"Caesar didn't spend half the money I did on bribing," Ahenobarbus moaned, hiccuping. Then it came out. "I lost because I'm bald, Favonius! If I had one single strand of hair somewhere on my head it would be all right, but here I am, only forty-seven years old, and I've been as bare as a baboon's arse since I turned twenty-five! Children point and giggle and call me Egghead, women lift their lips in revulsion, and every man in Rome thinks I'm too decrepit to be worth voting for!"
"Oh, tch tch tch," clucked Favonius helplessly. He thought of something. "Caesar's bald, but he doesn't have any trouble."
"He's not bald!" cried Ahenobarbus. "He's still got enough hair to comb forward and cover his scalp, so he's not bald!" He ground his teeth. "He's also obliged by law to wear his Civic Crown on all public occasions, and it holds his hair in place."
At which point Ahenobarbus's wife marched in. She was that Porcia who was Cato's older full sister, and she was short, plump, sandy-haired and freckled. They had been married early and the union had proven a very happy one; the children had come along at regular intervals, two sons and four daughters, but luckily Lucius Ahenobarbus was so rich the number of sons whose careers he had to finance and daughters he had to dower was immaterial. They had, besides, adopted one son out to an Attilius Serranus.
Porcia looked, crooned, shot Favonius a glance of sympathy, and pulled Ahenobarbus's despised head against her stomach, patting his back. "My dear, stop mourning," she said. "For what reason I do not know, the electors of Rome decided years ago that they were not going to put you in a priestly college. It has nothing to do with your lack of hair. If it did, they wouldn't have voted you in as consul. Concentrate your efforts on getting our son Gnaeus elected to the priestly colleges. He's a very nice person, and the electors like him. Now stop carrying on, there's a good boy."
"But Marcus Antonius!" he groaned.
"Marcus Antonius is a public idol, a phenomenon of the same kind as a gladiator." She shrugged, rolling her hand around her husband's back like a mother with a colicky baby. "He's not like Caesar in ability, but he is like Caesar when it comes to charming the crowds. People like to vote for him, that's all."
"Porcia's right, Lucius Domitius," said Favonius.
"Of course I'm right."
"Then tell me why Antonius bothered to come to Rome? He was returned in absentia."
Ahenobarbus's plaintive question was answered a few days later when Mark Antony, newly created augur, announced that he would stand for election as a tribune of the plebs.
"The boni are not impressed," said Curio, grinning.
For a creature who always looked magnificently well, Antony was looking, thought Curio, even more magnificently well. Life with Caesar had done him good, including Caesar's ban on wine. Rarely had Rome produced a specimen to equal him, with his height, his strongman's physique, his awesomely huge genital equipment, and his air of unquenchable optimism. People looked at him and liked him in a way they never had Caesar. Perhaps, thought Curio cynically, because he radiated masculinity without owning beauty of face. Like Sulla's, Caesar's charms were more epicene; if they were not, that ancient canard about Caesar's affair with King Nicomedes would not be so frequently trotted out, though no one could point to any suspect sexual activity since, and King Nicomedes rested on the testimony of two men who loathed Caesar, the dead Lucullus and the very much alive Bibulus. Whereas Antony, who used to give Curio lascivious kisses in public, was never for one moment apostrophized as homosexual.
"I didn't expect the boni to be impressed," said Antony, "but Caesar thinks I'll do very well as tribune of the plebs, even when that means I have to follow you."
"I agree with Caesar," answered Curio. "And, whether you like it or not, my dear Antonius, you are going to pay attention and learn during the next few months. I'm going to coach you to counter the boni."
Fulvia, very pregnant, was lying next to Curio on a couch. Antony, who owned great loyalty to his friends, had known her for many years and esteemed her greatly. She was fierce, devoted, intelligent, supportive. Though Publius Clodius had been the love of her youth, she seemed to have transferred her affections to the very different Curio most successfully. Unlike most of the women Antony knew, Fulvia bestowed love for other than nest-making reasons. One could be sure of her love only by being brave, brilliant and a force in politics. As Clodius had been. As Curio was proving to be. Not unexpected, perhaps, in the granddaughter of Gaius Gracchus. Nor in a creature so full of fire. She was still very beautiful, though she was now into her thirties. And clearly as fruitful as ever: four children by Clodius, now one by Curio. Why was it that in a city whose aristocratic women were so prone to die in the childbed, Fulvia popped out babies without turning a hair? She destroyed so many of the theories, for her blood was immensely old and noble, her genealogy much intermarried. Scipio Africanus, Aemilius Paullus, Semprordus Gracchus, Fulvius Flaccus. Yet she was a baby manufactory.
"When's the sprog due?" asked Antony.
"Soon," said Fulvia, reaching out to ruffle Curio's hair. She smiled at Antony demurely. "We—er—anticipated our legal conjoining."
"Why didn't you get married sooner?"
"Ask Curio," she yawned.
"I wanted to be clear of debt before I married an extremely rich woman."
Antony looked shocked. "Curio, I never have understood you! Why should that worry you?"
"Because," said a new voice cheerfully, "Curio isn't like the rest of us impoverished fellows."
"Dolabella! Come in, come in!" cried Curio. "Shift over, Antonius."
Publius Cornelius Dolabella, patrician pauper, eased himself down onto the couch beside Antony and accepted the beaker of wine Curio poured and watered.
"Congratulations, Antonius," he said.
They were, thought Curio, very much the same kind of man, at least physically. Like Antony, Dolabella was tall and owned both a superb physique and unassailable masculinity, though Curio thought he probably had the better intellect, if only because he lacked Antony's intemperance. He was also much handsomer than Antony; his blood relationship to Fulvia was apparent in their features and in their coloring—pale brown hair, black brows and lashes, dark blue eyes.
Dolabella's financial position was so precarious that only a fortuitous marriage had permitted him to enter the Senate two years earlier; at Clodius's instigation, he had wooed and won the retired Chief Vestal Virgin, Fabia, who was the half sister of Cicero's wife, Terentia. The marriage hadn't lasted long, but Dolabella came out of it still legally possessed of Fabia's huge dowry—and still possessed of the affections of Cicero's wife, who blamed Fabia for the disintegration of the marriage.
"Did I hear right, Dolabella, when my ears picked up a rumor that you're paying a lot of attention to Cicero's daughter?" asked Fulvia, munching an apple.
Dolabella looked rueful. "I see the grapevine is as efficient as ever," he said.
"So you are courting Tullia?"
"Trying not to, actually. The trouble is that I'm in love with her."
"With Tullia?"
"I can understand that," said Antony unexpectedly. "I know we all laugh at Cicero's antics, but not his worst enemy could dismiss the wit or the mind. And I noticed Tullia years ago, when she was married to the first one—ah—Piso Frugi. Very pretty and sparkly. Seemed as if she might be fun."
"She is fun," said Dolabella gloomily.
"Only," said Curio with mock seriousness, "with Terentia for a mother, what might Tullia's children look like?"
They all roared with laughter, but Dolabella definitely did appear to be a man deeply in love.
"Just make sure you get a decent dowry out of Cicero" was Antony's last word on the subject. "He might complain that he's a poor man, but all he suffers from is shortage of cash. He owns some of the best property in Italia. And Terentia even more."
Early in June the Senate met in the Curia Pompeia to discuss the threat of the Parthians, who were expected to invade Syria in the summer. Out of which arose the vex
ed question of replacement governors for Cicero in Cilicia and Bibulus in Syria. Both men had adherents lobbying remorselessly to make sure that they were not prorogued for a further year, which was a nuisance, as the pool of potential governors was not large (most men took a province after their term as consul or praetor— the Ciceros and Bibuluses were rare) and the most important fish in it were all intent upon replacing Caesar, not Cicero and Bibulus. Couch generals shrank from embracing war with the Parthians, whereas Caesar's provinces seemed to be pacified for many years to come.
The two Pompeys were in attendance; the statue dominated the curule dais, and the real man dominated the bottom tier on the left-hand side. Looking very strong and rather more happily steely than of yore, Cato sat on the bottom tier of the right-hand side next to Appius Claudius Pulcher, who had emerged from his trial acquitted and promptly been elected censor. The only trouble was that the other censor was Lucius Calpurnius Piso, Caesar's father-in-law, and a man with whom Appius Claudius could not get on. At the moment they were still speaking to each other, mostly because Appius Claudius intended to purge the Senate and, thanks to new legislation his own brother Publius Clodius had introduced while a tribune of the plebs, one censor could not take it upon himself to expel men from the Senate or alter a knight's status in the tribes or Centuries; Clodius had introduced a veto mechanism, and that meant Appius Claudius had to have Lucius Piso's consent to his measures.
But the Claudii Marcelli were still very much the center of senatorial opposition to Caesar and all other Popularis figures, so it was Gaius Marcellus Major, the junior consul, who conducted the meeting—and held the fasces for June.
"We know from Marcus Bibulus's letters that the military situation in Syria is critical," said Marcellus Major to the House. "He has about twenty-seven cohorts of troops all told, and that is ridiculous. Besides which, none of them are good troops, even including the Gabiniani returned from Alexandria. A most invidious situation, for a man to have to command soldiers who murdered his sons. We must send more legions to Syria,"
"And where are we going to get these legions from?" asked Cato loudly. "Thanks to Caesar's remorseless recruiting—another twenty-two cohorts this year—Italia and Italian Gaul are bare."
"I am aware of that, Marcus Cato," said Marcellus Major stiffly. "Which does not alter the fact that we have to send at least two more legions to Syria."
Pompey piped up, winking at Metellus Scipio, sitting opposite him and looking smug; they were getting on splendidly together, thanks to Pompey's willingness to indulge his father-in-law's taste for pornography. "Junior consul, may I make a suggestion?"
"Please do, Gnaeus Pompeius."
Pompey got to his feet, smirking. "I understand that were any member of this House to propose that we solve our dilemma by ordering Gaius Caesar to give up some of his very many legions, our esteemed tribune of the plebs Gaius Curio would immediately veto the move. However, what I suggest is that we act entirely within the parameters which Gaius Curio has laid down."
Cato was smiling, Curio frowning.
"If we can act within those parameters, Gnaeus Pompeius, I for one would be immensely pleased," said Marcellus Major.
"It's simple," said Pompey brightly. "I suggest that I donate one of my legions to Syria, and that Gaius Caesar donate one of his legions to Syria. Therefore neither of us suffers, and both of us have been deprived of exactly the same proportion of our armies. Isn't that correct, Gaius Curio?"
"Yes," said Curio abruptly.
"Would you agree not to veto such a motion, Gaius Curio?"
"I could not veto such a motion, Gnaeus Pompeius."
"Oh, terrific!" cried Pompey, beaming. "Then I hereby serve notice on this House that I will of this day donate one of my own legions to Syria."
"Which one, Gnaeus Pompeius?" asked Metellus Scipio, hard put to keep still on his stool, so delighted was he.
"My Sixth Legion, Quintus Metellus Scipio," said Pompey.
A silence fell which Curio did not break. Well done, you Picentine hog! he said to himself. You've just pared Caesar's army of two legions, and achieved it in a way I can't veto. For the Sixth Legion had been working for Caesar for years; Caesar had borrowed it from Pompey and still possessed it. But it did not belong to him.
"An excellent idea!" said Marcellus Major, grinning. "I will see a show of hands. All those willing that Gnaeus Pompeius should donate his Sixth Legion to Syria, please show their hands."
Even Curio put his hand up.
"And all those willing that Gaius Caesar donate one of his legions to Syria, please show their hands."
Curio put up his hand again.
"Then I will write to Gaius Caesar in Further Gaul and inform him of this House's decree," said Marcellus Major, satisfied.
"And what about a new governor for Syria?" asked Cato. "I think the majority of the Conscript Fathers will agree that we ought to bring Marcus Bibulus home."
"I move," said Curio instantly, "that we send Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus to replace Marcus Bibulus in Syria."
Ahenobarbus rose to his feet, shaking that bald head dolefully. "I would love to oblige, Gaius Curio," he said, "but unfortunately my health does not permit of my going to Syria." He pushed his chin into his chest and presented the Senate of Rome with the top of his scalp. "The sun is too strong, Conscript Fathers. I would fry my brain."
"Wear a hat, Lucius Domitius," said Curio chirpily. "What was good enough for Sulla is surely good enough for you."
"But that's the other problem, Gaius Curio," said Ahenobarbus. "I can't wear a hat. I can't even wear a military helmet. The moment I put one on, I suffer a frightful headache."
"You are a frightful headache!" snapped Lucius Piso, censor.
"And you're an Insubrian barbarian!" snarled Ahenobarbus.
"Order! Order!" shouted Marcellus Major.
Pompey stood up again. "May I suggest an alternative, Gaius Marcellus?" he asked humbly.
"Speak, Gnaeus Pompeius."
"Well, there is a pool of praetors available, but I think we all agree that Syria is too perilous to entrust to a man who has not been consul. Therefore, since I agree that we need Marcus Bibulus back in this House, may I propose that we send an ex-consul who has not yet been out of office for the full five years my lex Pompeia stipulates? In time the situation will settle down and problems like this will not crop up, but for the moment I do think we ought to be sensible. If the House is agreeable, we can draft a special law specifying this person for this job."
"Oh, get on with it, Pompeius!" said Curio, sighing. "Name your man, do!"
"Then I will. I nominate Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius Scipio Nasica."
"Your father-in-law," said Curio. "Nepotism reigns."
"Nepotism is honest and just," said Cato.
"Nepotism is a curse!" yelled Mark Antony from the back tier.
"Order! I will have order!" thundered Marcellus Major. "Marcus Antonius, you are a pedarius, and not authorized to open your mouth!"
"Gerrae! Nonsense!" roared Antony. "My father is the best proof I know that nepotism is a curse!"
"Marcus Antonius, cease forthwith or I will have you thrown out of this chamber!"
"You and who else?" asked Antony scornfully. He squared up, lifted his fists in the classical boxing pose. "Come on, who's willing to try?"
"Sit down, Antonius!" said Curio wearily.
Antony sat down, grinning.
"Metellus Scipio," said Vatia Isauricus, "couldn't fight his way out of a clutch of women."
"I nominate Publius Vatinius! I nominate Gaius Trebonius! I nominate Gaius Fabius! I nominate Quintus Cicero! I nominate Lucius Caesar! I nominate Titus Labienus!" howled Mark Antony.
Gaius Marcellus Major dismissed the meeting.
"You're going to be a shocking demagogue when you're tribune of the plebs," said Curio to Antony as they walked back to the Palatine. "But don't try Gaius Marcellus too far. He's every bit as irascible as the rest of that clan."
"And very cleverly. I'll write to him at once."
By the beginning of Quinctilis everyone in Rome knew that Caesar, moving with his usual swiftness, had crossed the Alps into Italian Gaul, bringing Titus Labienus and three legions with him. Two were to go to Syria; Pompey's Sixth and his own Fifteenth, a legion without any experience in the field, for it was composed of raw recruits who had just emerged from a period of intensive training under Gaius Trebonius. The third legion Caesar brought with him was to remain in Italian Gaul: the Thirteenth, veteran and very proud of its unlucky number, which had not affected its performance in the field one iota. It contained Caesar's own personal clients, Latin Rights men from across the Padus River in Italian Gaul, and belonged to Caesar completely.
Whether because of Caesar's reflexive action, a ripple of fear passed up Rome's backbone; one moment there were no legions in Italian Gaul, the next moment there were three. A nucleus of potential panic began forming in Rome. All at once men started to wonder whether the Senate was being entirely responsible in acting so provocatively toward a man who was generally agreed to be the best military man since Gaius Mar-ius—or even the best military man of all time. There was Caesar without any real barrier between himself and Italia, himself and Rome. And he was an enigma. No one really knew him. He'd been away so long! Marcus Porcius Cato was shouting to all and sundry in the Forum Romanum that Caesar was intent on civil war, that Caesar was going to march on Rome, that Caesar would never part with any of his legions, that Caesar would bring the Republic down. Cato was noticed, Cato was listened to. Fear crept in, based upon nothing more tangible than a governor's moving himself—as he was expected to do—from one segment of his province or provinces to another. Admittedly Caesar didn't usually have a legion in constant attendance on him, even when he brought one across the Alps, and this time he was keeping the Thirteenth glued to him—but what was one legion? If it hadn't been for the other two, people would have rested easier.
Then came word that one of the many young Appius Claudiuses was escorting those two legions, the Sixth and the Fifteenth, to camp in Capua, there to await transshipment to the East. The sigh of relief was collective—why hadn't they remembered those legions no longer were Caesar's property? That he had to bring them with him to Italian Gaul! Oh, the Gods be praised! An attitude which burgeoned when the young Appius Claudius marched the Sixth and the Fifteenth around the outskirts of Rome, and informed the Censor, head of his clan, that the troops of both legions absolutely loathed Caesar, reviled him constantly, and had been on the point of mutiny—as indeed were the other legions in Caesar's army.
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