1. First Man in Rome Page 22

  And so, the unhappy business is finally wearing itself down. I wish I could say that Julilla has learned a lesson, but I very much doubt it. In later years, Gaius Marius, you too will face all the torments and dilemmas of parenthood, and I wish I could offer you the comfort of saying that you will learn by my mistakes. But you will not. For just as each and every child born into this world is different, and must be handled differently, so too is every parent different. Where did we go wrong with Julilla? I do not honestly know. I do not even know if we went wrong at all. Perhaps the flaw is innate, intrinsic. I am bitterly hurt, and so too is poor Marcia, as best evidenced by her subsequent rejection of all Julilla's overtures of friendship and regret. The child suffers terribly, but I have had to ask myself whether we owe it to her to maintain our distance for the present, and I have decided we must do so. Love we have always given her, an opportunity to discipline herself we have not. If she is to gain any good out of all this, she must suffer. Justice forced me to seek out our neighbor Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and tender him a collective apology which will have to do until Julilla's looks have improved and she can apologize to him in person. Though he didn't want to hand them over, I insisted that he return all of Julilla's letters one of the few times being paterfamilias has had real value. I made Julilla burn them, but not until she had read every one of the silly things out to me and her mother. How awful, to have to be so hard upon one's own flesh and blood! But I very much fear that only the most personally galling of lessons will sink into Julilla's self-centered little heart. There. Enough of Julilla and her schemes. Far more important things are happening. I may actually turn out to be the first to send this news to Africa Province, as I have a firm promise that this will go on a fast packet leaving Puteoli tomorrow. Marcus Junius Silanus has been shockingly defeated by the Germans. Over thirty thousand men are dead, the rest so demoralized and poorly led that they have scattered in all directions. Not that Silanus seems to care, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he seems to value his own survival ahead of his troops'. He brought the news to Rome himself, but in such a toned-down version that he stole a march on public indignation, and by the time that all the truth was known, he had stripped the disaster of much of its shock value. Of course what he's aiming for is to wriggle out of treason charges, and I think he'll succeed. If the Mamilian Commission were empowered to try him, a conviction might be possible. But a trial in the Centuriate Assembly, with all those antiquated rules and regulations, and so many jurors? It's not worth the effort of initiating proceedings, and so most of us feel. And, I hear you ask, what of the Germans? Are they even now pouring down toward the coast of the Middle Sea, are the inhabitants of Massilia packing up in panic? No. For would you believe it, having annihilated Silanus's army, they promptly turned around again and went north. How can one deal with an enemy so enigmatic, so utterly unpredictable? I tell you, Gaius Marius, we shiver in our boots. For they will come. Later rather than sooner, it now seems, they will come. And we have no better commanders to oppose them than the likes of Marcus Junius Silanus. As usual these days, the Italian Allied legions took the brunt of the losses, though many Roman soldiers fell too. And the Senate is having to deal with a stream of complaints from the Marsi and the Samnites, and a host of other Italian nations. But to finish on a lighter note, we are currently having a hilarious battle with our esteemed censor Marcus Aemilius Scaurus. The other censor, Marcus Livius Drusus, died very suddenly three weeks ago, which brought the lustrum of the censors to an abrupt end. Scaurus of course is obliged to stand down. Only he won't! And therein lies the hilarity. As soon as the funeral of Drusus was over, the Senate convened and directed Scaurus to lay aside his censorial duties so that the lustrum could be officially closed in the customary ceremony. Scaurus refused. "I was elected censor, I'm in the middle of letting contracts for my building programs, and I cannot possibly abandon my work at this juncture," he said. "Marcus Aemilius, Marcus Aemilius, it isn't up to you!" said Metellus Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus. "The law says that when one censor dies in office, the lustrum is at an end, and his fellow censor must resign immediately." "I don't care what the law says!" Scaurus replied. "I cannot resign immediately, and I will not resign immediately." They begged and they pleaded, they shouted and they argued, all to no avail. Scaurus was determined to create a precedent by flouting convention and remaining censor. So they begged and they pleaded, they shouted and they argued all over again. Until Scaurus lost patience and temper. "I piss on the lot of you!" he cried, and went right on with his contracts and his plans. So Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus called another meeting of the Senate, and forced it to pass a formal consultum calling for Scaurus's immediate resignation. Off went a deputation to the Campus Martius, and there interviewed Scaurus as he sat on the podium of the temple of Jupiter Stator, which edifice he had chosen for his office because it's right next door to the Porticus Metelli, where most of the building contractors have their headquarters. Now as you know, I am not a Scaurus man. He's as crafty as Ulysses and as big a liar as Paris. But oh, I do wish you could have seen him make mincemeat out of them! How such an ugly, skinny, undersized specimen as Scaurus can do it, I do not know he hasn't even got a hair left on his head! Marcia says it's his beautiful green eyes and his even more beautiful speaking voice and his wonderful sense of humor. Well, I will admit the sense of humor, but the charms of his ocular and vocal apparatus escape me. Marcia says I'm a typical man, though what her point about that is, I do not know. Women tend to seek refuge in such remarks when pinned down to logic, I have found. But there must also be some obscure logic to his success, and who knows? Perhaps Marcia has the right of it. So there he sat, the little poseur, surrounded by all the utter magnificence of Rome's first marble temple, and those glorious statues of Alexander the Great's generals all mounted on horseback that Metellus Macedonicus pillaged from Alexander's old capital of Pella. Dominating the lot. How can that be possible, a hairless Roman runt outclassing Lysippus's quite superbly lifelike horses? I swear every time I see Alexander's generals, I expect them to step down from their plinths and ride away, each horse as different as Ptolemy is from Parmenion. I digress. Back to business, then. When Scaurus saw the deputation he shoved contracts and contractors aside and sat spear-straight on his curule chair, toga perfectly draped, one foot extended in the classic pose. "Well?" he asked, addressing his question to Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus, who had been appointed the spokesman. "Marcus Aemilius, the Senate has formally passed a consultum commanding that you resign your censorship at once," said this unhappy man. "I won't do it," said Scaurus. "You must!" bleated Dalmaticus. "I mustn't anything!" said Scaurus, and turned his shoulder on them, beckoning the contractors to draw close again. "Now what was I saying before I was so rudely interrupted?" he asked. Dalmaticus tried again. "Marcus Aemilius, please!" But all he got for his pontificial pains was an "I piss on you! Piss, piss, piss!" The Senate having shot its bolt, the whole problem was referred to the Plebeian Assembly, thereby making the Plebs responsible for a matter it hadn't created, considering that it is the Centuriate Assembly, a more exclusive body by far than the Plebeian Assembly, that elects the censors. However, the Plebs did hold a meeting to discuss Scaurus's stand, and handed its College of Tribunes one last duty for their year in office. They were instructed to remove Marcus Aemilius Scaurus from office as censor, one way or another. So yesterday, the ninth day of December, saw all ten tribunes of the plebs march off to the temple of Jupiter Stator, Gaius Mamilius Limetanus in their lead. "I am directed by the People of Rome, Marcus Aemilius, to depose you from office as censor," said Mamilius. "As the People did not elect me, Gaius Mamilius, the People cannot depose me," said Scaurus, his hairless scone shining in the sun like a polished old winter apple. "Nonetheless, Marcus Aemilius, the People are sovereign, and the People say you must step down," said Mamilius. "I won't step down!" said Scaurus. "In that case, Marcus Aemilius, I am authorized by the People to arrest you and cast you into prison until you formally resign," said
Mamilius. "Lay one hand on me, Gaius Mamilius, and you will revert to the soprano voice of your boyhood!" said Scaurus. Whereupon Mamilius turned to the crowd which had naturally gathered to see the spectacle, and cried out to it, "People of Rome, I call you to witness the fact that I hereby interpose my veto against any further censorial activity by Marcus Aemilius Scaurus!" he declared. And that of course was the end of the matter. Scaurus rolled up his contracts and handed everything over to his clerks, had his chair slave fold up his ivory seat, and stood bowing in all directions to the applauding throng, which loves nothing better than a good confrontation between its magistrates, and adores Scaurus wholeheartedly because he has the kind of courage all Romans admire in their magistrates. Then he strolled down the temple steps, gave Perdiccas's roan horse a pat in passing, linked his arm through Mamilius's, and left the field wearing all the laurels.

  Caesar sighed, leaned back in his chair, and decided that he had better comment upon the news Marius by no means such a wordy correspondent as his father-in-law had sent from the Roman African province, where Metellus, it appeared, had succeeded in bogging the war against Jugurtha in a mire of inconsistent activity and poor generalship. Or at least that was Marius's version, though it did not tally with the reports Metellus kept sending the Senate.

  You will shortly hear if you have not heard already that the Senate has prorogued Quintus Caecilius's command of the African province and the Jugurthine war. It will not in any way surprise you, I am sure. And I expect that, having leaped this biggest hurdle, Quintus Caecilius will step up his military activity, for once the Senate has prorogued a governor's command, he can be sure to retain that command until he considers the danger to his province over. It is a shrewd tactic to be inert until the consulship year is over and proconsular imperium is bestowed. But yes, I do agree that your general was shockingly dilatory in not even starting his campaign until summer was almost over, especially considering that he arrived in early spring. But his dispatches say his army needed thorough training, and the Senate believes them. And yes, it escapes me as to why he appointed you, an infantryman, to lead his cavalry arm, just as it seems a waste of Publius Rutilius's talents to use him as praefectus fabrum when he would serve better in the field than running round dealing with supply columns and artillery repairs. However, it is the prerogative of the general to use his men as he likes, from his senior legates all the way down to his auxiliary rankers. All Rome was delighted when the news of the capture of Vaga came, though I note your letter said the town surrendered. And if you will forgive my playing Quintus Caecilius's advocate I fail to see why you are so indignant at the appointment of Quintus Caecilius's friend Turpillius as the commander of the Vaga garrison. Is it important? I am far more impressed with your version of the battle at the river Muthul than I am with the version contained-in Quintus Caecilius's senatorial dispatch, which should console you somewhat for my hint of skepticism, and reassure you that I do indeed remain on your side. And I'm sure you're right in telling Quintus Caecilius that the best way to win the war against Numidia is to capture Jugurtha himself, for, like you, I believe him to be the fountainhead of all Numidian resistance. I'm sorry this first year has been so frustrating for you, and that Quintus Caecilius has apparently decided he can win without properly using either your talents or those of Publius Rutilius. It will make your attempt to be elected consul the year after next much harder if you do not receive an opportunity to shine in the coming Numidian campaigns. But, Gaius Marius, I do not expect that you will take such cavalier treatment lying down, and I'm sure you'll find a way to shine in spite of the very worst Quintus Caecilius can do. I shall close with one further Forum item. Due to the loss of Silanus's army in Gaul-across-the-Alps, the Senate has nullified one of the last surviving laws of Gaius Gracchus, namely the one limiting the number of times a man can enlist. Nor does he have to be seventeen anymore, nor do ten years under the colors exclude him from the levies anymore, nor do six campaigns exclude him anymore. A sign of the times. Both Rome and Italy are rapidly becoming denuded of men for the legions. Do look after yourself, and write as soon as my mild attempts to play advocate for Quintus Caecilius have faded enough to allow you to think of me with affection. I am still your father-in-law, and I still think very well of you.

  And that, decided Gaius Julius Caesar, was a letter well worth the sending, full of news and good advice and comfort. Gaius Marius would have it before the old year expired.

  In the end it was almost halfway through December before Sulla escorted Clitumna down to Circei, all solicitude and tender kindness. Though he had worried that his plans might go awry because time would improve Clitumna's mood, the extraordinary change in his luck continued to bless him, for Clitumna remained deeply depressed, as Marcia would be bound to report to Caesar. As villas on the Campanian coast went, Clitumna's version was not overlarge, but even so, it was far bigger than the house on the Palatine; vacationing Romans able to afford the luxury of owning country villas liked to feel surrounded by space. Standing atop a volcanic headland and having its own private beach, the villa lay some distance south of Circei, and had no close neighbors. One of the many speculation builders who frequented the Campanian coast had put it up during the course of the winter three years before, and Clitumna had bought it the moment she discovered the builder had a genius for plumbing, and had installed a shower bath as well as a proper bathing tub. Thus the first thing Clitumna did after she arrived was to have a shower bath, after which she dined, after which she and Sulla went to bed in separate rooms, and alone. He remained at Circei for two days only, devoting all his time to Clitumna, who continued to be cheerless, though she didn't want Sulla to leave. "I have a surprise for you," he said to her as he walked with her in the grounds of the villa early in the morning of the day he returned to Rome. Even that hardly evoked a response. "Yes?" she asked. "On the first night of the full moon you will receive your surprise," he said seductively. "Night?" she asked, becoming the slightest bit interested. "Night, and full moon! That is, provided it's a fine clear night and you can see the full moon." They were standing beneath the tall front facade of the villa, which like most was built upon sloping ground, with a loggia atop the front section, where the villa dweller could sit to take in the view. Behind this narrow front facade was a vast peristyle-garden, and behind the peristyle-garden lay the villa proper, in which the bulk of the rooms were situated. The stables were located on the ground level of the front facade, with living quarters for the stable staff above, and the loggia above that again. The land in front of Clitumna's villa sloped away in grass and tangles of rambling roses to the cliff top, and was most artfully planted on either flank with a grove of trees which ensured privacy should another villa go up on the next block of land. Sulla pointed to the large clump of salt pines and pencil cypresses on their left. "It's a secret, Clitumna," he said in what she called his "growly voice," always a sign of prolonged and particularly delicious lovemaking. "What is a secret?" she asked, beginning to be eager. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret any longer," he whispered, nibbling her ear. She squirmed a little, cheered up a little. "Is the secret the same as the surprise on the night of the moon?" "Yes. But you must keep everything a secret, including my promising you a surprise. Swear?" "I swear," she said. "What you must do is sneak out of the house at the beginning of the third hour of darkness, eight days from last night. You must come down here absolutely on your own, and hide in that grove of trees," said Sulla, stroking her flank. Her listlessness was gone. "Oooooooooh! Is it a nice surprise?" she asked, squeaking on the last word. "It will be the biggest surprise of your entire life," said Sulla, "and that's not an idle promise, darling. But I do require a couple of conditions." She wrinkled her nose girlishly and simpered, looking very silly. "Yes?" "First of all, no one must know, not even little Bithy. If you do take anyone into your confidence, your chief surprise will be disappointment. And I will be very, very angry. You don't like it when I'm very, very angry, do you, Clitumna?" She shivere
d. "No, Lucius Cornelius." "Then keep our secret. Your reward will be amazing, a completely new and different kind of experience," he whispered. "In fact, if you can manage to seem specially downcast from now until you receive your surprise, it will turn out even better, I promise you." "I'll be good, Lucius Cornelius," she said fervently. He could see the way her mind was working, and knew that she had decided the surprise was a new and delectable companion female, attractive, sexually willing, compatible, and a cozy gossipy talker for the passing of the long days between the lovely nights. But she knew Sulla well enough to understand that she must abide by his conditions, or he was just as likely to take whoever it was away again forever perhaps install her in an apartment of her own, now that he had Nicopolis's money. Besides which, no one defied Sulla when he spoke in earnest, a reason why the servants of Clitumna's household held their tongues about what had gone on between Clitumna and Nicopolis and Sulla, and if they ever said anything at all, did so in a fear which robbed their words of much of their normal impact. "There's a second condition," he said. She snuggled against him. "Yes, darling Lucius?" "If the night is not fine, the surprise cannot come. So you will have to respect the weather. If the first night is wet, wait for the next dry one." "I understand, Lucius Cornelius."