The Tribune's Curse by John Maddox Roberts Page A

of the City! He’s the only one with authority over this sort of thing.”
    Cicero came up to us. “At least Caesar would be able to control this crowd,” he said. “They’re like stunned cattle now, but in a few moments they’ll come halfway to their senses, and there will be a riot such as we’ve never seen before! They are terrified!”
    “There’s one they’ll listen to,” I said. “Wait here.”
    I went over to the huddle of Vestals. The
virgo maxima
was an aged aunt of mine, and the most revered person in Rome. The priests and augurs were mostly politicians, and viewed as such except when conducting rituals, but the Vestals were the embodiment of Rome itself.
    “Auntie, dear,” I said, “you had better speak to this crowd, or they will tear the City apart. Assure them that this curse will not fall upon them.”
    “I can assure them of no such thing,” she said. “But I will do what I can.”
    She strode to the center of the plaza, awesome, but serene, in her dazzling white robe. A jerky, spastic muttering had broken out among the crowd, but it stilled when she went to stand by the consuls.
    “Romans!” she called out. “Our ancient and sacred City isunclean. I forbid all work, all celebration, all activities save those for the maintenance of life. There will be no sacrifices, no funerals, no manumission of slaves, no courts, no official business of any sort.” She turned to Crassus. “Marcus Licinius Crassus, leave the City of Rome instantly, and bear your curse with you. Go forth to take up
imperium
over your province and accomplish whatever mischief is in your heart, but leave.”
    Crassus wore the most frightful expression, compounded of rage and terror, his teeth grinding audibly. “That tribune has robbed me!” he finally choked out. “Today was to be glorious!”
    “Go!” she said coldly.
    “I do not care!” he screamed at the multitude. “He has taken my setting forth, but I will return in glory, and then I will kill him and all his friends!” He whirled and stalked out beneath the gate, where a small party of horsemen awaited. A great, collective sigh escaped the crowd.
    “Consul,” the
virgo maxima
said to Pompey, loud enough for all to hear, “I instruct you to convene a full meeting of the Senate, to include all the priestly colleges. We must devise a way to avert the wrath of the gods. This is a religious matter, so the convocation escapes my ban on secular business.”
    “You have heard the august lady,” Pompey called. “All senators and priests: to the
curia now!
All other citizens, foreigners, and slaves, go to your homes and allow the duly constituted authorities to deal with this matter. I dismiss you!”
    Slowly, frightened still but no longer panicky, the crowd began to break up. The situation was in competent hands. People believed in Pompey, and everyone revered the Vestals.
    We all began to trail back the way we had come, but I looked back over my shoulder and saw the dwindling figure of Crassus riding amid his escort, framed by the Capena Gate. It was the last I ever saw of Marcus Licinius Crassus. Within eighteen monthshe would be dead along with most of his army in one of the greatest military disasters of Roman history. That was one powerful curse.
     
    T HE
CURIA
WAS PACKED, WHAT with so many more senators than usual being in town. It was also noisy. We usually adhered to a grave, dignified demeanor when the commons were watching, but we carried on like supporters of rival factions in the Circus when we assembled in one of the meetinghouses. The Curia Hostilia was the most venerable of these, and it was right in the Forum. The new meetinghouse attached to Pompey’s Theater was far more spacious, but it was a long walk out over the Campus Martius, and it was usually used only in summer, when the heat made the old
curia
stifling.
    When Pompey made a point of summoning the priests, that had been mostly a gesture to reassure the people, since most of the