"Don't waste your emotions, Quintus Scipio," said Cato in his harsh and toneless voice. "We're here to decide how to prevent Caesar's declaring his candidacy."
Brutus sat with his eyes traveling from one angry face to another, bewildered as to why he had been invited to such a senior gathering. He had assumed it was part of Uncle Cato's relentless war against Servilia for control of her son, a war which frightened yet attracted him, the more so as he got older. Of course it did occur to him to wonder if perhaps, thanks to his engagement to Caesar's daughter, they thought to have him there to quiz him about Caesar; but as the discussion proceeded and no one applied to him for information, he was forced eventually to conclude that his presence was indeed simply to annoy Servilia.
"We can ensure your election to the College as an ordinary pontifex easily," said Catulus to Metellus Scipio, "by persuading anyone tempted to stand against you not to stand."
"Well, that's something, I suppose," said Metellus Scipio.
"Who intends to stand against Caesar?" asked Cicero, another member of this group who didn't quite know why he had been invited. He presumed it was at Hortensius's instigation, and that his function might be to find a loophole which would prevent Caesar's candidacy. The trouble was he knew there was no loophole. The lex Labiena de sacerdotiis had not been drafted by Labienus, so much was certain. It bore all the stamps of Caesar's drafting skill. It was watertight.
"I'm standing," said Catulus.
"So am I," said Vatia Isauricus, quiet until now.
“Then, as only seventeen of the thirty-five tribes vote in religious elections," said Cicero, "we will have to rig the lots to ensure both of your tribes are chosen, but that Caesar's tribe is not. That increases your chances."
"I disapprove of bribery," said Cato, "but I think this is one time we have to bribe." He turned to his nephew. "Quintus Servilius, you're by far the richest man here. Would you be willing to put up money in such a good cause?"
Brutus broke out in a cold sweat. So this was why!
He wet his lips, looked hunted. "Uncle, I would love to help you," he said, voice trembling, "but I dare not! My mother controls my purse strings, not I."
Cato's splendid nose thinned, its nostrils turned to blisters? "At twenty years of age, Quintus Servilius?" he blared.
All eyes were upon him, amazed; Brutus shrank down in his chair. "Uncle, please try to understand!" he whimpered.
"Oh, I understand," said Cato contemptuously, and deliberately turned his back. "It seems then," he said to the rest, "that we will have to find the money to bribe from out of our own purses." He shrugged. "As you know, mine is not plump. However, I will donate twenty talents."
"I can't really afford anything," said Catulus, looking miserable, "because Jupiter Optimus Maximus takes every spare sestertius I have. But from somewhere I will find fifty talents."
"Fifty from me," said Vatia Isauricus curtly.
"Fifty from me," said Metellus Scipio.
"And fifty from me," said Hortensius.
Cicero now understood perfectly why he was there, and said, voice beautifully modulated, "The penurious state of my finances is too well known for me to think you expect anything more from me than an onslaught of speeches to the electors. A service I am extremely happy to provide."
"Then there only remains," said Hortensius, his voice quite as melodious as Cicero's, "to decide which of the two of you will finally stand against Caesar."
But here the meeting ran into an unexpected snag; neither Catulus nor Vatia Isauricus was willing to stand down in favor of the other, for each believed absolutely that he must be the next Pontifex Maximus.
"Utter stupidity!" barked Cato, furious. "You'll end in splitting the vote, and that means Caesar's chances improve. If one of you stands, it's a straight battle. Two of you, and it becomes a three-way battle."
"I'm standing," said Catulus, looking mulish.
"And so am I," said Vatia Isauricus, looking pugnacious.
On which unhappy note the congress broke up. Bruised and humiliated, Brutus wended his way from the sumptuous dwelling of Metellus Scipio to his betrothed's unpretentious apartment in the Subura. There was really nowhere else he wanted to go, as Uncle Cato had rushed off without so much as acknowledging his nephew's existence, and the thought of going home to his mother and poor Silanus held no appeal whatsoever. Servilia would prise all the details out of him as to where he had been and what he had done and who was there and what Uncle Cato was up to; and his stepfather would simply sit like a battered doll minus half its stuffing.
His love for Julia only increased with the passage of the years. He never ceased to marvel at her beauty, her tender consideration for his feelings, her kindness, her liveliness. And her understanding. Oh, how grateful he was for the last!
Thus it was to her that he poured out the story of the meeting at Metellus Scipio's, and she, dearest and sweetest pet, listened with tears in her eyes.
"Even Metellus Scipio suffered little parental supervision," she said at the end of the story, "while the others are far too old to remember what it was like when they lived at home with the paterfamilias."
"Silanus is all right," said Brutus gruffly, fighting tears himself, "but I am so terribly afraid of my mother! Uncle Cato isn't afraid of anyone, that's the trouble."
Neither of them had any idea of the relationship between her father and his mother—any more than, indeed, did Uncle Cato. So Julia felt no constraints about communicating her dislike of Servilia to Brutus, and said, "I do understand, Brutus dear." She shivered, turned pale. "She has no compassion, no comprehension of her strength or her power to dominate. I think she is strong enough to blunt the shears of Atropos."
"I agree with you," said Brutus, sighing.
Time to cheer him up, make him feel better about himself. Julia said, smiling and reaching out to stroke his shoulder-length black curls, “I think you handle her beautifully, Brutus. You stay out of her way and do nothing to annoy her. If Uncle Cato had to live with her, he might understand your situation."
"Uncle Cato did live with her," said Brutus dolefully.
"Yes, but when she was a girl," said Julia, stroking.
Her touch triggered an impulse to kiss her, but Brutus did not, contenting himself with caressing the back of her hand as she drew it away from his hair. She was not long turned thirteen, and though her womanhood was now manifested by two exquisite little pointed bumps inside the bosom of her dress, Brutus knew she was not yet ready for kisses. He was also imbued with a sense of honor that had come from all his reading of the conservative Latin writers like Cato the Censor, and he deemed it wrong to stimulate a physical response in her that would end in making life for both of them uncomfortable. Aurelia trusted them, never supervised their meetings. Therefore he could not take advantage of that trust.
Of course it would have been better for both of them had he done so, for then Julia's increasing sexual aversion to him would have surfaced at an early enough age to make the breaking of their engagement an easier business. But because he did not touch or kiss her, Julia could find no reasonable excuse for going to her father and begging to be released from what she knew would be a ghastly marriage, no matter how obedient a wife she forced herself to be.
The trouble was that Brutus had so much money! Bad enough at the time of the betrothal, but a hundred times worse now that he had inherited the fortune of his mother's family as well. Like everyone else in Rome, Julia knew the story of the Gold of Tolosa, and what it had bought for the Servilii Caepiones. Brutus's money would be such a help to her father, of that there could be no doubt. Avia said it was her duty as her father's only child to make his life in the Forum more prestigious, to increase his dignitas. And there was only one way in which a girl could do this: she had to marry as much money and clout as she could. Brutus may not have been any girl's idea of marital bliss, but in respect of money and clout he had no rival. Therefore she would do her duty and marry someone whom she just didn't wa
nt to make love to her. Tata was more important.
Thus when Caesar came to visit later that afternoon, Julia behaved as if Brutus were the fiancé of her dreams.
"You're growing up," said Caesar, whose presence in his home was rare enough these days that he could see her evolving.
"Only five years to go," she said solemnly.
"Is that all?"
"Yes," she said with a sigh; "that's all, tata."
He settled her into the crook of his arm and kissed the top of her head, unaware that Julia belonged to that type of girl who could dream of no more wonderful husband than one exactly like her father: mature, famous, handsome, a shaper of events.
"Any news?" he asked.
"Brutus came."
He laughed. "That is not news, Julia!"
"Perhaps it is," she said demurely, and related what she had been told about the meeting at the house of Metellus Scipio.
"The gall of Cato!" he exclaimed when she was done, “to demand large amounts of money from a twenty-year-old boy!"
"They didn't get anywhere, thanks to his mother."
"You don't like Servilia, do you?"
"I'm in Brutus's shoes, tata. She terrifies me."
"Why, exactly?"
This she found difficult to elucidate for the benefit of one famous for his love of undeniable facts. "It's just a sort of feeling. Whenever I see her, I think of an evil black snake."
He shook with mirth. "Have you ever seen an evil black snake, Julia?"
"No, but I've seen pictures of them. And of Medusa." She closed her eyes and turned her face into his shoulder. "Do you like her, tata?"
That he could answer with perfect truth. "No."
“Well then, there you are,'' said his daughter.
"You're quite right," said Caesar. "There indeed I am!"
Naturally Aurelia was fascinated when Caesar recounted the story to her a few moments later.
"Isn't it nice to think that even mutual detestation of you can't obliterate ambition in either Catulus or Vatia Isauricus?" she asked, smiling slightly.
"Cato's right, if they both stand they'll split the vote. And if I have learned nothing else, I now know they'll rig the lots. No Fabian voters in this particular election!"
"But both their tribes will vote."
"I can deal with that provided that they both stand. Some of their natural partisans will see the strength of an argument from me that they should preserve their impartiality by voting for neither."
"Oh, clever!"
"Electioneering," said Caesar pensively, "is not merely a matter of bribery, though none of those hidebound fools can see that. Bribery is not a tool I dare use, even if I had the wish or the money to go in for it. If I am a candidate for an election, there will be half a hundred senatorial wolves baying for my blood—no vote or record or official will go uninvestigated. But there are many other ploys than bribery."
"It's a pity that the seventeen tribes which will vote will not be chosen until immediately beforehand," said Aurelia. "If they were selected a few days in advance, you could import some rural voters. The name Julius Caesar means a great deal more to any rural voter than either Lutatius Catulus or Servilius Vatia."
"Nonetheless, Mater, something can be done along those lines. There's bound to be at least one urban tribe— Lucius Decumius will prove invaluable there. Crassus will enlist his tribe if it's chosen. So will Magnus. And I do have influence in other tribes than Fabia."
A small silence fell, during which Caesar's face became grim; if Aurelia had been tempted to speak, sight of that change in his expression would have deterred her. It meant he was debating within himself whether to broach a less palatable subject, and the chances of that happening were greater if she effaced herself as much as possible. What less palatable subject could there be than money? So Aurelia held her peace.
"Crassus came to see me this morning," said Caesar at last.
Still she said nothing.
"My creditors are restless."
No word from Aurelia.
"The bills are still coming in from the days of my curule aedileship. That means I haven't managed to pay back anything I took as a loan."
Her eyes dropped to look at the surface of the desk.
"That includes the interest on the interest. There's talk among them of impeaching me to the censors, and even with one of them my uncle, the censors would have to do what the law says they must. I would lose my seat in the Senate and all my goods would be sold up. That includes my lands."
"Has Crassus any suggestions?" she ventured to asked.
"That I get myself elected Pontifex Maximus."
"He wouldn't lend you money himself?"
"That," said Caesar, "is a last resort as far as I'm concerned. Crassus is a great friend, but he's not got hay on his horns for nothing. He lends without interest, but he expects to be paid the moment he calls a loan in. Pompeius Magnus will be back before I'm consul, and I need to keep Magnus on my side. But Crassus detests Magnus, has done ever since their joint consulship. I have to tread a line between the pair of them. Which means I dare not owe either of them money."
"I see that. Will Pontifex Maximus do it?"
"Apparently so, with opponents as prestigious as Catulus and Vatia Isauricus. Victory would tell my creditors I will be praetor, and I will be senior consul. And that when I go to my consular province I'll recoup my losses, if not before. They'll be paid in the end, if not in the beginning. Though compound interest is ghastly and ought to be outlawed, it does have one advantage: creditors charging compound interest stand to make huge profits when a debt is paid, even if only in part."
"Then you had better be elected Pontifex Maximus."
"So I think."
The election to choose a new Pontifex Maximus and a fresh face for the College of Pontifices was set for twenty-four days' time. Who would own the fresh face was no mystery; the only candidate was Metellus Scipio. Both Catulus and Vatia Isauricus declared themselves available for election as Pontifex Maximus.
Caesar threw himself into campaigning with as much relish as energy. Like Catilina, the name and ancestry were an enormous help, despite the fact that neither of the other two candidates was a New Man, or even one of the moderately prominent boni. The post normally went to a man who had already been consul, but this advantage both Catulus and Vatia Isauricus held was negated to some extent at least by their ages: Catulus was sixty-one and Vatia Isauricus sixty-eight. In Rome the pinnacle of a man's ability, skills and prowess was considered to be his forty-third year, the year in which he ought to become consul. After that he was inevitably something of a has-been, no matter how huge his auctoritas or dignitas. He might be censor, Princeps Senatus, even consul a second time ten years further along, but once he attained the age of sixty he was inarguably past his prime. Though Caesar had not yet been praetor, he had been in the Senate for many years, he had been a pontifex for over a decade, he had shown himself a curule aedile of magnificence, he wore the Civic Crown on all public occasions, and he was known by the voters to be not only one of Rome's highest aristocrats, but also a man of huge ability and potential. His work in the Murder Court and as an advocate had not gone unnoticed; nor had his scrupulous care of his clients. Caesar in short was the future. Catulus and Vatia Isauricus were definitely the past—and tainted, both of them, with the faint odium of having enjoyed Sulla's favor. The majority of the voters who would turn up were knights, and Sulla had mercilessly persecuted the Ordo Equester. To counteract the undeniable fact that Caesar was Sulla's nephew by marriage, Lucius Decumius was deputed to trot out the old stories of Caesar's defying Sulla by refusing to divorce Cinna's daughter, and almost dying from disease when in hiding from Sulla's agents.
Three days before the election Cato summoned Catulus, Vatia Isauricus and Hortensius to a meeting at his house. This time there were no mushrooms like Cicero or youths like Caepio Brutus present. Even Metellus Scipio would have been a liability.
"I told you,"
said Cato with his usual lack of tact, "that it was a mistake for both of you to stand. I'm asking now that one of you step down and throw his weight behind the other."
"No," said Catulus.
"No," said Vatia Isauricus.
"Why can't you understand that both of you split the vote?" cried Cato, pounding his fist on the dowdy table which served him as a desk. He looked gaunt and unwell, for last night had seen a heavy session with the wine flagon; ever since Caepio's death Cato had turned to wine for solace, if solace it could be called. Sleep evaded him, Caepio's shade haunted him, the occasional slave girl he used to assuage his sexual needs revolted him, and even talking to Athenodorus Cordylion, Munatius Rufus and Marcus Favonius could occupy his mind only for a short period at a time. He read and he read and he read, yet still his loneliness and unhappiness came between him and the words of Plato, Aristotle, even his own great-grandfather, Cato the Censor. Thus the wine flagon, and thus his shortness of temper as he glared at the two unyielding elderly noblemen who refused to see the mistake they were making.
"Cato is right," said Hortensius, huffing. He too was not very young anymore, but as an augur he could not stand for Pontifex Maximus. Ambition could not cloud his wits, though his high living was beginning to. "One of you might beat Caesar, but both of you halve the votes either man alone could get."
"Then it's time to bribe," said Catulus.
"Bribe?" yelled Cato, pounding the table until it shook. "There's no point in even starting to bribe! Two hundred and twenty talents can't buy you enough votes to beat Caesar!"
"Then," said Catulus, "why don't we bribe Caesar?"
The others stared at him.
“Caesar is close to two thousand talents in debt, and the debt is mounting every day because he can't afford to pay back a sestertius," said Catulus. "You may take it from me that my figures are correct."
"Then I suggest," said Cato, "that we report his situation to the censors and demand that they act immediately to remove Caesar from the Senate. That would get rid of him forever!"
His suggestion was greeted with gasps of horror.