3. Fortune's Favorites Page 24

  When Caesar arrived at the Quirinal Gate he found Lucius Decumius and his sons waiting. The two mules were panniered with the money evenly divided between them, which meant neither was carrying anything like a full load. There were no leather moneybags in evidence; instead, Lucius Decumius had put the cash in false compartments lining what looked like and were! book buckets stuffed with scrolls. "You didn't make these in a few hours today," Caesar said, grinning. "Is this how you shift your own loot around?" "Go and talk to your horse but first, a word in your ear. Let Burgundus lift the money," Lucius Decumius lectured, and turned to the German with such a fierce look upon his face that Burgundus took an involuntary step backward. "Now see here, lout, you make sure when you lifts those buckets that you makes it seem like you was lifting feathers, hear me?" Burgundus nodded. "I hear, Lucius Decumius. Feathers." Now put all your other baggage on top of them books and if the boy takes off like the wind, you hang on to them mules no matter what!" Caesar was standing at his horse's head, cheek against cheek, murmuring endearments. Only when the rest of the baggage had been tied onto the mules did he move, and then it was to allow Burgundus to toss him into the saddle. "You look after yourself, Pavo!" shrilled Lucius Decumius into the wind, eyes tearing. He reached up his grubby hand. Caesar the cleanliness fanatic leaned down, took it, and kissed it. "Yes, dad!" And then they were gone into the wall of snow. Burgundus's mount was the Caesar family steed, and almost as expensive as Bucephalus. A Nesaean from Median bloodstock, it was much bigger than the horses of the peoples around the Middle Sea. Nesaeans were few and far between in Italy, as they could be used for nothing else than bearing oversized riders. Many farmers and traders had eyed them longingly, wishing they could be employed as beasts of burden or attached to heavy wagons and ploughs because they were both speedier and more intelligent than oxen. But, alas, when yoked to pull a load they strangled; the forward movement pressed the harness against their windpipes. As pack animals they were useless too; they ate too much to pay their way. An ordinary horse, however, could not have taken Burgundus's weight, and though a good mule might have, on a mule Burgundus's feet literally skimmed the ground. Caesar led the way toward Crustumerium, hunched down in the lee of Bucephalus's head oh, it was a cold winter! They pressed on through the night to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Rome, and paused only when the next night threatened. By then they had reached Trebula, not far from the crest of the first range of mountains. It was a small place, but boasted an accommodation house which also served as the local tavern, and was therefore noisy, overcrowded, and very hot. The general atmosphere of dirt and neglect did not please Caesar in the least. "Still, it's a roof and a sort of a bed," he said to Burgundus after inspecting a room upstairs where they were to sleep along with several shepherd dogs and six hens. Of course they attracted a considerable amount of attention from their fellow patrons, who were all locals there to drink wine; most would be fit to stagger home again through the snow, but some (so Mine Host confided) would spend the night wherever they happened to be lying when they fell over. "There's sausages and bread," said Mine Host. "We'll have both," said Caesar. "Wine?" "Water," said Caesar firmly. "Too young to drink?" Mine Host demanded, not pleased. His profit was in the wine. "My mother would kill me if I took a single sip." "What's wrong with your friend, then? He's old enough." "Yes, but he's mentally retarded, and you wouldn't want to see him with a bit of wine in him he pulls Hyrcanian bears apart with his hands, and did in two lions some praetor in Rome thought he was going to show at the games," said Caesar with a straight face; Burgundus just looked vacant. "Oooer!" said Mine Host, and retreated quickly. No one ever tried to bother Caesar when he had Burgundus for company, so they were able to sit in the most peaceful part of that turbulent room and watch the local sport, which mostly seemed to consist in plying the drunkest youngster there with more wine and speculating upon how much longer he would manage to keep it down. "Country life!" said Caesar, slapping at his bare arm. "You'd never think Rome was close enough for these yokels to vote every year, would you? Not to mention that their votes count because they belong to rural tribes, whereas canny fellows up to every political trick but unfortunate enough to own Rome as their birthplace have votes that are worthless. Not right!" "They can't even read," said Burgundus, who could these days because Caesar and Gnipho had taught him. His slow smile dawned. "That's good, Caesar. Our book buckets are safe." "Quite so." Caesar slapped at his arm again. "The place is full of mosquitoes, wretched things!" "Come in for the winter," said Burgundus. "Hot enough to boil eggs in here." An exaggeration, but the room was certainly unbearably hot, a combination of the bodies jammed into a confined space and a huge fire which roared away inside a thick stone box let into the side of the room; though the box was open at the top to let the smoke out, no cold could compete with several logs as big around as a man's waist sending great tongues of flame into the smoke hole; clearly the men of Trebula, literally with timber to burn, disliked being cold. If the dark corners were full of mosquitoes, the beds were full of fleas and bugs; Caesar spent the night on a hard chair and quit the place thankfully at dawn to ride on. Behind him he left much speculation as to why he and his giant servant were abroad in such weather and what class of man he was. "Very uppish!" said Mine Host. "Proscriptions," suggested Mine Host's wife. "Too young," said a rather urban looking fellow who had arrived just as Caesar and Burgundus were departing. "Besides, they'd have looked a lot more frightened if Sulla was after them!" "Then he's on his way to visit someone," said the wife. "Very likely," said the stranger, looking suddenly unsure. "Might bear investigating, though. Can't mistake the pair of them, can you? Achilles and Ajax," he ended, displaying a morsel of education. "The thing that struck me was the horses. Worth a fortune! There's money there." "Probably owns a bit of the rosea rura at Reate," said Mine Host. "It's where the horses come from, I'll bet." "He has a look of the Palatine about him," said the newcomer, whose thoughts were now definitely suspicious. "One of the Famous Families, in fact. Yes, there's money there." "Well, if there is it's not with him," said Mine Host, disgruntled. "Know what they had on those mules? Books! A dozen great buckets of books! I ask you books!" Having battled worsening weather as they climbed higher into the ranges around the Mons Fiscellus, Caesar and Burgundus finally arrived in Nersae a full day later. The mother of Quintus Sertorius had been a widow for over thirty years, and looked as if she had never had a husband. She always reminded Caesar of the late, much lamented Scaurus Princeps Senatus, for she was little and slight, incredibly wrinkled, very bald for a woman, and owned one remarkable focus of beauty, a pair of vivid green eyes; that she could ever have borne a child as massive as Quintus Sertorius was hard to imagine. "He's all right," she said to Caesar as she loaded her old and well scrubbed table with goodies from her smokehouse and her larder; this was country living, everyone sat on chairs at a table to eat. "Didn't have any trouble setting himself up as governor of Nearer Spain, but he's expecting big trouble now that Sulla has made himself Dictator." She chuckled gleefully. "Never mind, never mind, he'll make life harder for Sulla than that poor boy of my cousin Marius's. Brought up too soft, of course. Lovely lady, Julia. But too soft, and my cousin Marius was too much away when the boy was growing up. That was true of you too, Caesar, but your mother wasn't soft, was she?" "No, Ria," said Caesar, smiling into her eyes. "Anyway, Quintus Sertorius likes Spain. He always did. He and Sulla were there when they went poking about among the Germans years ago. He's got a German wife and son in Osca, he tells me. I'm glad for that. Otherwise there'll be no one after he goes." "He ought to marry a Roman woman," said Caesar austerely. Ria emitted a cracked laugh. "Not him! Not my Quintus Sertorius! Doesn't like women. The German one got him because he had to have a wife to get inside the tribe. No, doesn't like women" she pursed her lips and shook her head "but doesn't like men either." The conversation revolved around Quintus Sertorius and his deeds for some time, but eventually Ria talked herself out on the subject of her son, and got do
wn to what Caesar must do. "I'd gladly have you myself, but the connection is too well known, and you're not the first refugee I've had my cousin Marius sent me the king of the Volcae Tectosages, no less name was Copillus. Very nice man! Quite civilized for a barbarian. They strangled him in the Carcer after my cousin Marius triumphed, of course. Still, I was able to make a nice little nest egg out of taking care of him for my cousin Marius all those years. Four, I think it was.... He was always generous, my cousin Marius. Paid me a fortune for that job. I would have done it for nothing. Company, Copillus was.... Quintus Sertorius is not a homebody. Likes to fight." She shrugged, slapped her knees briskly, got down to business. "There's a couple I know live in the mountains between here and Amiternum. They'd be glad of some extra money, and you can trust them I say that in truth. I'll give you a letter for them, and directions when you're ready to go." "Tomorrow," said Caesar. But she shook her head. "Not tomorrow! Not the day after, either. We're in for a big storm and you won't be able to find the road or know what's underneath you. The German there would be under the ice in a river before he even knew there was a river! You'll have to stay with me until the winter sets." "Sets?" "Gets its first nasty storms over and the freeze sets in. Then it's safe to travel, everything is solid ice. Hard on the horses, but you'll get there. Make the German go first, his horse's hooves are so big the creature won't slip much and will break the surface for your dainty creature. Fancy bringing a horse like that up here in winter! You have no sense, Caesar." He looked rueful. "So my mother told me." "She has sense. Sabine country folk are horse folk. That pretty animal is noticed. Just as well where you're going there's no one to notice." Ria grinned, revealing a few black teeth. "But you're only eighteen, after all. You'll learn!" The next day proved Ria right about the weather; the snow continued unabated until it piled up in massive drifts. Had Caesar and Burgundus not got to work and shoveled it away, Ria's cozy stone house would soon have been snowed in, and even Burgundus would not have been able to open the door. For four more days it snowed, then patches of blue sky began to appear; the air grew much colder. "I like the winter up here," said Ria, helping them pile straw warmly in the stables. "In Rome, a cold one is a misery, and we're going through the cold winter cycle this decade. But up here at least it's clean and dry, no matter how cold." "I must get away soon," said Caesar, dealing with hay. "Considering the amounts your German and his nag eat, I will be glad to see you away," said Sertorius's mother between grunts. "Not tomorrow. Perhaps the day after. Once it's possible to travel between Rome and Nersae you won't be safe here. If Sulla remembers me and he should, he knew my son very well then he will send his hirelings here first." But Ria's guests were not destined to leave. On the night before the start was planned, Caesar began to ail. Though it was indeed far below freezing outside, the house was well warmed through in country fashion, braziers against its thick stone walls and good stout shutters to keep out every wind. Yet Caesar was cold, and grew colder. "I don't like this," Ria said to him. "I can hear your teeth. But it's been going on too long to be a simple ague." She put her hand upon his forehead and winced. "You're burning up! Have you a headache?" "Bad," he muttered. "Then you're not going anywhere tomorrow. Look to it, you German lump! Get your master into his bed." In his bed Caesar remained, consumed with fever, racked by a dry cough and a perpetual headache, and unable to keep any food down. Caelum grave et pestilens,'' said the wisewoman when she came to see the patient. "It isn't a typical ague," said Ria stubbornly. "It's not quartan and it's not tertian. And he doesn't sweat." "Oh, it's the ague, Ria. The one without a pattern." "Then he'll die!" "He's strong," said the wisewoman. "Make him drink. I can give you no better advice. Water mixed with snow."

  Sulla was preparing to read a letter from Pompey in Africa when the steward Chrysogonus came to him looking flustered. "What is it? I'm busy, I want to read this!" "Domine, a lady wishes to see you." "Tell her to buzz off." "Domine, I cannot!" That took Sulla's mind off the letter; he lowered it and stared at Chrysogonus in astonishment. "I didn't think there was anyone alive could defeat you," he said, beginning to be amused. "You're shaking, Chrysogonus. Did she bite you?" "No, domine," said the steward, who had absolutely no sense of humor. "However, I thought she might kill me." "Oh! I think I have to see this lady. Did she give you a name? Is she mortal?" "She said, Aurelia." Sulla extended his hand and watched it. "No, I'm not in a pother yet!" "Shall I bring her in?" . "No. Tell her I don't want to see her ever again," Sulla said, but did not pick up Pompey's letter; his interest in it had waned. "Domine, she refuses to go until she's seen you!" "Then have the servants carry her out." "I tried, domine. They wouldn't lay a finger on her." "Yes, that would be right!" Sulla huffed, closed his eyes. "All right, Chrysogonus, send her in." And when Aurelia marched in he said, "Sit down." She sat, the glaring winter light bathing her without mercy, once more showing Sulla's wreckage how powerless perfect bones could render time. In his general's quarters at Teanum the light had been so bad he hadn't really seen her properly, so now he looked his fill. Too thin, and that ought to have made her less beautiful; instead it made her more, and the rosy flush which used to suffuse her lips and cheeks had faded away to leave her skin marmoreal. The hair had not greyed, nor had she yielded to a wish to bring back her youth by softening the style in which she wore it; it was still scraped back from her face into an uncompromising bun on the nape of her neck. And the eyes were so lovely, set in thick black lashes beneath feathered black brows. They gazed at him sternly. "Come about your boy, I suppose," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I have." "Then speak! I'm listening." "Was it because he looks so like your son?" Shaken, he could not continue to meet her gaze, stared at Pompey's letter until the pain of that barb had dissipated. "It was a shock when I first set eyes on him, but no." His eyes came back to hers, cold and goatish. "I liked your son, Lucius Cornelius." "And this is no way to get what you want, Aurelia. My boy died a long time ago. I've learned to live with it, even when people like you try to make capital out of it." "So you do know what I want." "Certainly." He tipped the chair back, not easy with the backward curving legs of a sturdy Roman designed version. "You want me to spare your son. Even though mine was not spared." "You can hardly blame me or my son for that!" "I can blame anyone I like for anything I like! I am the Dictator!" he shouted, beads of foam at the corners of his lips. "Rubbish, Sulla! You don't believe that any more than I do! I am here to ask you to spare my son, who does not deserve to die any more than he deserved to be made flamen Dialis.'' "I agree, he's not the right type for the job. But he's got it. You must have wanted it for him." "I did not want him to be flamen Dialis, any more than my husband did. We were told. By Marius himself, in between his atrocities," Aurelia said, lifting her lip just enough to indicate her disgust. "It was also Marius who told Cinna to give my son his daughter. The last thing Cinna wanted was to see Cinnilla made flaminica Dialis!" Sulla changed the subject. "You've given up wearing those lovely colors you used to like," he said. "That bone thing you have on doesn't even begin to do you justice." "Oh, rubbish again!" she snapped. "I am not here to please your discriminating eye, I'm here to plead for my son!" "It would please me very much to spare your son. He knows what he has to do. Divorce Cinna's brat." "He won't divorce her." "Why not?" shouted Sulla, leaping to his feet. "Why not?" A little color crept into her cheeks, reddened her lips. "Because, you fool, you showed him that she's his way out of a job he loathes with all his being! Divorce her, and remain the flamen Dialis for the rest of his life? He'd rather be dead!" Sulla gaped. "What?" "You're a fool, Sulla! A fool! He'll never divorce her!" "Don't you criticize me!" "I'll say what I like to you, you evil old relic!" A peculiar silence fell, and Sulla's rage trickled away as fast as Aurelia's gathered. He had turned to the window, but now he turned back to stare at her with something more on his mind than anger or the ordeal she had become. "Let's start again," he said. "Tell me why Marius made your son the flamen Dialis if none of you wanted it." "It has to do with the prophecy," she said. "Yes, I know ab
out that. Consul seven times, Third Founder of Rome he used to tell everyone." "But not all of it. There was a second part he told to no one until his mind was failing. Then he told Young Marius, who told Julia, who told me." Sulla sat down again, frowning. "Go on," he said curtly. "The second part of the prophecy concerned my son. Caesar. Old Martha foretold that he would be the greatest Roman of all time. And Gaius Marius believed her about that too. He saddled Caesar with the flaminate Dialis to prevent his going to war and enjoying a political career." Aurelia sat down, white faced. "Because a man who cannot go to war and cannot seek the consulship can never shine," said Sulla, nodding. He whistled. "Clever Marius! Brilliant! Make your rival the flamen Dialis and you've won. I didn't think the old beast was so subtle." "Oh, he was subtle!" "An interesting story," Sulla said then, and picked up Pompey's letter. "You can go, I've heard you out." "Spare my son!" "Not unless he divorces Cinna's daughter." "He will never do that." "Then there is no more to be said. Go away, Aurelia." One more try. One more try for Caesar. "I wept for you once. You loved that. Now I find myself wanting to weep for you again. But you wouldn't love these tears. They would be to mourn the passing of a great man. For now I see a man who has diminished inside himself so much that he's reduced to preying upon children. Cinna's daughter is twelve years old. My son is eighteen. Children! Yet Cinna's widow strolls brazenly through Rome because she's someone else's wife, and that someone else belongs to you. Cinna's son is left penniless, with no alternative than to leave his country. Another child. While Cinna's widow thrives. Not a child." She sneered at him, made a derisory sound. "Annia is a redhead, of course. Is that some of her hair on your naked old pate?'' After which sally she swung on her heel and walked out. Chrysogonus came bustling in. "I want someone found," said Sulla, looking his nastiest. "Found, Chrysogonus, not proscribed and not killed." Dying to know what had transpired between his master and that extraordinary woman they had a past together, nothing was surer! the steward heaved an inward sigh; he would never know. So he said very smoothly, A private transaction, is it?" "That's as good a way of putting it as any! Yes, a private transaction. Two talents reward for the fellow who locates one Gaius Julius Caesar, the flamen Dialis. Who is to be brought to me with not so much as one hair of his head disturbed! Make sure they all know, Chrysogonus. No man kills the flamen Dialis. I just want him here. Understand?'' "Of course, domine." But the steward made no move to go. Instead he coughed delicately. Sulla's eyes had drifted back to Pompey's letter, but he lifted his head at this. "Yes?" "I have prepared the outline you wanted, domine, at the time I first asked you if I might be appointed the bureaucrat in charge of administering the proscriptions. I have also found a deputy steward for you to interview, in the event that you should agree to allow me to administer the proscriptions." The smile was not nice. You really believe you can cope with two jobs, do you? If I give you a deputy steward." "It is best if I do both jobs, domine, truly. Read my outline. It will show you conclusively that I do understand the nature of this particular administrative task. Why put some Treasury professional in the job when he'd prove too timid to seek clarification of his problems from you personally, and would be too mired in Treasury methods to take advantage of the more commercial aspects of the job?'' "I'll think about it and let you know," said Sulla, picking up Pompey's hapless letter yet again. Impassively he watched the steward bow his way out of the room, then grinned sourly. Abominable creature! Toad! Yet that, he reflected, was what administration of the proscriptions required someone absolutely abominable. But trustworthy. If the administrator were Chrysogonus, Sulla could be sure that disastrous liberties would not take place. No doubt Chrysogonus would make a fat profit for himself somewhere, but no one was in a better position than Chrysogonus to know that it would go very ill with him if he made his profit in any way which would reflect personally on Sulla. The business end of the proscriptions had to be conducted in a positive cloud of respectability sale of properties, disposal of cash assets, jewelry, furniture, works of art, stocks and shares. It was impossible for Sulla to administrate all of this himself, so someone would have to do it. Chrysogonus was right. Better him than a Treasury bureaucrat! Put one of those fellows on the job and nothing would ever get done. The work had to proceed expeditiously. But no one could be given the opportunity to say that Sulla himself had profited at the State's expense. Though Chrysogonus was a freedman now, that made him no less Sulla's creature; and Chrysogonus knew his master would have no qualms about killing him if he erred. Satisfied that he had solved the chief dilemma of the proscriptions, Sulla returned to pore over Pompey's letter.