and was going to make sure that Caepio's accusation didn't go any further, his relief and gratitude were pathetic, and repulsive. He fawned on me and I felt a certain thrill as I realised the depth of his terror and savoured the knowledge that he had confessed himself in every way my inferior. He hugged me with gratitude.
"How could he do such a thing to me?" he said again and again. "I've never even met him, except at a party."
"One of Maecenas' parties?" I asked.
It wasn't, however, only there that Marcellus had encountered the conspirators. This I learned from my second source.
One day while I was preparing the case against Caepio I received a message which puzzled me. Its substance was that its author had information relating to the case which he could only give me in person; however, he was reluctant to approach me openly. Now of course such messages are common in such circumstances, and my first inclination was to ignore it: if a man is frightened to give information openly, it is likely that he is untrustworthy and his evidence tainted. Yet I had an instinct that it might be otherwise on this occasion. I therefore consented to a secret meeting.
This took place, by night, in the back room of a low tavern in the maze of little streets between the Campus Martius and the river. Following instructions, I presented myself there heavily cloaked. The tavern was clearly a disreputable place, frequented by the scum of the city, prostitutes of both sexes and their panders. I was indeed glad that my face was concealed, and for a moment I wondered if I had been foolish to go there. However, I gave the password to the proprietor and was shown into the back room as arranged.
There was a man lying on a couch with a curly-headed boy sitting on his lap. Neither moved when I entered and I thought I had been deceived and was ready to burst out angrily. Then the man sat up, pushing the boy off.
"Time's up, darling," he said. "Fetch us wine."
He unfolded himself and rose to his feet.
"You're earlier than I expected, my lord," he said.
"I'm punctual."
"Oh dear, you are stiff."
He spoke with a lisp; a Greek a few years older than myself with scented ringleted hair and an effeminate manner. He was sweating, and smoothed his tunic and then busied himself sitting me at the table. The boy brought in some wine and departed with a saucy look over his shoulder. I felt a little sick.
"My name's Timotheus," the man said. "I do a lot of work for the Princeps, though you won't have heard of me, and I have a problem which I would like to discuss with you. It concerns the case with which you are occupied."
He smirked and wriggled his shoulders.
"I asked you here because I wanted to keep things dark. I'm in a quandary. I'm the Princeps' own agent and the information I have is such as I frankly don't dare to give him. Do you begin to see?"
"No, I don't. Perhaps you should begin at the beginning and stop talking in riddles."
"Riddles are often all it's safe to talk in these days."
"Listen," I said, "I am prosecuting in the case you refer to. If you have information then I can compel you — painfully — to divulge it."
He sipped his wine and pushed the jug across the table to me. I was surprised to see that I had already drunk my first cup. It was a sweet wine with a touch of resin, the sort of thing Greeks prefer.
"That wouldn't be wise," he said. "The Princeps would like that even less. He wouldn't want it to be known he employs types like me. Besides, I must tell you, if only to secure my position, that we began our connection in circumstances he wouldn't want to be recalled. Frankly, my dear, I know too much. So why don't you come off your high horse, and listen like a good boy? I'll begin at the beginning as you suggest."
His manner disgusted me. I longed to have him whipped; and yet I was curious. I raised my cup to my lips and nodded.
He told his story in an affected manner, with many digressions. But its essence was simple. He
"How could he do such a thing to me?" he said again and again. "I've never even met him, except at a party."
"One of Maecenas' parties?" I asked.
It wasn't, however, only there that Marcellus had encountered the conspirators. This I learned from my second source.
One day while I was preparing the case against Caepio I received a message which puzzled me. Its substance was that its author had information relating to the case which he could only give me in person; however, he was reluctant to approach me openly. Now of course such messages are common in such circumstances, and my first inclination was to ignore it: if a man is frightened to give information openly, it is likely that he is untrustworthy and his evidence tainted. Yet I had an instinct that it might be otherwise on this occasion. I therefore consented to a secret meeting.
This took place, by night, in the back room of a low tavern in the maze of little streets between the Campus Martius and the river. Following instructions, I presented myself there heavily cloaked. The tavern was clearly a disreputable place, frequented by the scum of the city, prostitutes of both sexes and their panders. I was indeed glad that my face was concealed, and for a moment I wondered if I had been foolish to go there. However, I gave the password to the proprietor and was shown into the back room as arranged.
There was a man lying on a couch with a curly-headed boy sitting on his lap. Neither moved when I entered and I thought I had been deceived and was ready to burst out angrily. Then the man sat up, pushing the boy off.
"Time's up, darling," he said. "Fetch us wine."
He unfolded himself and rose to his feet.
"You're earlier than I expected, my lord," he said.
"I'm punctual."
"Oh dear, you are stiff."
He spoke with a lisp; a Greek a few years older than myself with scented ringleted hair and an effeminate manner. He was sweating, and smoothed his tunic and then busied himself sitting me at the table. The boy brought in some wine and departed with a saucy look over his shoulder. I felt a little sick.
"My name's Timotheus," the man said. "I do a lot of work for the Princeps, though you won't have heard of me, and I have a problem which I would like to discuss with you. It concerns the case with which you are occupied."
He smirked and wriggled his shoulders.
"I asked you here because I wanted to keep things dark. I'm in a quandary. I'm the Princeps' own agent and the information I have is such as I frankly don't dare to give him. Do you begin to see?"
"No, I don't. Perhaps you should begin at the beginning and stop talking in riddles."
"Riddles are often all it's safe to talk in these days."
"Listen," I said, "I am prosecuting in the case you refer to. If you have information then I can compel you — painfully — to divulge it."
He sipped his wine and pushed the jug across the table to me. I was surprised to see that I had already drunk my first cup. It was a sweet wine with a touch of resin, the sort of thing Greeks prefer.
"That wouldn't be wise," he said. "The Princeps would like that even less. He wouldn't want it to be known he employs types like me. Besides, I must tell you, if only to secure my position, that we began our connection in circumstances he wouldn't want to be recalled. Frankly, my dear, I know too much. So why don't you come off your high horse, and listen like a good boy? I'll begin at the beginning as you suggest."
His manner disgusted me. I longed to have him whipped; and yet I was curious. I raised my cup to my lips and nodded.
He told his story in an affected manner, with many digressions. But its essence was simple. He
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