The Tribune's Curse by John Maddox Roberts Page B

potential vote.
    “Senator,” he said, “I am Sextus Silvius, an equestrian. I come on behalf of the tribune Ateius Capito, who would greatly esteem your company at his house this afternoon. If you have no other plans, he customarily lays on an excellent midday meal. It will have to be quite informal. You know what a tribune’s house is like.”
    I glanced at the
rostra
. “Your friend isn’t in his usual place this morning.”
    “He knows that there is nothing more to be gained by talk. May I tell him that you will be coming? Or, better yet, will you come with me?”
    I looked around the Forum, saw nobody I really wanted to associate with, heard my stomach growl, and decided. “It will bea pleasure.” I took off my
candidus
, handed it to a client with instructions to take it home and inform Julia where I was going, and dismissed the rest.
    “Why does this year’s tribune want to cultivate next year’s aedile?” I asked bluntly as we ambled toward the Via Nova, thence eastward into the warren of streets northeast of the Via Sacra.
    “Both you and he are headed for higher office. The men who are to direct the great affairs of Rome in the future had better get to know each other if you are to work well together.”
    “That makes sense,” I agreed, musing. “Silvius. Is that a Marsian name?”
    He nodded. “Oh, yes. My family are Marsi from near the Fucine Lake. Roman citizens for generations, of course.”
    “Naturally.” The Marsi were noted as splendid farmers and, less favorably, as practitioners of all sorts of magic. “Are you a relative of the tribune?”
    “No, a friend. Along with others, I’ve been his assistant during his year in office. I will be more than relieved when that year is up.”
    “The tribuneship is a busy office,” I said, putting it mildly.
    The house of Ateius Capito took up the ground floor of a tenement block that faced an identical tenement block across a narrow street. The street itself was thronged with citizens: idlers, hangers-on, petitioners with rolled papyri to give to the tribune, and the generally disgruntled-looking, all come to press their suits upon the representative of the people. They made a path for me when they saw the senatorial stripe on my tunic. Some of the scroll holders tried to give their petitions to me in hope that I would bring them to the tribune’s attention, but I begged off. The last thing I wanted to do was take on another politician’s job.
    The door was open, naturally. By ancient law the door of a tribune’s house, even the door of his own bedroom, had to remain open during his year in office. He had to be accessible to theplebs every hour, day and night. Supposedly he incurred no danger through this practice because the sacrosanctity of his office rendered him immune from violence. Tribunes had been killed in past years of civil unrest, but that was considered very incorrect behavior.
    It was just as crowded in the atrium, but there the great man’s servants regulated the flow of callers so that they entered by ones and twos and small groups to present their petitions and questions and complaints. These servants stood aside as I passed through with Silvius.
    “Tribune Ateius Capito,” Silvius announced grandly, “I present the senator Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger!”
    “Welcome to my house, Senator,” Ateius said, rising with hand extended. I took it and got my first close look at the man. He was lean as a dagger, with a dark, small-featured face dominated by unusually large, intense eyes. As a matter of fact, the whole man was intense. Even standing still, he seemed to vibrate like a plucked lyre string. “You do me great honor.”
    “The honor is mine. I can see how busy you must be.”
    “I am at the disposal of the citizens at all times,” he said. “However, I think they will grant us a few minutes’ leave.” He went to the doorway and held up his hands. “My friends, fellow citizens, I must confer with the