Pompey replied.
‘I will say I’m a mercenary. I can play the part easily enough. Let me get close to him, Consul. I am your man.’
Pompey considered, objections coming and going in his thoughts. He sighed. Politics was a practical business, after all.
‘It could be years, Regulus. Will you be missed?’
‘No, sir. I am alone.’
‘Then it is my order to you, Regulus. Go with my blessing.’
Regulus struggled to find words. ‘It … it is an honour, sir. I will be close to him if you call. I swear it.’
‘I know you will, Regulus. I will reward you when …’
‘It is not necessary, sir,’ Regulus said quickly, surprising himself. He would not usually have dared to interrupt the consul, but he wanted to give some sign that the trust was well placed. He was gratified when Pompey smiled.
‘If only I had more like you, Regulus. No man is better served than I.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Regulus replied, his chest swelling. He knew he faced years of hard discipline and reduced pay, but it worried him not at all.
Rome was never still, and as dawn came the vast space of the forum had filled with a shifting mass of citizens, constantly changing as currents moved through them. Fathers held children on their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the consuls, just to say they had seen the men who defeated Spartacus and saved the city.
To Julius, the crowd seemed faceless and intimidating. Should he stare into space as he spoke, or fix his gaze on one unfortunate citizen? He wondered if they would even hear him. They were silent for Pompey, but Julius didn’t doubt the consul had salted the crowd with his clients. If they shouted and jeered when Julius followed him, it would be a poor start to his candidacy. He went over and over the speech in his mind, praying he wouldn’t stumble or lose his place. There could be questions when he was finished, perhaps from men in the pay of the consuls. He could be humiliated. Carefully, Julius rested his damp palms on his knees, letting the cloth soak up the sweat that clung to them.
He sat on the raised platform with Crassus and Suetonius’ father without looking at either of them. They were listening attentively as Pompey made a witticism and held up his hands to quiet the laughter. There was no hesitation in him, Julius saw. Pompey’s skill as an orator could be read in the crowd’s reactions. They raised their faces to the consul almost in worship and Julius felt an awful tightness in his gut at the thought of being next to speak.
Pompey’s voice became grave as he recounted his service in the consular year and the crowd spattered applause. The military successes were interspersed with promises of free grain and bread, games and commemorative coins. Crassus stiffened slightly at the last. He wondered where Pompey would find the funds to have his face struck in silver. The worst of it was knowing the bribes were unnecessary. Pompey held the crowd, moving them to laughter and stern pride in moments. It was a masterful performance and when it finished, Julius stood and had to force a smile onto his face as Pompey stepped back and gestured to him. Julius gritted his teeth in annoyance at the outstretched hand, as if he was being brought to the front by a fatherly sponsor.
As they passed, Pompey spoke quietly to him. ‘No shields in cloaks, Julius? I thought you would have something prepared.’
Julius was forced to smile as if the words were some playful comment rather than a barb. Both of them remembered the trial he had won in that forum, where shields depicting scenes from Marius’ life were revealed to the crowd.
Pompey took his seat without another word, appearing calm and interested. Julius stepped close to the rostrum and paused for a moment, looking over the sea of faces. How many had gathered to hear the consuls give their yearly address? Eight thousand, ten? With the rising sun still hidden behind the temples that bordered the great square, the light was grey and cold as his gaze swept over them. Julius took a deep breath, willing his voice to be steady and strong from the first. It was important that they hear every word.
‘My name is Gaius Julius Caesar, nephew of Marius, who was consul seven times in Rome. I have written my name in the senate house for the same post. I do it not for the memory of that man, but to continue his work. Do you want to hear me make promises of coins and bread to be handed to you? You are not children to be offered pretty things for your loyalty. A good father does not spoil the child with gifts.’
Julius paused and began to relax. Every eye in the forum was on him and he felt the first touch of confidence since ascending the platform.
‘I have known those who break their backs growing wheat for your bread. There are no fortunes in feeding others, but they have pride and they are men. I have known many who fought without complaint for this city. You will see them sometimes on the streets, missing eyes or limbs, passed by the crowds as we look aside, forgetting we can laugh and love only because those soldiers gave so much.
‘We have grown this city on the blood and sweat of those who have gone before, but there is still much to do. Did you hear Consul Crassus talk of soldiers to make the streets safe? I give my men to you without regret, but when I take them away to find new lands and riches for Rome, who will keep you safe then, if not yourselves?’
The crowd shifted restlessly and Julius hesitated for a moment. He could see the idea in his head, but he strained for a way to make them understand.
‘Aristotle said a statesman is anxious to produce a certain moral character in his citizens, a disposition to virtue. I look for it in you and it is there, ready to be called forth. You are the ones who took to the walls to defend Rome from the slave rebellion. You did not hide from your duty then and you will not now, when I ask it of you.’ He went on, louder than before. ‘I will set aside funds for any man without work if he cleans the streets and keeps the gangs from terrorizing the weakest of us. Where is the glory of Rome if we live in fear at night? How many of you bar your doors and wait behind them for the first scratching of the murderer or the thief?’
Silently, he thanked Alexandria for what she had told him and saw from the nodding heads that he had struck a chord with many of the crowd.
‘Consul Crassus has appointed me aedile, which means I am the one to whom you should complain if there is crime or disorder in the city. Come to me if you are wrongly accused and I will hear your case and defend you myself if I cannot find representation for you. My time and strength are yours now, if you want it. My clients and my men will make the streets safe and I will make the law fair for all. If I am consul, I will be the flood that clears Rome of the filth of centuries, but not alone. I will not give you a better city. Together, we will make her new.’
He felt a giddy joy in him as they responded. This was what it was like to be touched by gods. His chest swelled as his voice poured over the crowd and they strove to meet his eye.
‘Where is the wealth our legions have brought back to the city? In this forum alone? It is not enough, I think. If I am made consul, I will not shy from the smaller things. The roads are blocked by traffic so that trade is stifled. I will make them move by night and silence the endless shouting of the ox-drivers.’ They chuckled at that and Julius smiled back at them. His people.
‘Do you think I should not? Should I use my time to build another fine building you will never use?’
Someone shouted ‘No!’ and Julius grinned at the lone voice, enjoying the ripple of laughter that spread through them.
‘To that man who shouted, I say yes! We should build great soaring temples and bridges and aqueducts for clean water. If a foreign king comes to Rome, I want him to know we are blessed in all things. I want him to look up – but not tread in anything horrible when he does.’
Julius waited for the laughter