The Man With Two Names

by Vincent B Davis II

  Marius lifted his hands and eyes to the heavens. “And I sacrifice to Jupiter Capitolinus that we won’t see it for another fifty years. But unfortunately, the universe is a commonwealth of which both men and gods are inhabitants, both wielding free will. The gods cannot stay the hand of the man with a crooked heart.” He stood up again; it seemed he was unable to control the intensity of his feelings. “Gentleman, our brother Maximus is standing for the consulship this year. As my future son-in-law, he can continue to enact the measures that I’ve begun during my term of office. But, as my future son-in-law, the nobles will despise him and do whatever they can to bar his entry. They will see it as my second term, and the optimates won’t stand for it. Julius, you mentioned the Gracchi, and that is what they think I am. They think we’re all monsters.”

  “Perhaps we are,” Sextus said, shrugging his shoulders. The corners of his grin were apparent even behind his clay cup.

  “Monsters who seek to save this Republic,” Marius replied. He swallowed the last of his unwatered wine and slammed the cup down on the table. “Bring me more wine, Numidian.” His voice was almost a growl. The look in his eyes ensured there would be no more jokes.

  “What would you have us do, Consul?” Maximus asked seriously, his voice calm and soothing, but Marius seemed to not hear him. The general stared off as if something in the wood of the tavern was speaking to him. His breath seemed to quicken, and we all stared at him with apprehension, waiting for his reply.

  “I know there was a great deal of jesting about my superstitions while we were in Africa. I am unashamed of it. Yet in my time, I have seen the gods. I have seen what they do and how they interfere in this world. You should have seen it … in Spain.” He paused and exhaled deeply. He coughed into his arm and sat down. “What I say next is not to leave this table.” He waited to receive a nod from every man present. “I was visited by a priestess in Numidia. She came to me late one night, with tears in her eyes. She said the gods had visited her and had left her a vivid image of the future. She told me there will be bloodshed in Rome—that friends will kill friends, sons will kill fathers, and brothers will kill brothers.” He nodded at our dubious, fearful looks. “Trust me, I didn’t believe her at first either. I asked what she wanted for this revelation—was she there for coin, for favor, what did she want? She replied that she sought nothing. She said she came to me personally because I was destined—I was chosen—to be the savior of this Republic. Her only request was to visit Rome—after I save it. She said that I must ready myself, for I will be called on to defend this state against both the enemies abroad and the enemies within. And she said … she said …” He looked down at the table.

  “Said what, Marius?” Norbanus asked in a low voice. It was the first time I had seen him serious.

  “I cannot say.” He looked up again. “I will be consul again … and perhaps again after that. The Republic needs me, and I need you. All of you. From this point forward, I must regard those who aren’t with me as against me.” The dull flickering of the torchlight across our rapt faces added power to his words.

  “We are with you, Marius,” Maximus said, as the others nodded.

  “All this talk of saving republics is making me weary.” Rufus got to his feet. “I must retire for the night.” He bowed deeply to the consul, then snapped to attention and saluted. Marius duplicated the gesture as Rufus turned on his heels and left. By the furrowed brows of Norbanus and Julius, I could see they were worried about Rufus’s sudden departure, but Marius appeared unconcerned.

  “Hirtuleius, this is why you have been called. I need an initiate, someone untainted by service to others in the Republic. I am asking you to pledge undying loyalty to me.” My face felt hot, though I had only taken a few careful sips of wine. Though I did not yet know this man, I had already come to admire his soldierly ways. My hands shook beneath the table, and I tried to calm my voice before replying.

  “What will be required of me, Consul?”

  “Whatever I ask of you.” His voice was so low that I had to lean close to hear him. “You are to go where I go and do as I do.”

  “With all due respect, Consul, why me? Do you not have lictors for your protection?” My voice quavered more than I would have liked.

  “That’s where you are wrong, initiate,” Maximus said from across the table. “I was a lictor for a few years when I was young and doing whatever I could to earn a living. There is a very lucrative trade among the lictors; they trade secrets. They may protect Marius, but they are not for him. They will share information with the lictors of other magistrates if offered the right amount. They cannot be trusted.”

  “And trust is what I will need, Hirtuleius. Can I trust you?” I felt all eyes on me. I was awed by their solemnity and by my own ignorance of politics, rivals, schemes, and wars.

  “Yes, Consul.” Though I spoke honestly, I knew I had no idea just what that promise would entail.

  SCROLL IV

  From August to October, Gnaeus and his son Quintus prepared for the election while I watched. I helped Gnaeus with the paperwork involved in his morning client visits and took dictation from Quintus when he returned from the Senate each morning. Gnaeus had instructed Quintus to wait until October to announce his bid for consul, when it was sure to cause quite a stir and garner fresh support in the lead-up to the elections at the end of December. So until October, their goal was threefold: to win general affection by avoiding political outcasts and rigid stances on political issues, to form relationships with the heads of all the collegia, and to defend others in court in order to grow his clientele. Quintus was particularly active when it came to this last task. Gnaeus said of his son, “He is a middling lawyer, but his name assures acquittal and that gives us votes.”

  Despite this political need to be in the public eye, Quintus had a difficult time leaving the domus. Perhaps this is why I found him to be such a strange candidate for greatness. He did not love going out and playing the sycophant to the populous, and instead much preferred to recline in the peristylum and read poetry with his effeminate friend Lucius Reginus. I recall Gnaeus saying, when a few cups deep into his evening wine, “I love that boy, but sometimes I look at him and have no idea where he came from. Caecilia is shrewd and vastly intelligent, and I have always been ambitious and industrious … but Quintus, he … he likes poetry and friendship. Where on Gaia’s earth did that come from?” Gnaeus seemed to find it very amusing, but I wondered if there was more to it than that.

  I learned so much in those few months and was beginning to understand that life in the public arena came with many nuances. Although still in the midst of the awkward transition from farm boy to assistant to the most powerful men in Rome, I was beginning to come into my own.

  October 648 ab urbe condita; three months until election.

  Three months later, I was still having difficulties adjusting to life in the city. My body was attuned to waking up at sunrise, and whereas back home I would have been preparing the field where we would train the horses, here I had nothing to do but silently pass through the halls and admire the ancient lore covering the walls. Occasionally, Gnaeus would wake up early too and bark at the slaves to prepare for the morning levy, but he wasn’t prone to making pleasant morning conversation. I developed a liking for the peristylum, where I sat every morning at the same bench, usually reading Socrates, Thucydides, or my personal favorite, Zeno.

  I would also use this time to write letters home. I told Mother of all the men I had met, and how amazing the Caepio domus was. Perhaps I embellished a little bit about how well I was adjusting, but the last thing I wanted was for my mother to worry.

  I enjoyed being in the peristylum with its greenery and flowers and the soft birdsong, the slaves bending gracefully to tend the garden. The only sound was that of trickling water coming from a large pool in the center of the garden, where the statue of a naked goddess let water fall continuously from the basin on her shoulder.

  My keenest sense has alwa
ys been that of smell, and the peristylum had a sweet aroma. These many years later, I can’t attribute it to any one flower in particular, but I always felt a profound sense of peace when I sat among the flowers in the gardens of Gnaeus Caepio’s home, closing my eyes and taking in whatever sounds or smells greeted me.

  I was resting here one morning when Crito interrupted my reverie.

  “Morning to you, Master Sertorius! You’ve had a letter this morning—from your mother, looks like.” He handed me the scroll, and I smiled as I saw the seal of my house on the scarlet wax.

  “Thank you, Crito,” I said, as I hastily broke the seal and began poring over my mother’s penmanship.

  MY DEAR SON,

  How delighted I am to hear from you! Seldom has a moment passed by that I haven’t wondered where you are or what you are doing. The only peace I have is the knowledge that the protection of the gods rests upon you. I know that you are doing your part to ensure we receive the help we need, but if there is anything you can do to expedite the process, I beg you to do it. If we have ever been in need of help from our friends in Rome, it is now.

  I know I write in haste, and for that I apologize. I wish I had more time to write of all that is occurring here at home, as I’m sure you are missing our farm. But today there is a great deal of work to be done, and I must get to it. When I have time, I will update you on the progress of your horses. Volesa and Gavius send their love. I’m sure Titus will write you soon.

  I am with you wherever you go.

  WHEN I REACHED the bottom of the letter, I was overcome by a bittersweet homesickness. I sat back and thought of Nursia and stroked the tips of my fingers over the soft parchment, stopping to admire the scribbles at the bottom of the page; these, I knew, came from my baby nephew, sending his greetings as well. I let my hands fall into my lap, and I sat back. How could Nursia be any worse than when I’d left it? How could there be any semblance of normality with even more people starving in the streets?

  “What are you thinking of, Sertorius?” The soft voice caught me off guard. It was Junia, Quintus’s wife.

  “Ah, sorry, I hadn’t noticed you.” Junia wore a haunting, subtle perfume that seemed to greet a man and gently engulf him. I felt it slow the beating of my heart. “I was thinking of the past—and the future,” I said, my answer less direct than I’d intended.

  “Careful, Sertorius,” she said, holding a few crumbs of bread to the beak of one of the garden birds. “The man who thinks only of the past is already dead. And the one who lives only in the future will never really live at all.” I was surprised by this response.

  “I’ve been known to do both. I’ll have to work on that.” I replied. She looked at me. For such a meek soul she could make eye contact far longer than most, which I decided meant that she had an inner strength that didn’t shine through upon first introductions.

  She took a few steps closer to me. “Your hands.” To my confusion, she pointed to them. “You know, you can tell a lot about a man by his hands.”

  “Is that so? Are you a prophetess?” I tried to jest, but she took my left hand between both of her own. She rubbed her silk fingertips over my palm’s every callus, stopping to analyze each one.

  “You have an important future. You will be a great man and do great things. But there will be turmoil.” She stopped to look at me. “The gods would not have given you so much hard work in your youth if it were not so. But the same childhood that will make you great may also be your downfall.” She stopped suddenly and let go of my hand.

  “Are you a prophetess?” By now I was completely perplexed.

  “No,” she said definitively. “Perhaps I’ve had too much wine.” Any wine before sunrise would be too much wine, I thought, but nevertheless I found myself returning her smile. Just as seamlessly, I felt myself gravitating toward her. I seemed to have come nearer than before, and we stared at each other for a long moment.

  Both of us jumped when we heard Gnaeus waddle into the peristylum. He paused for a moment to look at us and then shuffled his way on out.

  “Have you enjoyed your stay in Rome thus far?” she asked, tilting her head sideways.

  “I have. I feel very honored to be here in this house, to be able to learn from Gnaeus and your husband.” She looked down with a gentle smile.

  “What an honor you’ve received.” She seemed to roll her eyes.

  “Sertorius, it’s time to receive our clients. I want you present,” Gnaeus called.

  “Certainly, sir.” I sprang to my feet and nodded at Junia, who turned and continued to feed the birds.

  I WAS STANDING behind Gnaeus in his tablinum when Quintus entered. Clearly he was in a good mood—he bounced into the room, smiling. Gnaeus looked up, as if he resented the young man’s enthusiasm.

  “You sleep too late, Quintus,” he said, returning to his documents.

  “Sorry about that, Father. I stayed so late at Reginus’s that I was most tired.” He didn’t seem to mind his father’s bad mood.

  “You’re going to be the greatest man in Rome someday, son. So start acting like it,” Gnaeus said. It appeared Gnaeus was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else that his son was going to be the next leader of Rome.

  “I’m getting there, Father. Are you ready to see your clients? They’re lined up all the way to the Crassi house this morning. I presume it’s to do with the drought. Some of them probably need money,” Quintus said. His father sighed and hung his head.

  “Yes, yes … fine. Go tell your mother to come stand by me as is proper, and then let them in. Have Crito rank them by importance.” Quintus nodded dutifully and began to do as ordered. “And, Quintus, you come back, too. Stand by me the way you have been taught. You will need to address them, and you will take care of their needs. I will only sanction. I’ll be dead soon enough and then these will be your clients, so you need to learn how to take care of them.” He stared at Quintus through his eyelashes.

  Quintus Caepio took a deep breath and tried, poorly, to restrain his irritation. He likely had clients of his own and had probably aided his father since he was a child. But nevertheless, he nodded and left the room.

  “My boy, he’s always been a people pleaser,” Caepio said. “Have you noticed? When he was a child, he worked harder than any of the other students, just to get a few congratulations from his tutor or his mother. I always got the impression he didn’t care about learning—he only wanted to make people admire him. It makes me wonder if he even wants all this for himself. A politician without drive is a poor one, I say. What do you think, eh?” he asked, but as he didn’t turn around to me, I decided he must have been talking to himself. “Are you not going to say anything, Sertorius?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Quintus seems to want to further his career as much as the next man.”

  Gnaeus chuckled. “It’s as if you think you are a better judge of Quintus’s character than his own father. Not likely.” I bit my tongue. “And don’t think I’m too hard on the boy, either. He is my son and I can see him for what he is. His best interests are my priority. I am this way to toughen him up. I’ll appear as sweet as Aphrodite once there are three hundred senators yelling at him and demanding to be heard.” He shook his head. “But never fear, I’ll make a man of him yet.” He returned his attention to the scroll before him.

  Caecilia entered the room, looking as if she had been up and working for hours. I supposed she had been.

  “Good morning, all.” She smiled as she positioned herself at Gnaeus’s right shoulder.

  Junia entered as well. She shot me a quick smile and batted her eyelashes. “Still enjoying your stay, Sertorius?”

  “Quite pleasant, ma’am.”

  “Really? I am happy to hear it.”

  “Father,” Quintus said, peering into the room. “Gaius Mucius is here to see you first. Is that fine by you?” Gnaeus nodded, and after a pause, Quintus departed.

  “Is he your son or your errand boy?” Caecilia said, looking at her
husband. “We have slaves for these things, Gnaeus.”

  “Yes we do, and we also have a son who needs to learn what I do. He has to be involved, Caecilia,” he said firmly.

  Quintus Caepio strode into the room and took his place to the left of his father.

  “Sertorius, come stand by Quintus’s side,” Caecilia said to me, adding in a whisper, “You will appear as his aid—or his bodyguard, even, if you like. The people want to be ruled by the nobility, but they also like for the nobility to show a little affection for them too. Having a strong, rustic commoner like yourself will boost us in the people’s esteem.” It surprised me that Caecilia gave this order rather than Gnaeus, but I obeyed without hesitation. “Actually, Gnaeus, why don’t you give the chair to Quintus? It would look better for the consul-elect to receive our clients—at least until the elections.”

  Gnaeus turned to his wife, visibly flabbergasted. She met his gaze without emotion, and he pushed his chair out, the sound like thunder against the floor. He stormed from the room, muttering expletives under his breath. From the atrium, he shouted, “Sertorius, I have need of you!” I stood, my mouth fallen open, and looked to Caecilia and Quintus.

  “He’s the head of the family …”

  “Go.” Caecilia pointed to the door and I hurried away. The entire situation was making me uncomfortable.

  It soon became apparent that Gnaeus didn’t have anything for me to do. He simply didn’t want to storm out of the room alone.

  “Sometimes I worry about the two of them,” he said as he plopped down on a bench beside the impluvium. “She coddles him. Makes him weak. Sometimes I wonder if she even cares for me anymore, now that I can’t provide security for her future the way Quintus can.” He looked up and remembered himself. His posture straightened, and he tried to reclaim the dignity his voice had lost. “I’ve sent one of the slaves to replenish the wine cellars, but I need to get some fresh foods for tonight’s dinner. We’ll be entertaining Numidicus again. I expect you would like to explore the city, so I’m sending you on this errand.”