Deadly Election by Lindsey Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

to Laia, I would have lured him myself, as an act of religious duty.
    Each candidate was called a
petitor
, because he was petitioning voters, so his opponents were his
com
petitors. Latin is a pleasingly constructed language. (I speak with British irony: imagine how it felt to come from stealing crusts on the unmade streets of Londinium to having the passive periphrastic, otherwise called the gerundive of obligation, explained to you, even by a patient woman. Helena was lucky I was bright.)
    I
was lucky. I know the exact moment when a stolen crust becomes too mouldy to eat. If you are starving, that is much more useful than the four conjugations of verbs. Latin is the argot of despots, intended to confuse people
. Domitianus adoranda est.
The tyrant must be worshipped. Our master and god. Well, yours maybe. Some of us have taste.
    I digress. Is this a tiresome Roman habit, or delightful British naïveté? Either way, I have it.
    In the manner of my mother, I will now patiently explain elections, otherwise called an obligation of democracy. (Helena Justina explains things satirically.)
    In Rome, when such things as elections were allowed, competitors paraded before their fellow-citizens for several weeks beforehand. Wearing their whitened togas, they were attended by tribes of supporters, whom they were not allowed to hire in. Back then, candidates had to persuade the entire public to vote for them, which included going to towns and villages outside Rome. Now candidates only had to make themselves look popular enough to impress senators.
    Supporters would be of their own status, or higher if possible, although candidates were also followed around by poor citizens; this was supposedly because the poor had no other way to show their feelings. Those of the poor who bothered to turn up had two ways to make their support known: force of numbers and rioting. Everyone was having a rest from rioting today. It was too hot.
    I was listening intently for any insults thrown by members of the crowd, hoping to discover usable sleaze. People were too exhausted for that too.
    There would be scandals, and I would find them. I was a good informer. I stayed confident.
    The candidates’ campaign process was called ‘going about’. They had to be continually on show, endlessly pleading for support. This was tiring for them and a bore for everybody else.
    I watched the men taking their walks through the Forum. Each was accompanied by a helper, who told him the names of those they met. This was done openly, yet to be addressed familiarly was always taken as a compliment. The Roman public was pitifully easy to please. The candidate’s false intimacy was sealed with a handshake. I never managed to spot money being passed over. It was illegal. That never stopped it.
    Of course money was paid for support. To keep it secret and avoid legal penalties, agents were employed. They made their bargains in street-corner bars, then stakeholders kept the money until payment fell due. Laws against bribery were numerous – a testament to how prevalent it was.
    Candidates had to deposit a sum of money before they started, which they would forfeit if they were convicted of corruption. That was a joke, though even the mildest competitor would not shrink from taking his opponents to court. Sextus Vibius had been right to complain that some informers made an income from litigation. Going to court over something or other was a regular sideshow, almost a duty; Vibius would expect to prosecute rivals soon, if Faustus had proper control of their campaign. I might find evidence for them. It was usually a farce and came to nothing. All the judges had been candidates for office themselves, so tried not to let anyone be disgraced.
    If a candidate used violence, he could be exiled. That never happened. Black eyes and split lips were everywhere this morning, but those could be merely the after-effects of banquets.
    I did wonder whether the man found in the auction chest had