2. The Grass Crown

by Colleen McCullough

  To exist in the midst of a love so great its participants think it perfect usually leads to indiscretions, to careless remarks and eventual discovery; but Livia Drusa and Cato Salonianus pursued their affair with extraordinarily efficient secrecy. Had they been in Rome, of course, things would have been different; luckily sleepy Tusculum remained oblivious to the juicy scandal going on beneath its nose. Within four weeks Livia Drusa knew she was pregnant, and knew too that the child was not Caepio's. The very day on which Caepio had left Rome, she had menstruated. Two weeks later she was lying in the arms of Marcus Porcius Cato Salonianus; and when the time came due, no period arrived. Two previous pregnancies had acquainted her with other signs that she was gravid, and now she was prey to them all. She was going to have the child of her lover, Cato, not the child of her husband, Caepio. In a philosophical spirit, Livia Drusa decided to make no secret of her condition, relieved that the close proximity of Caepio to Cato in the time reference would protect her. What if she hadn't fallen so quickly? Oh, best not to think of that! Drusus professed himself quite delighted, as did Servilia Caepionis; Lilla thought a baby brother would be tremendous fun, whereas Servilia just looked even more wooden than usual. Of course Cato had to be told only how much, exactly what? The cool Livius Drusus head came to the fore; Livia Drusa sat down to think things out. Terrible to cheat Cato of his child if it were a boy. And yet... And yet. .. The baby would undoubtedly be born before Caepio returned, and all the world would assume the baby belonged to Caepio. And if Cato's child were a boy, he would did he bear the name Quintus Servilius Caepio fall heir to the Gold of Tolosa. All fifteen thousand talents of it. He would be the richest man in Rome, and own a glorious name. More glorious by far than Cato Salonianus. "I'm going to have a baby, Marcus Porcius," she said to Cato when next they met in the two-roomed cottage she had come to regard as her true home. Alarmed rather than overjoyed, he stared at her fixedly. "Is it mine, or is it your husband's?" he asked. "I don't know," said Livia Drusa. "Honestly, I don't know. I doubt if I will when he's finally born." "He?" "I'm carrying a boy." Cato leaned back against the bedhead, closed his eyes, compressed his beautiful mouth. "Mine," he said. "I don't know," she said. "So you'll let everyone believe he's your husband's." "I don't see what other choice I have." His eyes opened, he turned his head to look at her, his face sad. "None, I know. I can't afford to marry you, even if you did have the opportunity to divorce. Which you won't, unless your husband comes home sooner than you expect. I doubt that. There's a pattern in all this. The gods are laughing their hardest." "Let them! In the end, it's we men and women who win, not the gods," said Livia Drusa, and pushed herself up in the bed to kiss him. "I love you, Marcus Porcius. I hope he's yours." "I hope he's not," said Cato.

  Livia Drusa's condition made no difference to her routine; she continued to go for her morning walks, and Cato Salonianus continued to spend far more time on his grandfather's old place near Tusculum than ever before. They made love passionately and without any consideration for the foetus curled up in her womb, Livia Drusa maintaining whenever Cato demurred that so much love could never harm her baby. "Do you still prefer Rome to Tusculum?" she asked her little daughter Servilia on an idyllic day in late October. "Oh, yes," said Servilia, who had proven a hard nut to crack over the months never forthcoming, never initiating a conversation, and answering her mother's questions so briefly that the dinner hour was largely a solo effort on Livia Drusa's part. "Why, Servilia?" Servilia eyed her mother's belly, which was huge. "For one thing, there are good doctors and midwives there," she said. "Oh, don't worry about the baby!" cried Livia Drusa, and laughed. "He's very content. When his time comes, he'll be easy. I have at least a month to go." "Why do you keep saying 'he,' Mama?" "Because I know he's a boy." "No one can really know until the baby comes out." "What a little cynic you are," said Livia Drusa, amused. "I knew you were a girl and I knew Lilla was a girl. Why should I not be right this time too? I'm carrying him differently, and he talks to me differently." "Talks to you?" "Yes. You all talked to me while you were inside me." The look Livia Drusa got was derisive. "Truly, Mama, you are queer! And getting queerer. How can a baby talk to you from the inside when babies don't talk for at least a year after they're born?" "You're just like your father," said Livia Drusa, and pulled a hideous face. "So you don't like tata! I didn't think you did," said Servilia, her tone more detached than accusatory. She was seven now; old enough, thought her mother, for some hard facts. Oh, not couched in a way which would prejudice her against her father, but... Wouldn't it be lovely to make a real friend of this oldest child? "No," said Livia Drusa deliberately, "I don't like tata. Do you want to know why?" Servilia shrugged. “I daresay I'm going to be told why.'' "Well, do you like him?" "Yes, yes! He's the best person in the world!" "Oh... Then I have to tell you why I don't like him. If I don't, you'll resent the way I feel. I have justification." "No doubt you think so." "Darling, I never wanted to marry tata. Your Uncle Marcus forced me to marry him. And that's a bad start." "You must have had a choice," said Servilia. "None at all. We rarely do." "I think you ought to have accepted the fact that Uncle Marcus knows better than you about everything. I find nothing wrong with his choice of husband for you," said the seven-year-old judge. “Oh, dear!'' Livia Drusa stared at her daughter in despair. "Servilia, we can't always dictate whom we like and whom we dislike. I happened to dislike tata. I always had disliked him, from the time I was your age. But our fathers had arranged that we would marry, and Uncle Marcus saw nothing wrong in it. I couldn't make him understand that lack of love need not imperil a marriage, whereas dislike must ruin it from the beginning." "I think you're stupid," said Servilia disdainfully. Stubborn little mule! Livia Drusa labored on. "Marriage is a very intimate affair, child. To dislike one's husband or wife is a frightful burden to carry. There's a lot of touching in marriage. And when you dislike someone, you don't want them to touch you. Can you understand that?" "I don't like anyone to touch me," said Servilia. Her mother smiled. "Hopefully that will change! Anyway, I was made to marry a man I don't like to touch me. A man I dislike. I still dislike him. And yet, some sort of feeling does grow. I love you, and I love Lilla. How then can I not love tata with at least a part of me, when he helped make you and Lilla?" A look of distaste spread across Servilia's face. "Oh, really, Mama, you are stupid! First you say you dislike tata, then you say you love him. That's nonsense!" "No, it's human, Servilia. Loving and liking are two utterly different emotions." "Well, I intend to like and love the husband my tata chooses for me," Servilia announced in tones of great superiority. "I hope time proves you right," said Livia Drusa, and tried to shift the emphasis of this uncomfortable conversation. "I am very happy at the moment. Do you know why?" The black head went over to one side as Servilia considered, then she shook it while she nodded it. "I know why, but I don't know why you ought. You're happy because you're living in this awful place, and you're going to have a baby.'' The dark eyes gleamed.'' And ... 1 think you have a friend." A look of terrible fear came into Livia Drusa's face, a look so alive and haunted that the child shivered in sudden excitement, in surprise; for the shaft had not been aimed in earnest, it was pure instinct arising out of her own keenly felt lack of a friend. "Of course I have a friend!" cried the mother, wiping all fear from her face. She smiled. "He talks to me from inside." "He won't be my friend," said Servilia. "Oh, Servilia, don't say such things! He will be the best friend you ever have a brother is, believe me!" "Uncle Marcus is your brother, but he forced you to marry my tata when you didn't like him." "A fact which doesn't make him any less my friend. Brothers and sisters grow up together. They know each other better than they ever know anyone else, and they learn to like each other," said Livia Drusa warmly. "You can't learn to like someone you dislike." "And there you're wrong. You can if you try." Servilia produced a rude noise. "In that case, why haven't you learned to like tata?” "He's not my brother!" cried Livia Drusa, wondering where she could go next. Why wouldn't this child cooperate? Why did she persist in bein
g so obdurate, so obtuse? Because, the mother answered herself, she's her father's daughter. Oh, she is like him! Only cleverer by far. More cunning. She said, "Porcella, all I want for you is that you be happy. And I promise you that I'll never let your tata marry you to someone you dislike." "You mightn't be here when I marry," said the child. "Why shouldn't I be?" "Well, your mother wasn't, was she?" "My mother is a different case entirely," said Livia Drusa, looking sorrowful. "She isn't dead, you know." "I know that. She lives with Uncle Mamercus, but we don't talk to her. She's a loose woman," said Servilia. "Where did you hear that?" "From tata.'" "You don't even know what a loose woman is!" "I do so. She's a woman who forgets she's patrician." Livia Drusa suppressed a smile. "That's an interesting definition, Servilia. Do you think you'll ever forget you're a patrician?'' "Never!" said the child scornfully. "I shall grow up to be everything my tata wants me to be." "I didn't know you'd talked to tata so much!" "We talked together all the time," lied Servilia, so well that her mother did not detect the lie. Ignored by both her parents, Servilia had aligned herself with her father early in her little life, as he seemed to her more powerful, more necessary than Livia Drusa. So her childish daydreams all revolved around enjoying a degree of intimacy with her father that common sense said would never happen; her father deemed daughters a nuisance, wanted a son. How did she know this? Because she slid like a wraith around her Uncle Marcus's house, listening to everyone from hidden corners, and hearing much she ought not have heard. And always, it had seemed to Servilia, it was her father who spoke like a true Roman, not her Uncle Marcus and certainly not that Italian nobody Silo. Missing her father desperately, the child now feared the inevitable that when her mother produced a boy, all hope of becoming her father's favorite would be over. "Well, Servilia," said Livia Drusa briskly, "I am very glad that you can like your tata. But you'll have to display a little maturity when he comes home and you talk together again. What I've told you about my own dislike of him is a confidence. Our secret." "Why? Doesn't he already know?" Livia Drusa frowned, puzzled. “If you talk to your father so much, Servilia, you surely know he has not the slightest idea I dislike him. Your tata is not a perceptive kind of man. If he were, I may not have disliked him." "Oh, well, we never waste time discussing you," said Servilia contemptuously. "We talk about important things." "For a seven-year-old, you're very good at hurting people." "I'd never hurt my tata," said the seven-year-old. "Good for you! Remember what I said, however. What I've told you or tried to tell you today is our secret. I've honored you with a confidence, and I expect you to treat that confidence as a Roman patrician woman would with respect."

  When Lucius Valerius Flaccus and Marcus Antonius Orator were elected censors in April, Quintus Poppaedius Silo arrived at Drusus's house in a mood of great excitement. "Oh, how wonderful to be able to talk without Quintus Servilius around!" exclaimed Silo with a grin; he never made any bones about his antipathy toward Caepio, any more than Caepio disguised his own antipathy. Understanding this and secretly agreeing with Silo even if family loyalties prevented his saying so Drusus ignored the remark. "What's brought you to the boil?" he asked. "Our censors! They're planning the most comprehensive census ever taken, and they're going to change the way it's taken." Silo raised his arms above his head exultantly. "Oh, Marcus Livius, you have no idea how pessimistic I had become about the Italian situation! I had begun to see no other way out of our dilemma than secession and war with Rome." This being the first Drusus had heard of Silo's fears, he sat very straight in his chair and looked at Silo in alarm. "Secession? War?" he asked. "Quintus Poppaedius, how can you even say such words? Truly, the Italian situation will be solved by peaceful means I am dedicated to that end!" "I know you are, my friend, and you must believe me when I say that secession and war are far from what I want. Italy doesn't need these alternatives any more than Rome does. The cost in money and men would cripple our nations for decades afterward, no matter which side won. There are no spoils in civil wars." "Don't even think of it!" Silo wriggled on his chair, put his arms on Drusus's desk and leaned forward eagerly. "That's just it, I'm not thinking of it! Because I've suddenly seen a way to enfranchise enough Italians to make a big difference in how Rome feels about us." "You mean a mass enfranchisement?" "Not total enfranchisement, that would be impossible. But great enough that once the thing is done, total enfranchisement will follow," said Silo. "How?" asked Drusus, feeling a little cheated; he had always thought of himself as ahead of Silo in the planning of full Roman citizenship for the Italians, but it now appeared his complacence had been mistaken. "Well, as you know, the censors have always cared more about discovering who and what live inside Rome than anything else. The rural and provincial censuses have been tardy and completely voluntary. A rural man wanting to register has had to go to the duumviri of his municipality or town, or else journey to the nearest place with municipal status. And in the provinces, a man has had to go to the governor, which can be a long journey. Those who care make the trip. Those who don't promise themselves they'll do it next time and simply trust that the clerks of the census transfer their names from the old rolls to the new which mostly they do." "I am quite aware of all this," said Drusus gently. "It doesn't matter, I think you must hear it again right now. Our new censors, Marcus Livius, are a curious pair. I've never thought of Antonius Orator as particularly efficient, yet I suppose when you think about the kind of campaign he had to wage against the pirates, he must be. As for Lucius Valerius, flamen Martialis and consular, all I remember about him is what a mess he made of Saturninus's last year in office, when Gaius Marius was too ill to govern. However, they do say that there's no man born without a talent of some kind! Now it turns out that Lucius Valerius has a talent for I suppose you'd have to call it logistics. I came in through the Colline Gate today, and I was walking across the lower Forum when Lucius Valerius appeared." Silo opened his strange eyes wide, and heaved a theatrical gasp. "Imagine my surprise when he hailed me, asked me if I had any time to talk! An Italian! Naturally I said I was entirely his to command. Turns out he wanted me to recommend him the names of some Roman citizen Marsi who would be willing to take a census of citizens and Latin Rights citizens in Marsic territory. By dint of looking stupid, in the end I got the whole story out of him. They he and Antonius Orator, that is intend to employ a special staff of what they're calling census clerks, and send them all over Italy and Italian Gaul late this year and early next year to conduct a census in the rural fastnesses. According to Lucius Valerius, your new censors are worried that the system as it has always been practised overlooks a large group of rural citizens and Latins who are unwilling to bestir themselves to register. What do you think of that?" "What ought I to think?" asked Drusus blankly. "First of all, that it's clear thinking, Marcus Livius." "Certainly! Businesslike too. But what special virtue does it possess to have you wagging your tail so hard?" "My dear Drusus, if we Italians can get at these so-called census clerks, we'll be able to ensure that they register large numbers of deserving Italians as Roman citizens! Not rabble, but men who ought by rights to have been Roman citizens years and years ago," said Silo persuasively. "You can't do that," said Drusus, his dark face stern. "It's as unethical as it is illegal." "It's morally right!" "Morality is not at issue, Quintus Poppaedius. The law is. Every spurious citizen entered on the Roman rolls would be an illegal citizen. I couldn't countenance that, any more than you should. No, say no more! Think about it, and you'll see I'm right," said Drusus firmly. For a long moment Silo studied his friend's expression, then flung his hands up in exasperation. "Oh, curse you, Marcus Livius! It would be so easy!" "And just as easy to unravel once the deed was done. In registering these false citizens, you expose them to all the fury of Roman law a flogging, their names inscribed on a blacklist, heavy fines," said Drusus. A sigh, a shrug. "Very well then, I do see your point," said Silo grudgingly. "But it was a good idea." "No, it was a bad idea." And from that stand, Marcus Livius Drusus would not be budged. Silo said no more, but when the house emptier
these days was stilled for the duration of the night, he took an example from the absent Livia Drusa without being aware he did, by going to sit outside on the balustrade of the loggia. It had not occurred to him for one moment that Drusus would fail to see matters in the same way he did; had it, he would never have brought the subject up to Drusus. Perhaps, thought Silo sadly, this is one of the reasons why so many Romans say we Italians can never be Romans. I didn't understand Drusus's mind. His position was now invidious, for he had advertised his intentions; he saw that he could not rely upon Drusus's silence. Would Drusus go to Lucius Valerius Flaccus and Marcus Antonius Orator on the morrow, tell them what had been said? His only alternative was to wait and see. And he would have to work very hard but very subtly! to convince Drusus that what had been said was a bright idea conceived between the Forum and the lip of the Palatine, something foolish and unworthy that a night's sleep had squashed flat. For he had no intention of abandoning his plan. Rather, its simplicity and finality only made its attractions grow. The censors expected many thousands of additional citizens to register! Why then should they query a markedly increased rural enrollment? He must travel at once to Bovianum to see Gaius Papius Mutilus the Samnite, then they must both travel to see the other Italian Ally leaders. By the time that the censors started seriously looking for their small army of clerks, the men who led the Italian Allies must be ready to act. To bribe clerks, to put clerks in office prepared to work secretly for the Italian cause, to alter or add to any rolls made available to them. The city of Rome he couldn't tamper with, nor did he particularly want to. Non-citizens of Italian status within the city of Rome were not worth having; they had migrated from the lands of their fathers to live more meanly or more fatly within the environs of a huge metropolis, they were seduced beyond redemption. For a long time he sat on the loggia, thoughts chasing across his mind, ways and means and ends to achieve the ultimate end equality for every man within Italy. And in the morning he set out to erase that indiscreet talk from Drusus's mind, suitably penitent yet cheerful with it, as if it didn't really matter in the least to him now that Drusus had shown him the error of his ways. "I was misguided," he said to Drusus, but in light tones. "A night's sleep told me you are absolutely right." "Good!" said Drusus, smiling.