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vice, or he practiceda suspect religion. Someone even brought up the name of Vatinius, an eccentric senator who was fond of wearing a black toga even when he wasn’t in mourning. It was some sort of Pythagorean practice. Otherwise, the man was harmless.
    By midnight we had run through just about all the legal and political possibilities except for assassination. I think that was omitted only because the problem wasn’t quite that serious. I could always stand for election again the next year, annoying though that might be.
    “Well,” Hortalus said, lurching to his feet, “I’m off. I am going to the house of Claudius Marcellus, where we shall watch the skies from his excellent garden. All of you take my advice and get some sleep. We really can’t formulate our defense until we know more about this upstart, Flavius. This time tomorrow we will know all we need to about that man.”
    “Let me accompany you,” I said. “The streets are black, and the night is moonless. My men brought plenty of torches, and they’re all veterans.”
    “A good idea,” Father said. “When you’ve seen our friend to his destination, get some rest and we’ll all meet at dawn on the basilica steps.”
    Outside, I got Hermes and my men arranged, some in front of Hortalus’s litter, some behind. Just because the great gangs had been broken up did not mean that the streets of Rome were perfectly safe, especially on a moonless night. My men were armed, discreetly, with weapons beneath their cloaks. So was I.
    “Come join us in the litter, Decius,” Hortalus said, as he and Appius Claudius got in. “There’s room for three.”
    Nothing loath, I climbed in. At that time it was considered rather effeminate for a man of military age to use a litter. They were supposed to be conveyances for wellborn women, the sick, and the elderly. But I wasn’t about to stumble around in Rome’s filthy, benighted streets if something better was offered. The bearers groaned at the extra weight when they hoisted us.
    “Are you going to the house of Claudius Marcellus, too?” I asked Appius Claudius. I knew the two Claudian families were related, but distantly.
    “No,” he said, “I’ve been staying as a guest at Quintus’s country villa. Tonight I’ll go on to my own house.”
    Hortensius Hortalus had spent most of his time in recent years in his splendid country houses, where he had been developing fish ponds with his friend Marcus Phillipus. The two wrote long books on the subject.
    “With country estates like yours,” I said to Hortalus, “I wonder that you bother coming to the City at all.”
    “I’m an old Forum politician,” he said. “I just can’t stand to miss an election. Especially not when the issues being debated in the Senate are so crucial to the state. I am long past my days of highest influence, but I flatter myself that my voice is still listened to.”
    “Rome ignores your wisdom at her peril,” said Appius.
    “Which issues concern you so?” I asked.
    “Why the growing insolence of Caesar, of course! Forgive me, Decius, but you’ve been away from the City too long. Did you know that Caesar this year petitioned to stand for consul while
keeping
his army and his provinces? Unheard of! Might as well crown the bugger king and be done with it.”
    “Caesar has been courting that man Curio we just spoke of,” Appius put in. “I think he’s trying to bribe every man standing for next year’s tribuneship: Pansa and Caelius that I know of, probably the others. But he’ll win over Curio for certain.”
    “How do you know?” I asked.
    “The usual. The man’s terrifically debt-ridden, and Caesar will pay off his debts. Has it occurred to anyone that the root of most of our political disorder is not the generals who go out and accumulate loot but the young, wellborn wastrels who accumulate debt instead? There is nothing more dangerous to the public good than a senator or youngman of senatorial family made desperate by