All the eastern kings were being troublesome one of the penalties Rome was forced to endure because her internecine strife had made it impossible for Sulla to remain in the east long enough to render both Mithridates and Tigranes permanently impotent. As it was, no sooner had Sulla sailed home than Mithridates was back intriguing to annex Cappadocia, and Lucius Licinius Murena (then governor of Asia Province and Cilicia) had promptly gone to war against him without Sulla's knowledge or permission, and in contravention of the Treaty of Dardanus. For a while Murena had done amazingly well, until self confidence had led him into a series of disastrous encounters with Mithridates on his own soil of Pontus. Sulla had been obliged to send the elder Aulus Gabinius to order Murena back to his own provinces. It had been Sulla's intention to punish Murena for his cavalier behavior, but then had come the confrontation with Pompey; so Murena had had to be allowed to return and celebrate a triumph in order to put Pompey in his place. In the meantime, Tigranes had used the six years just gone by to expand his kingdom of Armenia southward and westward into lands belonging to the King of the Parthians and the rapidly disintegrating Kingdom of Syria. He had begun to see his chance when he learned that old King Mithradates of the Parthians was too ill to proceed with a projected invasion of Syria and too ill to prevent the barbarians called Massagetae from taking over all his lands to the north and east of Parthia itself, as well as to prevent one of his sons, Gotarzes, from usurping Babylonia. As Tigranes himself had once predicted, the death of King Mithradates of the Parthians had provoked a war of succession complicated by the fact that the old man had had three official queens two his paternal half sisters, and the third none other than a daughter of Tigranes called Automa. While various sons of various mothers fought over what remained, yet another vital satrapy seceded fabulously rich Elymais, watered by the eastern tributaries of the Tigris, the rivers Choaspes and Pasitigris; the silt free harbors to the east of the Tigris Euphrates delta were lost, as was the city of Susa, one of the Parthian royal seats. Uncaring, the sons of old King Mithradates warred on. So did Tigranes. His first move (in the year Gaius Marius died) was to invade in succession the petty kingdoms of Sophene, Gordyene, Adiabene, and finally Osrhoene. These four little states conquered, Tigranes now owned all the lands bordering the eastern bank of the Euphrates from above Tomisa all the way down to Europus; the big cities of Amida, Edessa and Nisibis were now also his, as were the tolls levied along the great river. But rather than entrust such commercial enterprises as toll collecting to his own Armenians, Tigranes wooed and won over the Skenite Arabs who controlled the arid regions between the Euphrates and the Tigris south of Osrhoene, and exacted tolls on every caravan which passed across their territory. Nomad Bedouins though they were, Tigranes moved the Skenite Arabs into Edessa and Carrhae and appointed them the collectors of Euphrates tolls at Samosata and Zeugma. Their king whose royal title was Abgar was now the client of Tigranes, and the Greek speaking populations of all the towns the King of Armenia had overcome were forced to emigrate to those parts of Armenia where the Greek language was hitherto unknown. Tigranes desperately wanted to be the civilized ruler of a Hellenized kingdom and what better way to Hellenize it than to implant colonies of Greek speakers within its borders? As a child Tigranes had been held hostage by the King of the Parthians and had lived in Seleuceia upon Tigris, far away from Armenia. At the time of his father's death he was the only living son, but the King of the Parthians had demanded a huge price for releasing the youth Tigranes seventy valleys in the richest part of Armenia, which was Media Atropatene. Now Tigranes marched into Media Atropatene and took back the seventy valleys, stuffed with gold, lapis lazuli, turquoise and fertile pastures. He now found, however, that he lacked sufficient Nesaean horses to mount his growing numbers of cataphracts. These strange cavalrymen were clad from head to foot in steel mesh armor as were their horses, which needed to be large to carry the weight. So in the following year Tigranes invaded Media itself, the home of the Nesaean horse, and annexed it to Armenia. Ecbatana, summer royal seat of the Kings of the Parthians and before them, the summer royal seat of the Kings of Media and Persia, including Alexander the Great was burned to the ground, and its magnificent palace sacked. Three years had gone by. While Sulla marched slowly up the Italian peninsula, Tigranes had turned his attention to the west and crossed the Euphrates into Commagene. Unopposed, he occupied all the lands of northern Syria between the Amanus Mountains and the Libanus Mountains, including mighty Antioch and the lower half of the valley of the Orontes River. Even a part of Cilicia Pedia fell to him, around the eastern shore of the Sinus Issicus. Syria was genuine Hellenized territory, its populace a fully Greek speaking one powerfully under the influence of Greek customs. No sooner had he established his authority in Syria than Tigranes uplifted whole communities of these hapless Greek speakers and sent them and their families to live in his newly built capital of Tigranocerta. Most favored were the artisans, not one of whom was allowed to remain in Syria. However, the King understood the need to protect his Greek imports from his Median speaking native peoples, who were directed under pain of death to treat the new citizens with care and kindness. And while Sulla was legislating to have himself appointed Dictator of Rome, Tigranes formally adopted the title he had hungered for all his life King of Kings. Queen Cleopatra Selene of Syria youngest sister and at one time wife of Ptolemy Soter Chickpea who had managed to rule Syria through several Seleucid husbands, was taken from Antioch and made to live in the humblest circumstances in a tiny village on the Euphrates; her place in the palace at Antioch was taken by the satrap Magadates, who was to rule Syria in the name of Tigranes, King of Kings. King of Kings, thought Sulla cynically; all those eastern potentates thought themselves King of Kings. Even, it seemed, the two bastard sons of Ptolemy Soter Chickpea, who now ruled in Egypt and Cyprus with their Mithridatid wives. But the will of the dead Ptolemy Alexander the Second was genuine; no one knew that better than Sulla did, for he was its witness. Sooner or later Egypt would belong to Rome. For the moment Ptolemy Auletes must be allowed to reign in Alexandria; but, vowed Sulla, that puppet of Mithridates and Tigranes would never know an easy moment! The Senate of Rome would send regularly to Alexandria demanding that Ptolemy Auletes step down in favor of Rome, the true owner of Egypt. As for King Mithridates of Pontus interesting, that he had lost two hundred thousand men in the freezing cold of the Caucasus he would have to be discouraged yet again from trying to annex Cappadocia. Complaining by letter to Sulla that Murena had plundered and burned four hundred villages along the Halys River, Mithridates had proceeded to take the Cappadocian bank of the Halys off poor Cappadocia; to make this ploy look legitimate, he had given King Ariobarzanes of Cappadocia a new bride, one of his own daughters. When Sulla discovered that the girl was a four year old child, he sent yet another messenger to see King Mithridates and order him in Rome's name to quit Cappadocia absolutely, bride or no bride. The messenger had returned very recently, bearing a letter from Mithridates promising to do as he was told and informing Sulla that the King of Pontus was going to send an embassage to Rome to ratify the Treaty of Dardanus into watertight legality. "He'd better make sure his embassage doesn't dawdle," said Sulla to himself as he terminated all these thoughts of eastern kings by going to find his wife. It was in her presence for she wasn't very far away that he ended his audible reflections by saying, "If they do dawdle, they won't find me here to dicker with them and good luck dickering with the Senate!" "I beg your pardon, my love?" asked Valeria, startled. "Nothing. Give me a kiss."
Her kisses were nice enough. Just as she was nice enough, Valeria Messala. So far Sulla had found this fourth marriage a pleasant experience. But not a stimulating one. A part of that was due to his age and his illnesses, he was aware; but a larger part of it was due to the seductive and sensuous shortcomings of aristocratic Roman women, who just could not relax sufficiently in bed to enter into the kind of sexual cavorting the Dictator hankered after. His prowess was flagging: he needed to be stimulated!
Why was it that women could love a man madly, yet not enter wholeheartedly into his sexual wants? "I believe," said Varro, who was the hapless recipient of this question, that women are passive vessels, Lucius Cornelius. They are made to hold things, from a man's penis to a baby. And the one who holds things is passive. Must be passive! Otherwise the hold is not stable. It is the same with animals. The male is the active participant, and must rid himself of his excessive desires by rutting with many different females." He had come to inform Sulla that Pompey was coming to Rome on a brief visit, and to enquire whether Sulla would like to see the young man. Instead of being given an audience, however, he found himself the audience, and had not yet managed to find the right moment to put his own query forward. The darkened brows wriggled expressively. "Do you mean, my dear Varro, that a decently married man must rut with half of female Rome?" "No, no, of course not!" gasped Varro. "All females are passive, so he could not find satisfaction!" Then do you mean that if a man wants his fleshly urges gratified to complete satiation, he ought to seek his sexual partners among men?" Sulla asked, face serious. "Ooh! Ah! Um!" squeaked Varro, writhing like a centipede pinned through its middle. "No, Lucius Cornelius, of course not! Definitely not!" Then what is a decently married man to do?'' "I am a student of natural phenomena, I know, but these are questions I am not qualified or skilled enough to answer!" babbled Varro, wishing he had not decided to visit this uncomfortable, perplexing man. The trouble was that ever since the months during which he, Varro, had anointed Sulla's disintegrating face, Sulla had displayed a great fondness for him, and tended to become offended if Varro didn't call to pay his respects. "Calm down, Varro, I'm teasing you!" said Sulla, laughing. "One never knows with you, Lucius Cornelius." Varro wet his lips, began to formulate in his mind the words which would put his announcement of Pompey's advent in the most favorable light; no fool, Varro was well aware that the Dictator's feelings toward Pompey were ambivalent. "I hear," said Sulla, unconscious of all this mental juggling of a simple sentence, that Varro Lucullus has managed to get rid of his adoptive sister your cousin, I believe." "Terentia, you mean?" Varro's face lit up. "Oh, yes! A truly wonderful stroke of luck!" "It's a long time," said the smiling Sulla, who adored all sorts of gossip these days, "since a woman as rich as Terentia has had so much trouble finding a husband." "That's not quite the situation," said Varro, temporizing. "One can always find a man willing to marry a rich woman. The trouble with Terentia who is Rome's worst shrew, I grant you! has forever been that she refused to look at any of the men her family found for her." Sulla's smile had become a grin. "She preferred to stay at home and make Varro Lucullus's life a misery, you mean." "Perhaps. Though she likes him well enough, I think. Her nature is at fault and what can she do about that, since it was given to her at her birth?" "Then what happened? Love at first sight?" "Certainly not. The match was proposed by our swindling friend, Titus Pomponius who is now called Atticus because of his affection for Athens. Apparently he and Marcus Tullius Cicero have known each other for many years. Since you regulated Rome, Lucius Cornelius, Atticus visits Rome at least once a year.'' "I am aware of it," said Sulla, who didn't hold Atticus's financial flutterings against him any more than he did Crassus's it was the way Crassus had manipulated the proscriptions for his own gain caused his fall from Sulla's grace. "Anyway, Cicero's legal reputation has soared. So have his ambitions. But his purse is empty. He needed to marry an heiress, though it looked as if she would have to be one of those abysmally undistinguished girls our less salubrious plutocrats seem to produce in abundance. Then Atticus suggested Terentia." Varro stopped to look enquiringly at Sulla. "Do you know Marcus Tullius Cicero at all?" he asked. "Quite well when he was a lad. My late son who would be about the same age had he lived befriended him. He was thought a prodigy then. But between my son's death and the case of Sextus Roscius of Ameria, I saw him only as a contubernalis on my staff in Campania during the Italian War. Maturity hasn't changed him. He's just found his natural milieu, is all. He's as pedantic, talkative, and full of his own importance as he ever was. Qualities which stand him in good stead as an advocate! However, I admit freely that he has a magnificent turn of phrase. And he does have a mind! His worst fault is that he's related to Gaius Marius. They're both from Arpinum." Varro nodded. "Atticus approached Varro Lucullus, who agreed to press Cicero's suit with Terentia. And much to his surprise, she asked to meet Cicero! She had heard of his courtroom prowess, and told Varro Lucullus that she was determined to marry a man who was capable of fame. Cicero, she said, might be such a one." "How big is her dowry?" "Enormous! Two hundred talents." "The line of her suitors must stretch right round the block! And must contain some very pretty, smooth fellows. I begin to respect Terentia, if she's been proof against Rome's most expert fortune hunters," said Sulla. "Terentia," said her cousin deliberately, "is ugly, sour, cantankerous and parsimonious. She is now twenty one years old, and still single. I know girls are supposed to obey their paterfamilias and marry whomsoever they are told to marry, but there is no man alive or dead! who could order Terentia to do anything she didn't want to do." "And poor Varro Lucullus is such a nice man," said Sulla, highly entertained. "Precisely." "So Terentia met Cicero?" "She did indeed. And you could have bowled all of us over with a feather! consented to marry him." "Lucky Cicero! One of Fortune's favorites. Her money will come in very handy." "That's what you think," said Varro grimly. "She's made up the marriage contract herself and retained complete control of her wealth, though she did agree to dower any daughters she might have, and contribute toward funding the careers of any sons. But as for Cicero he's not the man to get the better of Terentia!" "What's he like as a person these days, Varro?" Pleasant enough. Soft inside, I think. But vainglorious. Insufferably conceited about his intellect and convinced it has no peer. An avid social climber ... Hates to be reminded that Gaius Marius is his distant relative! If Terentia had been one of those abysmally undistinguished daughters of our less salubrious plutocrats, I don't think he would have looked at her. But her mother was a patrician and once married to Quintus Fabius Maximus, which means Fabia the Vestal Virgin is her half sister. Therefore Terentia was 'good enough,' if you know what I mean." Varro pulled a face. "Cicero is an Icarus, Lucius Cornelius. He intends to fly right up into the realm of the sun a dangerous business if you're a New Man without a sestertius." "Whatever is in the air of Arpinum, it seems to breed such fellows," said Sulla. "As well for Rome that this New Man from Arpinum has no military skills!" "Quite the opposite, I have heard." "Oh, I know it! When he was my contubernalis he acted as my secretary. The sight of a sword made him ashen. But I've never had a better secretary! When is the wedding?" Not until after Varro Lucullus and his brother celebrate the ludi Romani in September." Varro laughed. "There's no room in their world at the moment for anything except planning the best games Rome has seen in a century if at all!" "A pity I won't be in Rome to see them," said Sulla, who did not look brokenhearted. A small silence fell, which Varro took advantage of before Sulla could think of some other subject. "Lucius Cornelius, I wondered if you knew that Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus is coming to Rome shortly?" he asked diffidently. "He would like to call to see you, but understands how busy you are." "Never too busy to see Magnus!" said Sulla cheerfully. He directed a keen look at Varro. "Still running round after him with a pen and paper to record his every fart, Varro?" A deep red suffused Varro's skin; when dealing with Sulla one didn't always know how he would see even the most innocent things. Did he, for example, think that Varro's time would be better spent recording the deeds (or farts) of Lucius Cornelius Sulla? So he said, very humbly, "I do from time to time. It started as an accident because we were together when war broke out, and I was not proof against Pompeius's enthusiasm. He said I should write history, not natural history. And that is what I do. I am not Pompeius's biographer!" "Very well answered!" Thus it was that when Varro left the Dictator's house on the Palatine, he had to pause to wipe the sweat from his face. They talked endlessly about the lion and the fox in Su
lla; but personally Varro thought the worst beast he harbored was a common cat. He had done well, however. When Pompey arrived in Rome with his wife and took up residence in his family's house on the Carinae, Varro was able to say that Sulla would be glad to see Pompey, and would allocate him sufficient time for a cozy chat. That was Sulla's phrase but uttered with tongue in cheek, Varro knew. A cozy chat with Sulla could turn out to be a walk along a tightrope above a pit of burning coals. Ah, but the self confidence and conceit of youth! Pompey, still some months short of his twenty seventh birthday, breezed off to see Sulla with no misgivings whatsoever. "And how's married life?" asked the Dictator blandly. Pompey beamed. "Wonderful! Glorious! What a wife you found for me, Lucius Cornelius! Beautiful educated sweet. She's pregnant. Due to drop my first son later this year." "A son, eh? Are you sure it will be a son, Magnus?" "Positive." Sulla chuckled. "Well, you're one of Fortune's favorites, Magnus, so I suppose it will be a son. Gnaeus Junior ... The Butcher, Kid Butcher, and Baby Butcher." "I like that!" exclaimed Pompey, not at all offended. "You're establishing a tradition," said Sulla gravely. "We certainly are! Three generations!" Pompey sat back, pleased. Then, noted the watching Sulla, a different look came into the wide blue eyes; the happiness fled, replaced by a wary and thoughtful calculation as Pompey turned something over in his mind. Sulla waited without speaking until it came out. "Lucius Cornelius..." "Yes?" "That law you promulgated the one about making the Senate look outside of its own ranks if no military commander could be found among the senators ..." "The special commission, you mean?" "That's the one." "What about it?" "Would it apply to me?" "It could do." "But only if no one within the Senate volunteered." "It doesn't quite say that, Magnus. It says if no capable and experienced commander within the Senate volunteers." "And who decides that?" "The Senate." Another silence fell. Then Pompey said, idly it seemed, "It would be nice to have lots of clients within the Senate." "It is always nice to have those, Magnus." At which point Pompey transparently decided to change the subject. "Who will be the consuls for next year?" he asked. "Catulus, for one. Though I haven't decided yet whether he's to be senior or junior consul. A year ago, it seemed a clear cut decision. Now I'm not so sure." "Catulus is like Metellus Pius a stickler." "Perhaps. Neither as old nor as wise, unfortunately." "Do you think Metellus Pius can beat Sertorius?" "At first, probably not," said Sulla, smiling. "However, don't hold my Piglet too lightly, Magnus. It takes him a while to get into stride. But once he finds his stride he's very good." "Pah! He's an old woman!" said Pompey contemptuously. "I've known some doughty old women in my time, Magnus." Back to the changed subject: Who else will be consul?'' "Lepidus." "Lepidus?" Pompey gaped. "Don't you approve?" "I didn't say I didn't approve, Lucius Cornelius. As a matter of fact, I think I do! I just didn't think your mind was inclined his way. He hasn't been obsequious enough." "Is that what you believe? That I give the big jobs only to men willing to wash my arse?" Give Pompey his due, he was never afraid. So, much to Sulla's secret amusement, he continued. "Not really. But you certainly haven't given the big jobs to men who have made it as obvious as Lepidus has that he doesn't approve of you." "Why should I?" asked Sulla, looking amazed. "I'm not fool enough to give the big jobs to men who might undermine me!" "Then why Lepidus?" "I'm due to retire before he takes office. And Lepidus," said Sulla deliberately, "is aiming high. It has occurred to me that it might be better to make him consul while I'm still alive." "He's a good man." "Because he questioned me publicly? Or despite that?" But "He's a good man" was as far as Pompey was prepared to go. In truth, though he found the appointment of Lepidus not in character for Sulla, he was only mildly interested. Of far more interest was Sulla's provision for the special commission. When he had heard of it he had wondered what he himself might have had to do with it, but it had been no part of Pompey's plans at that stage to ask Sulla. Now, almost two years since the law had been passed, he thought it expedient to enquire rather than ask. The Dictator was right, of course. A man found it hard enough to gain his objectives as a member of the Senate; but seeking his objectives from that body when a man was not a member of it would prove extremely difficult indeed. Thus after Pompey took his leave of Sulla and commenced the walk home, he strolled along deep in thought. First of all, he would have to establish a faction within the Senate. And after that he would have to create a smaller group of men willing for a price, naturally to intrigue actively and perpetually on his behalf, even engage in underhand activities. Only where to begin? Halfway down the Kingmakers' Stairs, Pompey halted, turned, took them lithely two at a time back up onto the Clivus Victoriae, no mean feat in a toga. Philippus! He would begin with Philippus. Lucius Marcius Philippus had come a long way since the day he had paid a visit to the seaside villa of Gaius Marius and told that formidable man that he, Philippus, had just been elected a tribune of the plebs, and what might he do for Gaius Marius? for a price, naturally. How many times inside his mind Philippus had turned his toga inside out and then back again, only Philippus knew for certain. What other men knew for certain was that he had always managed to survive, and even to enhance his reputation. At the time Pompey went to see him, he was both consular and ex censor, and one of the Senate's elders. Many men loathed him, few genuinely liked him, but he was a power nonetheless; somehow he had succeeded in persuading most of his world that he was a man of note as well as clout. He found his interview with Pompey both amusing and thought provoking, never until now having had much to do with Sulla's pet, but well aware that in Pompey, Rome had spawned a young man who deserved watching. Philippus was, besides, financially strapped again. Oh, not the way he used to be! Sulla's proscriptions had proven an extremely fruitful source of property, and he had picked up several millions' worth of estates for several thousands. But, like a lot of men of his kind, Philippus was not a handy manager; money seemed to slip away faster than he could gather it in, and he lacked the ability to supervise his rural money making enterprises as well as the ability to choose reliable staff. "In short, Gnaeus Pompeius, I am the opposite of men like Marcus Licinius Crassus, who still has his first sestertius and now adds them up in millions upon millions. His people tremble in their shoes whenever they set eyes on him. Mine smile slyly." "You need a Chrysogonus," said the young man with the wide blue gaze and the frank, open, attractive face. Always inclined to run to fat, Philippus had grown even softer and more corpulent with the years, and his brown eyes were almost buried between swollen upper lids and pouched lower ones. These eyes now rested upon his youthful adviser with startled and wary surprise: Philippus was not used to being patronized. "Chrysogonus ended up impaled on the needles below the Tarpeian Rock!" "Chrysogonus had been extremely valuable to Sulla in spite of his fate," said Pompey. "He died because he had enriched himself from the proscriptions not because he enriched himself by stealing directly from his patron. Over the many years he worked for Sulla, he worked indefatigably. Believe me, Lucius Marcius, you do need a Chrysogonus." "Well, if I do, I have no idea how to find one." "I'll undertake to find one for you if you like." The buried eyes now popped out of their surrounding flesh. Oh? And why would you be willing to do that, Gnaeus Pompeius?" "Call me Magnus," said Pompey impatiently. "Magnus." "Because I need your services, Lucius Marcius." "Call me Philippus." "Philippus." "How can I possibly serve you, Magnus? You're rich beyond most rich men's dreams even Crassus's, I'd venture! You're what? in your middle twenties somewhere? and already famous as a military commander, not to mention standing high in Sulla's favor and that is hard to achieve. I've tried, but I never have." "Sulla is going," said Pompey deliberately, "and when he goes I'll sink back into obscurity. Especially if men like Catulus and the Dolabellae have anything to do with it. I'm not a member of the Senate. Nor do I intend to be." "Curious, that," said Philippus thoughtfully. "You had the opportunity. Sulla put your name at the top of his first list. But you spurned it." "I have my reasons." "I imagine you do!" Pompey got up from his chair and strolled across to the open window at the back of Philippus's study, which, because of the p
eculiar layout of Philippus's house (perched as it was near the bend in the Clivus Victoriae) looked not onto a peristyle garden but out across the lower Forum Romanum to the cliff of the Capitol. And there above the pillared arcade in which dwelt the magnificent effigies of the Twelve Gods, Pompey could see the beginnings of a huge building project; Sulla's Tabularium, a gigantic records house in which would repose all of Rome's accounts and law tablets. Other men, thought Pompey contemptuously, might build a basilica or a temple or a porticus, but Sulla builds a monument to Rome's bureaucracy! He has no wings on his imagination. That is his weakness, his patrician practicality. "I would be grateful if you could find a Chrysogonus for me, Magnus," said Philippus to break the long silence. "The only trouble is that I am not a Sulla! Therefore I very much doubt that I would succeed in controlling such a man." "You're not soft in anything except appearance, Philip pus," said the Master of Tact. "If I find you just the right man, you will control him. You just can't pick staff, that's all." "And why should you do this for me, Magnus?" "Oh, that's not all I intend to do for you!" said Pompey, turning from the window with a smile all over his face. "Really?" "I take it that your chief problem is maintaining a decent cash flow. You have a great deal of property, as well as several schools for gladiators. But nothing is managed efficiently, and therefore you do not enjoy the income you ought. A Chrysogonus will go far toward fixing that! However, it's very likely that as you're a man of famously expensive habits even an expanded income from all your estates and schools will not always prove adequate for your needs." "Admirably stated!" said Philippus, who was enjoying this interview, he now discovered, enormously. "I'd be willing to augment your income with the gift of a million sesterces a year," said Pompey coolly. Philippus couldn't help it. He gasped. "A million?" "Provided you earn it, yes." And what would I have to do to earn it?'' "Establish a Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus faction within the Senate of sufficient power to get me whatever I want whenever I want it." Pompey, who never suffered from bashfulness or guilt or any kind of self deprecation, had no difficulty in meeting Philippus's gaze when he said this. "Why not join the Senate and do it for yourself? Cheaper!" "I refuse to belong to the Senate, so that's not possible. Besides which, I'd still have to do it. Much better then to do it behind the scenes. I won't be sitting there to remind the senators that I might have any interest in what's going on beyond the interest of a genuine Roman patriot knight." "Oh, you're deep!" Philippus exclaimed appreciatively. "I wonder does Sulla know all the sides to you?" "Well, I'm why, I believe, he incorporated the special commission into his laws about commands and governorships." "You believe he invented the special commission because you refused to belong to the Senate?" "I do." "And that is why you want to pay me fatly to establish a faction for you within the Senate. Which is all very well. But to build a faction will cost you far more money than what you pay me, Magnus. For I do not intend to disburse sums to other men out of my own money and what you pay me is my own money." "Fair enough," said Pompey equably. There are plenty of needy senators among the pedarii. They won't cost you much, since all you need them for is a vote. But it will be necessary to buy some of the silver tongues on the front benches too, not to mention a few more in the middle." Philippus looked thoughtful. "Gaius Scribonius Curio is relatively poor. So is the adopted Cornelius Lentulus Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus. They both itch for the consulship, but neither has the income to attain it. There are a number of Lentuli, but Lentulus Clodianus is the senior of the branch. He controls the votes of those backbenchers in the Lentulus clientele. Curio is a power within himself an interesting man. But to buy them will take a considerable amount of money. Probably a million each. If Curio will sell himself. I believe he will for enough, but not blindly, and not completely. Lucius Gellius Poplicola would sell his wife, his parents and his children for a million, however." "I'd rather," said Pompey, "pay them an annual income, as I will you. A million now might buy them, yes, but I think they would be happier if they knew that there was a regular quarter million coming in every year. In four years, that's the million. But I am going to need them for longer than four years." "You're generous, Magnus. Some might say foolishly so." "I am never foolish!" snapped Pompey. "I will expect to see a return for my money in keeping with the amount of it!" For some time they discussed the logistics of payments and the amounts necessary to people the back benches with willing nay, eager! Pompeian voters. But then Philippus sat back with a frown, and fell silent. "What is it?" asked Pompey a little anxiously. "There's one man you can't do without. The trouble is he's already got more money than he knows what to do with. So he can't be bought and he makes great capital out of that fact." "You mean Cethegus." "I do indeed." "How can I get him?" "I haven't the faintest idea." Pompey rose, looking brisk. "Then I'd better see him." "No!" cried Philippus, alarmed. "Cethegus is a patrician Cornelian, and such a smooth and syrupy sort of man that you'd make an enemy out of him he can't deal with the direct approach. Leave him to me. I'll sound him out, find what he wants." Two days later, Pompey received a note from Philippus. It contained only one sentence: "Get him Praecia, and he's yours." Pompey held the note within the flame of a lamp until it kindled, shaking with anger. Yes, that was Cethegus! His payment was his future patron's humiliation! He required that Pompey should become his pimp. Pompey's approach to Mucia Tertia was very different from his tactics in dealing with Aemilia Scaura or Antistia, for that matter. This third wife was infinitely above numbers one and two. First of all, she had a mind. Secondly, she was enigmatic; he could never work out what she was thinking. Thirdly, she was quite wonderful in bed what a surprise! Luckily he hadn't made a fool of himself at the outset by calling her his wee pudding or his delectable honeypot; such terms had actually teetered on the tip of his tongue, but something in her face had killed them before he articulated them. Little though he had liked Young Marius, she had been Young Marius's wife, and that had to count for much. And she was Scaevola's daughter, Crassus Orator's niece. Six years of living with Julia had to count for something too. So all Pompey's instincts said Mucia Tertia must be treated more like an equal, and not at all like a chattel. Therefore when he sought Mucia Tertia out, he did as he always did; gave her a lingering tongue seeking kiss accompanied by a light and appreciative fondling of one nipple. Then going away to sit where he could see her face, a smile of enslaved love and devotion. And after that straight to the subject. "Did you know I used to have a mistress in Rome?" he asked. "Which one?" was her answer, solemn and matter of fact; she rarely smiled, Mucia Tertia. "So you know of them all," he said comfortably. "Only of the two most notorious. Flora and Praecia." Clearly Pompey had forgotten Flora ever existed; he looked perfectly blank for several moments, then laughed and held his hands out. "Flora? Oh, she was forever ago!" "Praecia," said Mucia Tertia in a level voice, "was my first husband's mistress too." "Yes, I knew that." "Before or after you approached her?" "Before." "You didn't mind?" He could be quick, as he was now: "If I haven't minded his widow, why should I mind his ex mistress?" "True." She drew several skeins of finest woolen thread further into the light, and inspected them carefully. Her work, a piece of embroidery, lay in her swelling lap. Finally she chose the palest of the various purplish shades, broke off a length, and after sucking it to moisten it and rolling it between her fingers, held it up to ease it through the large eye of a needle. Only when the chore was done did she return her attention to Pompey. "What is it you have to say about Praecia?" "I'm establishing a faction in the Senate." "Wise." The needle was poked through the coarse fabric on which a complicated pattern of colored wools was growing, from wrong side to right side, then back again; the junction, when it was finished, would be impossible to detect. "Who have you begun with, Magnus? Philippus?" "Absolutely correct! You really are wonderful, Mucia!" "Just experienced," she said. "I grew up surrounded by talk of politics." "Philippus has undertaken to give me that faction," Pompey went on, "but there's one person he couldn't buy." "Cethegus," she said, beginning now to fill in the body of a curlique
already outlined with deeper purple. "Correct again. Cethegus." "He's necessary." "So Philippus assures me." "And what is Cethegus's price?" "Praecia." "Oh, I see." The curlique was filling in at a great rate. "So Philippus has given you the job of acquiring Praecia for the King of the Backbenchers?" "It seems so." Pompey shrugged. "She must speak well of me, otherwise I imagine he'd have given the job to someone else." "Better of you than of Gaius Marius Junior." "Really?" Pompey's face lit up. "Oh, that's good!" Down went work and needle; the deep green eyes, so far apart and doelike, regarded their lord and master inscrutably. "Do you still visit her, Magnus?" "No, of course not!" said Pompey indignantly. His small spurt of temper died, he looked at her uncertainly. "Would you have minded if I had said yes?" "No, of course not." The needle went to work again. His face reddened. "You mean you wouldn't be jealous?" "No, of course not." "Then you don't love me!" he cried, jumping to his feet and walking hastily about the room. "Sit down, Magnus, do." "You don't love me!" he cried a second time. She sighed, abandoned her embroidery. "Sit down, Gnaeus Pompeius, do! Of course I love you." "If you did you'd be jealous!" he snapped, and flung himself back into his chair. "I am not a jealous person. Either one is, or one is not. And why should you want me to be jealous?'' "It would tell me that you loved me." "No, it would only tell you that I am a jealous person," she said with magnificent logic. "You must remember that I grew up in a very troubled household. My father loved my mother madly, and she loved him too. But he was always jealous of her. She resented it. Eventually his moods drove her into the arms of Metellus Nepos, who is not a jealous person. So she's happy." "Are you warning me not to become jealous of you?" "Not at all," she said placidly. "I am not my mother." "Do you love me?" "Yes, very much." Did you love Young Marius?'' "No, never." The pale purple thread was all used up; a new one was broken off. "Gaius Marius Junior was not uxorious. You are, delightfully so. Uxoriousness is a quality worthy of love." That pleased him enough to return to the original subject. "The thing is, Mucia, how do I go about something like this? I am a procurer oh, why dress it up in a fancy name? I am a pimp!" She chuckled. Wonder of wonders, she chuckled! "I quite see how difficult a position it puts you in, Magnus." "What ought I to do?" "As is your nature. Take hold of it and do it. You only lose control of events when you stop to think or worry how you'll look. So don't stop to think and stop worrying about how you'll look. Otherwise you'll make a mess of it." "Just go and see her and ask her." "Exactly." The needle was threaded again, her eyes lifted to his with another ghost of a smile in them. However, there is a price for this advice, my dear Magnus." "Is there?" "Certainly. I want a full account of how your meeting with Praecia goes."
3. Fortune's Favorites Page 44
