The Grass Crown Page 38

  Oh, how much I will miss this kind of deliciously Roman furor! But more of that anon. Back to Crassus Orator and his fish-farming. On his country estates it is purely a commercial activity. But, being Crassus Orator, he rather fell in love with his fish. So he extended the size of the pond in his peristyle right here in Rome and filled it with some more exotic and expensive piscine denizens. He sits on the wall of the pool, tickles the water with his finger, and up they swim for their crumbed bread, little shrimps, all manner of delicacies. Especially this one carp, a huge creature the color of well-cared-for pewter with quite a lovely face, as fish go. It was so tame it would come buzzing to the edge of the water the moment Crassus Orator entered his garden. And I really don't blame him for growing fond of the thing, I really don't.

  Anyway, the fish died, and Crassus Orator was brokenhearted. For one whole market interval no one saw him; those who ventured to call at his house were told he was prostrate with grief. Eventually he reappeared in public, face very cast down, and joined his colleague the Pontifex Maximus at their booth in the Forum— they were, I add, about to move their booth out to the Campus Martius to take a much-needed new census of the general populace.

  "Hah!" said Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus when Crassus Orator appeared. "What, no toga pulla? No formal mourning garb, Lucius Licinius? I am amazed! Why, I heard that when you cremated your fish, you hired an actor to don its wax mask and made him swim all the way to the temple of Venus Libitina! I also hear that you have had a cupboard made for the fish's mask and intend to parade it at all future Licinius Crassus funerals as a part of the family!"

  Crassus Orator drew himself up majestically—well, like all the Licinii Crassi, he has the bulk for it!—and looked down his considerable nose at his fellow censor.

  "It is true, Gnaeus Domitius," said Crassus Orator haughtily, "that I have wept for my dead fish. Which makes me a far better kind of man than you! You've had three wives die so far, and wept not a single tear for any of them!"

  So that, Lucius Cornelius, was the end of the censorship of Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator and Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus.

  A pity, I suppose, that we will not now obtain a true census of the populace for another four years. No one plans to have new censors elected.

  And now I come to the bad news. I write this on the eve of my departure for Smyrna, where I am going into exile. Yes, I see you start in surprise! Publius Rutilius Rufus, the most harmless and upright of men, sentenced to exile? It is true. Certain people in Rome have never forgotten the splendid job Quintus Mucius Scaevola and I did in Asia Province—men like Sextus Perquitienus, who can no longer confiscate priceless works of art in lieu of unpaid taxes. And since I am the uncle of Marcus Livius Drusus, I have also incurred the enmity of that ghastly individual, Quintus Servilius Caepio. And through him, of such human excrement as Lucius Marcius Philippus, still trying to get himself elected consul. Of course no one tried to get Scaevola, he's too powerful. So they decided to get me. Which they did. In the extortion court, where they produced blatantly fabricated evidence that I—I —obtained money from the hapless citizens of Asia Province. The prosecutor was one Apicius, a creature who boasts of being Philippus's client. Oh, I had many outraged offers of defense counsel—Scaevola, for one, and Crassus Orator, and Antonius Orator, and even ninety-two-year-old Scaevola the Augur, if you please. That hideously precocious boy they all drag round the Forum with them—Marcus Tullius Cicero, from Arpinum— offered to speak up for me too.

  But, Lucius Cornelius, I could see it would all be in vain. The jury was paid a fortune (Gold of Tolosa?) to convict me. So I refused all offers and defended myself. With grace and dignity, I flatter myself. Calmly. My only assistant was my beloved nephew, Gaius Aurelius Cotta, the eldest of Marcus Cotta's three boys, and my dear Aurelia's half brother. Her half brother on the other side, Lucius Cotta, who was praetor in the year of the lex Licinia Mucia, actually had the effrontery to assist the prosecution! His uncle Marcus Cotta isn't speaking to him anymore, nor is his half sister.

  The outcome was inevitable, as I have said. I was found guilty of extortion, stripped of my citizenship, and sentenced to exile not closer to Rome than five hundred miles. I was not, however, stripped of my property—I think they knew that any move in that direction might have seen them lynched. My last words to the court were to the effect that I would go into exile among the people on whose behalf I was convicted— the citizens of Asia Province—and in particular, Smyrna.

  I will never go home, Lucius Cornelius. And I do not say that in a spirit of umbrage, or injured pride. I do not want ever to set eyes again upon a city and a people who could consent to such a manifest injustice. Three quarters of Rome is going about weeping at the manifest injustice, but that doesn't alter the fact that I, its victim, am no longer a Roman citizen, and must go into exile. Well, I will not demean myself or gratify them, those who convicted me, by subjecting the Senate to a barrage of petitions to have my sentence repealed, my citizenship restored. I will prove myself a true Roman. I will lie down obediently, good Roman dog that I am, under the sentence of a legally appointed Roman court.

  I have already had a letter from the ethnarch of Smyrna—wild with joy, it seems, at the prospect of having a new citizen named Publius Rutilius Rufus. It appears they are organizing a festival in my honor, to be celebrated the moment I arrive. Strange people, to react in this way to the advent of one who allegedly plundered them piecemeal!

  Do not pity me too much, Lucius Cornelius. I will be well looked after, it seems. Smyrna has even voted me a most generous pension, and a house, and good servants. There are enough Rutilii left in Rome to make a nuisance of our clan—my son, my nephews, and my cousins of the branch Rutilius Lupus. But I will don the Greek chlamys and Greek slippers, for I am no longer entitled to wear the toga. On your way home, Lucius Cornelius, if you can possibly spare the time, would you call in to Smyrna to see me? I anticipate that no friend of mine at the eastern end of the Middle Sea will not call in to Smyrna to see me! A little solace for an exile.

  I have decided to begin to write seriously. No more compendiums of military logistics, tactics, strategy. Instead, I shall become a biographer. I plan to start with a biography of Metellus Numidicus Piggle-wiggle, incorporating some juicy stuff which will have the Piglet gnashing his tusks in rage. Then I shall pass on to Catulus Caesar, and mention certain mutinous events which took place on the Athesis in the days when the Germans were milling around Tridentum. Oh, what fun I shall have! So do come and see me, Lucius Cornelius! I need information only you can give me!

  Sulla had never thought himself particularly fond of Publius Rutilius Rufus, yet when he laid the fat scroll down he found his eyes full of tears. And he made a vow to himself: that one day when he—the greatest man in the world—was fully established as the First Man in Rome, he would visit retribution upon men like Caepio and Philippus. And upon that vast equestrian toad, Sextus Perquitienus.

  However, when Young Sulla came in with Morsimus, Sulla was dry-eyed and calm.

  "I'm ready," he said to Morsimus. "But remind me, would you, to tell the captain that we sail first to Smyrna? I have to see an old friend there and promise him that I'll keep him abreast of events in Rome."

  IV (92-91 B.C.)

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  1

  While Lucius Cornelius Sulla was away in the East, Gaius Marius and Publius Rutilius Rufus succeeded in legislating to suspend the proceedings of the special courts commissioned by the lex Licinia Mucia. And Marcus Livius Drusus took heart.

  "That settles it, I think," he said to Marius and Rutilius Rufus shortly after the measure went through. "At the end of this year, I shall stand for the tribunate of the plebs. And at the beginning of next year I shall force a law through the Plebeian Assembly enfranchising every man in Italy."

  Both Marius and Rutilius Rufus looked doubtful, though neither voiced opposition; Drusus was right in that there was nothing to lose by trying, and no reason
to assume that additional time would soften Rome more. With the suspension of the special courts, there would be no more lacerated backs. No more visible reminders of the inhumanity of Rome.

  "Marcus Livius, you have already been aedile. You could stand for election as a praetor," said Rutilius Rufus. "Are you sure you wish to espouse the tribunate of the plebs? Quintus Servilius Caepio is seeking election as a praetor, so you'll be doing battle in the Senate with an enemy who has imperium. Not only that, but Philippus is standing yet again for the consulship, and if he gets in—as he probably will because the voters are so tired of seeing him in the toga Candida year after year—you have a consul allied to a praetor in Philippus and Caepio. They would make life as a tribune of the plebs very difficult for you."

  "I know," said Drusus firmly. "However, I intend to stand for the tribunate of the plebs. Only please don't tell anyone. I have a special plan to gain election that necessitates people think I decided at the last moment."

  The conviction and exile of Publius Rutilius Rufus early in September was a great blow to Drusus, who had deemed his uncle's support in the Senate invaluable. Now it would be left entirely to Gaius Marius, not a man Drusus stood on very close terms with, nor admired wholeheartedly. No substitute for a blood relative, at any rate. This also meant Drusus had no one left to talk to within the bosom of his family; his brother Mamercus had become a friend, but his politics inclined toward Catulus Caesar and the Piglet. Drusus had never broached the delicate subject of enfranchisement for Italy with him—nor did he want to. And Cato Salonianus was dead. A busy praetorship in charge of the murder and embezzlement courts, as well as those of fraud and usury, had sustained Cato after the death of Livia Drusa; but when the seething unrest in the Spains had decided the Senate to send a special governor to Gaul-across-the-Alps early in this present year, Cato Salonianus had seized eagerly upon it as a way of keeping busy. Off he went, leaving his mother-in-law Cornelia Scipionis and his brother-in-law Drusus to care for his children. Word had come during the summer that Cato Salonianus had fallen from his horse, sustaining a head injury which hadn't at the time seemed serious. Then had come an epileptic fit, a paralysis, a coma, and an end to life. Peaceful and oblivious. To Drusus the news had come like the closing of a door. All left to him now of his sister were her children.

  It was therefore understandable that Drusus should write to Quintus Poppaedius Silo after his uncle's exile, and invite Silo to stay with him in Rome. The special courts of the lex Licinia Mucia were out of action, and the Senate in tacit agreement had decided that the massive enrollment of the Antonius-Flaccus census in Italy should simply be ignored until the next census came along. No reason then why Silo should not come to Rome. And Drusus badly wanted to talk to someone he could trust about his tribunate.

  Three and a half years had gone by since last they met on that memorable day in Bovianum.

  "There is only Caepio left alive," said Drusus to Silo as they sat in his study waiting for dinner to be announced, "and he refuses to see the children who are legitimately his, even now. Of the two who are Porcii Catones Saloniani, I need say no more than that they are orphans. Luckily they don't remember their mother at all, and the little girl, Porcia, remembers her father in only the vaguest terms. In this dreadful and stormy sea the poor children are perpetually tossed upon, my mother is their anchor. Cato Salonianus had no fortune to leave, of course. Just his property at Tusculum, and an estate in Lucania. I shall ensure that the boy has enough to enter the Senate when his time comes, and that the girl is suitably dowered. I gather Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, who is married to the girl's aunt—Cato Salonianus's sister—is very seriously thinking of my little Porcia for his son, Lucius. My will is made. So, I have ensured, is Caepio's will. Whether he likes it or not, Quintus Poppaedius, he cannot disinherit them. Nor can he disown them in any other way, apart from refusing to see them. Cur!"

  "Poor little things," said Silo, who was a father himself. "For tiny Cato, neither mother nor father, even in memory."

  Drusus smiled wryly. "Oh, he's a strange one! Thin as a stick, with an enormously long neck and the most amazingly beaky nose I have ever seen on such a small boy. He reminds me for all the world of a plucked vulture. Nor can I like him, no matter how hard I try. He's not quite two years old, but he stumps around the house with his neck craning his head forward, and that nose pointed—or part of it, anyway!—at the ground. Hollering! No, not weeping. Just yelling. He cannot say anything in a normal tone of voice. He shouts. And hectors without mercy. I see him coming, and much as I pity him, I flee!"

  "What about the one who spied—Servilia?"

  "Oh, very quiet, very self-contained, very obedient. But do not trust her, Quintis Poppaedius, whatever you do. Another one of the brood I dislike," said Drusus a little sadly.

  Silo gave him a keen glance out of yellowish eyes. "Are there any you do like?" he asked.

  "My son, Drusus Nero. A dear little boy. Not so little these days, actually. He's eight. Unfortunately his intelligence is not the equal of his good nature. I tried to tell my wife it was imprudent to adopt a baby, but she had her heart set on a baby, and that was that. I like Young Caepio very much too, though I cannot credit he's Caepio's son! He's the image of Cato Salonianus, and very like little Cato in the nursery. Lilla is all right. So is Porcia. Though girl-children are a mystery to me, really."

  "Be of good cheer, Marcus Livius!" said Silo, smiling. "One day they all turn into men and women, and one can at least dislike them on merit then. Why don't you take me to see them? I admit I'm curious to see the plucked vulture and the spy-girl. How chastening, that it is the imperfect one finds most interesting."

  The rest of that first day was spent in social congress, so it was the following day which saw Drusus and Silo settle to talk about the Italian situation.

  "I intend to stand for election as a tribune of the plebs at the beginning of November, Quintus Poppaedius," said Drusus.

  Silo blinked, unusual for a Marsian. "After being aedile?" he asked. "You must be due for praetor."

  "I could stand for praetor now," said Drusus calmly.

  "Then why? Tribune of the plebs? Surely you can't be thinking of trying to give Italy the citizenship!"

  "That's exactly what I'm thinking of doing. I have waited patiently, Quintus Poppaedius—the gods be my witnesses, I have been patient! If the time is ever going to be right, it is now, while the lex Licinia Mucia is still fresh in all men's minds. And name me a man in the Senate of the appropriate age who can possibly summon up the dignitas and auctoritas as a tribune of the plebs that I can? I've been in the Senate for ten long years, I've been the paterfamilias of my family for almost twenty years, my reputation is stainless, and the only tic I have ever had is full enfranchisement for the men of Italy. I've been plebeian aedile, and given great games. My fortune is immense, I have a crowd of clients, I am known and respected everywhere in Rome. So when I stand for the tribunate of the plebs instead of the praetorship, everyone is going to know that my reasons must be compelling ones. I was famous as an advocate, I am famous as an orator. Yet for ten years my voice has been silent in the House, I have yet to speak. In the law courts the mention of my name is enough to draw big crowds. Truly, Quintus Poppaedius, when I choose to stand for the tribunate of the plebs, everyone in Rome from highest to lowest will know my reasons must be as cogent as they are deserving."

  "It will certainly create a sensation," said Silo, puffing out his cheeks. "But I don't think you have a chance of succeeding. I think you'd use your time more wisely if you became praetor, and consul two years from now."

  "I cannot succeed in the consul's chair," said Drusus strongly. "This is the kind of legislation that must come from the Plebeian Assembly, promulgated by a tribune of the plebs. If I were to try to pass it as consul, it would be vetoed immediately. But as a tribune of the plebs myself, I can control my colleagues in ways the consul cannot. And I have authority over the consul by virtue of my veto. If necessary, I can t
rade this off for that. Gaius Gracchus flattered himself he used the tribunate of the plebs brilliantly. But I tell you, Quintus Poppaedius, no one will equal me! I have the age, the wisdom, the clients and the clout. I also have a program of legislation worked out that will go much further than merely the citizenship for all of Italy. I intend to reshape Rome's public affairs."

  "May the great light-bearing Snake protect and guide you, Marcus Livius, is all I can say."

  Eyes unwavering, demeanor suggesting that he believed in himself and what he was saying implicitly, Drusus leaned forward. "Quintus Poppaedius, it is time. I cannot allow a state of war between Rome and Italy, and I suspect you and your friends are planning war. If you go to war, you will lose. And so will Rome, even though I believe she will win. Rome has never lost a war, my friend. Battles, yes. And perhaps in the early days of a war, Italy would do much better than anyone in Rome save I suspects. But Rome will win! Because Rome always wins. Yet—what a hollow victory! The economic consequences alone are appalling. You know the old adage as well as I do—never fight a war on your own home ground—let it be someone else's property which suffers."

  Out went Drusus's hand across the desk top to clasp Silo around the forearm. "Let me do it my way, Quintus Poppaedius, please! The peaceful way, the logical way, the only way it can possibly work."

  There was no constraint in the nodding of Silo's head, nor doubt in his eyes. "My dear Marcus Livius, you have my wholehearted support! Do it! The fact I don't think it can be done is beside the point. Unless someone of your caliber tries, how can Italy ever know the exact extent of Rome's opposition to a general enfranchisement? In hindsight, I agree with you that to tamper with the census was a stupidity. I don't think any of us thought it would work— or could work. It was more a way of telling the Senate and People of Rome how strongly we Italians feel. Yet—it set us back. It set you back. So do it! Anything Italy can do to help you, Italy will. You have my solemn word on it."