“And who’s your friend?” one of the sentries demanded in a Corsican accent, glaring at me intently.
“Quintus Sertorius, a companion of mine. I vouch for him.” At length they nodded and stepped aside.
Marius’s tent was more like a small home—larger even than Lucius’s insula—though it was very spartan. Everything in the room was of some utility to military matters, and unlike Gnaeus’s tablinum, Marius’s table was neat and proper with all the military reports organized in an orderly fashion like an obedient column of soldiers. Lucius led the way to a backroom and we entered. To my shock, Marius was lying upon a table with an old Greek slave performing some kind of surgery on his right leg. His soldier’s tunic was pulled up to reveal his thigh, drenched in blood. He had a damp rag on his forehead and a small wooden peg lodged tightly between his teeth. Between incisions, the slave dabbed at the blood with a dirty towel so that he could make sense of his work. It looked much like the butcher shop in the Forum Boarium, except this slave seemed far more frightened than any butcher I’d ever seen. In fact, he looked far more concerned than Marius did. The general lay completely still, grunting lowly every so often, but never squirming. This was my first impression of Marius’s toughness, and it was a lasting one.
“Desist this at once, you old woman,” Marius said impatiently as he spit out the peg. He tossed the rag at the doctor and told him to patch him up. “Clearly the cure isn’t worth the pain.”
“Sir.” Lucius snapped to attention.
“Oh, Hirtuleius, I’m glad you’ve arrived,” Marius said, sitting up. The slave began to thread stitching through the various incisions. “And you must be Quintus Sertorius. It’s a pleasure.” Marius extended his hand, which I hastened to accept. The man appeared like a great eagle, with his head pressed backwards and arms like wings tucked to his sides.
“You know of me, sir?” I stammered.
“Do I know you? Dis, I feel like I know you better than my own wife from how often Hirtuleius praises you.” Marius laughed as Lucius blushed. “What has brought you here today?”
“Quintus brought me unfortunate news. It seems my grandfather has died. I persuaded him to come along to meet you.”
“Ah …” Marius paused. “Unfortunate business—death, I mean. You’re welcome to make whatever sacrifices you feel inclined to, on my coin.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“By Bellona, would you hurry up!” Marius’s famously gruff voice boomed at the slave, who mumbled his apologies. “Sorry you arrived to this. I’ve had these tumors growing in my legs for some time now. I figured I’d cut them out, but it’s no matter.” Finally he stood and pushed the doctor aside, ignoring a few still-open wounds. “Pour us some wine,” he said to another slave standing silently behind us. “So you’re from Nursia as well, I presume?” Marius asked me. He quaffed his wine as though he was deeply parched.
“Yes, Consul. I have plenty of stories on my friend Lucius here, if you’re ever in any need of them.” Lucius punched my shoulder.
“I’m sure I could make use of them. I once had a friendship that reminds me of you two… . He died on our first campaign,” he said, rather carelessly. The man had witnessed so much death, this was hardly a surprise. “It was in Spain. Have you ever been to Spain?” he asked us both, though neither of us had. “Hardy country. I’d prefer it to any other corner of the Republic, but those bastards can fight, I’ll tell you.” He waved at the slave, indicating for him to give us our wine. “My friend and I were born in the north, Arpinum. Have you ever heard of it?”
“I haven’t, sir,” I replied.
Marius grunted. “I didn’t figure you had. Small place, probably not too dissimilar to your hill-country. Harsh winters, scorching summers, so few beds that my brothers and I had to swap out each night.” He smiled at the memory. “Despite how small and insignificant my hometown was, my family was so lowly that I couldn’t even have served in a local magistracy. So I began the only path to a career that I saw possible: to fight, maim, and kill—like your friend Hirtuleius here. I fought with my companion under the late General Scipio Aemilianus, gods protect him, and by the time I returned, I was well on my way to where I am now. And do you know how I did this?” Marius couldn’t contain his grin. Hiking up his sleeves and tunic, he directed us to the various scars that covered his flesh—even a deep old gash stretched across his forehead and through his left eyebrow. “It definitely wasn’t how many men I killed, or by kissing the arse of some pompous old patrician, but by these scars, by sweat, and the glory that comes with it.” He was obviously proud of his past. “I share this with you, Quintus Sertorius, because Hirtuleius has told me of your home and the state Nursia is in. I am not so far removed from my roots that I cannot empathize with you.”
“I appreciate that, sir. I have great respect for anyone who can rise to prominence through merit,” I said. Marius grunted again.
“Well, since I have shared, I’d like to ask you something now. What have you heard of me?” He locked his steel-blue eyes, cold and strong, on me, and I felt as if I was on trial, although his demeanor was nothing but amicable. My words caught in my throat for so long that finally Marius repeated his question.
“Consul, I’ve heard nothing but good things from my friend Lucius. But I’ve heard from others that you are attempting a revolution in the vein of the Gracchi.” Marius clenched his fists, and for a split-second I saw the anger he would become famous for.
“Immortal gods! People say that, do they?”
“Nobles, mostly.”
“That’s ridiculous. I am no Tiberius or Gaius Gracchus, of that I can assure you. The Gracchi stand for the rights of the mob. Do you know what the mob is?”
“The people?” I shrugged.
“No. The mob is a hand-selected crowd of people—only those who support the cause of the mob leader. I don’t stand for the rights of the mob, but for the good of all Rome. There is a difference.”
“I see. But, sir, any kind of revolution has to have a figurehead. Even if you do not wish to support the cause of the people, they look to rally behind you.” A smile cracked across his face, a look of badly concealed pride behind those blue eyes.
“Sertorius, in my fifty years, I have seen a great deal—of that I swear on Jupiter’s Stone. I have seen that there need to be changes to the fundamental fabric of this society, and I intend to make those changes, no matter what foolish labels the dusty old noblemen attribute to me. Nor do I care what enemies I make or what friends I keep.” His voice was conviction itself; there was no wavering in him.
“And what are these changes, Consul?”
“Well, for one, to cut down on the wretched bribery in this city. I want to see officials elected on merit, like I was, and not due to the size of their coin purse …” His voice trailed off as he noticed something about my expression. “What is it?”
“Permission to speak frankly, Consul?”
“Yes, speak freely,” he said impatiently.
“I was sent to the Aventine Hill to deliver a sum of money to the tribal leaders there for the assurance of their vote—an act I am not very proud of. But when I arrived, they claimed you had already purchased their loyalty.”
Marius burst into raspy laughter and stopped as abruptly as he had begun.
“Is that what they told you? No, it’s not true. I am a declared enemy of that treachery. You have only to look at the state records of my time as tribune or praetor to see proof of that. The only thing I did was have my people visit the head of the Stellatina and Oufentina tribes. They were told that if my son-in-law is elected—and I am allowed the leverage to continue my military reforms—that members of their families would be able to serve in my legions. Currently, only those with ten thousand asses of property can serve their country—which is a whole pot of nonsense. I have passed measures that this outrageous number be lowered to four thousand asses, so that any man with a little backbone can serve. If I have no representation in the upper echel
on, the nobles will doubtlessly work to undo what I’ve done. I told the Aventine this, and that under my regime they will have a place to make a better Rome and to make a better living for themselves than wrangling fish from the Tiber.”
“Is this not a bribery of sorts?” I asked, rather sheepishly.
“You may call it what you wish, but I merely stated facts,” he snarled. Hirtuleius shifted nervously at my side. “Sertorius, you have not seen the state of our military. Despite what reports would have you believe, it’s weaker than it has been since the second war with Carthage. This is because the land-owning citizens that once fought to make this country great have now abandoned their people’s cause to seek their own interests. Fewer and fewer come to the registrars to join the legion, and those that do are entitled and pompous, with no discipline, no patriotism about them. In Spain I remember the wealthiest soldiers served as the cavalry. They were so arrogant, so insubordinate, that General Scipio Aemilianus could find no use for them. He had to rally up his own band of soldiers to serve as his guard, for he couldn’t even trust the spoiled cavalrymen. This is the state of Rome, Sertorius, and it will only get worse. But as the fervor for service dwindles in the hearts of the rich, the streets are continuously being filled with the poor who would relish the opportunity to wield a sword.”
“That is very interesting, Consul,” I said, unable to meet his gaze—though, I had to admit it made sense. Of what I had learned from my time with the Caepiones and their allies, I could hardly imagine those entitled men taking orders and obeying with military bearing.
“Besides, I can’t really be held responsible for including the hoi polloi in the legions, even if it is where my personal sympathies lie. The real cause is the massive losses our men have suffered due to the blunders of incompetent noble leadership,” he said, and I had no rebuttal. “Pour him some more wine,” Marius ordered his slave. “Hirtuleius, there is a reason I selected you, and Sertorius, there is a reason I’ve taken a vested interest in you as well. You boys are a lot like me: outsiders who grew up inconspicuous and seemingly unable to better there own station in life. In time, I think you will see Rome for what she is beneath the shadow of the nobles. I hope that in time you will join my cause, Sertorius. I can see that you have a warrior’s blood coursing through your veins, and I don’t say that lightly. There will always be a place for you on my staff. Perhaps as a military tribune, or even quaestor in time, given your family.” This offering shocked me deeply. Everything in me wanted to jump at the opportunity. It was as if Marius had somehow received intelligence that I had been seeking a military tribuneship—although I knew my patrons had thought so little of it that they hadn’t mentioned it again.
“I am deeply honored, Consul… . I’m not sure what to say.”
“Then say nothing. Just know that the offer stands. I want to show you something. Mago, bring me one of the barrels,” he said to a slave in one of the rooms across from us. A Numidian man with a gentle face but massive shoulders—possibly the biggest human I’ve seen to this day—carried into the room a large wooden barrel, setting it down between us.
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, Mago, thank you,” Marius said. It surprised me to see a consul thanking a slave; although this man stood with a dignity that I took to mean he hadn’t been a slave for very long. Marius cracked the lid of the barrel and scooped up grain that trickled through his fingers like water. “This is for Nursia, Sertorius. It’s grain from Africa. I’ve got miles of it, and I intend to send it to several ailing cities throughout Italy. I intend to give this gift whether you join me or not, but I wanted you to see that you would be joining a man of action rather than a man of fine words.” I had to bite my tongue. To see the very grain that could feed my people and stimulate the Nursian economy gave me such hope. But I couldn’t do it.
“I am sorry, Consul. I deeply wish to accept your offer. And you may be right about all that you have said. Perhaps my patrons have sought out only their own interests. I do not know whether they are good or bad, but I do know they have been good to me. And I cannot betray what they’ve done for me.”
“Very good. Loyalty, fidelity, honesty… . I like you, Quintus Sertorius. I trust that you’ll think over my offer. It still stands, should you ever decide to make a change.”
“Again, I am deeply honored.”
“Save all that.” Behind us, the flaps of the tent opened and several men poured in. I stepped out of the way so they could salute Marius. At first I couldn’t place them, but after a moment their names began to appear in my mind.
Gaius Julius Caesar, the newlywed; his brother Sextus; Publius Rutilius Rufus, who had said I looked like a soldier; Gnaeus Mallius Maximus, the man running for consul. I began to tremble. Even before I spoke I could feel the stutter forming on my lips. These men had seen me at the wedding. They knew me, and they knew my patrons.
Marius introduced me to them and I accepted their hands as if we had not yet met. Rufus and Sextus Caesar seemed to have forgotten me, but Gaius Julius looked suspicious.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said and forced me to meet his eyes.
“You’re more than welcome to join us, Sertorius. We have plenty more wine. I’m sure it’s soldiers’ swill compared to the Falernian you’ve been drinking, but it’s ample and you can have as much as you’d like.”
“I appreciate your offer, Consul. B-b-but I best be leaving.” I shook as I made me way to the exit.
“Go with fortune,” Marius said, and the others echoed the sentiment. I saw Julius watching me until the tent flap closed behind me.
I didn’t stop shaking until I arrived back at the Palatine. If my patrons discovered that I was so much as in the presence of the Man with Two Names, they might have me killed.
I was relieved to find the domus empty. I listened for Quintus and his friend Reginus reciting poetry in the peristylum, Caecilia’s distinguished laugh from the triclinium, or Gnaeus berating a slave for the temperature of his wine in his tablinum. But all was silent.
I gathered a wool cloak from my room and made my way to the roof. I sat and looked up at the stars, thinking how Lucius had done the same thing on our journey here to Rome. My breathing was erratic, and I couldn’t keep my legs still.
I stared across the vastness and grandeur of Rome, the shadow of night cast over it. I focused on the hearth fires burning in the windows of small houses below us on the hill. Just as I began to calm myself, I heard footsteps behind me.
“Gods!” I shouted, startled, and turned to find Junia.
“Looks like we’re all alone,” she said taking a few slow, graceful steps toward me. “Quintus and his parents have gone to visit Scaurus for the evening.”
“I find it strange to say we’re alone in a place like Rome.” I turned back to the sea of buildings before me. “This house has about as many slaves as Nursia does villagers.” I tried to jest.
After a moment she took another step toward me. “I always feel alone in Rome.” We both fell silent and the sounds of a sleeping city blared in my ears.
“I must go.” I said, rising from my chair. But before I could go far, she grabbed my hand. Her touch mesmerized me.
“I feel less alone when I am with you.” I felt dizzy. Despite the cold, my body suddenly felt warm. After a moment of hesitation, I turned and placed my hand on her hips. I watched her gaze shift across my face and eventually settle on my lips.
“Junia.” I stepped away. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this.” I distanced myself further. “Your father-in-law and husband have been good to me, they have taken me in and … and …”
“I have been stuck in a loveless marriage since—” Her lips began to quiver.
“I know, Junia. I know. Quintus isn’t perfect, but I know he cares for you. He is a good man.” The moment the words left my mouth, her lips stopped trembling. Her eyes dried.
“No, Sertorius,” she said, “he is not.”
SCROLL VIV<
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LUCIUS HIRTULEIUS—DECEMBER 648 AB URBE CONDITA; THREE DAYS UNTIL ELECTION.
After Sertorius left, Marius’s business with me was nothing unusual. He updated me on the various speaking engagements planned for Maximus and his allies, and we discussed protection for the various events. We had encountered no foul play thus far, but it was clear to me that Marius was cautious, perhaps even waiting for something to happen. He prepared for Maximus’s political campaign much as he had his victories over Jugurtha in Numidia, from all the stories he told me.
Two days later, however, I heard a great clamor at my door. I slid a dagger into the back of my belt and approached.
“Who goes there? What’s your business?” I pressed my weight against the door.
“It’s Mago, young master. I’m sorry for the disturbance.” I hastily let Marius’s body slave in. His dark skin glistened with sweat, and I supposed he had run all the way from the Field of Mars.
“What is it, Mago? Has something happened?”
“No … quite the opposite. Well, yes, I guess …” He stopped and caught his breath, placing his hands akimbo on his hips. “I’m not sure what has happened, but Marius said it was incredibly important that all of you assemble at his tent right away. He’s sent couriers to all of his allies, and they should be arriving soon.”
“Gods. That doesn’t sound good. I’ll grab my cloak.”
“Perhaps it isn’t, but Marius was overjoyed when he told me to go.”
I grabbed my cloak and bolted from my home, Mago trying his best to keep up despite his exhaustion. I arrived along with Marius’s allies. They had not taken the time to assemble litters, or even an entourage; Norbanus showed up without his toga. As we entered, the only sounds were of hushed voices and the crackling of torches in the wind. I saluted but did so silently and said nothing else. In the dim light of Marius’s tent, I finally made out the general standing in the corner, whispering to Maximus.
Marius caught sight of us. “Thank the gods you’ve come. I’m sorry for the disturbance at this hour, but you’ll be very pleased with the news.”
The Man With Two Names Page 12
