3. Fortune's Favorites

by Colleen McCullough

  Rome is in an uproar, as you can imagine. I write to you, Caesar, because you are out of things at the moment, because I need to air my thoughts on paper and am not a diarist, and because I can think of no one I would rather write to. I am doomed to remain here in Rome no matter what happens short of the deaths of both the consuls, and since the senior consul is my brother and the junior consul is your uncle, neither of us will want that. Why am I doomed to remain in Rome? I have been elected senior consul for next year! Isn't that excellent? My junior colleague is Gaius Cassius Longinus a good man, I think. Some local news first. You have probably heard that our mutual friend Gaius Verres succeeded in smarming up to the electorate and the lot officials so successfully that he is urban praetor. But have you heard how he managed to turn that usually thankless job into a profit making one? After the plutocrat Lucius Minucius Basilus died without leaving a will behind him, Verres had to hear the plea of his closest relative to inherit. This closest relative is a nephew, one Marcus Satrius. But guess who contested? None other than Hortensius and Marcus Crassus, each of whom had rented a rich property from Basilus during his lifetime. They now came before Verres and alleged that Basilus would have left them these properties had he made a will! And Verres upheld their claims! Off went Hortensius and Marcus Crassus the richer, off went wretched Satrius the poorer. As for Gaius Verres well, you don't think he found for Hortensius and Marcus Crassus out of the goodness of his heart, do you? Of course we have the annual nuisance among our ten tribunes of the plebs. This year's specimen is a peculiar man, Lucius Quinctius. Fifty years old and self made, likes to dress when not obliged to be togate in a full length robe of Tyrian purple, and full of detestable affectations of speech and manner. The college had not been in office for one full day before Quinctius was haranguing the Forum crowds about restoring the full powers of the tribunate, and in the House he concentrated his venom upon my brother. Quinctius is now very quiet and well behaved. My dear brother Lucullus dealt with him beautifully, using a two pronged attack (as he put it). The first prong consisted in throwing last year's tribune of the plebs, Quintus Opimius, to the dogs the dogs being Catulus and Hortensius, who prosecuted Opimius for constantly exceeding his authority and succeeded in having him fined a sum exactly equal to his whole fortune. Opimius has been obliged to retire from public life, a ruined man. The second prong consisted in Lucullus's sweetly reasonable and relentless whispering in Quinctius's ear, to the effect that if Quinctius didn't shut up and would not tone down his behavior, he too would be thrown to Catulus and Hortensius, and he too would be fined a sum exactly equal to his whole fortune. The exercise took some time, but it worked. In case you think you are gone and absolutely forgotten, you are not, my dear Caesar. All of Rome is talking about the little flirtation you had with some pirates, and how you crucified them against the orders of the governor. What, I hear you ask, it's known in Rome already? Yes, it is! And no, Juncus didn't talk. His proquaestor, that Pompeius who has actually had the effrontery to add Bithynicus to his utterly undistinguished name, wrote the story to everyone. Apparently his intention was to make Juncus the hero, but such is popular caprice that everyone even Catulus! deems you the hero. In fact, there was some talk about giving you a Naval Crown to add to your Civic Crown, but Catulus was not prepared to go that far, and reminded the Conscript Fathers that you were a privatus, therefore were not eligible for military decorations. Pirates have been the subject of much discussion in the House this year, but please put your mental emphasis on the word discussion. Whether it is because Philippus seems in the grip of a permanent lethargy, or because Cethegus has largely absented himself from meetings, or because Catulus and Hortensius are more interested in the courts than in the Senate these days, I do not know: but the fact remains that this year's House has proven itself a slug. Make a decision? Oh, impossible! Speed things up? Oh, impossible! Anyway, in January our praetor Marcus Antonius agitated to be given a special commission to eradicate piracy from Our Sea. His chief reason for demanding that this job be given to him appears to lie in the fact that his father, the Orator, was given a similar command thirty years ago. There can be no doubt that piracy has grown beyond a joke, and that in this time of grain shortages we must protect shipments of grain from the east to Italy. However, most of us were inclined to laugh at the thought of Antonius not a monster like brother Hybrida, admittedly, but an amiable and feckless idiot, certainly being given a huge command like eradicating piracy from one end of Our Sea to its other. Beyond interminable discussion, nothing happened. Save that Metellus the eldest son of the Billy goat Caprarius (he is a praetor this year) also thought it a good idea, and began to lobby for the same job. When Metellus's lobbying became a threat to Antonius, Antonius went to see guess who? Give up? Praecia! You know, the mistress of Cethegus. She has Cethegus absolutely under her dainty foot so much so that when the lobbyists need Cethegus these days, they rush round to pay court to Praecia. One can only assume that Praecia must harbor a secret craving for big, beefy cretins more mentula than mente because it ended in Antonius's getting the job! Little Goat retired from the arena maimed in self esteem, but will live to fight again another day, I predict. Cethegus was so lavish in his support that Antonius got an unlimited imperium on the water and a regular proconsular imperium on the land. He was told to recruit one legion of land troops though his fleets, he was told, he would have to requisition from the port cities in whatever area he happens to be cruising unlimitedly. This year, the western end of Our Sea. If the complaints the House is beginning to get from the port cities of the west are anything to go by, then it would seem that Marcus Antonius is better at raising sums of money than eradicating pirates. So far, his pirate tally is considerably less than yours! He fought an engagement off the coast of Campania which he claimed as a great victory, but we have seen no proof like ship's beaks or prisoners. I believe he has shaken his fist at Lipara and roared lustily at the Baleares, but the east coast of Spain remains firmly in the hands of Sertorius's pirate allies, and Liguria is untamed. Most of his time and energy (according to the complaints) is expended upon riotous and luxurious living. Next year, he informs the Senate in his latest dispatch, he will transfer himself to the eastern end of Our Sea, to Gytheum in the Peloponnese. From this base he says he will tackle Crete, where all the big pirate fleets harbor. My thought is that Gytheum is reputed to have an unparalleled climate and some very beautiful women. Now to Mithridates. The news that King Nicomedes had actually died failed to reach Rome until March delayed by winter storms, it seems. Of course the will was safely lodged with the Vestals and Juncus had already received his instructions to proceed with incorporation of Bithynia into the Asia Province the moment you informed him the King was dead, so the House presumed all was in train. But hard on the heels of this news came a formal letter from King Mithridates, who said that Bithynia belonged to Nysa, the aged daughter of King Nicomedes, and that he was marching to put Nysa on the throne. No one took it seriously; the daughter hadn't been heard of in years. We sent Mithridates a stiff note refusing to countenance any pretender on the Bithynian throne, and ordering him to stay within his own borders. Usually when we prod him he behaves like a snail, so no one thought any more about the matter. Except for my brother, that is. His nose, refined by all those years of living and fighting in the east, sniffed coming war. He even tried to speak about the possibility in the House, but was not howled down more snored out. His province for next year was Italian Gaul. When he drew it in the New Year's Day lots he was delighted; his worst fear until that moment had been that the Senate would take Nearer Spain off Pompeius and give it to him! Which was why he always spoke up so vigorously for Pompeius in the House oh, he didn't want Nearer Spain! Anyway, when at the end of April we learned that Lucius Octavius had died in Tarsus, my brother asked that he be given Cilicia as his province, and that Italian Gaul be given to one of the praetors. There was going to be war with King Mithridates, he insisted. And what was senatorial reaction to these forebodings? Letharg
y! Smothered yawns! You would have thought that Mithridates had never massacred eighty thousand of us in Asia Province not fifteen years ago! Or taken the whole place over until Sulla threw him out. The Conscript Fathers discussed, discussed, discussed.... But could come to no conclusions. When the news came that Mithridates was on the march and had arrived at Heracleia with three hundred thousand men, you'd think something would have happened! Well, nothing did. The House couldn't agree what ought to be done, let alone who ought to be sent east at one stage Philippus got up and suggested the command in the east should be given to Pompeius Magnus! Who (to give him his due) is far more interested in retrieving his tattered reputation in Spain. Finally my poor Lucullus did something he despised himself for doing he went to see Praecia. As you can quite imagine, his approach to the woman was very different from Marcus Antonius's! Lucullus is far too stiff necked to smarm, and far too proud to beg. So instead of expensive presents, languishing sighs, or protestations of undying love and lust, he was very crisp and businesslike. The Senate, he said, was comprised of fools from one back tier clear to the other, and he was fed up wasting his breath there. Whereas he had always heard that Praecia was as formidably intelligent as she was well educated. Did she see why it was necessary that someone be sent to deal with Mithridates as soon as possible and did she see that the best person for the job was Lucius Licinius Lucullus? If she did see both of these facts, would she please kick Cethegus up the arse to do something about the situation? Apparently she loved being told she was more intelligent and better educated than anyone in the Senate (one presumes she lumped Cethegus in with the rest!), for she must have given Cethegus a thundering great kick up the arse things happened in the House immediately! Italian Gaul was put aside to be given to a praetor (as yet not named), and Cilicia awarded to my brother. With orders to proceed to the east during his consulship, and to take over as governor of Asia Province on the first day of next year without relinquishing Cilicia. Juncus was supposed to stay on in Asia Province, prorogued yet again, but that was canceled. He is to come home at the end of the year; there have been so many complaints about his conduct in poor Bithynia that the House agreed unanimously to recall him. There is only one legion of troops in Italy. Its men were being recruited and trained to be sent to Spain, but will now go east with Lucullus. The kick Praecia administered to Cethegus was so hard that the Conscript Fathers voted Lucullus the sum of seventy two million sesterces to assemble fleets, whereas Marcus Antonius wasn't offered any money at all. Marcus Cotta was appointed governor of the new Roman province of Bithynia, but he has Bithynia's navy at his disposal, so is quite well off for ships he wasn't offered any money either! What have we come to, Caesar, when a woman has more power than the consuls? My dear brother covered himself in glory by declining the seventy two millions. He said that the provisions Sulla had made in Asia Province would be adequate for his needs he would levy his fleets upon the various cities and districts of Asia Province, then deduct the cost from the tributes. Since money is almost nonexistent, the Conscript Fathers voted my brother their sincere thanks. It is now the end of Quinctilis, and Lucullus and Marcus Cotta will be leaving for the east in less than a month. Luckily under Sulla's constitution the consuls elect outrank the urban praetor, so Cassius and I basically will be in charge of Rome, rather than the awful Gaius Verres. The expedition will sail all the way not so huge an undertaking with only one legion to transport because it is faster in summer than marching across Macedonia. I think too that my brother doesn't want to get bogged down in a campaign west of the Hellespont, as Sulla did. He believes that Curio is well and truly capable of dealing with a Pontic invasion of Macedonia last year Curio and Cosconius in Illyricum worked as a team to such effect that they rolled up the Dardani and the Scordisci, and Curio is now making inroads on the Bessi. Lucullus ought to arrive in Pergamum around the end of September, though what will happen after that I do not know. Nor, I suspect, does my brother Lucullus. And that, Caesar, brings you up to date. Please write whatever news you hear I do not think Lucullus will have the time to keep me informed!

  The letter made Caesar sigh; suddenly breathing exercises and rhetoric were not very stimulating. However, he had received no summons from Lucullus, and doubted he ever would. Especially if the tale of his pirate coup was all over Rome. Lucullus would have approved the deed but not the doer. He liked things bureaucratically tidy, officially neat. A privatus adventurer usurping the governor's authority would not sit well with Lucullus, for all he would understand why Caesar had acted. I wonder, thought Caesar the next day, if the wish is father to the actuality? Can a man influence events by the power of his unspoken desires? Or is it rather the workings of Fortune? I have luck, I am one of Fortune's favorites. And here it is yet again. The chance! And offered while there is no one to stop me. Well, no one except the likes of Juncus, who doesn't matter. Rhodus now insisted that King Mithridates had launched not one invasion, but three, each originating at Zela in Pontus, where he had his military headquarters and trained his vast armies. The main thrust he was definitely heading himself, three hundred thousand foot and horse rolling down the coast of Paphlagonia toward Bithynia, and supported by his general cousins Hermocrates and Taxiles as well as a fleet of one thousand ships, a good number of them pirate craft, under the command of his admiral cousin Aristonicus. But a second thrust commanded by the King's nephew Diophantus was proceeding into Cappadocia, its eventual target Cilicia; there were a hundred thousand troops involved. Then there was a third thrust, also one hundred thousand strong, under the command of a general cousin, Eumachus, and the bastard son of Gaius Marius sent to the King by Sertorius, Marcus Marius. This third force was under orders to penetrate Phrygia and try to enter Asia Province by the back door. A pity, sighed Caesar, that Lucullus and Marcus Cotta would not hear this news soon enough; the two legions which belonged to Cilicia were already on their way by sea to Pergamum at the command of Lucullus, which left Cilicia unprotected against an invasion by Diophantus. So there was nothing to do there except hope that events contrived to slow Diophantus down; he would meet little opposition in Cappadocia, thanks to King Tigranes. The two legions of Fimbriani were already in Pergamum with the craven governor, Juncus, and there was no likelihood that Juncus would send them south to deal with Eumachus and Marcus Marius; he would want them where they could ensure his own escape when Asia Province fell to Mithridates for the second time in less than fifteen years. And with no strong Roman to command them, the people of Asia Province would not resist. Could not resist. It was now the end of Sextilis, but Lucullus and Marcus Cotta were at sea for at least another month and that month, thought Caesar, would prove the vital one as far as Asia Province was concerned. "There is no one else," said Caesar to himself. The other side of Caesar answered: "But I will get no thanks if I am successful." "I don't do it for thanks, but for satisfaction." "Satisfaction? What do you mean by satisfaction?" "I mean I must prove to myself that I can do it." "They won't adore you the way they adore Pompeius Magnus." "Of course they won't! Pompeius Magnus is a Picentine of no moment, he could never be a danger to the Republic. He has not the blood. Sulla had the blood. And so do I." Then why put yourself at risk? You could end in being had up for treason and it's no use saying there is no treason! There doesn't have to be. Your actions will be open to interpretation, and who will be doing the interpreting?" . "Lucullus." "Exactly! He's already got you marked as a born troublemaker and he'll see this in the same light, even if he did award you a Civic Crown. Don't congratulate yourself because you were sensible enough to give most of the pirate spoils away you still kept a fortune that you didn't declare, and men like Lucullus will always suspect you of keeping that fortune." "Even so, I must do it." "Then try to do it like a Julius, not a Pompeius! No fuss, no fanfares, no shouting, no puffing yourself up afterward, even if you are completely successful." "A quiet duty for the sake of satisfaction." "Yes, a quiet duty for the sake of satisfaction."

  He summoned Burgundus. "We're off to Priene at d
awn tomorrow. Just you, me, and the two most discreet among the scribes. A horse and a mule each Toes and a shod horse for me, however, as well as a mule. You and I will need our armor and weapons." Long years of serving Caesar had insulated Burgundus against surprise, so he displayed none. "Demetrius?" he asked. "I won't be away long enough to need him. Besides, he's best left here. He's a gossip." Do I seek passage for us, or hire a ship?'' "Hire one. Small, light, and very fast." "Fast enough to outdistance pirates?" Caesar smiled. "Definitely, Burgundus. Once is enough." The journey occupied four days Cnidus, Myndus, Branchidae, Priene at the mouth of the Maeander River. Never had Caesar enjoyed a sea voyage more, whipping along in a sleek undecked boat powered by fifty oarsmen who rowed to the beat of a drum, their chests and shoulders massively developed by years of this same exercise; the boat carried a second crew equally good, and they spelled each other before real tiredness set in, eating and drinking hugely in between bouts of rowing. They reached Priene early enough on the fourth day for Caesar to seek out the ethnarch, a man of Aethiopian name, Memnon. "I presume you wouldn't be an ethnarch so soon after the reign of Mithridates in Asia Province if you had sympathized with his cause," said Caesar, brushing aside the customary courtesies. "Therefore I must ask you do you welcome the idea of another term under Mithridates?'' Memnon flinched. "No, Caesar!" "Good. In which case, Memnon, I require much of you, and in the shortest period of time." "I will try. What do you require?" "Call up the militia of Priene yourself and send to every town and community from Halicarnassus to Sardes to call up its militia. I want as many men as you can find as quickly as you can. Four legions, and all under their usual officers. The assembly point will be Magnesia by the Maeander eight days from now." Light broke; Memnon beamed. "The governor has acted!" "Oh, absolutely," said Caesar. "He's placed me in command of the Asian militia, though unfortunately he can spare no other Roman staff. That means, Memnon, that Asia Province will have to fight for itself instead of sitting back and letting Roman legions take all the glory." "Not before time!" said Memnon, a martial spark in his eye. "I feel the same way. Good local militia, Roman trained and Roman equipped, are much underestimated. But after this I can assure you they won't be." "Whom do we fight?" asked Memnon. "A Pontic general named Eumachus and a renegade Spaniard named Marcus Marius no relation to my uncle the great Gaius Marius," lied Caesar, who wanted his militia full of confidence, not awed by that name. So off went Memnon to organize the calling up of the Asian militia, without asking to see an official piece of paper or even pausing to wonder if Caesar was who and what he said he was. When Caesar was doing the pushing, nobody thought to question him. That night after he retired to his rooms in Memnon's house, Caesar conferred with Burgundus. "You won't be with me on this campaign, old friend," he said, "and there's no use protesting that Cardixa wouldn't speak to you again if you weren't on hand to protect me. I need you to do something far more important than standing on the sidelines of a battle wishing you were a Roman legionary or a militiaman. I need you to ride for Ancyra to see Deiotarus." "The Galatian thane," said Burgundus, nodding. "Yes, I remember him." "And he's bound to remember you. Even among the Gauls of Galatia, men don't come as big as you. I'm sure he knows more about the movements of Eumachus and Marcus Marius than I do, but it isn't to warn him that I'm sending you. I want you to tell him that I'm organizing an army of Asian militia and will try to lure the Pontic forces down the Maeander. Somewhere along the Maeander I hope to trap and defeat them. If I do, they'll retreat back into Phrygia before re forming their ranks and then trying to invade again. I want you to tell Deiotarus that he will never have a better opportunity to wipe this Pontic army out than if he catches it in Phrygia attempting to re form. In other words, tell him, he will be acting in concert with me. If I in Asia Province and he in Phrygia both do our jobs well, then there will be no invasion of Asia Province or Galatia this year." "How do I travel, Caesar? I mean, looking like what?" "I think you ought to look like a war god, Burgundus. Put on the gold armor Gaius Marius gave you, stuff the biggest purple feathers you can find in the marketplace into the crest of your helmet, and sing some frightful German song as loudly as you can. If you encounter Pontic soldiers, ride right through the middle of them as if they didn't exist. Between you and the Nesaean, you'll be the personification of martial terror." "And after I've seen Deiotarus?" "Return to me along the Maeander."