The Grass Crown Read online

  "I want to be consul," said Pompeius Rufus, equally seriously, "but I doubt my chances, being a Picentine."

  Sulla opened his eyes wide. "They voted you in at the top of the praetors' poll, Quintus Pompeius! That usually counts for something, you know!"

  "You were voted in at the top of the same poll two years ago," said Pompeius Rufus, "yet you don't consider your chances good, do you? And if a patrician Cornelius who has been praetor urbanus rates his chances nonexistent, what do you think are the chances of—well, not a New Man, precisely—a man from Picenum?"

  "True, I am a patrician Cornelius. But my last name isn't Scipio, and Aemilius Paullus wasn't my granddad. I was never a great speaker, and until I became urban praetor, the Forum frequenters didn't know me from a Magna Mater eunuch. I pinned all my hopes on that historic treaty with the Parthians and the fact that I led Rome's first army ever to cross the Euphrates. Only to find the whole Forum far more fascinated with the doings of Drusus."

  "He'll be consul when he decides to run."

  "He couldn't miss if they set Scipio Africanus and Scipio Aemilianus up against him. Mind you, Quintus Pompeius, I find myself fascinated with what he's doing."

  "So am I, Lucius Cornelius."

  "Do you think he's right?"

  "Yes."

  "Good! So do I."

  Another silence fell, broken only by the noise of Publius Cloatius serving four newcomers, who eyed the purple-bordered togas in the far corner with awe.

  "How about," began Pompeius Rufus, turning his pewter cup slowly between his hands, and looking down into it, "your waiting a couple more years, and running in tandem with me? We're both urban praetors, we both have good army records, we're both senior in years, we're both able to do a little bribing, at least... The voters like a pair standing together, it bodes well for consular relations during the year. Together, I think we stand a better chance than either of us does alone. What do you say, Lucius Cornelius?"

  Sulla's eyes rested upon Pompeius Rufus's ruddy face, his bright blue eyes, his regular and slightly Celtic features, his shock of curling red hair. "I say," he said deliberately, "that we'd make a prime pair! Two red-heads from opposite ends of the senatorial array, impressive to look at—a matching pair! You know, we'd appeal to those whimsical, cantankerous mentulae! They love a good joke, and what better joke than two red-haired consuls of the same height and the same build, yet out of totally different stables?" He held out his hand. "We'll do it, my friend! Luckily neither of us has a grey hair to spoil the effect, nor is either of us balding!"

  Eager to show his pleasure, Pompeius Rufus squeezed Sulla's hand, beaming. "It's a deal, Lucius Cornelius!"

  "It's a deal, Quintus Pompeius!" Sulla blinked, visited with an inspiration evoked by Pompeius Rufus's enormous wealth. "Do you have a son?" he asked.

  "I do."

  "How old is he?"

  “Twenty-one this year."

  "Contracted to a marriage?"

  "No, not yet."

  "I have a daughter. Patrician on both sides. She'll be eighteen the June after we stand for our joint consulships. Would you consent to a marriage between my daughter and your son in Quinctilis, three years from now?"

  "I would indeed, Lucius Cornelius!"

  "She's well dowered. Her grandfather transferred her mother's fortune to her before he died, some forty talents of silver. A bit over a million sesterces. Is that satisfactory?"

  Pompeius Rufus nodded, well pleased. "We'll start talking in the Forum about our joint candidature now, shall we?"

  "An excellent idea! Best to get the electors so used to us that when the time comes they'll vote for us automatically."

  "Ahah!" rumbled a voice from the door.

  In walked Gaius Marius, sweeping past the gaping drinkers at a table near the counter without acknowledging their existence.

  "Our revered Princeps Senatus said I'd find you here, Lucius Cornelius," Marius said, sitting down. He turned his head toward Cloatius, hovering nearby. "Your usual vinegar will do, Cloatius."

  "So I should think," said Publius Cloatius, discovering that the wine jug on the table was almost empty. "What do Italians know about wine, anyway?"

  Marius grinned. "I piss on you, Cloatius! Mind your manners—and your tongue."

  The pleasantries disposed of, Marius settled to business, rather glad Pompeius Rufus was there.

  "I want to find out how each of you stands on Marcus Livius's new batch of laws," he said.

  "We're both of the same opinion," said Sulla, who had called to see Marius several times since his return, only to find the Great Man unavailable. He had no reason to suppose this treatment was purposive—indeed, common sense said it was not, that he had simply chosen his times badly. Yet he had gone away on the last occasion vowing he would not call again. Thus he had not told Marius what had happened in the East.

  "And that opinion is?" asked Marius, apparently unaware he had offended Sulla.

  "He's right."

  "Good." Marius leaned back to permit Publius Cloatius access to the table. "He needs every iota of support he can get for the land bill, and I've pledged myself to canvass on his behalf."

  "You'll help," said Sulla, and could find nothing else to say.

  Marius now turned to Pompeius Rufus. "You're a good urban praetor, Quintus Pompeius. When are you going to stand for consul?"

  Pompeius Rufus looked excited. "That's what Lucius Cornelius and I have just been talking about!" he cried. "We intend to stand together three years from now."

  "Clever!" said Marius appreciatively, seeing the point at once. "A perfect pair!" He laughed. "Keep that resolution, don't dissolve your partnership. You'll both get in easily."

  "We believe so," said Pompeius Rufus contentedly. "In fact, we've sealed it with a marriage contract."

  Up went Marius's right eyebrow. "Oh?"

  "My daughter, his son," said Sulla, a little defensively; why was it that Marius could unsettle him, when no one else had that power? Was it the man's character, or his own insecurities?

  Out came a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, splendid! Oh, well done!" Marius roared. "That solves the family dilemma superbly! From Julia through Aelia to Aurelia, they'll be pleased."

  Sulla's fine brows knitted. "What on earth do you mean?"

  "My son and your daughter," said Marius, tactless as ever. "It appears they like each other too much. But old dead Caesar said none of the cousins should marry—and I must say I agree with him. Which hasn't stopped my son and your daughter making all sorts of absurd promises to each other."

  This was a shock to Sulla, who had never dreamed of such a union, and associated so little with his daughter that she had found no opportunity to talk to him about Young Marius. "Oho! I am away too much, Gaius Marius, I've been saying it for years."

  Pompeius Rufus listened to this exchange in some dismay, and now cleared his throat. "If there's any difficulty, Lucius Cornelius, don't worry about my son," he said diffidently.

  "No difficulty at all, Quintus Pompeius," said Sulla firmly, "They're first cousins and they've grown up together, no more than that. As you may have gathered from Gaius Marius, it was never our intention to see that particular match. The agreement I've made with you today scotches it nicely. Don't you concur, Gaius Marius?"

  "Indeed, Lucius Cornelius. Too much patrician blood, and first cousins into the bargain. Old dead Caesar said no."

  "Do you have a wife in mind for Young Marius?" asked Sulla curiously.

  "I think so. Quintus Mucius Scaevola has a daughter who will come of age in four or five years. I've made overtures, and he isn't averse." Marius laughed irrepressibly. "I may be an Italian hayseed with no Greek, Lucius Cornelius, but it's a rare Roman aristocrat who can resist the size of the fortune Young Marius will inherit one day!"

  "Too true!" said Sulla, laughing just as hard. "So it only remains for me to find a wife for Young Sulla—and not one of Aurelia's daughters!"

  "How about one of Caepio's daughters?"
asked Marius, full of mischief. "Think of all that gold!"

  "It's a thought, Gaius Marius. There are two of them, aren't there? Living with Marcus Livius?"

  "That's right. Julia was rather keen on the elder one for Young Marius, but I'm of the opinion that a Mucia will be much better for him politically.'' For once in his life, Marius dredged up a morsel of diplomacy. "You're differently situated, Lucius Cornelius. A Servilia Caepionis would be ideal."

  "I agree, she would. I'll see to it."

  But the question of a wife for Young Sulla did not remain in Sulla's mind beyond the moment in which he informed his daughter that she was to be betrothed to the son of Quintus Pompeius Rufus. Cornelia Sulla demonstrated only too clearly that she was Julilla's child by opening her mouth and screaming, and going on screaming.

  "Screech all you like," said Sulla coldly, "it won't make any difference, my girl. You'll do as you're told and marry whomsoever I say you'll marry."

  "Go away, Lucius Cornelius!" cried Aelia, wringing her hands. "Your son is asking to see you. Leave me to deal with Cornelia Sulla, please!"

  So Sulla went to see his son, still angry.

  Young Sulla's cold had not improved; the boy was still in bed, still plagued by aches and pains, still coughing up muck.

  "This has got to stop, lad," said Sulla lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed and kissing his son's hot brow. "I know the weather is cold, but this room isn't."

  "Who's screaming?" asked Young Sulla, breath rasping.

  "Your sister, Mormolyce take her!"

  "Why?" asked Young Sulla, who was very fond of Cornelia Sulla.

  "I've just told her that she's to marry the son of Quintus Pompeius Rufus. But it appears she thought she was going to marry her cousin Young Marius."

  "Oh! We all thought she was going to marry Young Marius!" exclaimed Sulla's son, shocked.

  "No one ever suggested it, no one ever wanted it. Your avus Caesar was against marriage between any of you. Gaius Marius agrees. And so do I agree." Sulla frowned. "Does this mean you have ideas of marrying one of the Julias?''

  "What, Lia or Ju-ju?" Young Sulla laughed merrily until the activity provoked a bout of coughing only assuaged when he brought up a mass of foul-smelling sputum. "No, tata," he said when he could, "I can't think of anything worse! Whom am I to marry?"

  "I don't know, my son. One thing I promise you, how-ever. I will ask you first if you like her," said Sulla.

  "You didn't ask Cornelia."

  Sulla shrugged. "She's a girl. Girls don't get offered choices or favors. They just do as they're told. The only reason a paterfamilias puts up with the expense of girls is so that he can use them to advance his own career, or his son's. Otherwise, why feed and clothe them for eighteen years? They have to be well dowered, yet nothing comes back to the father's family. No, my son, a girl's only use is for advantage. Though, listening to your sister scream, I'm not sure we didn't do things better in the old days, when we just chucked girl-babies in the Tiber."

  "It doesn't seem fair, tata."

  "Why?" asked tata, surprised at his son's continuing obtuseness. "Females are inferiors, young Lucius Cornelius. They weave their patterns in fabrics, not on the loom of time. They don't have any importance in the world. They don't make history. They don't govern. We look after them because it is our duty. We shield them from worry, from poverty, from responsibility—that's why, provided they don't die in childbirth, they all live longer than we men do. In return, we demand obedience and respect from them."

  "I see," said Young Sulla, accepting this explanation in the light it was tendered—a simple statement of pure fact.

  "And now I must go. I have something to do," said Sulla, getting up. "Are you eating?"

  "A little, but it's hard to keep food down."

  "I'll be back later."

  "Don't forget, tata. I won't be asleep."

  First he had to behave normally, go off with Aelia to dinner at the house of Quintus Pompeius Rufus, very eager to commence friendly relations. Luckily Sulla had not indicated he would bring Cornelia Sulla along to meet the son; she had ceased her screaming, but, said Aelia, looking flustered, she had retired to her bed and announced she wouldn't eat.

  Nothing else poor Cornelia Sulla might have thought to do in protest could have affected Sulla the way that news did; the eyes he turned on Aelia were like bitter stars, blazing ice.

  "That will stop!" he snapped, and was gone before Aelia could prevent him, down to Cornelia Sulla's sleeping cubicle.

  He came through the door and hauled the weeping girl out of her narrow bed in the same stride, heedless of her fear, dragging her up from the floor onto her toes with his fingers locked in her hair. Again and again his hand cracked across her face. She didn't scream, she emitted shrieks so high-pitched they were scarcely audible, more terrified by the look on her father's face than by his physical abuse.

  Perhaps twelve times he struck her, then threw her away like a stuffed doll, so angry he didn't care if the violence of his thrust killed her.

  "Don't do it, girl," he said then, very softly. "Don't you try to bluff me with starvation! As far as I'm concerned, it would be good riddance! Your mother almost died because she wouldn't eat. But let me tell you, you won't do it to me! Starve yourself to death, or choke on the food I'll have forced down your throat with a lot less consideration than a farmer gives to his goose! You will marry young Quintus Pompeius Rufus, and you'll do it with a smile on your face and a song on your lips, or I'll kill you. Do you hear me? I will kill you, Cornelia."

  Her face was on fire, her eyes blackened, her lips swollen and split, her nose running blood, but the pain in her heart was far, far worse. In all her life she hadn't known this kind of rage existed, or feared her father, or worried for her own safety. "I hear you, Father," she whispered.

  Aelia was waiting outside the door, tears running down her cheeks, but when she went to enter Sulla grabbed her cruelly by one arm, and pulled her away.

  "Please, Lucius Cornelius, please!" Aelia moaned, the wife in her terrified, the mother in her anguished.

  "Leave her alone," he said.

  "I must go to her! She needs me!"

  "She'll stay where she is, and no one will go to her."

  "Then let me stay home, please!" Try though she did to stem her tears, she was weeping harder.

  Sulla's towering rage toppled, he could hear his heart beating, tears were close to the surface in him too—tears of reaction, not tears of grief. "All right, then stay home," he said harshly, and drew a quivering breath. "I shall represent the family joy at the prospect of this marriage. But don't go to her, Aelia, or I'll deal with you as I've dealt with her."

  Thus he went alone to the house of Quintus Pompeius Rufus, on the Palatine, but overlooking the Forum Romanum; and made a good impression upon the delighted Pompeius Rufus family, including its women, who were tickled at the thought that young Quintus would be marrying a patrician Julio-Cornelian. Young Quintus was a handsome fellow, green-eyed and auburn-haired, tall and graceful, but it didn't take Sulla long to estimate his intelligence at about half that of his father. Which was all to the good; he would fill the consulship because his father had, he would breed red-haired children with Cornelia Sulla, and he would be a good husband, as faithful as considerate. In fact, thought Sulla, smiling in private amusement, little though his daughter would admit it did she know, young Quintus Pompeius Rufus would be far pleasanter and more tractable to live with than that spoiled and arrogant pup Gaius Marius had spawned.

  Since the Pompeii Rufi were still at heart country folk, the dinner was well over before darkness fell, even though Rome was in the depths of seasonal winter. Knowing he had one more task to perform before he went home, Sulla stood atop the Ringmakers’ Steps leading down to the Via Nova and the Forum Romanum, and looked into the distance frowningly. Too far to walk out to see Metrobius, and too dangerous too. Where else might he fill in an hour or so?

  The answer came the moment his eyes
rested upon the smoky declivity of the Subura—Aurelia, of course. Gaius Julius Caesar was off again governing Asia Province. Provided he made sure Aurelia was adequately chaperoned, why shouldn't he pay her a visit? He ran down the steps with the ease and suppleness of a man far junior to himself in years, and strode off toward the Clivus Orbius, the quickest way to the Subura Minor and that triangular insula of Aurelia's.

  Eutychus admitted him, but a little reluctantly; Aurelia's manner was much the same.

  "Are your children up?" Sulla asked.

  She smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, yes. I seem to have bred owls, not larks. They hate to go to bed, and they hate to get up."

  "Then give them a treat," he said, sitting down on a well-padded and comfortable couch. "Invite them to join us, Aurelia. There are no better chaperones than one's children."

  Her face lightened. "You are quite right, Lucius Cornelius."

  So their mother settled the children in a far corner of the room, the two girls grown tall because they were nearing puberty, and the boy grown tall because that was his fate, always to be much taller than the rest.

  "It's good to see you," Sulla said, ignoring the wine the steward put at his elbow.

  "And good to see you."

  "Better than last time, eh?"

  She laughed. "Oh, that! I was in serious trouble with my husband, Lucius Cornelius."

  "I understood that! Why? No loyaler or chaster wife ever lived than you, as I have good cause to know."

  "Oh, he didn't think I had been disloyal, any more than he believed I had been unchaste. The trouble between Gaius Julius and me is more—theoretical," said Aurelia.

  "Theoretical?" asked Sulla, smiling broadly.

  "He doesn't like the neighborhood. He doesn't like my acting as a landlady. He doesn't like Lucius Decumius. And he doesn't like the way I'm raising our children, who can all speak the local cant as well as they can speak Palatine Latin. They also speak about three different kinds of Greek, plus Aramaic, Hebrew, Arvernian Gallic, Aeduan Gallic, Tolosan Gallic, and Lycian."