“Agreed,” said Marius, as if Caesar had said four thousand sesterces rather than four million. “However, I do think it prudent if we keep our dealings secret for the moment.”
“Oh, absolutely!” said Caesar fervently.
“Then I’ll bring you the money tomorrow myself, in cash,” said Marius, smiling. “And what else do you want?”
“I expect that before my elder son enters the Senate, you will have turned into a consular. You will have influence and power, both from this fact and from your marriage to my Julia. I expect you to use your influence and power to advance my sons as they stand for the various offices. In fact, if you do get a military legateship to tide you over the next two or three years, I expect you to take my sons with you to your war. They are not inexperienced, they’ve both been cadets and junior officers, but they need more military service to help their careers, and under you, they’ll be under the best.”
Privately Marius didn’t think either young man was the stuff of which great commanders were made, but he did think they would be more than adequate officers, so he made no comment other than to say, “I’d be glad to have them, Gaius Julius.”
Caesar ploughed on. “As regards their political careers, they have the grave disadvantage of being patricians. As you well know, that means they can’t run for office as tribunes of the plebs, and to make a splash as a tribune of the plebs is far and away the most telling method of establishing a political reputation. My sons will have to seek the curule aedileship—punitively expensive! So I expect you to make sure both Sextus and Gaius are elected curule aediles, with enough money in their purses to put on the kind of games and shows the people will remember affectionately when they go to the polls to elect praetors. And if it should prove necessary for my sons to buy votes at any stage, I expect you to provide the money.”
“Agreed,” said Gaius Marius, and held out his right hand with commendable alacrity, considering the magnitude of Caesar’s demands; he was committing himself to a union which would cost him at least ten million sesterces.
Gaius Julius Caesar took the hand, clasped it strongly, warmly. “Good!” he said, and laughed.
They turned to walk back into the house, where Caesar sent a sleepy servant to fetch the old sagum for its owner.
“When may I see Julia, talk to her?” asked Marius when his head emerged from the opening in the center of the sagum’s wagon-wheel-sized circle.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” said Caesar, opening the front door himself. “Good night, Gaius Marius.”
“Good night, Gaius Julius,” said Marius, and stepped out into the piercing cold of a rising north wind.
He walked home without feeling it, warmer than he had been in a very long time. Was it possible that his unwelcome guest, the feeling, had been right to continue to dwell inside him? To be consul! To set his family’s feet firmly on the hallowed ground of the Roman nobility! If he could do that, then it definitely behooved him to sire a son. Another Gaius Marius.
The Julias shared a small sitting room, in which they met the next morning to break their fast. Julilla was unusually restless, hopping from one foot to the other, unable to settle.
“What is the matter?” her sister asked, exasperated.
“Can’t you tell? There’s something in the wind, and I want to meet Clodilla in the flower market this morning—I promised her I would! But I think we’re all going to have to stay home for another boring old family conference,” said Julilla gloomily.
“You know,” said Julia, “you really are unappreciative! How many other girls do you know who actually have the privilege of saying what they think at a family conference?’ ‘
“Oh, rubbish, they’re boring, we never talk about anything interesting — just servants and unaffordables and tutors — I want to leave school, I’m fed up with Homer and boring old Thucydides! What use are they to a girl?”
“They mark her out as well educated and cultured,” said Julia repressively. “Don’t you want a good husband?”
Julilla giggled. “My notion of a good husband does not include Homer and Thucydides,” she said. “Oh, I want to go out this morning!” And she jigged up and down.
“Knowing you, if you want to go out, you’ll manage to go out,” said Julia. “Now will you sit down and eat?”
A shadow darkened the door; both girls looked up, jaws dropping. Their father! Here!
“Julia, I want to talk to you,” he said, coming in, and for once ignoring Julilla, his favorite.
“Oh, tata! Not even a good-morning kiss?” asked his favorite, pouting.
He glanced at her absently, pecked her on the cheek, and then recollected himself enough to give her a smile. “If you can find something to do, my butterfly, how about doing it?”
Her face was transformed into joy. “Thank you, tata, thank you! May I go to the flower market? And the Porticus Margaritaria?”
“How many pearls are you going to buy today?” her tata asked, smiling.
“Thousands!” she cried, and skipped out.
As she passed him, Caesar slipped a silver denarius into her left hand. “Not the price of the littlest pearl, I know, but it might buy you a scarf,” he said.
“Tata! Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried Julilla, her arms sliding about his neck, her lips smacking his cheek. Then she was gone. ‘
Caesar looked very kindly at his older daughter. “Sit down, Julia,” he said.
She sat expectantly, but he said nothing more until Marcia came in and ranged herself on the couch alongside her daughter.
“What is it, Gaius Julius?” asked Marcia, curious but not apprehensive.
He didn’t sit, stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then turned the full beauty of his blue eyes upon Julia. “My dear, did you like Gaius Marius?” he asked.
“Why yes, tata, I did.”
“For what reasons?”
She considered the question carefully. “His plain but honest speaking, I think. And his lack of affectation. He confirmed what I have always suspected.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. About the gossip one is always hearing—that he has no Greek, that he’s a shocking oaf from the country, that his military reputation was got at the expense of others and the whim of Scipio Aemilianus. It always seemed to me that people talked too much—you know, too spitefully and constantly—for any of it to have been true. After meeting him, I’m sure I’m right. He’s not an oaf, and I don’t even think he acts like a rustic. He’s very intelligent! And very well read. Oh, his Greek isn’t very beautiful on the ear, but it’s only his accent at fault. His construction and vocabulary are excellent. Just like his Latin. I thought his eyebrows were terrifically distinguished, didn’t you? His taste in clothing is a bit ostentatious, but I expect that’s his wife’s fault.” At which point Julia ran down, looking suddenly flustered.
“Julia! You really liked him!” said Caesar, a curious note of awe in his voice.
“Yes, tata, of course I did,” she said, puzzled.
“I’m very glad to hear it, because you’re going to marry him,” blurted Caesar, his famous tact and diplomacy deserting him in this unfamiliar situation.
Julia blinked. “Am I?”
Marcia stiffened. “Is she?”
“Yes,” said tata, and found it necessary to sit down.
“And just when did you arrive at this decision?” asked Marcia, with a dangerous note of umbrage in her voice. “Where has he seen Julia, to have asked for her?”
“He didn’t ask for Julia,” said Caesar, on the defensive. “I offered him Julia. Or Julilla. That’s why I invited him to eat dinner with us.”
Marcia was now staring at him with an expression on her face that clearly questioned his sanity. “You offered a New Man closer to your own age than our daughter’s his choice of either of our daughters as his wife?” she asked, angry now.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Obviously you know who he is.”
>
“Of course I know who he is!”
“So you must know he’s one of the richest men in Rome?”
“Yes!”
“Look, girls,” said Caesar seriously, lumping wife in with daughter, “you both know what we’re facing. Four children, and not enough property or money to do the right thing by any of them. Two boys with the birth and the brains to go all the way to the top, and two girls with the birth and the beauty to marry only the best. But—no money! No money for the cursus honorum, and no money for dowries.”
“Yes,” said Marcia flatly. Because her father had died before she-attained marriageable age, his children by his first wife had combined with the executors of his estate to make sure there was nothing worthwhile left for her. Gaius Julius Caesar had married her for love, and since she had only a tiny dowry, her family had been glad to assent to the union. Yes, they had married for love—and it had rewarded them with happiness, tranquillity, three extremely well adjusted children, and one gorgeous butterfly. But it had never ceased to humiliate Marcia that in marrying her, Caesar did no good financially.
“Gaius Marius needs a patrician wife of a family whose integrity and dignitas are as impeccable as its rank,” Caesar explained. “He ought to have been elected consul three years ago, but the Caecilius Metelluses made sure he wasn’t, and as a New Man with a Campanian wife, he doesn’t have the family connections to defy them. Our Julia will force Rome to take Gaius Marius seriously. Our Julia will endow him with rank, enhance his dignitas—his public worth and standing will rise a thousandfold. In return, Gaius Marius has undertaken to ease our financial difficulties.”
“Oh, Gaius!” said Marcia, eyes filling with tears.
“Oh, Father!” said Julia, eyes softening.
Now that he could see his wife’s anger dissipating and his daughter beginning to glow, Caesar relaxed. “I noticed him at the inauguration of the new consuls the day before yesterday. The odd thing is that I’ve never really paid him any attention before, even when he was praetor, nor when he ran unsuccessfully for consul. But on New Year’s Day, I—perhaps it would not be an exaggeration to say that the scales fell from before my eyes. I knew he was a great man! I knew Rome is going to need him. Just when I got the idea to help myself by helping him, I don’t quite know. But by the time we entered the temple and stood together, it was there in my mind, fully formed. So I took the chance, and invited him to dine.”
“And you really did proposition him, not the other way around?” asked Marcia.
“I did.”
“Our troubles are over?”
“Yes,” said Caesar. “Gaius Marius may not be a Roman of Rome, but in my opinion he’s a man of honor. I believe he’ll hew to his side of our bargain.”
“What was his side of the bargain?” asked the practical mother, mentally reaching for her abacus.
“Today he will give me four million sesterces in cash to buy that land next door to ours at Bovillae. Which means that young Gaius will have enough property to ensure him a seat in the Senate without my needing to touch Sextus’s inheritance. He will assist both of our boys to become curule aediles. He will assist both of our boys to do whatever they have to do in order to be elected consuls when their times come. And though we didn’t discuss the details, he will dower Julilla handsomely.”
“And what will he do for Julia?” asked Marcia crisply.
Caesar looked blank. “Do for Julia?” he echoed. “What more can he do for Julia than to marry her? There’s no dowry going with her, after all, and it’s certainly costing him a large fortune to make her his wife.”
“Normally a girl has her dowry to make sure she retains a measure of financial independence after her marriage, especially in the event that she is divorced. Though some women are fools enough to hand their dowries over to their husbands, by no means all women do, and it has to be found when the marriage is over even if the husband has had the use of it. I insist that Gaius Marius dower Julia to a degree that will make sure she has enough to live on if at any time he divorces her,” said Marcia, in a tone which brooked no argument.
“Marcia, I can’t ask the man for more!” said Caesar.
“I’m afraid you must. In fact, I’m astonished you didn’t think of it for yourself, Gaius Julius.” Marcia heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I never can understand why the world labors under the fallacious belief that men have better business heads than women! They don’t, you know. And you, my dear husband, are woollier in business matters than most men! Julia is the whole cause of our change in fortune, so we owe it to her to guarantee her future too.”
“I admit you’re right, my dear,” said Caesar hollowly, “but I really can’t ask the man for more!”
Julia looked from mother to father and back to mother; this was not the first time she had seen them differ, of course, especially over money matters, but it was the first time she had been the central issue, and it distressed her. So she put herself verbally between them by saying, “It’s all right, truly it is! I’ll ask Gaius Marius about a dowry myself, I’m not afraid to. He’ll understand.”
“Julia! You want to marry him!” gasped Marcia.
“Of course I do, Mama. I think he’s wonderful!”
“My girl, he’s just about thirty years older than you are! You’ll be a widow before you know it.”
“Young men are boring, they remind me of my brothers. I would much rather marry someone like Gaius Marius,” said the scholarly daughter. “I’ll be good to him, I promise. He will love me, and never regret the expense.”
“Whoever would have thought it?” asked Caesar, of no one in particular.
“Don’t be so surprised, tata. I’ll be eighteen soon, I knew you would be arranging a marriage for me this year, and I must confess I’ve been dreading the prospect. Not marriage itself, exactly—just who my husband would be. Last night when I met Gaius Marius, I-—I thought to myself immediately, wouldn’t it be lovely if you found me someone like him?” Julia blushed. “He isn’t a bit like you, tata, and yet he is like you—I found him fair, and kind, and honest.”
Gaius Julius Caesar looked at his wife. “Isn’t it a rare pleasure to discover that one genuinely likes one’s child? To love one’s child is natural. But liking? Liking has to be earned,” he said.
*
Two encounters with women in the same day unnerved Gaius Marius more than the prospect of fighting an enemy army ten times bigger than his own. One encounter was his first meeting with his intended bride and her mother; the other was his last meeting with his present wife.
Prudence and caution dictated that he interview Julia before he saw Grania, to make sure there were no unforeseen hitches. So at the eighth hour of the day—midafternoon, that is—he arrived at the house of Gaius Julius Caesar, clad this time in his purple-bordered toga, unaccompanied and unburdened by the massive weight of a million silver denarii; the sum amounted to 10,000 pounds in weight, and that was 160 talents, or 160 men carrying a full load. Luckily “cash” was a relative term; Gaius Marius brought a bank draft.
In Gaius Julius Caesar’s study he passed his host a small, rolled-up piece of Pergamum parchment.
“I’ve done everything as discreetly as possible,” he said as Caesar unfurled the parchment and scanned the few lines written on it. “As you see, I’ve arranged for the deposit of two hundred talents of silver in your name with your bankers. There’s no way the deposit can be traced to me without someone’s wasting a good deal more of his time than any firm of bankers would allow for no better reason than to gratify curiosity.”
“Which is just as well. It would look as if I’ve accepted a bribe! If I weren’t such senatorial small fry, someone in my bank would be sure to alert the urban praetor,” said Caesar, letting the parchment curl itself up and placing it to one side.
“I doubt anyone has ever bribed with so much, even to a consul with huge clout,” said Marius, smiling.
Caesar held out his right hand. “I hadn’t thought of it in
talents,” he said. “Ye gods, I asked you for the earth! Are you sure it hasn’t left you short?”
“Not at all.” Marius found himself unable to loosen his fingers from Caesar’s convulsive grip. “If the land you want goes for the price you quoted me, then I’ve given you forty talents too much. They represent your younger daughter’s dowry.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Gaius Marius.” Caesar let go Marius’s hand at last, looking more and more uncomfortable. “I’ve kept telling myself I’m not selling my daughter, but at this moment it seems suspiciously like it to me! Truly, Gaius Marius, I wouldn’t sell my daughter! I do believe her future with you and the status of her children of your begetting will be illustrious. I believe you’ll look after her properly, and treasure her as I want my daughter treasured.” His voice was gruff; not for another sum as large could he have done as Marcia wished, and demand yet more as a dowry for Julia. So he got up from behind his desk a little shakily, picking up the piece of parchment more casually than his heart or mind could ever hold it. Then he tucked it into the sinus of his toga, where the toga’s folds looped beneath his free right arm and formed a capacious pocket. “I won’t rest until this is lodged with my bank.” He hesitated, then said, “Julia doesn’t turn eighteen until the beginning of May, but I don’t wish to delay your marriage until halfway through June, so—if you’re agreeable—we can set the ceremony for some time in April.”
“That will be acceptable,” said Marius.
“I had already decided to do that,” Caesar went on, more for the sake of talking, filling in the awkward gap his discomfort had created. “It’s a nuisance when a girl is born right at the beginning of the only time of year when it’s considered bad luck to marry. Though why high spring and early summer should be thought bad luck, I don’t know.” He shook himself out of his mood. “Wait here, Gaius Marius. I’ll send Julia to you.”
Now it was Gaius Marius’s turn to be on edge, apprehensive; he waited in the small but tidy room with a terrifying anxiety. Oh, pray the girl was not too unwilling! Nothing in Caesar’s demeanor had suggested she was unwilling, but he knew very well that there were things no one would ever tell him, and he found himself yearning for a truly willing Julia. Yet—how could she welcome a union so inappropriate to her blood, her beauty, her youth? How many tears had she shed when the news was broken to her? Did she already hanker after some handsome young aristocrat rendered ineligible by common sense and necessity? An elderly Italian hayseed with no Greek—what a husband for a Julia!
The First Man in Rome Page 10
