Aemilius was as withering as Scipio. “Genucius has always been in Camillus’s pocket. He was a toady when he was a people’s tribune. And he’s still a toady. He should have more pride. He leads a regiment of the Legion of the Wolf. He drew the lot to lead at Veii. I would never have handed over such a prize command.”
“Perhaps Genucius thinks Rome would be better served if the best commander is in charge instead of six with different strategies. Veii has always had the advantage of having one leader.”
Medullinus sat upright, unable to contain his contempt. “Oh, so now we come to the nub of the matter. Is that why Camillus sent you? Is he angling to be appointed dictator?”
Marcus checked himself. He did not want to disclose his superior’s reasons. “General Camillus has given me no such direction.”
The atmosphere in the room was tense. Aemilius picked up a goblet, dipping it into the krater mixing bowl on the table. “I think we all need another drink.” He bent close to Marcus’s ear as he handed him the cup. “Have some wine and calm down.”
Marcus drained the chalice, annoyed his father wanted to curb him. “I met Icilius Calvus on my way here,” he continued. “He claims this lectisternium ritual is a sop to the people. He threatened to stir up trouble again if there are no plebeians elected next time.”
Scipio clucked. “He’s sacrilegious. The gods are displeased at high office being vulgarized. Only patricians have the skills to conduct the official auspices. We interpreted the Sibylline Books to find the answer for the correct expiation rites. And we were right. Once the lectisternium started, rain fell and supplies reached us. Clearly the gods were punishing Romans for their foolishness in electing commoners in the first place.”
“I can’t believe Calvus still wants the classes at each other’s throats, even though bondsmen have been given their liberty and the right to vote again,” said Aemilius.
“Icilius Calvus is dangerous,” said Medullinus. “He calls himself a patriot but the Icilian family has long subverted the State.”
“The way to counter him and other hostile plebeian politicians is to ensure the most eminent candidates stand,” said Scipio. “Citizens want generals who are experienced in leading the Legions of the Boar and the Wolf.” He raised his cup to his fellow senators. “To you, my friends. I’m glad we’re allies. May we all be successful in the December elections.”
Medullinus rose after responding to the toast. “I must leave. I have clients waiting to be entertained.” Scipio nodded, also rising. “I must not forget my obligations either.”
Marcus watched the men as they grasped each other’s forearms in farewell. A tight clique. No doubt there were other such meetings occurring in rich men’s homes across the city. And, as he bid good night to the senators, he could not help wondering whether it would be wise for him to be as suspicious as Icilius Calvus.
SIXTEEN
Marcus’s palms were sweaty as he retrieved Camillus’s letter from his toga. It was time to broach the subject of Artile with his father.
The head of the house appeared fatigued. Marcus noticed how much grayer Aemilius’s hair had become since Mother had died. For the first time, he thought his father might be too old to be a general. The responsibility of being a prefect of a city where unrest simmered must be heavy.
He handed Aemilius the scroll sealed with the Furian crest. “This contains the true reason why General Camillus has sent me. He’s charged me to present his case. He wants you to arrange a special sitting of the Senate, as they are not due to convene until the Ides.”
His father frowned as he read the missive. His face was ashen by the time he’d finished. “Has he gone mad? Why would we listen to a charlatan? A traitor! The brother of the newly elected Veientane king! I know you’re enamored of Furius Camillus, son. But I can see why he’s sent you to be the laughing stock of Rome instead of himself.”
“You are wrong to mock him. Wrong to mock me, Father. I don’t trust this priest but his skill as a seer is renowned. I saw him consult Apollo with my own eyes. He has told us how to placate the gods of Latium. We don’t need to wait until the delegation returns from Delphi. Camillus wants to see the expiation rites completed as soon as possible. That’s why he’s asking that his term as consular general be extended. He wants to personally put the precondition for Veii’s destruction into effect.”
Aemilius was scornful. “Such a request is unprecedented. What Camillus really wants is to be declared dictator with supreme power. But such an appointment is only made if there’s an emergency. And that’s not the case, even though Rome is threatened by enemies on three points of the compass. Besides, Camillus’s youngest brother, Spurius, and his colleagues will return from Delphi soon. They’re expected back before winter. Then the newly appointed consular generals can follow the oracle’s directions.” He scowled. “What this city really needs is to ensure no plebeians are elected again.”
“We need to look beyond such squabbles.”
Aemilius crossed his arms. “And you would do well to heed me. I’m old enough to have seen too many changes in Rome. I’ve watched patrician power being eroded like rust eating at iron. Our divine blood has been polluted by intermarriage. Caecilia is an example of that. There were no people’s tribunes when I was born. Now they hold this city to ransom by vetoing the levying of troops if they’re dissatisfied with our proposals. The rot needs to stop. Nobility must again take control.”
Marcus felt like tearing his hair. “We have a chance to conquer Veii, Father! Let’s focus on defeating our enemies, not our fellow citizens. We should strike before Mastarna rallies his forces again.”
Aemilius leaned back, speaking slowly as though Marcus were a child. It was a familiar lecture—one of expectations and ambition. “You’re of an age to set foot onto the Honored Way. I want to see you elected as a city magistrate, a treasurer, and a judge. One day you may even be consul when that office is restored. Certainly, I expect you to be chosen as a consular general.”
Marcus sensed his feet being shoved into his father’s shoes and the white toga of a magisterial candidate being draped around him. “Camillus thinks I should stand for election as a military tribune first. He’s prepared to back me. I want to serve in the army, not be stuck in an office worrying about sanitation, grain supplies, and roads.”
His father was irritated at the Furian giving career advice to his son. “You’ve already gained prestige as a warrior. It’s time to become a junior magistrate. Aligning with Camillus is risky. He’s a maverick. Even his brother Medullinus views him warily. Your kin, clan, and our friends are more important. It will be Aemilian money and connections that get you elected.”
“Medullinus is jealous of his brother.”
“He’s an eminent politician and soldier.”
“So is the general.”