The Grass Crown

by Colleen McCullough

  "Tell us what happened, Gnaeus Domitius," said the only consul present, Sextus Caesar.

  "Well, I met Quintus Poppaedius Silo not far from the Colline Gate," said Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus. "He was marching at the head of an army. Two legions would be about right—at least ten thousand actual soldiers, the appropriate number of noncombatants, eight pieces of excellent field artillery, and a squad of cavalry. Silo himself was on foot, as were his officers. I could see no sign of a baggage train, so I presume he had brought his men in light marching order." He sighed. "They were a magnificent sight, Conscript Fathers! Beautifully turned out, in superb condition, well disciplined. While Silo and I talked, they stood to attention in the sun without speaking, and no one broke ranks."

  "Could you tell, Pontifex Maximus, if their mail shirts and other arms were new?" asked Drusus anxiously.

  "Yes, Marcus Livius, easily. Everything was new, and of the highest quality manufacture," said Ahenobarbus.

  "Thank you."

  "Continue, Gnaeus Domitius," said Sextus Caesar.

  "We stopped within hailing distance, I and my lictors, Quintus Poppaedius Silo and his legions. Then Silo and I walked out alone to talk, where we could not be overheard.

  " 'Why this martial expedition, Quintus Poppaedius?' I asked him, very courteously and calmly.

  " 'We come to Rome because we have been summoned by the tribunes of the plebs,' said Silo, with equal courtesy.

  " 'The tribunes of the plebs?' I asked him then. "'Not a tribune of the plebs? Not Marcus Livius Drusus?'

  " 'The tribunes of the plebs,' he said.

  " 'All of them, you mean?' I asked, wanting to be sure.

  " 'All of them,' he said.

  " 'Why should the tribunes of the plebs summon you?' I asked.

  " 'To assume the Roman citizenship, and to see that every Italian is awarded the Roman citizenship,' he said.

  "I drew back from him a little, and raised my brows, looking beyond him at his legions. 'By threat of arms?' I asked.

  " 'If necessary,' he said.

  "So I employed my proconsular imperium to make a statement I could not otherwise have made, given the tenor of the recent sessions in this House. A statement, Conscript Fathers, that I considered the situation required. I said to Silo, 'Force of arms will not prove necessary, Quintus Poppaedius.'

  "His answer was a scornful laugh. 'Oh, come, Gnaeus Domitius!' he said. 'Do you honestly expect me to believe that? We of Italy have waited literal generations for the citizenship without taking up arms, and for our patience, have seen our chances dwindle away to nothing! Today we have come to understand that our only chance to gain the citizenship is by force.'

  "Naturally that upset me greatly, Conscript Fathers. I struck my hands together and cried, 'Quintus Poppaedius, Quintus Poppaedius, I assure you, the time is very close! Please, I beg of you, disband this force, put up your swords, go home to the lands of the Marsi! I give you my solemn promise that the Senate and People of Rome will grant every Italian the Roman citizenship.'

  "He looked at me for a long time without speaking, then he said, 'Very well, Gnaeus Domitius, I will take my army away from here—but only far enough and for long enough to see whether you speak the truth. For I tell you straight and fair, Pontifex Maximus, that if the Senate and People of Rome do not grant Italy the full Roman citizenship during the term of this present College of the Tribunes of the Plebs, I will march on Rome again. And all of Italy will be marching with me. Mark that well! All of Italy will unite to destroy Rome.'

  "Whereupon he turned and walked away. His troops about-faced, showing me how well trained they were, and marched off. I returned to Rome. And all night, Conscript Fathers, I thought. You know me well. You know me of old. My reputation is not that of a patient man, nor even that of an understanding man. But I am quite capable of telling the difference between a radish and a bull! And I tell you plainly, my fellow senators, that yesterday I saw a bull. A bull with hay wrapped round both horns, and fire trickling from his nostrils. It was not an empty promise I made to Quintus Poppaedius Silo! I will do everything in my power to see that the Senate and People of Rome grant the franchise to all of Italy."

  The House was humming; many eyes gazed at Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus in wonder, and many minds took note of this remarkable change in attitude by one famous for his intractable and intolerant nature.

  "We will meet again tomorrow," said Sextus Caesar, looking pleased. "It is time we searched for the answer to this question yet again. The two praetors who have been traveling Italy at the instigation of Lucius Marcius"—Sextus Caesar bowed to Philippus's empty seat gravely—"have not come up with any kind of answer so far. We must debate the issue again. But first, I want to see the people here to listen who have not bothered to listen lately—my fellow consul and the praetor Quintus Servilius Caepio, in particular."

  They were there on the morrow, both of them, obviously familiar with every detail of Ahenobarbus's report; yet not, it seemed to Drusus, Scaurus Princeps Senatus and the others who wanted so badly to see that pair back down, worried or even concerned. Gaius Marius, his heart inexplicably heavy, let his eyes roam across the faces of those present. Sulla hadn't missed one meeting since Drusus had become a tribune of the plebs, but nor had he been helpful; the death of his son had removed him from any normal congress with all men, even his proposed colleague in that future consulship, Quintus Pompeius Rufus. He sat and listened, face impassive, then left each meeting the moment it was over, and may as well have disappeared from the face of the earth. Significantly, he had voted to keep the laws of Drusus on the tablets, so Marius presumed he was still in their camp. But speech with him was something no one had known. Catulus Caesar looked a little uncomfortable today, probably as a result of the defection of his hitherto staunch ally, Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus.

  There was a stir; Marius returned his attention to the House. Philippus of course held the fasces for the month of October, so today it was he in the chair, not Sextus Caesar. He had another document with him, one he had not entrusted to his clerk this time. When the formalities were over he rose to speak first.

  "Marcus Livius Drusus," Philippus said clearly and coldly, “I wish to read something to the House of far greater import than a quasi-invasion by your best friend, Quintus Poppaedius Silo. But before I read it, I want every senator to hear you say you are present and will listen."

  "I am present, Lucius Marcius, and I will listen," said Drusus, equally clearly and coldly.

  Drusus looked, thought the watching Gaius Marius, terribly tired. As if he had long since outrun his strength, and carried on now purely by the power of his will. In recent weeks he had lost a great deal of weight, his cheeks had fallen in, his eyes sunk back in his head and circled with dark grey shadows.

  Why do I feel as if I'm a slave in a treadmill? wondered Marius. Why am I so on edge, so desperately anxious and apprehensive? Drusus does not have my sinews, nor does he have my unshakable conviction that I am right. He is too fair, he is too reasonable, he is too inclined to see both sides. They will kill him, mentally if not physically. Why did I never see how dangerous is this Philippus? Why did I never see how brilliant he is?

  Philippus unrolled his single sheet of paper and held it out at arm's length between his right hand and his left. "I shall not preface this by any comment, Conscript Fathers," he said. "I shall simply read, and let you draw your own conclusions. The text goes as follows:

  " 'I swear by Jupiter Optimus Maximus, by Vesta, by Mars, by Sol Indiges, by Terra and by Tellus, by the gods and heroes who founded and assisted the people of Italy in their struggles, that I will hold as my friends and foes those whom Marcus Livius Drusus holds as his friends and foes. I swear that I will work for the welfare and benefit of Marcus Livius Drusus and all those others who take this oath, even at the cost of my life, my children, my parents, and my property. If through the law of Marcus Livius Drusus I become a citizen of Rome, I swear that I will worship Rome as my only
nation, and that I will bind myself to Marcus Livius Drusus as his client. This oath I take upon myself to pass on to as many other Italians as I can. I swear faithfully, in the knowledge that my faith will bring its just rewards. And if I am forsworn, may my life, my children, my parents and my property be taken from me. So be it. So do I swear.'''

  Never had the House been so still. Philippus looked from Scaurus with mouth agape to Marius grinning savagely, from Scaevola with lips pressed together to Ahenobarbus purpling in the cheeks, from Catulus Caesar's horror to Sextus Caesar's grief, from Metellus Pius the Piglet's dismayed consternation to Caepio's naked joy.

  Then he let his left hand go from the paper, which recoiled with a loud snap; half the House jumped.

  "That, Conscript Fathers, is the oath which thousands upon thousands of Italians have sworn over the course of the past year. And that, Conscript Fathers, is why Marcus Livius Drusus has worked so hard, so unflaggingly, so enthusiastically, to see his friends of Italy awarded the priceless gift of our Roman citizenship!" He shook his head wearily. "Not because he cares one iota about their dirty Italian hides! Not because he believes in justice—even a justice so perverted! Not because he dreams of a career so luminous it will put him in the history books! But because, fellow members of this body, because he holds an oath of clientship with most of Italy! Were we to give Italy the franchise, Italy would belong to Marcus Livius Drusus! Imagine it! A clientele stretching from the Arnus to Rhegium, from the Tuscan Sea to the Adriatic! Oh, I do congratulate you, Marcus Livius! What a prize! What a reason to work so indefatigably! A clientele bigger than a hundred armies!"

  Philippus turned then, stepped down from the curule dais, and walked with measured steps around its corner to the end of the long wooden tribunician bench where Drusus sat.

  "Marcus Livius Drusus, is it true that all of Italy has sworn this oath?" asked Philippus. "Is it true that in return for this oath, you have sworn to secure the citizenship for all of Italy?"

  Face whiter than his toga, Drusus stumbled to his feet, one hand outstretched, whether imploring or fending off, no one could tell. And then, even as his mouth worked at a reply, Drusus pitched full length upon the old black and white flags which formed the tesselated floor. Philippus stepped back and out of the way fastidiously, but Marius and Scaurus were both on their knees beside Drusus almost as quickly as he had fallen.

  "Is he dead?" asked Scaurus against the background noise of Philippus dismissing the meeting until the morrow.

  Listening with ear to Drusus's chest, Marius shook his head. "A severe collapse, but not death," he said, leaning back on his heels and drawing in a deep breath of relief.

  The syncope lasted so long that Drusus began to mottle and grey in the face; his arms and legs moved, jerked colossally several times while he emitted dreadful and frightening sounds.

  "He's having a fit!" cried Scaurus.

  "No, I don't think so," said the militarily experienced Marius, who had seen in the field almost everything at one time or another. "When a man passes out for so long, he often starts to jerk around, but at the end of it. He'll revive soon."

  Philippus paused on his way out to look down from far enough away to ensure that if Drusus should vomit, his toga would not wear it. "Take the cur out of here!" he said contemptuously. "If he's dying, let him die on unhallowed ground."

  Marius lifted his head. "Mentulam caco, cunne!" he said to Philippus loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear.

  Philippus walked on, rather more quickly; if there was any man in the world he feared, that man was Gaius Marius.

  Those who cared enough to linger waited a long time for Drusus to come round; enormously pleased, Marius saw that among them was Lucius Cornelius Sulla.

  When Drusus did return to consciousness, he seemed not to know where he was, what had happened.

  "I've sent for Julia's litter," said Marius to Scaurus. "Let him lie here until it arrives." He was minus his toga, sacrificed as a pillow for Drusus's head and a blanket for his poor cold limbs.

  "I'm absolutely confounded!" said Scaurus, perching on the edge of the curule dais, and so short that his feet swung clear of the ground. "Truly, I would never have believed it of this man!"

  Marius blew a derisive noise. "Rubbish, Marcus Aemilius! Not believe it of a Roman nobleman? I'd not be prepared to believe the contrary! Jupiter, how you do fool yourselves!"

  The bright green eyes began to dance. "Jupiter, you Italian bumpkin, how you do shine a light on our weaknesses!" Scaurus said, shoulders heaving.

  "It's just as well someone does, you attenuated heap of old bones," said Marius affably, seating himself beside the Princeps Senatus and looking at the only three men who remained—Scaevola, Antonius Orator, and Lucius Cornelius Sulla. "Well, gentlemen," he said, thrusting his legs out and waggling his feet, "what do we do next?"

  "Nothing," said Scaevola curtly.

  "Oh, Quintus Mucius, Quintus Mucius, forgive our poor inanimate tribune of the plebs his very Roman weakness, do!" cried Marius, now laughing as hard as Scaurus was.

  Scaevola took umbrage. "It may be a Roman weakness, Gaius Marius, but it is not one I own!" he snapped.

  "No, probably not—which is why you'll never be his equal, my friend," said Marius, pointing one foot at Drusus on the floor.

  Scaevola screwed up his face in disgust. "You know, Gaius Marius, you really are impossible! And as for you, Princeps Senatus, pray stop regarding this as a laughing matter!"

  "None of us has yet answered Gaius Marius's original query," said Antonius Orator pacifically. "What do we do next?"

  "It isn't up to us," said Sulla, speaking for the first time. "It's up to him, of course."

  "Well said, Lucius Cornelius!" cried Marius, getting up because the familiar face of his wife's chief litter bearer had poked itself timidly around one great bronze door. "Come on, my squeamish friends, let's get this poor fellow home."

  The poor fellow still wandered deliriously through some strange world when he was delivered into the care of his mother, who very sensibly declined to call in the doctors.

  "They'll only bleed him and purge him, and they're the last things he needs," she said firmly. "He hasn't been eating, that's all. Once he comes out of his shock, I'll feed him some hot honeyed wine, and he'll be himself again. Especially after a sleep."

  Cornelia Scipionis got her son into his bed and made him drink a full cup of the promised hot honeyed wine.

  "Philippus!" he cried, trying to sit up.

  "Don't worry about that insect until you feel stronger."

  He drank again and did manage to sit up, pushing his fingers through his short black hair. "Oh, Mama! Such a terrible difficulty! Philippus found out about the oath."

  Scaurus had apprised her of the situation, so she had no need to question him; instead, she nodded wisely. "Surely you didn't think Philippus or some other wouldn't ask?"

  "It's been so long that I'd forgotten the wretched oath!"

  "Marcus Livius, it isn't important," she said, and drew her chair closer to the bed, took his hand. "What you do is far more significant than why you do it—that's a fact of life! Why you do a thing is solely balm for the self, why you do a thing cannot affect its outcome. The what is all that matters, and I'm sure that a sane and healthy self-regard is the best way to get what done properly. So do cheer up, my son! Your brother is here, and very anxious about you. Cheer up!"

  "They will hate me for this."

  "Some will, that's true. Mostly out of envy. Others will be utterly consumed with admiration," said the mother. "It certainly doesn't seem to have deterred the friends who brought you home."

  "Who?" he asked eagerly.

  "Marcus Aemilius, Marcus Antonius, Quintus Mucius, Gaius Marius," she said. "Oh, and that fascinating man, Lucius Cornelius Sulla! Now if I were only younger—"

  Knowledge of her had softened the impact of such remarks, no longer offensive to him; he was able therefore to smile at this whimsy. "How odd that y
ou like him! Mind you, he does seem very interested in my ideas."

  "So I gathered. His only son died earlier this year, not so?"

  "Yes."

  "It shows in him," said Cornelia Scipionis, getting up. "Now, Marcus Livius, I shall send your brother in to you, and you must make up your mind to eat. There is nothing wrong with you that good food won't remedy. I'll have the kitchen prepare something as tasty as it is nourishing, and Mamercus and I will sit here until you eat it."

  Thus it was that darkness had fallen before he was left alone with his thoughts. He did feel much better, it was true, but the dreadful weariness would not go away, and he seemed no more inclined to sleep after his meal, even after so much mulled wine. How long had it been since he last slept deeply, satisfyingly? Months.

  Philippus had found out. Inevitable that somebody would, inevitable that whoever did would go either to him, Drusus, or to Philippus. Or Caepio. Interesting, that Philippus hadn't told his dear friend Caepio! If he had, Caepio would have pushed in, tried to take over, unwilling that Philippus should have all the victory. Which was, no doubt, why Philippus had kept it to himself. All will not be peace and amity in the house of Philippus tonight! thought Drusus, smiling in spite of himself.

  And now that the knowledge of discovery had sunk into his conscious mind, Drusus found himself at rest. His mother was right. Publication of the oath couldn't affect what he was doing; it could only affect his own pride. If people chose to believe he did what he had done because of the enormous clientele the deed would bring him, what did it really matter? Why should he want them to believe his motives were entirely altruistic? It would not be Roman to abrogate personal advantages, and he was Roman! In any other instance, he could see now very clearly, the implications of a clientele in one man's giving the citizenship to several hundred thousand men would have screamed at his fellow senators, at the leaders of the Plebs, and probably at most of lowly Rome. That no one had seen the implications until Philippus actually read out the oath was symptomatic of how emotional this issue was, how lacking in reason—it provoked a storm of feeling so powerful it clouded every practical aspect. Why had he expected people to see the logic in what he was trying to do, when they were so enormously involved emotionally that they hadn't even seen the client side of it? If they couldn't see the clients, then they had no hope of seeing the logic, so much was sure.