“So your pity was stirred, and you wanted to bring this poor creature into a kind home,” I said to Aurelia.
And here, Gaius Marius, is why I love this girl more than I love my own daughter.
For my comment did not please her at all. She reared back a little like a serpent, and said, “Certainly not! Pity is admirable, Uncle Publius, for so all our books tell us, and our parents too. But I would find pity a poor reason for choosing a maidservant! If Cardixa’s life has not been ideal, that is no fault of mine. Therefore I am in no way morally bound to rectify her misfortunes. I chose Cardixa because I am sure she will prove loyal, hardworking, submissive, and well intentioned. A pretty bucket is no guarantee that the book it contains is worth reading.
“Oh, don’t you love her too, Gaius Marius, just a little? Thirteen years old she was at the time! And the strangest part about it was that though in my atrocious handwriting now, what she said may sound priggish, or even unfeeling, I knew she was neither prig nor cold-heart. Common sense, Gaius Marius! My niece has common sense. And how many women do you know with such a wonderful gift as that? All these fellows here want to marry her because of her face and her figure and her fortune, where I would rather give her to someone who prized her common sense. But how does one decide whose suit to favor? That is the burning question we are all asking each other.
When he laid the letter down, Gaius Marius picked up his pen and drew a sheet of paper toward him. He dipped his stylus in his inkpot, and wrote without hesitation.
Of course I understand. Go to it, Publius Rutilius! Gnaeus Mallius Maximus will need all the help he can get, and you will prove an excellent consul. As to your niece, why don’t you let her pick her own husband? She seems to have done all right with her maidservant. Though I can’t honestly see what all the fuss is about. Lucius Cornelius tells me he is the father of a son, but he had the news from Gaius Julius, not from Julilla. Would you do me the favor of keeping an eye on that young lady? For I do not think Julilla is like your niece in the matter of common sense, and I do not know whom else to ask, considering that I cannot very well ask her tata to keep an eye on her. I thank you for telling me Gaius Julius is unwell. I hope when you receive this, you are a new consul.
THE
SIXTH YEAR
105 B.C.
IN THE CONSULSHIP OF
PUBLIUS RUTILIUS RUFUS
AND
GNAEUS MALLIUS MAXIMUS
1
Though Jugurtha was not yet a fugitive in his own country, its more settled and eastern parts had certainly come to terms with the specter of the Romans, and accepted the inevitability of Roman dominance. However, Cirta, the capital, was situated in the center, so Marius decided it might be prudent to winter there himself, rather than in Utica. Cirta’s inhabitants had never demonstrated any great fondness for the King, but Marius knew Jugurtha well enough to understand that he was at his most dangerous—and his most charming—when pressed; it would not be politic to leave Cirta open to seduction by the King. Sulla was left in Utica to govern the Roman province, while Aulus Manlius was released from service and allowed to go home. With him to Rome Manlius took the two sons of Gaius Julius Caesar, neither of whom had wanted to leave Africa. But Rutilius’s letter had perturbed Marius; he had a feeling that it might be wise to give Caesar back his sons.
In January of the New Year, King Bocchus of Mauretania made up his mind at last; despite his blood and marital ties to Jugurtha, he would formally ally himself with Rome— if Rome would deign to have him. So he moved from Iol to Icosium, the place where he had interviewed Sulla and the seasick Manlius two months earlier, and sent a small embassage off from Icosium to treat with Marius. Unfortunately it did not occur to him that Marius would winter anywhere save in Utica; as a result, the little delegation made Utica its goal, thus passing well to the north of Cirta and Gaius Marius.
There were five Moorish ambassadors, including the King’s younger brother Bogud once again, and one of his sons as well, but the party traveled in very little state and without a military escort; Bocchus wished no difficulties with Marius, and no intimations of martial intentions. He also wanted to bypass attention from Jugurtha.
In consequence, the cavalcade looked exactly like a group of prosperous merchants heading home with the proceeds of a season’s good trading, and was irresistibly tempting to the gangs of armed bandits who had taken advantage of the fragmentation of Numidia and the impotence of its king by helping themselves to other people’s property. As the group crossed the river Ubus not far south of Hippo Regius, it was set upon by outlaws and robbed of everything save the clothes its members wore; even its retinue of slaves and servants was taken for resale in some distant market.
Quintus Sertorius and his exquisitely tuned cerebral apparatus were on duty with Marius, which meant that Sulla was served by less perceptive officers. Knowing this, however, he had made it his practice to keep an eye on what was happening at the gates of the governor’s palace in Utica; and, as luck would have it, he personally saw the raggle-taggle cluster of poor itinerants who stood trying fruitlessly to gain admission.
“But we must see Gaius Marius!” Prince Bogud was insisting. “We are the ambassadors of King Bocchus of Mauretania, I do assure you!”
Sulla recognized at least three of the group, and strolled over. “Bring them in, idiot,” he said to the duty tribune, then took Bogud’s arm to help him along, for he was clearly footsore. “No, the explanations can wait, Prince,” he said firmly. “You need a bath, fresh clothes, food, and a rest.”
Some hours later he heard Bogud’s story.
“We have been much longer getting here than we expected,” Bogud said in conclusion, “and I fear the King my brother will have despaired. May we see Gaius Marius?”
“Gaius Marius is in Cirta,” said Sulla easily. “I advise you to tell me what it is your king wants, and leave it to me to get word to Cirta. Otherwise, there will be more delays.”
“We are all blood relatives of the King, who asks Gaius Marius to send us onward to Rome, where we are to beg the Senate in person to reinstate the King in Rome’s service,” said Bogud.
“I see.” Sulla rose to his feet. “Prince Bogud, please make yourself comfortable and wait. I’ll send to Gaius Marius at once, but it will be some days before we hear.”
Said Marius’s letter, which turned up in Utica four days later:
Well, well, well! This could be quite useful, Lucius Cornelius. However, I must be extremely careful. The new senior consul, Publius Rutilius Rufus, tells me that our dear friend Metellus Numidicus Piggle-wiggle is going around informing anyone who will listen that he intends to prosecute me for extortion and corruption in my provincial administration. Therefore I can do nothing to give him ammunition. Luckily he’ll have to manufacture his evidence, as it has never been my practice to extort or corrupt—well, you know that better than most, I imagine. So here is what I want you to do.
I shall give audience to Prince Bogud in Cirta, which means you will have to bring the embassage here. However, before you start out, I want you to gather up every single Roman senator, tribune of the Treasury, official representative of the Senate or People of Rome, and important Roman citizen, in the whole of the Roman African province. Bring them all to Cirta with you. For I am going to interview Bogud with every single Roman notable I can find listening to every word I say, and approving in writing of whatever I decide to do.
Shouting with laughter, Sulla put the letter down. “Oh, superbly done, Gaius Marius!” he remarked to the four walls of his office, and went to scatter havoc among his tribunes and administrative officials by ordering them to scour the whole province for Roman notables.
Because of its importance to Rome as a supplier of grain, Africa Province was a place the more globe-trotting members of the Senate liked to visit. It was also exotic and beautiful, and at this early time of the year, the prevailing winds being from the northern quadrant, it was a safer sea route to the east than passage acr
oss the Adriatic Sea—for those who had the extra time. And though it was the rainy season, that did not mean that every day it rained; between rains the climate was deliciously balmy compared to winter-struck Europa, and cured the visitor’s chilblains immediately.
Thus Sulla was able to gather two globe-trotting senators and two visiting absentee landowners (including the biggest, Marcus Caelius Rufus), plus one senior Treasury official on winter vacation, and one plutocrat from Rome who had a huge business buying grain, and was currently in Utica to dabble a little in wheat futures.
“But the great coup,” he said to Gaius Marius the moment he arrived in Cirta fifteen days later, “was none other than Gaius Billienus, who fancied taking a look at Africa on his way to govern Asia Province. Thus I am able to offer you a praetor with proconsular imperium, no less! We also have a Treasury quaestor, Gnaeus Octavius Ruso, who fortunately happened to sail into Utica harbor just before I set out, bearing the army’s wages. So I dragooned him too.”
“Lucius Cornelius, you’re a man after my own heart!” said Marius, grinning broadly. “Oh, but you do catch on fast!”
And before he saw the Moorish embassage, Marius called a council of his Roman notables.
“I want to explain the situation to all of you august gentlemen exactly as it exists, and then after I have seen Prince Bogud and his fellow ambassadors in your presence, I want us to arrive at a joint decision as to what I ought to do about King Bocchus. It will be necessary for each of you to put down his opinion in writing, so that when Rome is informed, everyone can see that I did not exceed the limits of my authority,” said Marius to senators, landowners, businessmen, one tribune of the Treasury, one quaestor, and one governor of a province.
The outcome of the meeting was exactly what Marius had wanted; he had put his case to the Roman notables with care as well as eloquence, and was vehemently supported by his quaestor, Sulla. A peace agreement with Bocchus was highly desirable, the notables concluded, and might best be accomplished if three of the Moors were sent onward to Rome escorted by the Treasury quaestor Gnaeus Octavius Ruso, and the two remaining Moors were returned to Bocchus forthwith as evidence of Rome’s good faith.
So Gnaeus Octavius Ruso shepherded Bogud and two of his cousins onward to Rome, where they arrived early in March, and were heard at once by the Senate in a specially convened meeting. This was held in the temple of Bellona because the matter involved a foreign war with a foreign ruler; Bellona being Rome’s own goddess of war and therefore far older than Mars, her temple was the place of choice for war meetings of the Senate.
The consul Publius Rutilius Rufus delivered the Senate’s verdict with the temple doors wide open to permit those who clustered outside to hear him.
“Tell King Bocchus,” Rutilius Rufus said in his high, light voice, “that the Senate and People of Rome remember both an offense and a favor. It is clear to us that King Bocchus rues his offense sincerely, so it would be unduly churlish of us, the Senate and People of Rome, to withhold our forgiveness. Therefore is he forgiven. However, the Senate and People of Rome now require that King Bocchus do us a favor of similar magnitude, for to date we have no favor to remember alongside the offense. We make no stipulations as to what this favor should be, we leave it entirely up to King Bocchus. And when the favor has been shown to us as unequivocally as the offense was, the Senate and People of Rome will be happy to give King Bocchus of Mauretania a treaty of friendship and alliance.”
Bocchus got this answer at the end of March, delivered in person by Bogud and the two other ambassadors. Terror of Roman reprisals had outweighed the King’s fears for his person, so rather than retreat to far-off Tingis beyond the Pillars of Hercules, Bocchus had elected to remain in Icosium. Gaius Marius, he reasoned, would treat with him from this distance, but no further. And to protect himself from Jugurtha, he brought a new Moorish army to Icosium, and fortified the tiny port settlement as best he could.
Off went Bogud to see Marius in Cirta.
“My brother the King begs and beseeches Gaius Marius to tell him what favor he can do Rome of similar magnitude to his offense.” asked Bogud, on his knees.
“Get up, man, get up!” said Marius testily. “I am not a king! I am a proconsul of the Senate and People of Rome! No one grovels to me, it demeans me as much as it does the groveler!”
Bogud clambered to his feet, bewildered. “Gaius Marius, help us!” he cried. “What favor can the Senate want?”
“I would help you if I could, Prince Bogud,” said Marius, studying his nails.
“Then send one of your senior officers to speak to the King! Perhaps in personal discussion, a way might be found.”
“All right,” said Marius suddenly. “Lucius Cornelius Sulla can go to see your king. Provided that the meeting place is no further from Cirta than Icosium.”
*
“Of course it’s Jugurtha we want as the favor,” said Marius to Sulla as his quaestor prepared to ship out. “Ah, I’d give my eyeteeth to be going in your place, Lucius Cornelius! But since I cannot, I’m very glad I’m sending a man with a decent pair of eyeteeth.”
Sulla grinned. “Once they’re in, I find it hard to let go,” he said.
“Then sink them in, twice as deep for me! And if you can, bring me Jugurtha!”
So it was with swelling heart and iron determination that Sulla set sail from Rusicade; with him he had a cohort of Roman legionaries, a cohort of light-armed Italian troops from the tribe of the Paeligni in Samnium, a personal escort of slingers from the Balearic Isles, and one squadron of cavalry, Publius Vagiennius’s unit from Liguria. The time was mid-May.
All the way to Icosium he chafed, in spite of the fact that he was a good sailor, and had discovered in himself a great liking for the sea and ships. This expedition was a lucky one. And a significant one for himself. He knew it, as surely as if he too had received a prophecy. Oddly enough, he had never sought an interview with Martha the Syrian, though Gaius Marius urged him to it often; his refusal had nothing to do with disbelief, or lack of the necessary superstition. A Roman, Lucius Cornelius Sulla was riddled with superstitions. The truth was, he was too afraid. Yearn though he did to have some other human being confirm his own suspicions about his high destiny, he knew too much about his weaknesses and his darknesses to go as serenely into prognostication as had Marius.
But now, sailing into Icosium Bay, he wished he had gone to see Martha. For his future seemed to press down on him as heavily as a blanket, and he did not know, could not feel, just what it held. Great things. But evil too. Almost alone among his peers, Sulla understood the tangible brooding presence of evil. The Greeks argued about its nature interminably, and many argued indeed that it did not exist at all. But Sulla knew it existed. And he very much feared it existed in himself.
Icosium Bay craved some majestic city, but instead owned only a small township huddled in its back reaches, where a rugged range of coastal mountains came right down to the shore, and rendered it both sheltered and remote. During the winter rains many streamlets discharged themselves into the water, and more than a dozen islands floated like wonderful ships with the tall local cypresses appearing as masts and sails upon them. A beautiful place, Icosium, thought Sulla.
On the shore adjacent to the town there waited perhaps a thousand Moorish Berber horse troopers, equipped as were the Numidians—no saddles, no bridles, no body armor— just a cluster of spears held in one hand, and long-swords, and shields.
“Ah!” said Bogud as he and Sulla landed from the first lighter. “The King has sent his favorite son to meet you, Lucius Cornelius.”
“What’s his name?” asked Sulla.
“Volux.”
The young man rode up, armed like his men, but upon a bedizened horse bearing both saddle and bridle. Sulla found himself liking the way his hand was shaken, and liking Prince Volux’s manner; but where was the King? Nowhere could his practised eye discern the usual clutter and scurrying confusion which surrounded a king in residenc
e.
“The King has retreated south about a hundred miles into the mountains, Lucius Cornelius,” the prince explained as they walked to a spot where Sulla could supervise the unloading of his troops and equipment.
Sulla’s skin prickled. “That was no part of the King’s bargain with Gaius Marius,” he said.
“I know,” said Volux, looking uneasy. “You see, King Jugurtha has arrived in the neighborhood.”
Sulla froze. “Is this a trap, Prince Volux?”
“No, no!” cried the young man, both hands going out. “I swear to you by all our gods, Lucius Cornelius, that it is not a trap! But Jugurtha smells a dead thing, because he was given to understand that the King my father was going back to Tingis, yet still the King my father lingers here at Icosium. So Jugurtha has moved into the hills with a small army of Gaetuli—not enough men to attack us, but too many for us to attack him. The King my father decided to withdraw from the sea in order to make Jugurtha believe that if he expects someone from Rome, he expects his visitor to travel on the road. So Jugurtha followed him. Jugurtha knows nothing of your arrival here, we are sure. You were wise to come by sea.”
“Jugurtha will find out I’m here soon enough,” said Sulla grimly, thinking of his inadequate escort, fifteen hundred strong.
“Hopefully not, or at least, not yet,” said Volux. “I led a thousand of my troopers out of the King my father’s camp three days ago as if on maneuvers, and came up to the coast, We are not officially at war with Numidia, so Jugurtha has little excuse to attack us, but he’s not sure what the King my father intends to do either, and he dare not risk an outright breach with us until he knows more. I do assure you that he elected to remain watching our camp in the south, and that his scouts will not get anywhere near Icosium while my troopers patrol the area.”
The First Man in Rome Page 45