Drusus drew a great breath, straddled his legs wide apart, and launched into his peroration.
"Get rid of the lot, I say! Blot the so-called public lands of Italy and Sicily out of existence! Let us gather the courage here and now to do what must be done—slice up the whole of our public lands and donate them to the poor, the deserving, soldier veterans, any and all comers! Start with the richest and most aristocratic among us—give each man sitting here today his ten iugera out of our ager publicus— give every Roman citizen there is his ten little iugera! To some of us, not worth spitting upon. To others, more precious than all they own. Give it away, I say! Give every last iota of it away! Leave nothing for the pernicious men of the future to use to destroy us, our class, our wealth. Leave nothing for them to fiddle with save caelum aut caenum—sky and scum! I have sworn to do it, Conscript Fathers, and do it I will! I will leave nothing in the Roman ager publicus below the sky that is not the scum on top of useless swamp! Not because I care about the poor and deserving! Not because I worry about the fates of our Head Count veterans! Not because I grudge you of this House and our more pastoral knights the leasehold of these lands! Because—and this is my only reason!—because the public lands of Rome represent future disaster, lying there for some general to eye as a pension for his troops, lying there for some demagogic tribune of the plebs to eye as his ticket to First Man in Rome, lying there for two or three plutocrats to eye as their road to the ownership of all Italy or Sicily!"
The House heard and the House was moved to think, so much did Drusus achieve; Philippus said nothing, and when Caepio asked to speak, Sextus Caesar denied him, saying curtly that enough had been said, the session would resume on the morrow.
"You did well, Marcus Livius," said Marius, passing by on his way out. "Continue your program in this spirit, and you may be the first tribune of the plebs in history to carry the Senate."
But, much to Drusus's surprise—he hardly knew the man—it was Lucius Cornelius Sulla who battened onto him outside, and asked for further speech without delay.
"I've only just returned from the East, Marcus Livius, and I want to hear every detail. I want to know about the two laws you've already passed, as well as every single thought you own about the ager publicus," said that strange man, looking a little more weatherbeaten in the face than he had been before going east.
Sulla was indeed interested, as he was one of the very few men listening who had sufficient intelligence and understanding to discern the fact that Drusus was not a radical, not a true reformer, but rather an intensely conservative man chiefly concerned to preserve the rights and privileges of his class, keep Rome as Rome had always been.
They got no further than the well of the Comitia, where they were sheltered from the winds of winter, and there Sulla soaked in all of Drusus's opinions. From time to time he asked a question, but it was Drusus who spoke at length, grateful that at least one patrician Cornelius was disposed to listen to what most of the patrician Cornelii regarded as a betrayal. At the end Sulla held out his hand, smiling, and thanked Drusus sincerely.
"I shall vote for you in the Senate, even if I can't vote for you in the Plebeian Assembly," he said.
They walked back to the Palatine together, but neither evinced any interest in repairing to a warm study and a full flagon of wine; the kind of liking which would have produced such an invitation was not present on either side. At Drusus's house Sulla clapped him on the back and went straight on down the hill of the Clivus Victoriae to the spot where the alley in which his house lay branched off it. He was anxious to talk to his son, whose counsel he was coming to value more and more, though of mature wisdom there was none, a fact Sulla understood. Young Sulla was a partisan sounding board. To one who had few clients and scant chance of assembling armies of them, Young Sulla was a treasure beyond price.
But it was not to be a happy homecoming. Young Sulla, said Aelia, had come down with a bad cold. There was a client to see him who had insisted upon waiting, purporting to be the bearer of urgent news. The mere mention of malaise in Young Sulla was enough to drive the client temporarily out of Sulla's head, however; he hurried not toward his study, but toward the comfortable sitting room where Aelia had established this cherished son, feeling that his airless, lightless sleeping cubicle was not a proper place for the invalid. There was a fever, a sore throat, sniffles from a runny nose, a slightly rheumy-eyed look of adoration; Sulla relaxed, kissed his son, comforted him by saying,
"If you look after this affliction, my boy, it will last two market intervals—and if you do not, it will last sixteen days. Let Aelia look after you, is my advice."
Then he went to his study, frowning as to who or what was waiting for him; his clients were not of a kind to worry about him so much, for he was not a generous man, therefore did not distribute largesse. They mostly consisted of soldiers and centurions, provincial and rural nobodies who at one time or another had encountered him, been helped by him, and asked to become his clients. Few of what few there were had addresses in the city of Rome herself.
It was Metrobius. He ought to have known, though he hadn't even guessed. A mark of how successful his mental campaign to keep Metrobius out of memory had been. How old was he now? In his early thirties, perhaps thirty-two or thirty-three. Where did the years go? Into oblivion. But Metrobius was still Metrobius—and still, the kiss told him, his to command. Then Sulla shivered; the last time Metrobius had come to call on him at his house, Julilla had died. He didn't bring luck, even if he deemed love a substitute for luck. To Sulla, love was no substitute at all. He moved resolutely away from Metrobius's vicinity, seated himself behind his desk.
"You should not be here," he said, quite curtly.
Metrobius sighed, slid gracefully into the client's chair, and leaned his folded arms on the desk, his beautiful dark eyes sad. "I know I should not, Lucius Cornelius, but I am your client! You procured the citizenship for me without freedman status—I am legitimately Lucius Cornelius Metrobius, of the tribe Cornelia. If anything, I imagine your steward is more worried by the infrequency of my appearances here, rather than the other way around. Truly, I do or say nothing to imperil your precious reputation! Not to my friends and colleagues in the theater, not to my lovers, not to your staff. Please, credit me where credit is due!"
Sulla's eyes filled with tears, hastily blinked away. "I know, Metrobius. And I do thank you." He sighed, got up, went to the console where the wine was kept. "A cup?"
"Thank you."
Sulla deposited the silver goblet on the desk in front of Metrobius, then slipped his arms around Metrobius's shoulders, and stood behind him to lean his cheek on the dense black hair. But before Metrobius could do more than lift his hands to clasp at Sulla's arms, Sulla was gone again, seated at his desk.
"What's this urgent matter?" he asked.
"Do you know a fellow called Censorinus?"
"Which Censorinus? Nasty young Gaius Marcius Censorinus, or that Censorinus who is a Forum frequenter of easy means with amusing senatorial aspirations?"
"The second specimen. I didn't think you knew your fellow Romans so well, Lucius Cornelius."
"Since I last saw you, I've been urban praetor. That job filled in a lot of gaps in my knowledge."
"I suppose it did."
"What about this second specimen of Censorinus?"
"He's going to lay charges against you in the treason court, alleging that you took a huge bribe from the Parthians in return for betraying Rome's interests in the East."
Sulla blinked. "Ye gods! I didn't think there was anyone in Rome with so much awareness of what happened to me in the East! I have received no encouragement even to report my adventures in full to the Senate. Censorinus? How would he know what went on east of the Forum Romanum, let alone east of the Euphrates? And how did you find out, when I've heard no whisper of this elsewhere?"
"He's a theater buff, and his chief recreation is the giving of parties at which actors strut round—the more tragic the a
ctor, the better. So I go to his parties regularly," said Metrobius, smiling without any admiration for Censorinus. "No, Lucius Cornelius, the man is not one of my lovers! I despise him. But I do adore parties. None are ever as good as the ones you used to throw in the old days, alas. But Censorinus's efforts are bearable. And one meets the usual crowd at them—people I know well, am fond of. The man serves good food and good wine." Metrobius pursed his red lips, looked thoughtful. "However, it has not escaped me that in the past few months Censorinus has had some odd people at his flings. And is sporting a quizzing-glass made from a single flawless emerald—the sort of gem he could never have afforded to buy, even if he does have enough money for the senatorial census. I mean, that emerald quizzing-glass is a gem fit for a Ptolemy of Egypt, not a Forum frequenter!"
Sulla sipped at his wine, smiling slowly. "How fascinating! I can see I must cultivate this Censorinus—after my trial, if not before. Have you any ideas?"
"I think he's an agent for—I don't know! Perhaps the Parthians, or some other eastern lot. His peculiar party guests are definitely orientals of some kind—embroidered robes flashing gold, jewels all over the place, plenty of money to drop into every eagerly outstretched Roman hand."
"Not the Parthians," said Sulla positively. "They are not concerned about what happens west of the Euphrates, I know that for a fact. It's Mithridates. Or Tigranes of Armenia. But I'll settle for Mithridates of Pontus. Well, well!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "So Gaius Marius and I have Pontus really worried, do we? And, it seems, more Sulla than Marius! That's because I've had speech with Tigranes and concluded a treaty with the satraps of the King of the Parthians. Well, well!"
"What can you do?" asked Metrobius anxiously.
"Oh, don't worry about me," said Sulla cheerfully, getting up to nudge the shutter flaps on his windows completely closed. "Forewarned is definitely forearmed. I'll bide my time, wait for Censorinus to make his move. And then..."
"And then—what?"
Sulla's teeth showed nastily. "Why, I'll make him wish he had never been born." He passed to the atrium door to shoot its bolt, and from there he went to the door opening onto the peristyle colonnade, bolted it. "In the meantime, the best love of my life apart from my son, you're here and the damage is done. I can't allow you to leave without touching you."
"Nor would I go until you did."
They stood embraced, chins on each other's shoulders.
"Do you remember, all those years ago?" asked Metrobius dreamily, eyes closed, smiling.
"You in that absurd yellow skirt, with the dye running down the insides of your thighs?" Sulla smiled too, one hand sliding through the crisp head of hair, the other sliding down the straight hard back voluptuously.
"And you wearing that wig of living little snakes."
"Well, I was Medusa!"
"Believe me, you looked the part."
"You talk too much," said Sulla.
It was over an hour later before Metrobius departed; no one had evinced any interest in his visit, though Sulla did say to the ever-warm, always-loving Aelia that he had just been given news of an impending prosecution in the treason court.
She gasped, fluttered. "Oh, Lucius Cornelius!"
"Don't worry, my dear," said Sulla lightly. "It will come to nothing, I promise you."
She looked anxious. "Are you feeling well?"
"Believe me, wife, I haven't felt so well in years—or so in the mood to make passionate love to you," said Sulla, his arm about her waist. "Now come to bed."
2
There was no need for Sulla to ask further questions about Censorinus, for the next day Censorinus struck. He appeared at the tribunal of the urban praetor, the Picentine Quintus Pompeius Rufus, and demanded to prosecute Lucius Cornelius Sulla in the treason court for accepting a bribe from the Parthians to betray Rome.
"Do you have proof?" asked Pompeius Rufus sternly.
"I have proof."
"Then give me the gist of it."
"I will not, Quintus Pompeius. In the court I will do all that is necessary. This is a capital charge. I am not appealing for the lodgment of a fine, nor am I obliged under the law to divulge my case to you," said Censorinus, fingering the gem inside his toga, too precious to be left at home, but too noticeable to be displayed in public.
"Very well," said Pompeius Rufus stiffly, "I will tell the President of the quaestio de maiestate to assemble his court by the Pool of Curtius, three days hence."
Pompeius Rufus watched Censorinus almost skip across the lower Forum toward the Argiletum, then snapped his fingers to his assistant, a junior senator of the Fannius family. "Mind the shop," he said, getting to his feet. "I have an errand to run."
He located Lucius Cornelius Sulla in a tavern on the Via Nova, not such an arduous task as it might have seemed; he knew whom to ask, as any good urban praetor did. Sulla's drinking companion was none other than Scaurus Princeps Senatus, one of the few in the Senate who was interested in what Sulla had accomplished in the East. They were at a small table at the back of the tavern, which was a popular meeting place for those august enough to belong to the Senate, yet the proprietor's eyes bulged when a third toga praetexta walked in—the Princeps Senatus and two urban praetors, no less! Wait until his friends heard about this!
"Wine and water, Cloatius," said Pompeius Rufus briefly as he passed the counter, "and make it a good vintage!"
"The wine or the water?" asked Publius Cloatius innocently.
"Both, you pile of rubbish, or I'll hale you into court," said Pompeius Rufus with a grin as he joined the other two.
"Censorinus," said Sulla to Pompeius Rufus.
"Right in one," said the urban praetor. "You must have better sources than I do, for I swear it came as a complete surprise to me."
"I do have good sources," said Sulla, smiling; he liked the man from Picenum. "Treason, is it?"
"Treason. He says he has proof."
"So did those who convicted Publius Rutilius Rufus."
“Well, I for one will believe it when the streets of Barduli are paved with gold," said Scaurus, picking the poorest town in all of Italy as his example.
"So will I," said Sulla.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Pompeius Rufus, taking an empty cup from the tavern keeper and splashing wine and water into it. He grimaced, looked up. "They're both terrible vintages!" he cried. "Worm!"
"Try and find better anywhere else on the Via Nova," said Publius Cloatius without umbrage, and slid off regretfully to a spot where he couldn't hear what was said.
"I can deal with it," said Sulla, who didn't seem disturbed.
"I've set the hearing for three days hence, by the Pool of Curtius. Luckily we're now under the lex Livia, so you'll have half a jury of senators—which is very much better than a jury composed entirely of knights. How they hate the idea of a senator getting rich at other people's expense! All right for them to do it, however," said Pompeius Rufus, disgusted.
"Why the treason court rather than the bribery court?" asked Scaurus. "If he alleges you took a bribe, then it's bribery."
"Censorinus alleges that the bribe was taken as payment for betrayal of our intentions and movements in the East," said the urban praetor.
"I brought back a treaty," said Sulla to Pompeius Rufus.
"That he did! An enormously impressive feat," said Scaurus with great warmth.
"Is the Senate ever going to acknowledge it?" asked Sulla.
"The Senate will, Lucius Cornelius, you have the word of an Aemilius Scaurus on it."
"I heard you forced both the Parthians and the King of Armenia to sit lower than you did," chuckled the urban praetor. "Good for you, Lucius Cornelius! Those eastern potentates need putting down!"
"Oh, I believe Lucius Cornelius intends to follow in the footsteps of Popillius Laenas," said Scaurus, smiling. "The next thing, he'll be drawing circles round their feet too." He frowned. "What I want to know is, where could Censorinus have obtained information
about anything that happened on the Euphrates?"
Sulla shifted uneasily, not quite sure whether Scaurus was still of the opinion that Mithridates of Pontus was harmless. "I think he's acting as an agent for one of the eastern kings."
"Mithridates of Pontus," said Scaurus immediately.
"What, are you disillusioned?" asked Sulla, grinning.
"I like to believe the best of everybody, Lucius Cornelius. But a fool I am not," said Scaurus, getting up. He threw a denarius at the proprietor, who fielded it deftly. "Give them some more of your brilliant vintages, Cloatius!"
"If it's all that bad, why aren't you at home drinking your Chian and your Falernian?" yelled Publius Cloatius after Scaurus's vanishing back, his humor unimpaired.
His only answer was Scaurus's finger poking holes in the air, which made Cloatius laugh hilariously. "Awful old geezer!" he said, bringing more wine to the table. "What would we do without him?"
Sulla and Pompeius Rufus settled deeper into their chairs.
"Aren't you on your tribunal today?" asked Sulla.
"I've left young Fannius in charge; it will do him good to battle the litigious-minded populace of Rome,'' said Pompeius Rufus.
They sipped their wine (which really was not poor quality, as everyone knew) in silence for a few moments, not feeling awkward—more that when Scaurus left any group, it suffered.
Finally Pompeius Rufus said, "Are you hoping to stand for the consulship at the end of this year, Lucius Cornelius?"
"I don't think so," said Sulla, looking serious. "I had hoped to, in the belief that the presentation to Rome of a formal treaty binding the King of the Parthians in an agreement of great benefit to Rome would create quite a stir here! Instead—not a ripple on the Forum puddle, let alone the Senate cesspool! I may as well have stayed in Rome and taken lessons in lascivious dancing—it would have created more talk about me! So it has become a decision as to whether I think I stand a chance to get in if I bribe the electorate. I'm inclined to think I'd be wasting my money. People like Rutilius Lupus can offer ten times as much to our wonderful little lot of voters."
The Grass Crown Page 41
