Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(38)

The timekeeper called the dinner hour. The revelers started to drift home. Marcus pulled aside one man who appeared sober. “What are these rituals?”

“A new festival called a lectisternium. The keepers of the Sibylline Books have proclaimed it. It’s to appease the six gods who are believed to have sent the plague and inclement weather. There’s been a week of devotions. This is the eighth and last day. A banquet has been offered to the gods each afternoon.”

“I thought we were in famine.”

The man grinned. “No longer. Supplies arrived from the south. And rain has been falling steadily ever since the holiday began. Our cisterns are replenished. Our fields will be fertile again.”

“So the rites are not in expiation for Lake Albanus?”

His smile faded. “We still await the delegation from Delphi.”

The man moved on. Marcus turned toward his home on the Palatine, but a hand clasped his elbow. He swung around. Icilius Calvus stood before him.

“Marcus Aemilius. What brings you to Rome before the end of the year?”

Marcus shrugged him away. He had little time for the plebeian with the spear-straight back and dour manner. “Furius Camillus ordered me to return.” He could see Calvus waiting for further explanation, but he denied him an account. Awkward seconds passed.

The plebeian scowled. “Spare me your patrician arrogance.” He gestured around him. “Proclaiming another holiday might please some of my fellow Romans, but I know the true motivation for this lectisternium. And it’s only in part to placate the gods.”

Marcus frowned. “Why is that?”

“The Senate claims our city has suffered plague and famine because five plebeians were elected as consular generals instead of patricians. The scaremongering is gaining credence. The lectisternium provides an opportunity to pander to the populace with feasting. There’s also been a decree that bondsmen are now unencumbered of their debts.”

Marcus had heard the complaint about plebeians commanding Rome’s armies before. He focused instead on the man’s last sentence. “Those in bondage have been freed? I thought you’d be pleased to see veterans enfranchised again.”

The grooves around Calvus’s mouth settled into grim lines, etched from long years of disapproval. “True, such men regain the citizenship they forfeited. But they’ll undoubtedly vote in favor of those who granted them liberty. Six patricians will once again lead Rome.”

Marcus was stunned at his cynicism. “I never thought you’d complain that a common soldier could vote.”

“The war tax hasn’t been lifted. Warrior-farmers still fight all year round. How long do you think it will be before such men fall into debt again? It’s the right to keep the spoils they need. And a share of conquered land.”

Marcus shook his head at the well-worn grievance. “Booty needs to go to the treasury for the benefit of all.”

“Is that what Camillus tells you? He was the only noble elected last year. Many believed he would reward his troops. Instead he denied them Faliscan plunder. And he deprived Rome of grain. I’m standing for the position of consular general again. I will not give up my fight for the rights of common soldiers.”

Marcus’s impatience changed to irritation. “Look around you. The people are happy. Do you want to incite them to mutiny again? To ensure our State is riven by internal conflict instead of standing as one against our enemies?”

Calvus leaned close, each word deliberate. “I want to see the Senate filled with plebeians. I want to see one elected as consul in the future. So tell your father that if no commoner is chosen as a consular general, there will be ructions. Buying a poor man’s favor can only last so long. Discontent will also return unless the omen is solved. If not, the aristocracy’s status as intermediaries to the gods may fall into question.”

Marcus stepped back, scanning the plebeian’s fine woolen toga. Calvus was as rich as any patrician. His concern for paupers was laughable. Not prepared to respond, Marcus nodded curtly, then turned on his heel. Nevertheless, as he pushed his way through the crowd toward his home, he thought of Artile waiting outside the city. Calvus was skeptical about the words of highborn augurs. What would he think about an Etruscan seer? Marcus swallowed hard. What would his father?



The inner and outer doors of every house Marcus passed on his street were thrown open. Garlands festooned the foyers. Inside he spied people milling around and helping themselves to food piled on tables. He was astounded. It was as if Rome had gone mad with generosity and good will. The rich of the Palatine were sparing no expense. Calvus’s words echoed in Marcus’s mind. Perhaps there was some weight to his claim the patricians were trying to garner votes through largesse.

The thick wooden portals of the House of Aemilius were closed. Marcus paused for a moment, pleased to be home but wondering why his father was not following the new custom. He banged the door clapper. A young porter he’d not met opened it.

“Come back in an hour; Lord Aemilius will offer refreshments then.”

Disconcerted he was not recognized in his own home, Marcus shoved past him, calling for the majordomo. The retainer bustled into view, cuffing the slave boy over the head for his mistake.

“It’s good to see you home, master. Let me take your toga. Your father is in his study with his guests.”