Rome

It was on one of the last hot days of summer that I arrived in Rome. Sweat trickled down my face in beads as I steered my horse through the heavy-laden streets of the Capital. Throngs of people – more people than I had ever seen in my life – ran errands on foot or horseback, carried on litters or in groups, pushing through the crowds. Men, women, youths, and ratty children filled the road; legionnaires and citizens pushed past slaves who nimbly stepped aside, all seemingly unbothered by the sweltering evening heat. The clamour of it all made me feel slightly giddy, excited by my new prospects; I felt nervous, but more so enthralled by the possibilities of what the next year of my life might entail.

Behind all the chaos was the sound of the lifeblood of the city, the endless pour of water brought in on dozens of aqueducts. I had ridden past one of the great dams yesterday, water falling through its great wheels to generate that mystic energy, that electricity that powered the whole republic, the discovery of which had saved the Republic two-hundred years ago. A mystery to me, as it was a mystery to almost all Romans, but the truth all the same.

As I moved further up the street it became slowly less crowded and thinner until I reached the gate where I knew to turn off. It looked just as my uncle had described it in the letter that he had sent to me. The gate was tall and made of thick stone columns, our family name emblazoned on the right side. A guard stood by the gate, seemingly relaxed, but he stopped me as soon as I swung my horse round to go through.

The guard stepped in front of me, “Halt!”

“Ave! It’s Aulus Calpurnius, the senator’s nephew.”

For a moment I thought he would ask for my documentation, and I started to reach into my saddlebags but instead the guard grinned at me and pointed me on through the gate. He said, “He’ll be pleased to see you sir, he’s been looking forward to it for months.”

Emboldened, I pushed on through, up the hill towards my uncle’s house. It was oddly positioned, on the outskirts of the city, away from the true hustle and bustle. The house, or villa as I should call it, was gorgeous in the evening night. The walls were decorated with ochre-red frescoes, though I could not pick out the details from this distance. There was a small patio I could see, lit by a ring of yellow electric lights, and surrounded by pillars, covered up with ivy leaves. Beneath it was a dense garden, lush despite the season. The whole place felt filled with the mystic summer glow of day bleeding slowly into night. As I climbed up the cobbles, a slave ran down to take the reins and lead my horse over to the stables. I stepped down onto the ground and stretched my tired legs. Here I was, in the Capital, at my uncle’s villa; my week-long journey was complete.

As I made my way up to the house, ascending a staircase made of chiselled sandstone, I glimpsed my uncle coming out of the house and waiting for me. He was a tall man, thin and gaunt, with a crown of thin grey hair. He was dressed in a toga, and I envied the comfort it must have afforded him in the heart. As I came up the top step, I could hear him murmuring some instruction to one of his slaves, before he caught my eye.

“Aulus, my boy!” he said, grasping my hand and pulling me into a hug, “It’s been too long since I last saw you. I hope your journey was pleasant?”

I said it was and let out a laugh. It was good to see him again after so many years.

“You must be starving though, let’s go eat.”

I was desperately hungry and glad that there was a meal ready. We moved onto the patio and my uncle directed me to a low bench. I sank into the seat, and finally relaxed. A slave came around and began placing delicate plates of cheese, bread, and fruit on the low table between us.

My uncle asked, “When do you start at the College?”

“Four days from now. I’ve got a bit of time to settle in before the term starts.”

“You should watch out for yourself carefully at the College, it’s a dangerous place.”

“What do you mean?”

The College was why I had come to Rome. It had been my uncle’s idea originally, but my father had encouraged me to go too. The College was the most prestigious university in the republic, where most of the senators, including my uncle, had been educated. A year of study in politics, war, and literature awaited me.

He said, “You did well to get in. It’s competitive. Remember who else will be there, though. The sons of generals, politicians, even some merchants, and of course a few Hydrologists two, or their children. Not all these people love me, and they’ll know who you are. If I give you one piece of advice, watch out for Servius Cassian. He’s not the only one there to beware of but I’d tread carefully if I were you. His father is a senator, and no friend of mine. If Servius is anything like his old man, he’ll betray you over nothing and give it less thought than what he’ll have for breakfast tomorrow.”

I nodded. I had figured some sort of lecture like this would be coming.

My uncle picked some bread off the table with his sinewy fingers before continuing, “This is a bad time for you to come to the city. I don’t know things have been this bad since just before the Civil Wars, and that was more than two-hundred years ago.”

So it was that bad. I had read about the Civil Wars, where a general and senator had tried to seize control of the republic, tear down Roman democracy and make himself emperor. Narrowly, it had been defeated, and democracy had survived. It was under the enlightened leadership of the Senate that the republic had flourished, its borders secured, and new technologies developed. Electricity and the great dams and waterworks that powered it. Hydrological facilities too large for anyone but the Hydrologists to understand, let alone manage. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Servius’ father, Gaius Cassian, he’s been an enemy of mine for many years. He’s close with the Hydrologists, and I don’t trust the man an inch. All the way to the top he’s stabbed his friends. He’s greedy and hungry for power, more than almost anyone else. You should see the villa he owns, and the parties he throws at Baiae. I’ve heard the most disgraceful things about those.” With the last comment, my uncle gave a shrug, as if I already knew the exact rumours he was alluding to. He continued, “Anyway, I think Gaius is making a play to seize control of the Senate. He’s never been too fond of the right procedure in the Senate either. I don’t like to think what he might do if he were made consul, or dictator even. He’s become steadily closer with the Hydrologists, and I’d be a fool not to recognise that for what it is.”

“What do you mean about the Hydrologists?”

“Well, they’re the real powerbrokers here, of course. Not us Senators. Because they control all the waterworks, if the Hydrologists wanted to, they control the city, the Republic. They’ve got half the Senate, including that bastard Cassian, right under their thumbs. Some of us want to try to wrest some influence away from them, have the waterworks under the Senate’s control, but at the moment things just seem to be getting worse and worse. If we’re not careful, those technocrats will run everything in the Republic.”

I nodded. None of this held much meaning for me, being from the countryside up north and well away from the disputes of the capital. I had long been slightly nervous about the College, though, however much I had denied it to my father, and my uncle in letters, and knowing that it would be full of hostile figments who knew my name, and lineage, but of whom I knew only the barest sketches, did not fill me with great confidence. I said, “Who can I trust at the College, then?”

My uncle’s thin shoulder’s shrugged, “No-one, save family, has been my rule, and it’s served me well.”

For the rest of the meal, we returned to more familiar topics. I told him about the situation on my father’s estates in the north, the quality of the harvest, how the new irrigation brought in from the waterworks had increased yields twofold in some places. My uncle seemed very pleased to hear all this. Soon, a pitcher of wine was brought round, and my uncle quizzed me on various other subjects of my education and my life on the estate.

While we were engrossed in this discussion, my aunt appeared, gracefully coming around from the stairs and putting her hand on my uncle’s bony shoulder. She was some ten years younger than my uncle, and while he was aged but formidable in appearance, all stern lines and grim wrinkles, she was warm and with a glow of good health about her. She wore an almost diaphanous summery dress, complete with a plunging neckline from which I quickly averted my eyes. She fixed me with a stare, “Aulus! Well, after all these years! You’ve grown tall, and strong too by the looks.”

I grinned and recounted some of my experiences of the estate up north, answering almost the exact same questions my uncle had already asked me. He put his arm around my aunt and asked her, “And what have you been up to today, darling?”

She affected a pout, “I’ve been down to the see the chariot drivers. You know, with the race coming up in a few weeks.”

“For the Festival of Fortuna, you mean? When did you get interested in chariot racing, you never used to like it?”

“Just now, I did! They’re the most remarkable young men, some of these chariot drivers. They have to be very strong, and tall, and handsome too.”

At this, my uncle just laughed.

She said, “I met the most charming man named Gnaeus Horatius there, though. They’re saying he might even win the grand prize.”

My uncle’s easy charm suddenly seemed to tense. “Gnaeus Horatius? I thought his family were Hydrologists for the most part.”

“Well, that’s him.”

“How long has he been a chariot driver?”

My aunt shrugged, “You’d have to ask him that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” My uncle relaxed back onto his bench, but I could still notice a tenseness in the way he sat.

My aunt came round and patted me on the head. She said, “I’m glad you made it here without any trouble, Aulus. Anything you need here, just ask,” and strutted away into the house.

I turned back to my uncle, who was taking another sip of wine from his glass. “I’m sorry for all my serious talk earlier,” he said. “You shouldn’t need to worry yourself too much with the politics here. Once you live in the Capital for long enough, it’s second nature, but it shouldn’t trouble you too much. Focus on your studies and enjoy your time at the College. I know I did back when I was young.”

I nodded and, staring past my uncle into the verdurous garden behind him, I watched the last evening colours fade out of the sky.

---

I had a few days before the term would start at the College, so I had time to explore the Capital. Each day, after a sumptuous breakfast, I wandered down the endless streets of the great city, following their winding paths and taking in the sights. The grand buildings, with their pillars stretching up to the heavens, and adorned with painted statues and bas-reliefs, seeming to dance with life as I walked past. At every turn there was something new, and something beautiful.

The people were what fascinated me the most, though. I lingered in the markets, the forums, indulging myself in not just the sights and sounds of the market – the piles of spices, the meats and fish on display, the hundreds of feet moving in melange – what entranced me the most were the accents, from all over the vast reaches of the Republic. I tried my best to pick out the accents I knew, but most were unknown to me, from far away cities and provinces. The people themselves were fascinating too, all manner of different creeds and sizes.

I was struck too by their poverty. The people up in the north, where my father lived, were comfortable. They lived comfortable lives on the rich land, and their work was made easy by the inventions of the Hydrologists. Here, though, under all the great spires of the city was some current of desperation. Hollow eyes stared out at me, and slaves’ clothes were dirtied by the dust that choked the city air. Even still, I felt in awe of the city’s great power that had brought them all here, to the Capital, where anything could be made of one’s life, where one could rise highly in one’s life. Compared to the lazy, quiet countryside of my father’s estate, Rome was deeply exciting; intense and slightly overwhelming, it was so bursting with life that I too, felt enlivened.

On one of these early days, I found myself at the Curia, in the Forum, waiting for my uncle to show me around. The building was tall, with a row of thick pillars out the front. The bright sun cast deep black shadows under the roofs. There was something slightly ugly about the building’s heavy brickwork, but even still the power it emanated made me shiver slightly. The whole place was fairly empty, as the Senate was not in session, with the exception of a young man making his way along the stairs in easy, looping steps. He was thin and looked vaguely erudite, with a small book held in his left hand. His robes appeared of good quality, but there was something slightly daggy about the way he carried himself, looking around the Forum furtively.

He called out a greeting to me, and I responded in kind. “What are you here for?” I asked him.

“Well I’m just passing through, to tell the truth. I’m going up the hill, to do some writing.” He held up his little leather-bound book, “I sort of fancy myself as a poet, and I find it much easier to write if I go up into the city somewhere, or in a park. I thought I should do some writing today because I won’t have much time once the term starts.”

“Are you at the College?”

“Yes. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”

I said, “It really is. I’m studying there too actually, but I’m from up north in the countryside, so the city’s a big change for me.”

“I can’t imagine. I’ve lived here my whole life. Look, I’ve really got to go, but I’ll see you at the College next week.” He clasped my hand with both hands, and told me his name, “Tullus Romilius.”

“Aulus Calpurnius.”

He grinned, “I’ll see you there,” and lolloped off away from me.

Shortly afterwards, my uncle arrived, bearing a far sterner face than my new acquaintance’s unbothered manner. He didn’t waste a moment to pick up on his favourite subject, the state of the Senate. “This is where we meet,” my uncle said, “or where we should meet, I must say. Too often these days senators meet far away from here, in clandestine.”

I nodded, not wanting to disagree.

“Come with me,” he said.

I followed, and he took me up a set of stairs. He pointed into the hazy distance. There, on the river Tiber I could just make out the great works of the Hydrologists of Rome: the waterwheels turning, the endless locks and dams to suck out every ounce of energy from the river. In places, the wide river appeared to become a trickle, where its flow had been diverted.

My uncle said, “See what power they hold? The Hydrologists could stop it at once if they wanted to. All electricity across the city cut off, no more lighting anywhere. That would be bad enough, but within a week there would be no water in places, the sewers would stop working, the city would riot. Within a month it would be dying of thirst. The city’s too crowded already, and the Hydrologists know it.”

“Who are they, really? The Hydrologists, I mean?”

“Some of them, of course, know how to build and manage the waterworks. We need them now, but only because we allowed them to become so secretive, only allowing in those rare few, and otherwise keeping to themselves. Most of the Hydrologists, though? Families, hangers-on, corrupt and venal and robbing the Republic blind if you ask me. And those fools like Cassian want to let them keep at it.”

I made some sound of agreeance. My uncle’s pessimistic musings on the state of the Senate had been repeated to me many times already in my first short days in the Capital. In my heady love of the city, his fears of imminent collapse seemed hardly realistic, and certainly irrelevant to my youthful joy. Despite my uncle’s gloom, I still eagerly awaited the commencement of my studies at the College.