Felix was tipsy but realized he had gone too far. Somehow he had to fix this situation and regain these politicians’ good will. He stared up at the ceiling for some inspiration, where a painting of Venus looked down at him. Venus, the goddess of love, mother of Aeneas and … Aeneas! Of course!
A moment later the crowd was amazed when Felix left his couch and stepped into the centre. He raised his arms, closed his eyes and began to recite from memory:
Arma virumque cano, Troae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Laviniaque venit litora — multum ille et terris iactatus et alto vi superum, saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram, multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem inferretque deos Latio; genus unde Latinum Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae.
Felix would later translate these lines into Common Speak for Carolyn:
I sing of weapons and the man. Fleeing Troy’s coast
he was fated first to reach Italy and the shores of Lavinia,
tossed on sea and land by divine violence,
because savage Juno was ever mindful of her anger.
He also endured the travails of war, until he should found the city
and carry his gods into Latium. From him come the Latin tribe,
the Alban nobles and the defenses of lofty Rome.
Watching Felix, Carolyn didn’t know what to think. Part of her believed he had lost his mind; another part admired him for his courage in confronting a throng of angry Romans; finally, part of her was full of wonder. It wasn’t only that his performance was breathtaking, even though she couldn’t understand a word he had spoken; it was his influence on the guests. They were staring at him in amazement. Whereas a minute earlier, Cicero had been contorted with rage, the orator was smiling and had his eyes shut tight, as if he were listening to his favourite piece of music. Crassus was waving his hand to Felix’s chanting, while Pompey, the battle-hardened general, had tears stealing from his eyes!
Regaining his composure, Felix finished his recital and lowered his arm.
“I hope you accept these lines of verse,” he spoke, “as an apology for my inopportune remarks.”
“How is it,” Cicero finally spoke, “that a native son of Prytan could compose the finest Latin verse I’ve ever heard?”
“The gods are speaking through this boy,” Metellus agreed.
“He has breathed such honey from his lips,” Crassus cried, “that he has more than made up for his earlier poison.”
“Be seated,” Pompey finally spoke, holding his goblet up in Felix’s honour. “Adopted son of Aceticus, never mind your unconventional views. I am honoured that you are here beneath my roof. Tomorrow we shall attend a munus and I shall grant you any wish you desire. And now, back to our feast.”
Bowing low, Felix retreated to the couch. Reclining next to Carolyn, he grabbed her goblet and drained it of its water. Her face was full of questions, so he explained that Romans were crazy about poetry and he had recited a few verses from the greatest poet of them all, Publius Vergilius Maro.
“Of course,” he added with a grin, “his Aeneid won’t appear for fifty years.”
He then said that Pompey had promised to grant him a favour. Assuming the general was heading south with his troops, he would ask his permission to accompany the army as far as Panarium. Although they would have to attend a munus first.
“What’s a munus?”
Instead of answering, Felix helped himself to some chicken. With a sour look he ripped apart the bones and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh.
Chapter Nine
A blast of trumpets split the air and seemed to shake all of Felix’s bones. He was sitting in a front row of the Circus Maximus, the city’s largest venue for mass entertainment, and felt small in a crowd of some thirty thousand people. Everyone was in excellent spirits: the munus would be starting soon and promised to be magnificent. For his part, he felt sick to his stomach.
Not that the morning hadn’t had its moments. After breakfast, he and Carolyn had joined Pompey on a stroll through the city. For several hours they had toured numerous districts, being careful not to approach a line of chalk-white markers. When Carolyn had asked why Pompey was avoiding this boundary, Felix had told her it was something called the Pomerium and marked the original outline of Rome: once a general crossed it, he would be stripped of his office.
They had taken in a multitude of sights from a distance. These had included a host of temples, shops, public buildings, and, visible on the Capitoline, the Tarpeian Rock: it was from here that criminals were thrown to their deaths. After lunch in a taberna, they had walked along the Via Tuscus, past the Forum Boarium (or cattle market), and into the vast circus itself, where they’d been sitting for the last half hour.
It would have been glorious had they not been faced with a munus.
Another clarion call erupted, this one more piercing than the first. When its final note died, Pompey climbed to his feet and waved regally to the crowd around him. Nearby spectators yelled his name, then the people beside them picked up the cry, and so the roar spread from tier to tier, until the entire building quaked with shouts of “Pompey! Pompey!” He was nodding, waving, and perspiring slightly — and clearly enjoying this thunderous applause. And why not, Felix thought. Wasn’t he footing the bill for this show, to express his thanks for his triumphs in Spain?
“Pompey! Imperator!” the mob kept yelling, and Pompey grinned at this title of acclaim. Imperator, conqueror, the title pleased him greatly. But even as he stood there, vigorous and full of life, Felix couldn’t help but shudder. In contrast to this triumph, the hero would die a lonely death years later, stabbed in the back and swiftly beheaded.…
“If they’re happy now,” he commented, “just wait until the show begins.”
“I’m sure it will be impressive,” Felix said, suppressing his knowledge of the general’s fate. “But can I remind you of your promise at dinner last night?”
The general laughed. “That depends on what I promised.”
“You said you would reward me.”
“I remember,” he nodded, with a serious expression. “What would you like?”
“We would like to join you when you march south with your troops.”
“You could ask for gold,” Pompey said. “but prefer to visit a war zone?” He laughed again.
“I have my reasons. Anyway, that is what I wish.”
Saying he would mull it over, the general chatted with Crassus, who was sitting one seat over. Felix told Carolyn that he had asked Pompey his favour.
“Good. This place is maddening,” she growled. “No one has undergone ERR and the crowd seems unstable and capable of anything.”
“You’re not used to humans in their natural state.”
“… And then there are the temples you keep pointing out, not to mention statues of their so-called gods. These people rule the world and should have faith in their reason; instead they’re hysterical and superstitious.” She shuddered with contempt.
“That’s because life is uncertain — they could die of disease or war or famine. Their faith in gods allows them to think the world is stable and their lives are worth living.”
“But it’s so … ridiculous. I’ll bet these people rob for their gods, kill for them, and take slaves for them. I haven’t studied history like you, but I know about the wars in the twenty-first century, and how they erupted because of religion.…”
“Religion