing from him." She rose and extended her hand, which I took. "Good day, Decius Caecilius." I watched her walk away. That was pleasant, but it told me nothing of her truthfulness. Either she was lying, or Julia, was. I knew which one I preferred to believe.
I found Hermes waiting on a bench in the atrium. He looked up, annoyed, when I gestured for him to join me.
"You look like you ducked out and went to a tavern," he said. "Are you going to have to lean on me all the way home?"
"Nonsense," I said. "No one gets drunk on vintage as fine as I've been drinking." We left the house and walked toward the Forum.
"I've attended at banquets in houses as fine as this," he said. "I never realized the guests were puking from sheer joy."
"You are a vulgar little rascal," I chided. "You should not speak about your betters in such a fashion."
"You ought to hear how we slaves talk about you when there are no freemen about."
"You aren't earning yourself any favors this way," I warned him.
"Hah. You probably won't remember-uh-oh." His eyes went wide and so, I confess, did mine. A crowd of brutal-looking men swaggered toward us, blocking the narrow street. In center front was the ugliest of the lot: Publius Clodius Pulcher.
"Uh-oh, indeed," I muttered. "Hermes, be ready to back my play."
"Back you? What can you do against that lot?" The boy's voice quivered with terror.
"Just watch and keep your wits about you," I said reassuringly. I picked a level spot. To my left, a flight of steps led between two buildings to a higher street. Behind us, the street was relatively clear, but it ascended steeply. While I was by no means drunk, I wished belatedly that I had been more moderate with the Caecuban.
"Metellus! I have the feeling that you have been avoiding me! I am hurt!" He grinned his ugly, oily grin. Clodius had been making no formal calls and was dressed only in tunic and sandals. These latter were ordinary brown leather, although he was entitled to the thick-soled red buskins with the ivory crescent at the ankle. Even his tunic was the workingman's exomis, the Greek type that leaves the right shoulder and half the chest bare. Clodius, man of the people.
"You know how dearly I cherish your company, Publius," I said. "You have but to call at my house during my morning reception."
His laugh was loud and false. "When did a Claudian ever come calling on a Metellan?"
I waggled a finger at him. "Careful, Publius, your patricianship is showing. People might think you were wellborn, and you'll have wasted all that slumming and hanging around with low company."
"He's drunk," said one of the thugs.
"Drunk is as good a way to die as any," Clodius said. "Get him."
"Just a moment," I said, holding out a palm. "You have the advantage. Give me a moment." Ceremoniously, I removed my toga and folded it.
"He wants to make a fight of it," Clodius said. "I wouldn't have given him credit. Go ahead, Decius. Afterward we'll wrap you up in it, and you won't look so bad when your servants come to carry you home. You'll look better than poor Appius Nero did after you murdered him."
"I didn't kill him, Publius, you did, or maybe it was Clodia."
He went into his vein-popping routine again. "Enough of this! Kill him!"
As I have already said, running in a toga is futile. Since I was no longer encumbered with mine, I bounded like a deer up the steps to my left. When I reached the street at the top of the steps, I turned right, downhill. I survived the next few seconds only because Clodius and his men were temporarily surprised by my bolting. Only a fool could have expected me to stand and fight against such odds, but men are capable of endless folly, and Publius Clodius of more than most men.
Nonetheless, I could almost feel their breath on my heels as I dashed down the street, with startled pedestrians dodging out of my way. Romans were all too familiar with the sight of a man running for his life and knew how to behave accordingly. I mentally vowed a goat to Jove, asking him to cloud the eyes of the people before me. My greatest fear was that someone would recognize Clodius behind me and would try to stop me to curry favor with him.
I was far from Milo's territory and I did not know what Clodius's strength might be in this area. If I could make it to the Subura, I would be safe. Clodius and his men would probably not make it back out alive. Unfortunately, to make it all the way to the Subura I would have to be as swift and enduring as that Greek who ran with the news from Marathon to Athens. I cannot recall his name just now.
Our fine new colonial cities have beautiful, wide boulevards, flat as a pond and straight as a javelin. Rome has none. The streets I ran on rose and dipped, bent in serpentine curves or sharp angles, narrowed without warning and transformed into steps with no order or reason. This worked to my advantage, because I was recently returned from military service and Celer had insisted that his officers train as hard as the legionaries, to include broken-field running in armor. This stood me in good stead as I dodged, hopped, turned and leapt over the occasional recumbent drunk.