"A grave trouble," she said.
"An undeserved slur."
"That, of course."
"I cannot contend with it, Mater!"
"You have to, my son."
"Then tell me how!"
"You know how, Caesar."
"I honestly don't," he said soberly, his face uncertain. "I've tried to ignore it, but that's very difficult when I know what everyone is thinking."
"Who is the source?" she asked.
"Lucullus."
"Oh, I see.... He would be believed."
"He is believed."
For a long moment she said nothing more, eyes thoughtful. Her son, watching her, marveled anew at her self-containment, her ability to hold herself aloof from personal issues. She opened her lips and began to speak very slowly and carefully, weighing each word before she uttered it.
"You must ignore it, that is first and foremost. Once you discuss it with anyone, you place yourself on the defensive. And you reveal how much it matters to you. Think for a little, Caesar. You know how serious an allegation it is in the light of your future political career. But you cannot let anybody else see that you appreciate its seriousness! So you must ignore it for the rest of your days. The best thing is that it has happened now, rather than ten years further on-a man of thirty would find the allegation far harder to contend with than a man of twenty. For that you must be grateful. Those ten years will see many events. But never a repetition of the slur. What you have to do, my son, is to work very hard to dispel the slur." The ghost of a smile lit her remarkable eyes. "Until now, your philanderings have been restricted to the ordinary women of the Subura. I suggest, Caesar, that you lift your gaze much higher. Why, I have no idea, but you do have an extraordinary effect on women! So from now on, your peers must know of your successes. That means you must concentrate upon women who matter, who are well known. Not the courtesans like Praecia, but noblewomen. Great ladies."
“Deflower lots of Domitias and Licinias, you mean?'' he asked, smiling broadly.
"No!" she said sharply. "Not unmarried girls! Never, never unmarried girls! I mean the wives of important men."
"Edepol!" cried her son.
"Fight fire with fire, Caesar. There is no other way. If your love affairs are not public knowledge, everyone will assume you are intriguing with men. So they must be as scandalous and generally known as possible. Establish a reputation as Rome's most notorious womanizer. But choose your quarry very carefully." She shook her head in puzzlement. "Sulla used to be able to cause women to make absolute fools of themselves over him. On at least one occasion he paid a bitter price-when Dalmatica was the very young bride of Scaurus. He avoided her scrupulously, but Scaurus punished him anyway by preventing his being elected praetor. It took him six years to be elected, thanks to Scaurus."
"What you're trying to say is that I'll make enemies."
"Am I?" She considered it. "No, what I think I mean to say is that Sulla's trouble arose out of the fact that he did not cuckold Scaurus. Had he, Scaurus would have found it much harder to be revenged-it's impossible for a man who is a laughingstock to appear admirable. Pitiable, yes. Scaurus won that encounter because Sulla allowed him to appear noble-the forgiving husband, still able to hold his head up. So if you choose a woman, you must always be sure that it's her husband is the goose. Don't choose a woman who might tell you to jump in the Tiber-and never choose one clever enough to lead you on until she is able to tell you to jump in the Tiber absolutely publicly."
He was staring at her with a kind of profound respect as new on his face as it was inside his mind. "Mater, you are the most extraordinary woman! How do you know all this? You're as upright and virtuous as Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi, yet here you are giving your own son the most dreadful advice!"
"I have lived a long time in the Subura," she said, looking pleased. "Besides, that is the point. You are my son, and you have been maligned. What I would do for you I would not do for anyone else, even for my daughters. If I had to, I would kill for you. But that wouldn't solve our problem. So instead I am very happy to kill a few reputations. Like for like."
Almost he scooped her into his arms, but the old habits were too strong; so he got to his feet and took her hand, kissed it. "I thank you, Mater. I would kill for you with equal ease and pleasure." A thought struck him, made him shiver with glee. "Oh, I can't wait for Lucullus to marry! And that turd Bibulus!"
The following day brought women into Caesar's life again, though not in a philandering context.
"We are summoned by Julia," said Aurelia before her son left to see what was going on in the Forum Romanum.
Aware he had not yet found the time to see his beloved aunt, Caesar made no protest.
The day was fine and hot but the hour early enough to make the walk from the Subura to the Quirinal an enjoyable one. Caesar and Aurelia stepped out up the Vicus ad Malum Punicum, the street which led to the temple of Quirinus on the Alta Semita. There in the lovely precinct of Quirinus stood the Punic apple tree itself, planted by Scipio Africanus after his victory over Carthage. Alongside it grew two extremely ancient myrtle trees, one for the patricians and one for the plebeians. But in the chaotic events which had followed the Italian War the patrician myrtle had begun to wither; it was now quite dead, though the plebeian tree flourished still. It was thought that this meant the death of the Patriciate, so sight of its bare dry limbs brought Caesar no pleasure. Why hadn't someone planted a new patrician myrtle?
The hundred talents Sulla had permitted Julia to retain had provided her with quite a comfortable private dwelling in a lane running between the Alta Semita and the Servian Walls. It was fairly large and had the virtue of being newly built; Julia's income was sufficient to provide enough slaves to run it, and more than enough to permit her life's necessities. She could even afford to support and house her daughter-in-law, Mucia Tertia. Scant comfort to Caesar and Aurelia, who mourned her sadly changed circumstances.
She was almost fifty years old, but nothing seemed to change Julia herself. Having moved to the Quirinal, she took not to weaving on her loom or spinning wool, but to doing good works. Though this was not a poor district-nor even closely settled-she still found families in need of help, for reasons which varied from an excessive intake of wine to illness. A more presumptuous, tactless woman might have been rebuffed, but Julia had the knack; the whole of the Quirinal knew where to go if there was trouble.
There were no good deeds today, however. Julia and Mucia Tertia were waiting anxiously.
"I've had a letter from Sulla," said Mucia Tertia. "He says I must marry again."
"But that contravenes his own laws governing the widows of the proscribed!" said Aurelia blankly.
"When one makes the laws, Mater, it isn't at all difficult to contravene them," said Caesar. "A special enactment for some ostensible reason, and the thing is done."
"Whom are you to marry?" asked Aurelia.
"That's just it," said Julia, frowning. "He hasn't told her, poor child. We can't even decide from his letter whether he has someone in mind, or whether he just wants Mucia to find her own husband."
"Let me see it," said Caesar, holding out his hand. He read the missive at a glance, gave it back. "He gives nothing away, does he? Just orders you to marry again."
"I don't want to marry again!" cried Mucia Tertia.
A silence fell, which Caesar broke. "Write to Sulla and tell him that. Make it very polite, but very firm. Then see what he does. You'll know more."
Mucia shivered. "I couldn't do that."
"You could, you know. Sulla likes people to stand up to him."
"Men, maybe. But not the widow of Young Marius."
"What do you want me to do?" asked Caesar of Julia.
"I have no idea," Julia confessed. "It's just that you're the only man left in the family, so I thought you ought to be told."
"You genuinely don't want to many again?" he asked Mucia.
"Believe me, Caesar, I do not."
> "Then as I am the paterfamilias, I will write to Sulla."
At which moment the old steward, Strophantes, shuffled into the room. "Domino., you have a visitor," he said to Julia.
"Oh, bother!" she exclaimed. "Deny me, Strophantes."
"He asked specifically to see the lady Mucia."
"Who asked?" Caesar demanded sharply.
"Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus."
Caesar looked grim. "The prospective husband, I presume!"
"But I've never so much as met Pompeius!" cried Mucia Tertia.
"Nor have I," said Caesar.
Julia turned to him. "What do we do?"
"Oh, we see him, Aunt Julia." And Caesar nodded to the old man. "Bring him in."
Back went the steward to the atrium, where the visitor stood oozing impatience and attar of roses.
"Follow me, Gnaeus Pompeius," said Strophantes, wheezing.
Ever since Sulla's wedding Pompey had waited for further news of this mysterious bride the Dictator had found for him. When he heard that Sulla had returned to Rome after his nuptial holiday he expected to be summoned, but was not. Finally, unable to wait a moment longer, he went to Sulla and demanded to know what was happening, what had eventuated.
"About what?" asked Sulla innocently.
"You know perfectly well!" snarled Pompey. "You said you had thought of someone for me to marry!"
"So I did! So I did!" Sulla chuckled gleefully. "My, my, the impatience of youth!"
"Will you tell me, you malicious old tormentor?"
"Names, Magnus! Don't call the Dictator names!"
"Who is she?"
Sulla gave in. "Young Marius's widow, Mucia Tertia," he said. "Daughter of Scaevola Pontifex Maximus and Crassus Orator's sister, Licinia. There's far more Mucius Scaevola in her than genuine Licinius Crassus because her maternal grandfather was really the brother of her paternal grandfather. And of course she's closely related to Scaevola the Augur's girls called Mucia Prima and Mucia Secunda-hence her given name of Mucia Tertia, even though there's fifty years in age between her and the other two. Mucia Tertia's mother is still alive, of course. Scaevola divorced her for adultery with Metellus Nepos, whom she married afterward. So Mucia Tertia has two Caecilius Metellus half brothers-Nepos Junior and Celer. She's extremely well connected, Magnus, don't you agree? Too well connected to remain the widow of a proscribed man for the rest of her life! My dear Piglet, who is her cousin, has been making these noises at me for some time." Sulla leaned back in his chair. "Well, Magnus, will she do?"
"Will she do?" gasped Pompey. "Rather!"
"Oh, splendid." The mountain of work on his desk seemed to beckon; Sulla put his head down to study some papers. After a moment he lifted it to look at Pompey in apparent bewilderment. "I wrote to tell her she was to marry again, Magnus, so there's no impediment," he said. "Now leave me alone, will you? Just make sure I get an invitation to the wedding."
And Pompey had rushed home to bathe and change while his servants chased in a panic to find out whereabouts Mucia Tertia was living these days, then Pompey rushed straight to Julia's house blinding all those he encountered with the whiteness of his toga, and leaving a strong aroma of attar of roses in his wake. Scaevola's daughter! Crassus Orator's niece! Related to the most important Caecilii Metelli! That meant that the sons she would give him would be related by blood to everyone! Oh, he didn't care one iota that she was Young Marius's widow! He would not even care if she was as ugly as the Sibyl of Cumae!
Ugly? She wasn't ugly at all! She was very strange and very beautiful. Red-haired and green-eyed, but both on the dark side, and skin both pale and flawless. And what about those eyes? No others like them anywhere! Oh, she was a honey! Pompey fell madly in love with her at first glance, before a word was spoken.
Little wonder, then, that he hardly noticed the other people in the room, even after introductions were made. He drew up a chair beside Mucia Tertia's and took her nerveless hand in his.
"Sulla says that you are to marry me," he said, smiling at her with white teeth and brilliantly shining blue eyes.
"This is the first I know about it," she said, unaccountably feeling her antipathy begin to fade; he was so patently happy-and really very attractive.
"Oh well, that's Sulla for you," he said, catching his breath on a gasp of sheer delight. "But you have to admit that he does have everyone's best interests at heart."
"Naturally you would think so," said Julia in freezing tones.
"What are you complaining about? He didn't do too badly by you compared to all the other proscribed widows," said the tactless man in love, gazing at his bride-to-be.
Almost Julia answered that Sulla had been responsible for the death of her only child, but then she thought better of it; this rather silly fellow was too well known to belong to Sulla to hope that he would see any other side.
And Caesar, sitting in a corner, took in his first experience of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus unobserved. To look at, not a true Roman, that was certain; the Picentine taint of Gaul was all too obvious in his snub nose, his broad face, the dent in his chin. To listen to, not a true Roman, that was certain; his total lack of subtlety was amazing. Kid Butcher. He was well named.
“What do you think of him?'' asked Aurelia of Caesar as they trudged back to the Subura through the noon heat.
"More germane to ask, what does Mucia think of him?"
"Oh, she likes him enormously. Considerably more than ever she liked Young Marius."
"That wouldn't be hard, Mater."
"No."
"Aunt Julia will find it lonely without her."
"Yes. But she'll just find more to do."
"A pity she has no grandchildren."
"For which, blame Young Marius!" said Aurelia tartly.
They had almost reached the Vicus Patricius before Caesar spoke again. "Mater, I have to go back to Bithynia," he said.
"Bithynia? My son, that isn't wise!"
"I know. But I gave the King my word."
"Isn't it one of Sulla's new rules for the Senate that any senator must seek permission to leave Italy?"
"Yes."
"Then that's good," said Aurelia, sounding pleased. "You must be absolutely candid about where you're going to the whole House. And take Eutychus with you as well as Burgundus."
"Eutychus?" Caesar stopped to stare at her. "But he's your steward! You won't manage easily without him. And why?"
"I'll manage without him. He's from Bithynia, my son. You must tell the Senate that your freedman who is still your steward is obliged to travel to Bithynia to see to his business affairs, and that you must accompany him, as is the duty of any proper patron."
Caesar burst out laughing. "Sulla is absolutely right! You ought to have been a man. And so Roman! Subtle. Hit them in the face with my destination instead of pretending I'm going to Greece and then being discovered in Bithynia. One always is discovered in a lie, I find." A different thought occurred to him. "Speaking of subtlety, that fellow Pompeius is not, is he? I wanted to hit him when he said what he did to poor Aunt Julia. And ye gods, can he brag!"
"Incessantly, I suspect," said Aurelia.
"I'm glad I met him," said her son soberly. "He showed me an excellent reason why the slur upon my reputation might prove a good thing."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing has served to put him in his place. He has one-but it is not as high or as inviolate as he thinks. Circumstances have conspired to inflate his opinion of himself to insufferable heights. What he's wanted so far has always been given to him. Even a bride far above his merits. So he's grown into the habit of assuming it will be forever thus. But it won't, of course. One day things will go hideously wrong for him. He will find the lesson intolerable. At least I have already had the lesson."
"You really think Mucia is above his merits?"
"Don't you?" asked Caesar, surprised.
"No, I don't. Her birth is immaterial. She was the wife of Young Marius, and she was that because her father
knowingly gave her to the son of a complete New Man. Sulla doesn't forget that kind of thing. Nor forgive it. He's dazzled that gullible young man with her birth. But he's neglected to expound upon all his reasons for giving her away to someone beneath her."
"Cunning!"
"Sulla is a fox, like all red men since Ulysses."
"Then it's as well I intend to leave Rome."
“Until after Sulla steps down?''
"Until after Sulla steps down. He says that will be after he superintends the election of the year after next's consuls- perhaps eleven months from now, if he holds his so-called elections in Quinctilis. Next year's consuls are to be Servilius Vatia and Appius Claudius. But who he intends for the year after, I don't know. Catulus, probably."
"Will Sulla be safe if he steps down?"
"Perfectly," said Caesar.
PART IV
from OCTOBER 80 B.C.
until MAY 79 B.C.
[FF 438.jpg]
"You'll have to go to Spain," said Sulla to Metellus Pius. "Quintus Sertorius is rapidly taking the whole place over."
Metellus Pius gazed at his superior somewhat reprovingly. "Surely not!" he said in reasonable tones. "He has fruh-fruh-friends among the Lusitani and he's quite strong west of the Baetis, buh-buh-but you have good governors in both the Spanish provinces."
"Do I really?" asked Sulla, mouth turned down. "Not anymore! I've just had word that Sertorius has trounced Lucius Fufidius after that fool was stupid enough to offer him battle. Four legions! Yet Fufidius couldn't beat Sertorius in command of seven thousand men, only a third of whom were Roman!"
“He bruh-bruh-brought the Romans with him from Mauretania last spring, of course," said Metellus Pius. "The rest are Lusitani?"
"Savages, dearest Piglet! Not worth one hobnail on the sole of a Roman caliga! But quite capable of beating Fufidius."
"Oh... Edepol!"
For some reason beyond the Piglet, this delightfully mild expletive sent Sulla into paroxysms of laughter; some time elapsed before the Dictator could compose himself sufficiently to speak further upon the vexing subject of Quintus Sertorius.