Waki Waltari

The Roman by Mika Waltari

The senior centurion took me, as he had promised, to inspect the men on the cohort rolls who were tradesmen in the city. They were smiths, tanners, weavers and potters, but many had simply used their Roman citizenship, earned by long service, and married into wealthy tradesmen’s families, and acquiring from them privileges which assured themselves an easy life of abundance. Their equipment had rat-gnawed straps, the points of their lances were rusty and their shields had not been polished within living memory. Some of them could not even find their equipment.

At every place they offered us wine and food, even silver pieces. One legionary, who had become a perfume dealer and could not find his shield, tried to push me into a room with a girl. When I remonstrated with him, he said bitterly, “All right, you can turn on the screws then. But we already pay so much to Rubrius for the right to practice a free trade that I at least haven’t many drachmas to put into your purse.”

When I realized what he was saying, I hurriedly assured him that I had certainly not come to exact bribes but just to see, as was my duty, that all the men on the rolls were equipped and took care of their weapons. The perfume dealer calmed down and promised to buy a new shield at the flea market as soon as he had time. He also promised to join in the exercises if I wanted him to, and said that a little physical exercise would do him good, because in his line of business he was always sitting still and he was getting much too fat.

I saw that it would be wisest if I did not look too deeply into Commantler Rubrius’ affairs, especially as his sister was the most important priestess in Rome. The senior centurion and I made out a program which at least appeared to give the men something to do. After inspecting the traditional guard posts, we agreed the guards should be relieved by the sun and the water clock. The guard would no longer be allowed to lie or sit and must be fully equipped. I could not really see what a double guard at the city gates was really guarding, but the centurion said that these places had been guarded for a hundred years and so could not be left without. It would have offended the Corinthians, for it was they who through taxation maintained the Roman garrison in their city.

After a while, I considered I had carried out my tribune’s duties in Corinth as best I could. The legionaries had overcome their initial dislike for me and now greeted me cheerfully. On the Proconsul’s court day, I reported to him in my toga. A Greek clerk went through the cases before-hand and Gallio yawningly ordered his judge’s throne to be carried out to the front of the building.

 

 

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Gallio proved himself to be a mild and fair judge. He asked us our views, joked occasionally, questioned the witnesses carefully himself and postponed every case he thought had not been sufficiently explained by the lawyers’ speeches and the witnesses. He refused to pronounce judg-ment on what he thought were too trivial cases, but demantled that both parties should settle the matter between them or he would line each of them for lack of respect for the court. After the session, he invited me to a good meal and gave me some advice onCorinthian bronzes, which at that time it was fashionable to collect in Home.

When I returned to the inn, despite everything depressed by Gallio’s sober wisdom and the ordinariness of the court, Hierex had a suggestion to make.

“You can undoubtedly afford to live as you like,” he said. “But to live for a whole year in an inn is downright waste. Corinth is a prosperous city. It would be wisest to put your money into a house of your own and let me help to make you comfortable there. If you’ve not enough money here, as a Roman official you would certainly get as much credit as you have the nerve to ask for.”

“Houses always need repairing,” I replied, “and servants are always quarreling. As a house owner I’d have to pay taxes to the city. Why should I give myself all those worries? It’s simpler to move to a cheaper inn if I think they’re fleecing me here.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Hierex; “to look after your worries as best I can. Just give me the authority and I’ll arrange things for the best. The only thing you need do is put your name to a document from the temple of Mercury. Later on you’ll have to return hospitality with hospitality. Think what you’d have to pay at an inn, for instance, when you invite six people to a festive meal with wine. In your own house, I’d do the marketing myself, get wines at wholesale prices and advise your cook. And you wouldn’t have to live like this, when any stranger knows it every time you make water or blow your nose.”

There was a great deal of good sense in his suggestion, and several days later I found myself the owner of quite a large two-story house with a garden. The reception room had a lovely mosaic floor and there were more inner rooms than I needed. I noticed that I also had a cook and a Greek doorkeeper. The house was furnished with comfortable old furniture, so nothing looked new and brash. Even a pair of Greek house-hold gods stood in their niches each side of the altar, greasy and sooty with age, Hierex had also bought some ancestral wax masks at an auction, but I said I did not want someone else’s ancestors.

 

 

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