Deadly Election by Lindsey Davis Read Free Book Online

had read that tract by Quintus Cicero, they would appear good and early. None would have read it personally, but all their advisers would have pored over the thing. Like Faustus, the men behind the other candidates would be crazily searching for ways to success, looking for the magic charm. I remembered when my family was plotting to get my uncles, the Camillus brothers, into the Senate. They were hopeless. We had to do everything.
    People with asthma should avoid men who are running for office. They are called candidates because on formal occasions they wear robes whitened with chalk. The Latin for ‘white’ is
candida.
I found this year’s contenders by following the clouds of white dust and bystanders coughing … I am not entirely joking. But the commotion made by the chalkies’ supporters, together with the hoary jeers they were throwing at each other, helped identify them.
    What a glorious crop. (Now I
am
joking.)
    Vibius Marinus had already set my teeth on edge, even though the respectable Manlius Faustus could be heard assuring onlookers that his friend was a man of grit, integrity and flawless ancestors, who would be a hard-working, honourable magistrate. Vibius smiled graciously. Any swine can do that.
    Trebonius Fulvo and Arulenus Crescens were working a ticket in partnership, and doing so effortlessly. They looked a pair of bullies. Surrounded by bull-necked cronies, one had fistfuls of finger-rings and a lazy eye; the other carried three times his proper weight, rolling through the crowds with a side-to-side sway, like a sailor. I decided on sight that neither had an interest in public service for its own sake; both would use any office for their own advancement. They would pick on people for petty misdemeanours, then take handouts in return for not punishing them. But their campaigning style was so smooth it made me groan. They could talk like fishmongers pushing last Thursday’s rancid octopus. I quickly identified the slick duo as having the morals of the brothel and the habits of the gutter. The electorate love that. These two were the serious opposition for Vibius and Gratus.
    Dillius Surus appeared to have only just crawled out of bed, so I made a note to look into the tousled layabout’s drinking habits. With luck, his late-night antics would involve flute-girls of the good-time kind. Well, any flute-girl would do. Even if she’s virginal, nobody believes it. Needless to say, the crowd were being kind to Dillius. They adore anyone debauched.
    Ennius Verecundus smiled constantly and was supported by his mother. She wore one of those old-fashioned outer tunics with thin straps over the shoulder, and had her hair screwed back so hard it hurt to see. Traditional: she could have whopped the warlike Volscians single-handed. I would have voted for her. I would have been frightened not to.
    And, finally, here came Lucius Salvius Gratus, significantly wealthy brother to Laia Gratiana. Neat and trim; well organised and bumptious. The type my father hates on sight, my mother, too. He had fair hair with pale skin and looked as if he were constantly blushing, though I guessed he was as shameless as the rest. His pale, thin, elegant sister stood loyally beside him, though was too snooty to shout his praise in public. She would work on people in private, not wanting to be mistaken for a loud-mouthed manicurist – as if anyone ever would. Manicurists are lovely girls.
    Famous herself for show-off religious duties at the Temple of Ceres, Laia was expensively dressed, heavily jewelled and naturally blonde. These traits amount to star voter-appeal. If Faustus’s ex-wife helped get his best friend elected − which she would, if people were as daft as I thought − it was not for me to quibble.
    I wanted Faustus to be happy. Which was exactly what Laia Gratiana had probably never cared about, and almost certainly the reason that, as her husband, he had been lured elsewhere.
    Titan’s turds, if I had seen him married