The Grass Crown

by Colleen McCullough

  "All right, all right!" cried Lupus. "But not as my sole senior legate! Let him share the post with Quintus Servilius Caepio!"

  Marius threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Done!" he shouted. "The October Horse harnessed to a nag!"

  Of course Julia was waiting for Marius, as anxious as only a politician's devoted wife could be. It always fascinated Marius that she seemed to know by instinct when something formidable was going to be discussed in the Senate. He hadn't honestly known himself before he set out for the Curia Hostilia today. Yet she knew!

  "Is it war?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Very bad? Only the Marsi, or others as well?"

  "I'd say about half of the Italian Allies, probably with more to join. I should have known it all along! But Scaurus was in the right of it. Emotions clouding facts. Drusus knew. Oh, if only he had lived, Julia! If he had lived the Italians would have got their citizenship. And war wouldn't be upon us."

  "Marcus Livius died because there are some men who will not let the Italians have the franchise on any terms."

  "Yes, you're right. Of course you're right." He changed the subject. "Do you think our cook will have an apoplexy if he's asked to make a sumptuous dinner for a tribe of people tomorrow?"

  "I'd say he'll go into an ecstatic frenzy. He's always complaining we don't entertain enough."

  '' Good! Because I've invited a tribe to dinner tomorrow.''

  "Why, Gaius Marius?"

  He shook his head, scowled. "Perhaps because I have an odd feeling that it will be the last time for many of us, mea vita. Meum mel. I love you, Julia."

  "And I, you," she said tranquilly. "Now who's for dinner?"

  "Quintus Mucius Scaevola, as I hope he's going to be our boy's father-in-law. Marcus Aemilius Scaurus. Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Sextus Julius Caesar. Gaius Julius Caesar. And Lucius Julius Caesar."

  Julia was looking a little dismayed. "Wives too?"

  "Yes, wives too."

  "Oh, dear!"

  "What's that for?"

  "Scaurus's wife, Dalmatica! And Lucius Cornelius!"

  "Oh, all that happened years ago," said Marius scornfully. "We'll put the men on the couches in strict order of rank, then you can put the women where they'll do the least harm. How's that?"

  "Well, all right," said Julia, still looking doubtful. "I had better sit Dalmatica and Aurelia facing Lucius and Sextus Julius, Aelia and Licinia opposite the lectus medius. Claudia and I will sit looking at Gaius Julius and Lucius Cornelius." She giggled. "I don't think Lucius Cornelius has slept with Claudia!"

  Marius's eyebrows danced wildly. "You mean to say he's slept with Aurelia after all?"

  "No! Honestly, Gaius Marius, sometimes you are exasperating!"

  "Sometimes you are," countered Marius. "In all this, where do you plan to put our son? He's nineteen, you know!''

  Julia placed Young Marius on the lectus imus at its foot, the lowest place a man could occupy. Nor did Young Marius object; the next-lowest man had been an urban praetor, his uncle Gaius Julius, and beyond him was another urban praetor, his uncle Lucius Cornelius. The rest of the men were consulars, with his father holding two more consulships than the rest put together. That was a nice feeling for Young Marius—yet how could he hope to better his father's record? The only way was to become consul at a very early age, even younger than Scipio Africanus or Scipio Aemilianus had been.

  Young Marius knew there was a marriage in the wind for him, with Scaevola's girl. He hadn't met Mucia, as she was too young to go to dinner parties, though he had heard she was very pretty. Not surprising; her mother, a Licinia, was still a very beautiful woman. Married now to Metellus Celer, son of Metellus Balearicus. Adultery. Little Mucia had two Caecilius Metellus half brothers. Scaevola had married a second Licinia, less beautiful; it was this Licinia who came with him to the party, and had a wonderful time.

  Yet, wrote Lucius Cornelius Sulla to Publius Rutilius Rufus in Smyrna,

  I thought it was a dreadful affair. That it was not an appalling disaster was due entirely to Julia, who made sure every male was accommodated precisely according to protocol, then sat the ladies where they couldn't get into trouble. With the result that all I saw of Aurelia and Scaurus's wife, Dalmatica, was their backs.

  I know Scaurus is writing to you, because our letters are going with the same courier, so I won't repeat news of our imminent war with the Italians, nor give you a resume of the speech Scaurus gave in the House in praise of Gaius Marius—I am quite sure Scaurus has sent you a copy! I will only say that I thought Lupus's action a disgrace, and couldn't sit there silent when I realized Lupus wasn't going to employ our Old Master. What galls me most is that a donkey like Lupus—no wolf, he!—will command a whole theater of war, while Gaius Marius is set to some menial task. The most intriguing factor is the affability with which Gaius Marius greeted the news that he would have to share his duties as senior legate with Caepio. I wonder what the Arpinate fox plans for that particular donkey? Something nasty, I suspect.

  But I have wandered away from the dinner party, and must get back to it, as Scaurus and I have agreed to, one, each write at length, and two, divide the subject matter between us. I inherited the gossip, which isn't at all fair. Scaurus is a bigger gossip than anyone I know except you, Publius Rutilius. Scaevola was there because Gaius Marius is busy arranging for Young Marius to marry Scaevola's daughter by the first of his two Licinias. Mucia (called Mucia Tertia to distinguish her from Scaevola the Augur's two elderly Mucias) is around thirteen now. I feel sorry for the girl . Young Marius is not one of my favorite people. An arrogant, conceited, ambitious pup. Whoever has to deal with him in times to come will have trouble on his hands. Not in the same league as my dear dead son.

  Publius Rutilius, never having had much family life — as boy or as man, it seems to me — my son was infinitely precious. From the first time I saw him, a naked laughing tot in the nursery, I loved him with all my heart. In him, I found the perfect companion. No matter what I did, he thought it a wonder. On my journey to the East, he added a whole dimension of interest and enthusiasm. It didn't matter that he couldn't give me the advice or opinion a grown man of my own age would have. He always understood. He was always sympathetic. And then he died. So suddenly, so unexpectedly! If one could but have time, I said to myself, if one could but prepare . . . Yet what preparation can a father make for the death of his son?

  Since he died, old friend, the world has greyed. I seem not to care the way I did. It is almost a year now, and in one way I suppose I have learned to cope with his absence. But in most ways I never will learn to cope. I am missing a part of the core of myself, there is an emptiness that never can be filled. I find myself, for instance, utterly unable to talk about him to anyone; I hide his name as if he had never been. Because the pain is just too much to bear. As I write of him now, I weep.

  But I did not mean to write about my boy either. It is that wretched dinner party supposed to be engaging my pen! Perhaps what prompted thought of him (though I am never without them, I admit it) was the fact that she was there. Little Caecilia Metella Dalmatica, the wife of Scaurus. I imagine she is now about twenty-eight years old, or close to that. She married Scaurus at seventeen—at the beginning of the year we beat the Cimbri, as I remember. There is a girl aged ten, and a boy aged about five. Both Scaurus's beyond a shadow of doubt, for I have seen the poor little things—as plain as one of Cato the Censor's farmsteads. Scaurus is already talking about marrying the girl to the son of Scaevola the Augur's great friend, Manius Acilius Glabrio. Though they've been consular for long enough to escape any taint of the homo novus, it's not their bloodline is the lure. More the family wealth, almost up there with the Servilii Caepiones, I imagine. But I myself don't care for the Acilii Glabriones, even if this Manius Acilius Glabrio's granddad did side with Gaius Gracchus. Like the rest who sided with Gaius Gracchus, he died for it! Well now. I think that was quite a gossipy anecdote, don't you? You don't? Lamia take you, the
n!

  She is a beautiful woman, Dalmatica. How she bedeviled me that first time I ran for praetor! Do you remember? Amazing to realize that is now almost ten years in the past. I am turned fifty, Publius Rutilius— and no nearer to being consul, it seems to me, than ever I was back in the days of the Subura. One is tempted to speculate what Scaurus did to her as a result of those idiocies nine years ago. But she hides it well. All I got from her when we met in the dining room was a cold ave and a frigid smile. She wouldn't meet my eyes. For which I do not blame her. I suppose she was terrified Scaurus would find her conduct reproachable, and acted accordingly. Certainly he could not have done anything other than approve, for once the greetings were over with she sat herself down in her chair with her back to me and never turned round once. Which is more than I can say about our dearest, darlingest Aurelia, who kept all of us dizzy with her turnings and twistings. Well, she's happy again because Gaius Julius is off on another expedition very shortly. He's accompanying his brother, Sextus Julius, on a mission to find Rome cavalry in Africa and far Gaul.

  I'm not being malicious, though such is my reputation—and deservedly so, by and large. We both know this lady very well, and I can say nothing to you about her that would come as a surprise. There is considerable love between her and her husband, but it is not a happy or comfortable love. He cramps her style, and she resents that. Knowing he's off again for some months at least, last night she was animated, laughing, lifted out of her normal prosaic self. A mood which did not escape Gaius Julius, next to me on my couch! For, Publius Rutilius, when Aurelia is animated the whole male world is transfixed. Helen of Troy could not have held a candle to her. Imagine if you will the Princeps Senatus behaving like a silly adolescent! Not to mention Scaevola, and even Gaius Marius. Such is the effect she has. None of the other women were plain, several of them were downright beautiful. But even Julia and Dalmatica could not compete with her, a fact Gaius Julius was quick to note. I predict that when they arrived home, there was another quarrel.

  Yes indeed, it was a very strange and awkward dinner party. Then why, I hear you ask, was the party given? I am not sure, though I did gain the distinct impression that Gaius Marius had been visited by a presentiment. To the effect that we would never meet again in similar circumstances, those of us in that room. He spoke sadly of you, mourned the fact we could not be complete without you. He spoke sadly of himself. He spoke sadly of Scaurus. Even, it struck me, of Young Marius! As for me—I seemed to inherit the bulk of his sorrow. Though we have moved apart steadily since the death of Julilla, I cannot quite understand this in him. We face what I think is going to be a very difficult war to win, which suggests to me that Gaius Marius and I will work together in all our old accord. The only conclusion I can arrive at with any logic is that he fears for himself. Fears he will not survive this war. Fears that, without the massive column of his presence to support us, all of us will suffer.

  True to my bargain with Scaurus, I will not speak of the coming war. However, I do have one extremely interesting snippet to offer you that Scaurus can't. I had a visit the other day from Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, who has been deputed to organize armaments and supplies for our new legions. Isn't he married to your daughter? Yes, the more I think of it, the more convinced I become that he is. Anyway, he had a curious tale to tell. It is a pity that the Apennines cut us off so completely from Italian Gaul, particularly at its Adriatic end. High time we organized Italian Gaul into a proper province and sent it a governor on a regular basis, and sent another governor regularly to Gaul-across-the-Alps. For the purposes of this war, we have sent a man to govern both the Gauls, but located him in Italian Gaul—the consular Gaius Coelius Caldus. Quintus Sertorius is his quaestor, a most reassuring appointment. There is astonishing military blood in the Marii, I am convinced of it, for Sertorius is a Marius on his mother's side. And a Sabine into the bargain.

  But I am straying from my point. Piso Caesoninus made a quick trip to the north to commission arms and armor for Rome. He started in the customary places, Populonia and Pisae. But there he heard stories of new foundry towns in eastern Italian Gaul, run by a firm based in Placentia. So off he went to Placentia. And got nowhere! Oh, he found the company all right. But a closer-mouthed, more furtive lot you couldn't imagine. So he went east to Patavium and Aquileia, where he discovered that there's a whole new industry in that region. He also discovered that these foundry towns have been making arms and armor for the Italian Allies under an exclusive contract for almost ten years! Caesoninus thinks it innocent enough. The smiths were offered an exclusive contract, they were paid promptly, and so—they produced! Though the steelworks are all individually owned, the towns themselves were set up by a landlord who owns everything save the businesses. A landlord who, according to the locals, is a Roman senator! And to make the whole thing even murkier, it seems the smiths thought they had been making arms for Rome, and that the man who had put them under contract was a Roman praefectus fabrum! When Piso Caesoninus pressed them for a description of this mystery man, they painted a likeness of none other than Quintus Poppaedius Silo of the Marsi!

  Now how would Silo have known where to go before we in Rome even knew of this eastern steel industry? And a curious answer has occurred to me—one I'll find difficult to prove, I suspect. Therefore I didn't mention it to Piso Caesoninus. Quintus Servilius Caepio lived with Marcus Livius Drusus for years, only left when his wife scampered off with Marcus Cato Salonianus. Now about the time that I was canvassing for my first try at the praetorship, Caepio went away— a long trip. You have assured me in earlier letters that the Gold of Tolosa is no longer in Smyrna, that Caepio appeared in Smyrna on this same absence from Rome and removed it, much to the sorrow of the local banks. Now Silo was in that house often. And far friendlier with Drusus than Drusus was with Caepio. What if he heard that Caepio was sinking some of his money into the establishment of foundry towns in eastern Italian Gaul? Silo could then have anticipated Rome, tied up those new towns making arms and armor for his own people before anyone in the area needed to tout for business.

  I'm picking that Caepio is the Roman senator landlord, and that the company based in Placentia is his. But I doubt I'll manage to prove it, Publius Rutilius. Anyway, Piso Caesoninus put some pressure on the steelworkers of the area, with the result that they'll make no more arms and armor for the Italians. Instead, they will make for us.

  Rome readies herself for war. But there is an eerie quality about the process, given who the enemy is. No one feels at ease fighting in Italy, including, I suspect, the enemy. Who could have marched on us three months ago, according to my intelligence reports. Oh, I have neglected to tell you that I am very busy putting together an intelligence network—if in no other way, I swear our information about their movements will be superior to their information about ours.

  This section of my letter, by the way, is somewhat later in date than the first. Scaurus's courier didn't get away.

  For the moment, we have secured Etruria and Umbria. Oh, there are rumbles, but the rumblers cannot gather enough clout to secede. Thanks in large measure to the latifundia economy. Gaius Marius is going everywhere, both recruiting and pacifying—and, to give Caepio his due, he's been very active in Umbria.

  The Conscript Fathers flew into a fine old stew when my intelligence revealed that the Italians have as many as twenty legions already trained and under arms. Since I had evidence to back up my contention, they had to believe. And here are we with six legions! Luckily we have arms and armor for at least ten more legions, thanks to those thrifty fellows we depute to go around battlefields picking up stuff from our own and the enemy dead. As well as the enemy prisoners. It's stored in Capua in shed after shed after shed. But how we can recruit and train new troops in the time we have is more than anyone knows.

  I should tell you that it was resolved in the House late in February that Asculum Picentum must be made an example of, in the mode of Numantia. So there is going to be a northern theater a
s well as a central theater. The command in the north was given to Pompey Strabo. Who was given his target—Asculum Picentum. And who was told he had to be ready to march on it by May. Still very early spring, as the seasons go at the moment, but at least this year our dilatory Pontifex Maximus has intercalated an extra twenty days at the end of February, which is why the date on this latter half of my letter is still March. I am now, by the way, writing a solo effort—Scaurus says he doesn't have time! As if I do! No, Publius Rutilius, it is not a burden. Many's the time in the past you've made the difference to me when I've been away. I render you no more than your due.

  Lupus is the kind of commander who doesn't do anything he regards as beneath his dignity. So when it was agreed that he and Lucius Caesar would split the four veteran legions of Titus Didius between them, and each take one of the unblooded two legions as well, Lupus didn't feel in the mood to leave Carseoli (where he has established his headquarters for the central theater campaign) in order to do the drudgery of going to Capua and picking up his half of the troops. He sent Pompey Strabo in his stead. He doesn't like Pompey Strabo—well, who honestly does?

  But Pompey Strabo paid him back! Having collected the two veteran legions and the one unblooded legion from Capua, he got as far as Rome. He had been ordered by Lupus to take the raw legion north with him to Picenum, and deliver the two veteran legions to Lupus in Carseoli. Whereas what he did do had Scaurus laughing for a week. He put the raw legion under the command of Gaius Perperna and sent it to Lupus in Carseoli, while he hied himself up the Via Flaminia with the two veteran legions! Not only that, but when Catulus Caesar got to Capua to take up command of the place, he discovered that Pompey Strabo had also rifled the sheds of stored arms and armor, and removed enough to equip four legions! Scaurus is still laughing. However, I can't. For what can we do about it now? Nothing! Pompey Strabo bears watching. There's too much Gaul in him—how's that for a pun?