If Gaius Marius had ever doubted the depth of the love the people of Rome bore him, those fears would have been laid to rest the following morning when he emerged from his house and turned to negotiate the steep slope of the Clivus Argentarius as it plunged down through the Fontinalis Gate to end in the lower Forum. In his right hand he had a stick, on his left side he had the boy Gaius Julius Caesar and soon, to right and to left of him, in front and behind him, he had every man and woman in the vicinity. He was cheered, he was wept over; with every grotesque step, the out-thrust of his right leg and the terrible dragging of his left leg twisting his hip, those who clustered around urged him on. Soon the word was going on ahead of him, so glad, so uplifted: "Gaius Marius! Gaius Marius!" When he entered the lower Forum the cheers were deafening. Sweat standing on his brow, leaning more heavily on Young Caesar than anyone there knew save he and Young Caesar, he hauled himself around the lip of the Comitia. Two dozen senators rushed to lift him to the top of the Curia Hostilia podium, but he held them at bay and struggled, step by dreadful step, all the way up. A curule chair was brought, he got himself down onto it with no help from anyone except the boy. "Left leg," he said, chest heaving. Young Caesar understood at once, got down on his knees and pulled the useless member forward until it rested ahead of the right in the classic pose, then took the inanimate left arm and laid it across Marius's lap, hiding the stiff clumped fingers of the hand beneath a fold of toga. Gaius Marius sat then more regally than any king, bowing his head to acknowledge the cheers while the sweat rolled down his face and his chest labored like a gigantic bellows. The Plebs were already convoked, but every last man in the well of the Comitia turned to face the Senate steps and cheered, after which the ten tribunes of the plebs on the rostra called for three vast hurrahs. The boy stood beside the curule chair and looked down at the crowd, this his first experience of the extraordinary euphoria so many united people could generate, feeling the adulation brush his cheek because he stood so close to its source, and understanding what it must be like to be the First Man in Rome. And as the cheers eventually died down his sharp ears caught the murmured whispers, "Who is that beautiful child?" He was well aware of his beauty, and aware too of the effect it had on others; since he liked to be liked, he also liked being beautiful. If he forgot what he was there for, however, his mother would be angry, and he hated vexing her. A bead of drool was forming in the flaccid corner of Marius's mouth, it must be wiped away. He took the Marius handkerchief from the sinus of his purple-bordered child's toga, and while the whole crowd sighed in tender admiration, he dabbed the sweat from Marius's face and at the same time whisked the gobbet away before anyone could notice it. "Conduct your meeting, tribunes!" Marius cried loudly when he could find the breath. "Bring the prisoner Titus Titinius!" ordered Piso Frugi, the President of the College. "Members of the Plebs gathered here in your tribes, we meet to decide the fate of one Titus Titinius, pilus prior centurion in the legions of the consul Lucius Porcius Cato Licinianus. His case has been referred to us, his peers, by the Senate of Rome after due consideration. The consul Lucius Porcius Cato Licinianus alleges that Titus Titinius did strive to incite a mutiny, and demands that we deal with him as severely as the law allows. As mutiny is treason, we are here to decide if Titus Titinius should live or die." Piso Frugi paused while the prisoner, a big man in his early fifties clad only in a tunic, chains attached to manacles about his wrists and ankles, was led onto the rostra and made to stand at the front, to one side of Piso Frugi. "Members of the Plebs, the consul Lucius Porcius Cato Licinianus states in a letter that he did call an assembly of all the legions of his army, and that while he was addressing this legally convoked assembly, Titus Titinius, the prisoner here on display, did strike him with a missile thrown from the shoulder, and that Titus Titinius did then incite all the men around him to do the same. The letter bears the consul's seal." Piso Frugi turned to the prisoner. "Titus Titinius, how answer you?" "That it's true, tribune. I did indeed strike the consul with a missile thrown from the shoulder." The centurion paused, then said, "A clod of soft earth, tribune, that was my missile. And when I threw it, everyone around me did the same." "A clod of soft earth," said Piso Frugi slowly. "What made you hurl such a missile at your commander?" "He called us yokels, miserable worms, stupid upcountry fools, impossible material to work with, and more besides!" shouted Titus Titinius in his parade voice. "Now I wouldn't have minded if he'd called us mentulae and cunni, tribune that's good talk between a general and his men." He drew in a breath and thundered, "If there had been rotten eggs to hand, I'd rather have thrown rotten eggs! But a ball of soft earth is the next best thing, and there was plenty of that to hand! I don't care if you strangle me, I don't care if you throw me off the Tarpeian Rock! Because if I ever see Lucius Cato again, he'll get more of the same from me, and that's a fact!" Titinius turned to face the Senate steps and pointed at Gaius Marius, chains clanking. "Now there's a general! I served Gaius Marius as a legionary in Numidia and I served him again in Gaul but as a centurion! When I retired he gave me a bit of land in Etruria off his own estates. And I tell you, members of the Plebs, that Gaius Marius wouldn't have got himself buried by clods of earth! Gaius Marius loved his soldiers! He didn't hold them in contempt like Lucius Cato! Nor would Gaius Marius have clapped a man in chains and sent him to be judged by a lot of civilians in Rome just because that man lobbed anything at him! The general would have rubbed that man's face in whatever it was he threw! I tell you, Lucius Cato is no general and Rome will get no victories from him! A general cleans up his own messes. He doesn't give that job to the tribes in a gathering!" A profound silence had fallen. When Titus Titinius ceased to speak, not one voice broke it. Piso Frugi sighed. "Gaius Marius, what would you do with this man?" he asked. "He's a centurion, Lucius Calpurnius Piso Frugi. And I do know him, as he says. Too good a man to waste. But he buried his general in clods of earth, and that is a military offense no matter what the provocation. He can't go back to the consul Lucius Porcius Cato. That would be to insult the consul, who dismissed this man from his service by sending him to us. I think we can best serve the interests of Rome by sending Titus Titinius to some other general. Might I suggest he return to Capua and take up his old duties there?" "How say my fellow tribunes?" asked Piso Frugi. "I say, let it be as Gaius Marius suggests," said Silvanus. "And I," said Carbo. The other seven followed suit. "How says the concilium plebis! Do I need to call for a formal vote, or will you show your hands?" Every hand shot up. "Titus Titinius, this Assembly orders you to report to Quintus Lutatius Catulus in Capua," said Piso Frugi, allowing no smile to appear on his face. "Lictors, strike off his chains. He is free." But he refused to go until he had been brought to Gaius Marius, whereupon he fell to his knees and wept. "Train your Capuan recruits well, Titus Titinius," said Marius, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion. "And now, if I may be excused, I think it's time I walked home." Lucius Decumius popped out from behind a pillar, face creased into smiles, his hand extended to Titus Titinius, but his gaze upon Gaius Marius. ' 'There's a litter for you, Gaius Marius." "I am not riding home in a litter when my feet got me this far!" said Gaius Marius. "Boy, help me up." His huge right hand ate into Young Caesar's thin arm until the flesh below its vise glowed dark red, but no expression save concern crossed Young Caesar's face. He bent to the task of getting the Great Man to his feet as if it were no trouble. Once standing, Marius took his stick, the boy moved to support his left side, and down the steps they went like two conjoined crabs. Half of Rome, it seemed, escorted them up the hill, cheering Marius's every effort. The servants fought for the honor of escorting the grey-hued Marius to his room; no one noticed Young Caesar lag behind. When he thought himself alone he sank to a huddle in the passageway between door and atrium and lay motionless, eyes closed. Julia found him there some time later. Fear twisting her heart, she knelt beside him, oddly reluctant to call for help. "Gaius Julius, Gaius Julius! What is it?" As she took him into her arms he fell against her, his skin drained of color, his c
hest hardly moving. She drew his hand into hers to feel for a pulse and saw the livid bruise in the shape of Marius's fingers upon the child's upper arm. "Gaius Julius, Gaius Julius!" The eyes opened, he sighed and smiled, and the color came stealing back into his face. "Did I get him home?" "Oh yes, Gaius Julius, you got him home magnificently," said Julia, close to tears. "It's worn you out more than it has him! These outside walks are going to be too much for you." "No, Aunt Julia, I can manage, truly. He won't go with anyone else, you know that," he said, getting to his feet. "Yes, unfortunately I do. Thank you, Gaius Julius! Thank you more than I can say." She studied the bruise. "He's hurt you. I shall put something on it to make it feel better.'' The eyes filled with life and light, the mouth curved into the smile which melted Julia's heart. "I know what will make it better, Aunt Julia." "What?" "A kiss. One of your kisses, please." Kisses he got aplenty, and every kind of food he liked, and a book, and the couch in her workroom to rest upon; she would not let him go home until Lucius Decumius came to fetch him.
As the seasons wore on in that year which saw the course of the war turn in Rome's favor at last, Gaius Marius and Young Caesar became one of Rome's fixtures, the boy helping the man, the man slowly becoming more able to help himself. After that first day they turned their feet toward the Campus Martius, where the crowds were far less and their progress eventually provoked scant interest. As Marius grew stronger they walked further, culminating in the triumphant day they reached the Tiber at the end of the Via Recta; after a long rest, Gaius Marius swam in the Trigarium. Once he began to swim regularly his progress accelerated. So did his fascination with the martial and equine exercises they encountered along their way; Marius had decided that it was high time Young Caesar started his military education. At last! At last Gaius Julius Caesar received the rudiments of skills he had longed to acquire. He was tossed into the saddle of a rather mettlesome pony and demonstrated that he was a born rider; he and Marius dueled with wooden swords until even Marius couldn't fault the boy, and graduated him to the real thing; he was shown how to throw the pilum, and plugged the target every time; he learned to swim once Marius felt confident enough in the water to keep him out of trouble; and he listened to a new kind of story from Marius the reminiscences of a general on the subject of generaling. "Most commanders lose the battle before they ever get onto the field to fight," said Marius to Young Caesar as they sat side by side on the river bank, wrapped in linen shrouds. "How, Gaius Marius?" "In one of two ways, mostly. Some understand the art of command so little that they actually think all they have to do is point the enemy out to the legions, then stand back to watch the legions do their stuff. But others have their heads so full of manuals and hints from the generals of their cadet days that they go by the book when to go by the book is to beg for defeat. Every enemy every campaign every battle, Gaius Julius! is unique. It must be approached with the respect due to the unique. By all means plan what you're going to do the night before on a sheet of parchment in the command tent, but don't regard that plan as cut-and-dried. You wait to form the true plan until you see the enemy, the lay of the land on the morning of the engagement, how the enemy is drawn up, and where his weaknesses are. Then you decide! Preconceptions are almost always fatal to your chances. And things can change even as the battle progresses, because every moment is unique! Your men's mood might change or the site mud up faster than you thought it would or dust might rise to obscure every sector of the field or the enemy general spring a real surprise or flaws and weaknesses show up in your own plans or the plans of the enemy," said Marius, quite carried away. "Is it never possible for a battle to go exactly as it was planned the night before?" asked Young Caesar, eyes shining. "It has happened! But about as frequently as hens grow teeth, Young Caesar. Always remember whatever you've planned and no matter how complex your plan might be be prepared to alter it in the twinkling of an eye! And here's another pearl of wisdom, boy. Keep your plan as simple as possible. Simple plans always work better than tactical monstrosities, if for no other reason than you, the general, cannot implement your plan without using the chain of command. And the chain of command gets vaguer the lower down and the farther away from the general it gets." "It would seem that a general must have a very well-trained staff and an army drilled to perfection," said the boy pensively. "Absolutely!" cried Marius. "That's why a good general always makes sure he addresses his troops before the battle. Not to boost morale, Young Caesar. But to let the rankers know what he plans to do. If they know what he plans to do, they can interpret the orders they get from the bottom of the chain of command." "It pays to know your soldiers, doesn't it?" "Indeed it does. It also pays to make sure they know you. And make sure they like you. If men like their general, they'll work harder and take bigger risks for him. Don't ever forget what Titus Titinius said from the rostra. Call the men every name under the sun, but never give them reason to suppose you despise them. If you know your ranker soldiers and they know you, twenty thousand Roman legionaries can beat a hundred thousand barbarians." "You were a soldier before you were a general." "I was. An advantage you'll never really have, Young Caesar, because you're a patrician Roman nobleman. And yet I say that if you're not a soldier before you're a general, you can never be a general in the true sense.'' Marius leaned forward, eyes looking at something far beyond the Trigarium and the neat sward of the Vatican plain. "The best generals were always soldiers first. Look at Cato the Censor. When you're old enough to be a cadet, don't skulk behind the lines making yourself useful to your commander get out in the front line and fight! Ignore your nobility. Every time there's a battle, turn yourself into a ranker. If your general objects and wants you to ride around the field bearing messages, tell him you'd rather fight. He'll let you because he doesn't hear it very often from his own kind. You must fight as an ordinary soldier, Young Caesar. How else when you come to command can you understand what your soldiers in the front line are going through? How can you know what frightens them what puts them off what cheers them up what makes them charge like bulls? And I'll tell you something else too, boy!" "What?" asked Young Caesar eagerly, drinking in every word with bated breath. "It's time we went home!" said Marius, laughing. Until he saw the look on Young Caesar's face. "Now don't get on your high horse with me, boy!" he barked, annoyed because his joke had fallen flat and Young Caesar was furious. "Don't you dare tease me about something so important!" the child said, his voice as soft and gentle as Sulla's could be in a like moment. "This is serious, Gaius Marius! You're not here to entertain me! I want to know everything you know before I'm old enough to be a cadet then I can go on learning from a more solid base than anyone else. I will never stop learning! So cut out your unfunny jokes and treat me like a man!" "You're not a man,'' said Marius feebly, staggered at the storm he had raised and not sure how to deal with it. "When it comes to learning I'm more a man than any man I know, including you!" Young Caesar's voice was growing louder; several nearby wet and shivering faces turned his way. Even in the midst of this towering rage, however, there was still presence of mind; he glanced at their neighbors and got abruptly to his feet, nostrils pinched, lips set hard. "I don't mind being a child when Aunt Julia treats me like a child," he said, quietly now, "but when you treat me like a child, Gaius Marius, I am mortally insulted! I tell you, I won't have it!" Out went one hand to pull Marius up. "Come on, let's go home. I'm out of patience with you today." Marius grasped the hand and went home without a murmur.
2. The Grass Crown Page 61