“No one would have her!” said Aurelia, snorting.
“There are always men peculiarly susceptible to the charms of utterly helpless women,” said Caesar. “Unfortunately she’s a bad picker. So whoever she marries will prove no more satisfactory a husband than did Marcus Antonius the Man of Chalk.””
“In that, my son, you are definitely right.”
He turned his attention to his sister Ju—Ju, who had said not one word so far; she had always been the silent member of the family, despite owning a lively disposition. “I used to accuse Lia of being a bad picker,” he said, “but I didn’t give you a chance to show me what sort of picker you were, did I?”
She gave him back his own smile. “I am very well content with the husband you picked for me, Caesar. However, I’m quite prepared to admit that the young men I used to fancy before I married have all turned out rather disappointing.’’
“Then you’d better let Atius and me pick your daughter’s husband when the time comes. Atia is going to be very beautiful. And intelligent, which means she won’t appeal to everyone.”
“Isn’t that a pity?” asked Ju—Ju.
“That she’s intelligent, or that men don’t appreciate it?”
“The latter.”
“I like intelligent women,” said Caesar, “but they’re few and far between. Don’t worry, we’ll find Atia someone who does appreciate her qualities.”
Aunt Julia rose. “It will be dark soon, Caesar—I know you prefer to be called that, even by your mother. But it still comes hard to me! I must go.”
“I’ll ask Lucius Decumius’s boys to find you a litter and escort you,” said Caesar.
“I have a litter,” said Aunt Julia. “Mucia isn’t allowed to go out on foot, so we traveled between the Quirinal and the Subura in extreme comfort—or we would have had we not shared the conveyance with Julia Antonia, who nearly washed us away. We also have some stout fellows to escort us.”
“And I came by litter too,” said Ju—Ju.
“Degenerate!” sniffed Aurelia. “You’d all do better to walk.”
“I’d love to walk,” said Mucia Tertia softly, “but husbands don’t see things the way you do, Aurelia. Gnaeus Pompeius thinks it unseemly for me to walk.”
Caesar’s ears pricked. Aha! Some faint discontent! She was feeling constricted, too hedged about. But he said nothing, simply waited and chatted to everyone while a servant ran up to the crossroads square to summon the litters.
“You don’t look well, Aunt Julia” was the last subject he broached, and leaving it until he was handing her into her side of the roomy conveyance Pompey had provided for Mucia Tertia.
“I’m growing old, Caesar,” she said in a whisper, giving his hand a squeeze. “Fifty-seven. But there’s nothing the matter except that my bones ache when the weather’s cold. I’m beginning to dread winters.”
“Are you warm enough up there on the outer Quirinal?” he asked sharply. “Your house is exposed to the north wind. Shall I have your cellar fitted with a hypocausis?”
“Save your money, Caesar. If I need it, I can afford to install a furnace myself,” she said, and shut the curtains.
“She isn’t well, you know,” he said to his mother as they went back into the apartment.
Aurelia thought about that, then gave measured judgement. “She’d be well enough, Caesar, if she had more to live for. But husband and son are both dead. She has no one except us and Mucia Tertia. And we are not enough.”
The reception room was ablaze with the little flames of lamps and the shutters had been closed against the chill wind percolating down the light well. It looked warm and cheery, and there on the floor with Cinnilla was Caesar’s daughter, almost six years old. An exquisite child, fine—boned and graceful, so fair she had a silver look.
When she saw her father her great blue eyes sparkled; she held out her arms. “Tata, tata!” she cried. “Pick me up!”
He picked her up, pressed his lips against her pale pink cheek. “And how’s my princess today?”
And while he listened with every sign of fascination to a litany of small and girlish doings, Aurelia and Cinnilla watched them both. Cinnilla’s thoughts got no further than the fact that she loved them, but Aurelia’s dwelt upon that word, princess. She is exactly that, a princess. Caesar will go far, and one day he will be very rich. The suitors will be unnumbered. But he won’t be as kind to her as my mother and stepfather/uncle were to me. He will give her to the man he needs the most no matter how she feels about it. So I must train her to accept her fate, to go to it gracefully and in good spirits.
*
On the twenty-fourth day of December, Marcus Crassus finally celebrated his ovation. Since there had been an undeniable Samnite element in Spartacus’s army, he had won two concessions from the Senate: instead of going afoot he was allowed to ride a horse; and instead of wearing the lesser crown of myrtle he was allowed to wear the triumphator’s crown of laurel. A good crowd turned out to cheer him and his army, marched up from Capua for the occasion, though there were broad winks and many digs in the ribs at sight of the spoils, a poor collection. The whole of Rome knew Marcus Crassus’s besetting sin.
The numbers who attended Pompey’s triumph on the last day of December were much greater, however. Somehow Pompey had managed to endear himself to the people of Rome, perhaps because of his relative youth, his golden beauty, that fancied resemblance to Alexander the Great, and a certain happy cast to his features. For the love they felt forPompey was not of the same kind as the love they had used to feel for Gaius Marius, who continued (despite all Sulla’s efforts) to remain the favorite person in living memory.
At about the same time that the curule elections were being held in Rome early in December, Metellus Pius finally crossed the Alps into Italian Gaul with his army, which he proceeded to disband before settling its troops in the wide rich lands to the north of the Padus River. Whether because he had sensed something in Pompey toward the end of their period together in Spain that had caused him to suspect that Pompey would not be content with a return to obscurity, the Piglet had remained obdurately aloof from the troubles in Rome. When written to in appeal by Catulus, Hortensius and the other prestigious Caecilii Metelli, he had refused to discuss matters which, he maintained, his long absence in Spain disqualified him from commenting upon. And when he did reach Rome at the end of January he celebrated a modest triumph with those troops who had accompanied him to Rome for the occasion, and took his seat in a Senate supervised by Pompey and Crassus as if nothing whatsoever was amiss. It was an attitude which spared him much pain, though it also meant he never did receive as much credit for the defeat of Quintus Sertorius as he deserved.
The lex Pompeia Licinia de tribunicia potestate was tabled in the House early in January under the aegis of Pompey, who held the fasces as senior consul. The popularity of this law, restoring as it did full powers to the tribunate of the plebs, flattened senatorial opposition. All those whom Pompey and Crassus had thought to hear roaring against it in the House contented themselves with a few bleats; the senatus consultum recommending to the Assembly of the People that the law be passed was obtained by a near unanimous vote. Some had quibbled that it should by rights have gone to the Centuriate Assembly for ratification, but Caesar, Hortensius and Cicero all asserted firmly that only a tribal assembly could ratify measures involving the tribes. Within the three stipulated market days, the lex Pompeia Licinia passed into law. Once more the tribunes of the plebs could veto laws and magistrates, bring forward plebiscites having the force of law in their Plebeian Assembly without the senatorial blessing of a senatus consultum, and even prosecute for treason, extortion and other gubernatorial transgressions.
Caesar was speaking in the House on a regular basis now; since he was always worth listening to—witty, interesting, brief, pungent—he soon gathered a following, and was asked with ever increasing frequency to publish his speeches, considered every bit as good as Cicero’s. Even Cicero had been heard to say
that Caesar was the best orator in Rome—after himself, that is.
Anxious to utilize some of his newly restored powers, the tribune of the plebs Plautius announced in the Senate that he was going to legislate in the Plebeian Assembly to give back their citizenships and rights to those condemned with Lepidus and with Quintus Sertorius. Caesar rose at once to speak in favor of the law, and pleaded with very moving eloquence to extend this measure to include all those proscribed by Sulla. Yet when the Senate refused to grant the extension and endorsed the Plautian law only in respect of those outlawed for following Lepidus and Sertorius, Caesar looked strangely cheerful, not at all put out.
“The House turned you down, Caesar,” said Marcus Crassus, puzzled, “yet here I find you positively purring!”
“My dear Crassus, I knew perfectly well they’d never sanction a pardon for Sulla’s proscribed!” said Caesar, smiling. “It would mean too many important men who got fat off the proscriptions must give everything back. No, no! However, it looked very much as if the Catulus rump was going to succeed in blocking pardons for the Lepidans and Sertorians, so I made that measure look modest enough to seem inviting by harping on Sulla’s proscribed. If you want something done and you think it’s going to be opposed, Marcus Crassus, always go much further than what you want. The opposition becomes so incensed by the additions that it quite loses sight of the fact that it originally opposed the lesser measure.”
Crassus grinned. “You’re a politician to the core, Caesar. I hope some of your opponents don’t study your methods too closely, or you’ll find life harder than it is.”
“I love politics,” said Caesar simply.
“You love everything you do, so you jump in boots and all. That’s your secret. Well, that and the size of your mind.”
“Don’t flatter me, Crassus, my head is quite large enough,” said Caesar, who loved to pun on the fact that “head” meant what resided on a man’s shoulders—and also meant what resided between a man’s legs.
“Too big, if you ask me,” said Crassus, laughing. “You’d better be a little more discreet in your dealings with other men’s wives, at least for the time being. I hear our new censors are going to examine the sentorial rolls the way a sedulous nursemaid looks for nits.”
*
There were censors for the first time since Sulla had cut that office from the list of magistracies; an unlikely, peculiar pair in Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus and Lucius Gellius Poplicola. Everyone knew they were Pompey’s hirelings, but when Pompey had mooted their names in the House, the more appropriate men who had planned to run for censor—Catulus and Metellus Pius, Vatia Isauricus and Curio—all withdrew, leaving the field clear for Clodianus and Gellius.
Crassus’s prediction was right. It was normal censorial practice to let all the State contracts first, but after letting the sacred contracts for feeding the Capitoline geese and chickens and other religious matters, Clodianus and Gellius proceeded to the senatorial rolls. Their findings were read out at a special contio they called from the rostra in the lower Forum Romanum, and created a huge stir. No less than sixty-four senators were expelled, most of them for being under suspicion of having taken bribes (or given out bribes) when on jury duty. Many of the jurors at the trial of Statius Albius Oppianicus were expelled, and the successful prosecutor of Oppianicus, his stepson Cluentius, was demoted by being transferred from his rural tribe to urban Esquilina. But more sensational by far were the expulsions of one of last year’s quaestors, Quintus Curius, last year’s senior consul, Publius Cornelius Lentulus Sura, and Gaius Antonius Hybrida, the Monster of Lake Orchomenus.
It was not impossible for an expelled senator to re-enter the House, but he could not expect to do it through the offices of the censors who had expelled him; he had to stand for election as either a quaestor or a tribune of the plebs. A wearisome business for Lentulus Sura, who had already been consul! And not one he contemplated immediately, for Lentulus Sura was in love, and didn’t care very much about the Senate. Shortly after his expulsion he married the feckless Julia Antonia. Caesar had been right. Julia Antonia was a poor picker of husbands, and Lentulus Sura a worse choice than Marcus Antonius the Man of Chalk.
The Senate finished with, Clodianus and Gellius went back to contract letting, this time civilian rather than sacred. These mostly concerned the farming of provincial taxes and tithes, though they also covered the erection or restoration of numerous State—owned buildings and public facilities, from the refurbishment of latrines to circus bleachers, bridge making, basilicae. Again there was a huge stir; the censors announced that they were abandoning the system of taxation Sulla had brought in to relieve Asia Province.
Lucullus and Marcus Cotta had pursued their war against King Mithridates to what seemed a successful conclusion, though the laurels definitely belonged to Lucullus. The year of the Pompey and Crassus consulship saw Mithridates obliged to flee to the court of his son-in-law Tigranes of Armenia (where Tigranes refused to see him), and Lucullus just about in full possession of Pontus as well as Cappadocia and Bithynia; only Tigranes remained to be dealt with. His hands free to bury themselves in some much-needed administrative work, Lucullus promptly began to see to the tangled financial affairs of Asia Province, which he had been governing in tandem with Cilicia for three years. And cracked down on the tax^ ^farming publicani so hard that on two occasions he exercised his right within his province to execute and had several of these men beheaded, as had Marcus Aemilius Scaurus some years earlier.
The squeals of outrage in Rome were enormous, especially when Lucullus’s reforms made it even more difficult for the tax—farmers to operate at a maximum profit than had Sulla’s. A member of the arch—conservative senatorial rump, Lucullus had never been popular in high business circles, which meant that men like Crassus and Atticus loathed him. Perhaps because alone among the current crop of generals Lucullus bade fair to eclipsing him, Pompey too disliked Lucullus.
It was therefore no surprise when Pompey’s pair of tame censors announced that Sulla’s system in Asia Province was to be abandoned; things would go back to the way they had been in the old pre-Sullan days.
But all of this made no difference to Lucullus, who ignored the censorial directives. While ever he was governor of Asia Province, he said, he would continue with Sulla’s system, which was a model and ought to be implemented in every one of Rome’s provinces. The hastily shaped companies which had marshaled men to go out to Asia Province faltered, voices were raised in Forum and Senate, and all the most powerful knights thundered that Lucullus must be dismissed as governor.
Still Lucullus continued to ignore directives from Rome, and to ignore his precarious position. More important to him by far was the tidying up which always followed in the wake of big wars; by the time he left his two provinces they would be proper.
Though he was not by nature or inclination attracted to arch—conservative senators like Catulus and Lucullus, Caesar nonetheless had cause to be grateful to Lucullus; he had received a letter from Queen Oradaltis of Bithynia.
My daughter has come home, Caesar. I’m sure you know that Lucius Licinius Lucullus has had great success in his war against King Mithridates, and that for a year now he has been campaigning in Pontus itself. Among the many fortresses the King maintained, Cabeira had always been thought to be his strongest. But this year it fell to Lucullus, who found all sorts of horrible things—the dungeons were full of political prisoners and potentially dangerous relatives who had been tortured, or used as specimens by the King in his constant experimentations with poison. I will not dwell upon such hideous matters, I am too happy.
Among the women Lucullus found in residence was Nysa. She had been there for nearly twenty years, and has come home to me a woman of more than sixty. However, Mithridates had treated her well according to his lights—she was held to be no different from the small collection of minor wives and concubines he kept in Cabeira. He also kept some of his sisters there whom he didn’t wish to see marr
y or have any opportunity to bear children, so my poor girl had plenty of spinsterly company. For that matter, the King has so many wives and concubines that those in Cabeira had also been living like spinsters for years! A colony of old maids.
When Lucullus opened up their prison he was very kind to all the women he found, and took exquisite care that there should be no masculine offense offered to them. The way Nysa tells it, he behaved as did Alexander the Great toward the mother, wives and other harem members of the third King Darius. I believe Lucullus sent the Pontic women to his ally in Cimmeria, the son of Mithridates called Machares.
Nysa he freed completely the moment he discovered who she was. But more than that, Caesar. He loaded her down with gold and presents and sent her back to me under an escort of troops sworn to honor her. Can you imagine this aged, never very beautiful woman’s pleasure at journeying through the countryside as free as any bird?
Oh, and to see her again! I knew nothing until she walked through the front door of my villa in Rheba, glowing like a young girl. She was so happy to see me! My last wish has come true, I have my daughter back.
She came just in time. My dear old dog, Sulla, died of antiquity a month before her advent, and I despaired. The servants tried desperately to persuade me to get another dog, but you know how it is. You think of all the special wonders and laughable antics that beloved pet has owned, his place in your family life, and it seems such a betrayal to bury him, then hurry some other creature into his basket. I’m not saying it’s wrong to do so, but a little time has to go by before the new pet takes on characteristics special to him, and I very much fear I would have been dead before any new pet became a person in his own right.
No need for dying now! Nysa wept to find her father gone, of course, but we have settled down here together in such harmony and delight—we both handline fish from the jetty and stroll through the village for our constitutional. Lucullus did invite us to live in the palace at Nicomedia, but we have decided to remain where we are. And we have a dear little pup named Lucullus.
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