“Your childhood was an abomination,” he said, got up and crossed to her side. “As for your first husband, you neither loved him nor chose him. He was just the man who made your son.”
She lifted her face for his kiss, never before so aware of what constituted Caesar’s kiss because always before she had wanted it too badly to savor and dissect it. A perfect fusion of senses and spirit, she thought, and slid her arms about his neck. His skin was weathered, a little rough, and he smelled faintly of some sacrificial fire, ashes on a darkening hearth. Perhaps, her wondering mind went on through touch and taste, what I try to do is have something of his force with me forever, and the only way I can get it is this way, my body against his, him inside me, the two of us spared for some few moments all knowledge of other things, existing only in each other . . .
Neither of them spoke then until both of them had slipped in and out of a little sleep; and there was the world again, babies howling, women shrieking, men hawking and spitting, the rumble of carts on the cobbles, the dull clunk of some machine in a nearby factory, the faint tremble which was Vulcan in the depths below.
“Nothing,” said Servilia, “lasts forever.”
“Including us, as I was telling you.”
“But we have our names, Caesar. If they are not forgotten, it is a kind of immortality.”
“The only one I’m aiming for.”
A sudden resentment filled her; she turned away from him. “You’re a man, you have a chance at that. But what about me?”
“What about you?” he asked, pulling her to face him.
“That,” she said, “was not a philosophical question.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She sat up and linked her arms about her knees, the ridge of down along her spine hidden by a great mass of fallen black hair.
“How old are you, Servilia?”
“I’ll soon be forty-three.”
It was now or never; Caesar sat up too. “Do you want to marry again?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Who?”
She turned wide eyes to stare at him. “Who else, Caesar?”
“I can’t marry you, Servilia.”
Her shock was perceptible; she cringed. “Why?”
“For one thing, there are our children. It isn’t against the law for us to marry and for our children to marry each other. The degree of blood is permissible. But it would be too awkward, and I won’t do it to them.”
“That,” she said tightly, “is a prevarication.”
“No, it isn’t. To me it’s valid.”
“And what else?”
“Haven’t you heard what I said when I divorced Pompeia?” he asked. ” ‘Caesar’s wife, like all Caesar’s family, must be above suspicion.’ ”
“I am above suspicion.”
“No, Servilia, you’re not.”
“Caesar, that’s just not so! It’s said of me that I am too proud to ally myself with Jupiter Optimus Maximus.”
“But you weren’t too proud to ally yourself with me.”
“Of course not!”
He shrugged. “And there you have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’re not above suspicion. You’re an unfaithful wife.”
“I am not!”
“Rubbish! You’ve been unfaithful for years.”
“But with you, Caesar, with you! Never before with anyone, and never since with anyone else, even Silanus!”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Caesar indifferently, “that it was with me. You are an unfaithful wife.”
“Not to you!”
“How do I know that? You were unfaithful to Silanus. Why not later to me?”
It was a nightmare; Servilia drew a breath, fought to keep her mind on these incredible things he was saying. “Before you,” she said, “all men were insulsus. And after you, all other men are insulsus.”
“I won’t marry you, Servilia. You’re not above suspicion, and you’re not above reproach.”
“What I feel for you,” she said, struggling on, “cannot be measured in terms of the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do. You are unique. Not for any other man—or for a god!—would I have beggared my pride or my good name. How can you use what I feel for you against me?’’
“I’m not using anything against you, Servilia, I’m simply telling you the truth. Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.”
“I am above suspicion!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, I don’t believe this!” she cried, shaking her head back and forth, hands wrung together. “You are unfair! Unjust!”
And clearly the interview was over; Caesar got off the bed. “You must see it that way, of course. But that doesn’t change it, Servilia. Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.”
Time went by; she could hear Caesar in the bath, apparently at peace with his world. And finally she dragged herself out of the bed, dressed.
“No bath?” he asked, actually smiling at her when she went through to the balcony service room.
“Today I’ll go home to bathe.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Do you want to be?”
“I am honored to have you as my mistress.”
“I believe you really do mean that!”
“I do,” he said sincerely.
Her shoulders went back, she pressed her lips together. “I will think about it, Caesar.”
“Good!”
Which she took to mean that he knew she’d be back.
And thank all the Gods for a long walk home. How did he manage to do that to me? So deftly, with such horrible civility! As if my feelings were of no moment—as if I, a patrician Servilia Caepionis, could not matter. He made me ask for marriage, then he threw it in my face like the contents of a chamber pot. He turned me down as if I had been the daughter of some rich hayseed from Gaul or Sicily. I reasoned! I begged! I lay down and let him wipe his feet on me! I, a patrician Servilia Caepionis! All these years I’ve held him in thrall when no other woman could—how then was I to know he would reject me? I genuinely thought he would marry me. And he knew I thought he would marry me. Oh, the pleasure he must have experienced while we played out that little farce! I thought I could be cold, but I am not cold the way he is cold. Why then do I love him so? Why in this very moment do I go on loving him? Insulsus. That is what he has done to me. After him all other men are utterly insipid. He’s won. But I will never forgive him for it. Never!
*
Having Pompey the Great living in a hired mansion above the Campus Martius was a little like knowing that the only barrier between the lion and the Senate was a sheet of paper. Sooner or later someone would cut a finger and the smell of blood would provoke an exploratory paw. For that reason and no other it was decided to hold a contio of the Popular Assembly in the Circus Flaminius to discuss Piso Frugi’s format for the prosecution of Publius Clodius. Bent on embarrassing Pompey because Pompey so clearly wanted no part of the Clodius scandal, Fufius Calenus promptly asked him what he thought of the clause instructing the judge himself to hand-pick the jury. The boni beamed; anything which embarrassed Pompey served to diminish the Great Man!
But when Pompey stepped to the edge of the speaker’s platform a huge cheer went up from thousands of throats; apart from the senators and a few senior knights of the Eighteen, everyone had come just to see Pompey the Great, Conqueror of the East. Who over the course of the next three hours managed so thoroughly to bore his audience that it went home.
“He could have said it all in a quarter of an hour,” whispered Cicero to Catulus. “The Senate is right as always and the Senate must be upheld—that’s all he actually said! Oh, so interminably‘!”
“He is one of the worst orators in Rome,” said Catulus. “My feet hurt!”
But the torture wasn’t done, though the senators could now sit down; Messala Niger called the Senate into session on the spot after Pompey concluded.
“Gnaeus Pompeius Mag
nus,” said Messala Niger in ringing tones, “would you please give this House a candid opinion on the sacrilege of Publius Clodius and the bill of Marcus Pupius Piso Frugi?”
So strong was fear of the lion that no one groaned at this request. Pompey was seated among the consulars and next to Cicero, who swallowed hard and retreated into a daydream about his new city house and its decor. This time the speech took a mere hour; at its end Pompey sat down on his chair with a thump loud enough to wake Cicero with a start.
Tanned face gone crimson with the effort of trying to remember the techniques of rhetoric, the Great Man ground his teeth. “Oh, surely I’ve said enough on the subject!”
“You surely have said enough,” Cicero answered, smiling sweetly.
The moment Crassus rose to speak, Pompey lost interest and began to quiz Cicero about the more gossipy events in Rome during his absence, but Crassus hadn’t got into stride before Cicero was sitting bolt upright and paying absolutely no attention to Pompey. How wonderful! The bliss! Crassus was praising him to the skies! What a terrific job he’d done when consul to bring the Orders much closer together; knights and senators ought to be happily entwined....
“What on earth made you do that?” Caesar asked Crassus as they walked along the Tiber towpath to avoid the vegetable vendors of the Forum Holitorium, clearing up at the end of a busy day.
“Extol Cicero’s virtues, you mean?”
“I wouldn’t have minded if you hadn’t provoked him into such a long-winded reply about concord among the Orders. Though I do admit he’s lovely to listen to after Pompeius.”
“That’s why I did it. I loathe the way everyone bows and scrapes to the odious Magnus. If he looks sideways at them, they cringe like dogs. And there was Cicero sitting next to our hero, utterly wilted. So I thought I’d annoy the Great Man.”
“You did. You managed to avoid him in Asia, I gather.”
“Assiduously.”
“Which might be why some people have been heard to say that you packed yourself and Publius off in an easterly direction to avoid being in Rome when Magnus got here.”
“People never cease to amaze me. I was in Rome when Magnus got here.”
“People never cease to amaze me. Did you know that I’m the cause of the Pompeius divorce?”
“What, aren’t you?”
“For once I am absolutely innocent. I haven’t been to Picenum in years and Mucia Tertia hasn’t been to Rome in years.”
“I was teasing. Pompeius honored you with his widest grin.” The Crassus throat produced a rumble, the signal that he was about to embark upon a touchy subject. “You’re not doing too well with the loan wolves, are you?”
“I’m keeping them at bay.”
“It’s being said in money circles that this year’s praetors will never go to provinces thanks to Clodius.”
“Yes. But not thanks to Clodius, the idiot. Thanks to Cato, Catulus and the rest of the boni faction.’’
“You’ve sharpened their wits, I’ll say that.”
“Have no fear, I’ll get my province,” said Caesar serenely. “Fortune hasn’t abandoned me yet.”
“I believe you, Caesar. Which is why I’m now going to say something to you that I’ve never said to any other man. Other men have to ask me—but if you find you can’t get out from under your creditors before that province comes along, apply to me for help, please. I’d be putting my money on a certain winner.”
“Without charging interest? Come, come, Marcus! How could I repay you when you’re powerful enough to obtain your own favors?’’
“So you’re too stiff-necked to ask.”
“I am that.”
“I’m aware how stiff a Julian neck is. Which is why I’ve offered, even said please. Other men fall on their knees to beg. You’d fall on your sword first, and that would be a shame. I won’t mention it again, but do remember. You won’t be asking, because I’ve offered with a please. There is a difference.”
*
At the end of February, Piso Frugi convoked the Popular Assembly and put his bill outlining the prosecution of Clodius to the vote. With disastrous consequences. Young Curio spoke from the floor of the Well to such telling effect that the entire gathering cheered him. Then the voting bridges and gangways were erected, only to be stormed by several dozen ardent young members of the Clodius Club led by Mark Antony. They seized possession of them and defied the lictors and Assembly officials so courageously that a full-scale riot threatened. It was Cato who took matters into his own hands by mounting the rostra and abusing Piso Frugi for holding a disorderly meeting. Hortensius spoke up in support of Cato; whereupon the senior consul dismissed the Assembly and called the Senate into session instead.
Inside the packed Curia Hostilia—every senator had turned up to vote—Quintus Hortensius proposed a compromise measure.
“From the censors to the junior consul, it’s clear to me that there is a significant segment in this House determined to hie Publius Clodius before a court to answer for the Bona Dea,” said Hortensius in his most reasonable and mellow tones. “Therefore those Conscript Fathers who do not favor trial for Publius Clodius ought to think again. We are about to conclude our second month without being able to do normal business, which is the best way I know to bring government down around our ears. All because of a mere quaestor and his band of youthful rowdies! It cannot be allowed to go on! There’s nothing in our learned senior consul’s law which can’t be adjusted to suit every taste. So if this House will permit me, I will undertake to spend the next few days redrafting it, in conjunction with the two men most implacably opposed to its present form—our junior consul Marcus Valerius Messala Niger and the tribune of the plebs Quintus Fufius Calenus. The next comitial day is the fourth day before the Nones of March. I suggest that Quintus Fufius present the new bill to the People as a lex Fufia. And that this House accompany it with a stern command to the People—put it to the vote, no nonsense!”
“I am opposed!” shouted Piso Frugi, white-faced with fury.
“Oh, oh, oh, so am I!” came a high wail from the back tier; down stumbled Clodius to fall to his knees in the middle of the Curia Hostilia floor, hands clasped beseechingly in front of him, groveling and howling. So extraordinary was this performance that the entire jam-packed Senate sat stunned. Was he serious? Was he playacting? Were the tears mirth or grief? No one knew.
Messala Niger, who held the fasces for February, beckoned to his lictors. “Remove this creature,” he said curtly.
Publius Clodius was carried out kicking and deposited in the Senate portico; what happened to him after that was a mystery, for the lictors shut the doors in his screaming face.
“Quintus Hortensius,” said Messala Niger, “I would add one thing to your proposal. That when the People meet on the fourth day before the Nones of March to vote, we call out the militia. Now I will see a division.”
There were four hundred and fifteen senators in the chamber. Four hundred voted for Hortensius’s proposal; among the fifteen who voted against it were Piso Frugi and Caesar.
The Popular Assembly took the hint as well, and passed the lex Fufia into law during a meeting distinguished for its calm—and the number of militia distributed about the lower Forum.
“Well,” said Gaius Piso as the meeting dispersed, “between Hortensius, Fufius Calenus and Messala Niger, Clodius shouldn’t have a great deal of trouble getting off.”
“They certainly took the iron out of the original bill,” said Catulus, not without satisfaction.
“Did you notice how careworn Caesar’s looking?” Bibulus asked.
“His creditors are dunning him unmercifully,” said Cato with glee. “I heard from a broker in the Basilica Porcia that their bailiffs are banging on the Domus Publica door every day, and that our Pontifex Maximus can’t go anywhere without them in attendance. We’ll have him yet!”
“So far he’s still a free man,” said Gaius Piso, less optimistic.
“Yes, but we now have ce
nsors far less kindly disposed toward Caesar than Uncle Lucius Cotta,” said Bibulus. “They’re aware of what’s going on, but they can’t act before they have proof at law. That won’t happen until Caesar’s creditor’s march up to the urban praetor’s tribunal and demand repayment. It can’t be too far in the future.”
Nor was it; unless the praetorian provinces were apportioned within the next few days, Caesar on the Nones of March saw his career in ruins. He said not a word to his mother, and assumed such a forbidding expression whenever she was in his vicinity that poor Aurelia dared say nothing which had not to do with Vestal Virgins, Julia or the Domus Publica. How thin he was growing! The weight seemed suddenly to melt away, those angular cheekbones jutted as sharp as knives and the skin of his neck sagged like an old man’s. Day after day Caesar’s mother went to the precinct of Bona Dea to give saucers of real milk to any insomniac snakes, weed the herb garden, leave offerings of eggs on the steps leading up to Bona Dea’s closed temple door. Not my son! Please, Good Goddess, not my son! I am yours, take me! Bona Dea, Bona Dea, be good to my son! Be good to my son!
The lots were cast.
Publius Clodius drew a quaestorship at Lilybaeum in western Sicily, yet could not leave Rome to take up his duties there until he had undergone trial.
It seemed at first as if Caesar’s luck had not deserted him after all. He drew Further Spain as his province, which meant he was endowed with a proconsular imperium and answered to no one except the consuls of the year.
With the new governor went his stipend, the sum of money the Treasury had set aside for one year of State disbursements to hold the province safe: to pay its legions and civil servants, to keep up its roads, bridges, aqueducts, drains and sewers, public buildings and facilities. The sum for Further Spain amounted to five million sesterces, and was given as a lump to the governor; it became his personal property as soon as it was paid over. Some men chose to invest it in Rome before they left for their province, trusting that the province could be squeezed of enough to fund itself while the stipend turned over nicely in Rome.
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