If You Can Keep It
A Short Fantasy Novel
Chapter I
It was late morning when Regus strode through the door with a smile on his face. His wife, Catalina, was on his arm. Catus watched them as they came in, but did not smile.
“You should have come out for the triumph,” said Regus, still smiling.
“I don’t attend triumphs,” said Catus.
“The parade was marvelous,” said Catalina.
“I’m sure that it was,” said Catus. He stood up and held out his hand. Regus laughed, gripped Catus’s hand and threw his arm around the older man’s shoulders.
“Why so stiff, my old friend,” he laughed. “It has been too long, but you know us.”
Catus managed a smile. “Yes,” he said. “It has been too long. It is good to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
He bowed stiffly towards Catalina, and she frowned. He motioned for the two of them to seat themselves on the couch against the wall of the antechamber. They sat. He remained standing for a moment.
“Thank you for having us over,” said Regus. “It has been so long and we didn’t really get a chance to speak with you more than five minutes the other day.”
“Yes, luncheon will be ready shortly,” said Catus distractedly. “I’m glad you came. It will give us a chance to speak.”
Regus was the hero of the hour. The previous week, he had returned from a five-year campaign in Yarthia, where his legions had managed to conquer the Katany tribes. For three decades, the Republic of Uiria had been sending legions to Yarthia, but until Regus’s campaign, none of those legions had managed to subdue the Katany.
Since he had returned, Regus had been feted and honored all around the capital. That morning, the entire city had turned out for his triumph.
Regus laughed at Catus’s formality. “Come,” he said, “You’re so terribly serious, Catus. I know it has been five years, but we’re friends! I know triumphs aren’t your cup of tea. That’s alright, we can celebrate in our own way.”
Catus frowned. “Beware,” he said, “when all men speak well of you.”
Catalina stopped smiling. “This is why you have no allies in the Senate,” she said. She turned to her husband. “This is why he makes enemies.”
Regus put his arm around her. “But he is my friend,” he said. “And we are guests in his home.”
Catus nodded. “You are always welcome in my home,” he said. Luckily, one of the servants chose that moment to come in and announce that luncheon was ready. They went in to eat.
As the first course was passed around, Regus said, “You know, I had hoped I would return to find you with a wife. I was disappointed, but not surprised when that turned out not to be the case.”
“You know as well as I my wife died eight years ago,” said Catus.
Regus nodded. He deftly changed the subject by asking Catus what business he’d missed. This provoked a long discussion of the political developments in the past five years. Catus noted that public virtue had been declining and he worried for the future of the nation, but Regus reminded him that he had said that before the campaign, too.
“And it was true then, too,” said Catus.
“It is always on the decline, then?” asked Regus.
“At least since the consulship of Thomus and Pompeius,” said Catus.
Catalina, who had been silent for some time, spoke. “But how can it always have been on the decline? Perhaps public virtue isn’t any different from when we left. You must account for the natural custom of the people, which has always been crude and filled with vice.”
“True,” said Catus.
“But,” said Regus, “in their own way they have a kind a virtue that the patricians lack. The common people may be rude and uncouth, but they know what it is to work the land and live simply. And they love Uiria as much as any of us, perhaps more.”
Catus pursed his mouth and refilled the wine glasses. He was careful not to fill his own too high, but he was quite liberal with his guests’ glasses.
“You disagree, my friend?” asked Regus.
“The people of Uiria are the people,” said Catus, “No more and no less.”
Regus cocked his head. “You disapprove of them?” he asked.
“No more than I disapprove of the sons of fathers who were lions of the Senate, the sons of patricians who have wasted their wealth, the sons of consuls who have forgotten the charter of Uiria.”
Catalina waved her hand and began to say, “Just as I remember. Always talking about the charter of Uiria…” but her husband cut her off.
“No,” he said. “The charter is important. It is our founding document. It gives meaning to all that we do, to who we are as a people. Of all that I love best about you, my friend Catus, it is your dedication to that document. There is none like you in the Senate.”
Catus shook his head.
“I know, my friend,” Regus went on, “You don’t like praise. I will cease. But know that I have nothing but great respect for you. I always did and there has been nothing to alter that in five years.”
“Thank you.”
“And,” said Regus with a dissembling laugh, “how could I have expected anything less upon my return than for you to denounce the forgetfulness of our senators and patricians. What would we do without you. Good men, no doubt, the other senators, but not as vigilant as you.”
“Not sourpusses, you mean,” said his wife.
“We need men like Catus, Catalina,” said Regus. “Men like him keep men like me honest.” And he laughed.
“Indeed,” said Catus. He didn’t laugh. Neither did Catalina.
“You should have been there today, though,” said Regus. “It would have brought a smile even to your face, to see the people of Uiria lining the streets and chanting our victory.”
“Be wary,” said Catus.
“You are so dour, my friend. Come, this is my day of celebration. I enjoy the praise of the common people and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
“Surely you can’t spurn the love of the good people of Uiria,” said Catalina.
“What? The rabble?” asked Catus. “The men who spend their lives in brothels and drinking-houses? The women who would sell their country for a warm meal and a drink of wine? They love you today. Will they love you tomorrow? They will turn on you tomorrow like crows fleeing a carcass that has been picked clean. You are not their hero. They love to hear of victory in distant lands, especially if it means a holiday from laboring and a feast. They’ll cheer any man who throws them a feast. Today it’s you. Tomorrow it will be Gaius Quirius. They’d cheer the chieftain of the barbarian hordes you spent five years fighting if they thought it meant a day of no laboring. What do they know of a republic? They would sell theirs for a mark.”
Luckily, the servants chose that moment to bring in the fish course. Catalina sat there glaring at Catus the entire time the table was being laid. When the servants left, Regus took the opportunity to change the subject.
“Catus, my friend,” he said, “what is your opinion of the proposed judicial reform? The one we will debate tomorrow in the Senate.”
“I am opposed,” said Catus.
“Of course, you would be,” said Catalina.
Regus paused bringing a spoonful to his mouth. He cocked his head. “But it will make it easier for us to imprison the corrupt provincial magistrates who are extorting their provinces,” he said. “It will remove the barriers that have heretofore prevented justice from being served. No longer will seemingly every other governor found to be taking bribes escape his deserved sentence on the basis of a legal technicality. I thought for sure that you, who speak so often of republicanism and warn us about the dangers of corruption, would support such a measure. Indeed, I can recall you telling me before I left to beware myself. You said corruption in the provinces was the bane of the Republic.”
“Indeed, but if we dismantle our own legal system in order to pursue such corruption, we won’t have a Republic for much longer.”
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Catalina, unable to help herself. She closed her mouth quickly, as though she regretted even asking and wished the meal would hurry up and finish.
“The law in question,” said Catus, pushing his plate away with his fish half-eaten, “will remove such barriers – as you call them, Regus – as the current standards of evidence, and the requirement for conviction by a jury. Governors will be presumed guilty based solely on an accusation of corruption. If they cannot prove their innocence to a judge, they will be sentenced without parole. I am all for strict punishments, but only for those who are guilty of their crimes. Until now, the judges in this country have refused to go along with these charade trials. They have been the ones insisting upon clear and convincing evidence, the inclusion of juries, speedy trials, and full process – rather than the expedited sentencing the proponents of the new law desire. But the new law would retire many of the oldest judges, who are some of the last men keeping this Republic a republic, much of the Senate and half the praetors and aediles having given up on that years ago. And the new law would appoint in their place new judges who are sworn to pursue convictions rather than preserve the rights of innocent men and women.”
“What is wrong with presuming guilt on the basis of an accusation of corruption?” asked Regus. “You know as well as I, in fact you have said it yourself, that the majority of the officials in our provinces have abused their offices due to the lack of oversight. Most of those accused will be guilty.”
“But some won’t. Moreover, this will incentivize the bearing of false witness, especially if the parties who do the accusing stand to gain anything by the removal of a magistrate.”
“Well, we shall debate it some more tomorrow in the Senate,” said Regus with a smile, hoping to forestall another disagreement.
“But that’s not all,” said Catus. “That’s not the worst of it. The worst part is that the new law would remove the independence of the courts. Courts would now answer to the Senate.”
“But shouldn’t they be held to account?” asked Catalina. “Especially when some of them are taking bribes, no doubt. And when they are letting off so many corrupt quaestors and tribunes?”
“We have a process for dealing with judges who have committed crimes of bribery and treason,” said Catus. “We don’t need another one.”
Regus finally managed to change the subject to a safe topic, and the conversation turned to trivial matters for the rest of the meal.
Chapter II
The day dawned blue and cool in Granfallia, the capital city of Uiria. Catus spent the early morning reading the autobiography of Faulus Trinius, one of the great senators of the early Republic. Trinius’ autobiography was relatively obscure, unread by most senators. His greatest legislative accomplishments had been the elimination of the laws against usury and the institution of new legal limitations on the power of the consuls.
At ten, Catus strode down to the Senate by himself. Most senators arrived with a retinue of clientes, but Catus didn’t entertain clientes in the mornings. He didn’t have any, preferring to dispense his charity anonymously.
Seeing the toga that marked him as a senator, citizens made way for him as he passed along the street. Horse-drawn carts stopped at intersections to let him cross. Usually, Catus took no notice of the other pedestrians, but today he watched their faces. He wondered whether any of them knew the business he was about. Most of them paid no heed to the goings-on in the senate chambers. Only when there was a new war or a new tax or a change in the grain price would they show interest in the governing of their nation. Or when there was a parade after some hero returned from the provinces, as Regus had done recently.
When Catus entered the senate chambers, passing between two sets of marble columns, he saw that most of his colleagues had already gathered for the day’s business. He nodded to a few of them, shook some hands, exchanged greetings, and made his way to his seat. Catus stood until the parliamentarian opened the session.
At any given time, dozens of senators would be out in the provinces, or attending to other duties, or in their offices, or at their homes. As long as a quorum was present, votes could be held. Senators who did not submit a vote in absentia were understood to accept the majority’s decision on any proposed legislation.
Today, the chamber was busier than usual. It was nearly full. Only those senators out in the provinces were missing.
The first to speak was Ulus. Catus didn’t like Ulus, whom he considered obsequious and obnoxious. Ulus could always be counted upon to favor whatever measures the most powerful senators put their support behind, and when there was disagreement, he usually kept quiet. Catus, known for his willingness to stand completely alone on any issue, didn’t have much tolerance for such timidity.
Catus didn’t have many friends in the senate, but everyone listened when he spoke. He preferred it that way. While it was always better to have friends than not, he wasn’t in the Senate to ingratiate himself with any parties or factions.
“The widespread support for the proposed law,” said Ulus, “makes rather clear the wisdom of it. When all our interests are joined and none are opposed, we must…”
Catus ignored the rest. He’d heard enough to know what Ulus was saying. Catus wouldn’t have many allies on this issue. He doubted that he would be the only senator to raise objections, but he never paid close attention to rumors about the intentions of other senators. Perhaps he would have been a better politician if he had.
When Ulus had finished speaking, Catus looked around the room to see if anyone would stand up and dispel the obvious nonsense. He wasn’t surprised to see Yurius or Decius Tellius nodding along. But he was dismayed to see the looks on the faces of men he considered to be principled. Regulus Tullius scowled as though he had a bitter taste in his mouth, but he remained seated. If he was unwilling to speak now, it probably meant that he was going to vote for the measure, despite his clear distaste for it. Rufus Trinius was also frowning, and Catus got a sinking feeling as he realized the man would probably join in support of the measure, too.
The parliamentarian called out once more for any counterresponses. Shaking his head, Catus rose to his feet.
“I suppose it falls to me,” he said, “to say what is patently clear to most of us. The proposed law would be a disaster. It would come in a long line of laws which have been put forth in the name of reform and with the goal of eliminating corruption, but which have undermined the very foundations of our republic. And it won’t be the last. As we continue on this path of dismantling every last institutional safeguard against despotism, we congratulate ourselves every step of the way, and it will only be too late when we realize what we have done.”
“So, you are against the law?” called out Egius Piso from the back of the chamber. Of course, it would be Piso who interrupted Catus.
“I am against this new measure which, if enacted, would undermine the law at every turn. You call it a law, but it would do away with the law. It would ensure that the law is never again consulted in judicial trials, if we may continue to call them that. It would end the legal process as we know it. You say that justice would be done, but it would be a justice of the tribe, a justice of the mob, not a justice of republican civilization, and not justice as we know it in the nation of Uiria.”
“But what good is the legal process if it lets criminals go free?” called Piso. “What good is it if the outcome is that men who have abused their station in the provinces are not found guilty of the crimes they have committed against the Republic? If a just process leads to an unjust outcome, how can it be just?”
“Fiat iustitia ruat caelum,” said Catus. And all of his colleagues knew that what he meant by iustitia wasn’t what Piso meant.
“Naturally, you would say that,” muttered Yurius from a nearby row. “You would quote the old fathers to us.”
“There is nothing new under the sun,” said Catus. “There is nothing in our current day which justifies turning our backs on the wisdom of the old fathers.”
But he sat down and let other senators take the floor. He heard himself denounced in harsh terms, although his reputation for inflexibility and a personal disdain for wealth meant that nobody was foolish enough to accuse him of corruption. They said he was obstinate and living in the past, that he didn’t know what hour it was, that he was blind to the corruption that was going on under his nose – an interesting charge given that Catus had prosecuted a number of corruption cases in his days as an advocate, and that he had himself given speeches denouncing the corruption and decadence that was “staining the Republic and destroying the last semblance of justice and law.”
Catus didn’t mind. He had heard the typical charges before – that he was a fool, that he reflexively opposed changing the laws to fit circumstance, that he was standing in the way of the right thing being done. It was good, he reckoned, to sit and listen to denunciations of oneself. It kept him from getting too assured about himself.
In the middle of a speech by Tiberio which mostly consisted of a list of unsuccessfully prosecuted allegations of corruption, a commotion came from the back of the chamber. Catus turned. A tall woman in her fourth decade of life had entered the chamber and was walking down the center aisle. Murmuring sprung up among the senators, but nobody stopped her. She held her head up and stared at the parliamentarian, as though daring him to force her to leave.
Catus wasn’t surprised. Naturally, she would have decided to make an entrance. She made her way near to the front of the chamber, stopping alongside the row where Catus was seated by himself. The seat on the end of the row was empty, and she took it. Catus watched her.
“Julia,” he said.
“Marcus,” she replied.
“You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Good to see you, too.”
Read Chapters III and IV.