We got the news of it in Rome not from Aulus Albinus but from Jugurtha, who sent the Senate a copy of the treaty with a covering letter complaining sharply about Roman treachery in invading a peacefully intentioned country that had not lifted so much as a warlike finger against Rome. When I say Jugurtha wrote to the Senate, I actually mean that, he had the gall to write to his oldest and best enemy, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, in Scaurus’s role as Princeps Senatus. A calculated insult to the consuls, of course, to choose to address his correspondence to the Leader of the House. Oh, was Scaurus angry! He summoned a meeting of the Senate immediately, and compelled Spurius Albinus to divulge much that had been artfully concealed, including the fact that Spurius was not quite as ignorant of his little brother’s plans as he at first protested. The House was stunned. Then it turned nasty, and the Albinus faction promptly changed sides, leaving Spurius on his own to admit that he had heard the news from Aulus in a letter he received several days earlier. From Spurius we learned that Jugurtha had ordered Aulus back to Roman Africa and forbidden Aulus to put a toenail across the Numidian border. So there waits greedy young Aulus Albinus, petitioning his brother for a directive as to what to do.
Marius sighed, flexed his fingers; what was a joy for Rutilius Rufus was a chore for him, no letter writer. “Get on with it, Gaius Marius,” he said to himself. And got on with it.
Naturally what hurt the most was Jugurtha’s forcing the Roman army to pass under the yoke. It happens rarely, but it never fails to stir up the whole city, from highest to lowest—this being my first experience with it, I found myself as stirred, as humiliated, as devastated as the most Roman Roman. I daresay it would have been equally painful for you, so I am glad you weren’t here to witness the scenes, people in dark clothes weeping and tearing their hair, many of the knights without the narrow stripe on their tunics, senators wearing a narrow stripe instead of the wide one, the whole of Enemy Territory outside the temple of Bellona piled high with offerings to teach Jugurtha a lesson. Fortune has dropped a beautiful campaign into Piggle-wiggle’s lap for next year, and you and I will have a field day—provided, that is, that we can learn to get along with Piggle-wiggle as our commanding officer!
The new tribune of the plebs Gaius Mamilius is in full cry after Postumius Albinus blood—he wants brother Aulus Albinus executed for treason, and brother Spurius Albinus tried for treason as well, if only for being stupid enough to appoint Aulus governor in his absence. In fact, Mamilius is calling for the institution of a special court, and wants to try every Roman who has ever had doubtful dealings with Jugurtha, from the time of Lucius Opimius on, if you please. Such is the mood of the Conscript Fathers of the Senate that he is likely to get his way. It’s the passing under the yoke. Everyone agrees the army and its commander should have died where they fought sooner than submit their country to abject humiliation. In that I disagree, of course, as I think would you. An army is only as good as its commander, no matter how great its potential.
The Senate drafted and dispatched a stiff letter to Jugurtha, informing him that Rome could not and would not recognize a treaty extracted from a man who had no imperium and therefore no authority from the Senate and People of Rome to lead an army, govern a province, or make a treaty.
And, last but not least, Publius Rutilius, Gaius Mamilius did obtain a mandate from the Plebeian Assembly to set up a special court in which all those who have had or are suspected to have had dealings with Jugurtha are to be tried for treason. This is a postscript, written on the very last day of the old year. The Senate for once heartily endorsed the plebeian legislation, and Scaurus is busy compiling a list of the men who will face trial. Gleefully aided by Gaius Memmius, vindicated at last. What’s more, in this special Mamilian court the chances of securing treason convictions are much greater than if it were done the traditional way, in trials conducted by the Centuriate Assembly. So far the names of Lucius Opimius, Lucius Calpurnius Bestia, Gaius Porcius Cato, Gaius Sulpicius Galba, Spurius Postumius Albinus, and his brother have come up for discussion. Blood tells, however. Spurius Albinus has assembled a formidable array of advocates to argue in the Senate that whatever his little brother, Aulus, may or may not have done, he cannot legally stand trial because he never legally possessed imperium. From that you gather that Spurius Albinus is going to assume Aulus’s share of the guilt, and will certainly be convicted. I find it odd that if things go as I confidently expect they will, the prime mover, Aulus Albinus, will emerge from his passage beneath the yoke with his career unimpaired!
Oh, and Scaurus is to be one of the three presidents of the Mamilian Commission, as they are calling this new court. He accepted with alacrity.
And that is that for the old year, Publius Rutilius. A momentous year, all told. After hope was gone, my head has popped above the surface of Rome’s political waters, buoyed up by my marriage to Julia. Metellus Piggle-wiggle is actually courting me, and men who never used to notice I was standing there are speaking to me as to an equal. Look after yourself on the voyage home, and make it soon.
THE
SECOND YEAR
109 B.C.
IN THE CONSULSHIP OF
QUINTUS CAECILIUS METELLUS
AND
MARCUS JUNIUS SILANUS
1
Panaetius died in Tarsus halfway through February, which left Publius Rutilius Rufus little time to get home before the start of the campaigning season; originally he had planned to make the bulk of his journey overland, but urgency compelled him now to take his chances upon the sea.
“And I’ve been downright lucky,” he said to Gaius Marius the day after he arrived in Rome, just before the Ides of March. “For once the winds blew in the direction I wanted.”
Marius grinned. “I told you, Publius Rutilius, even Father Neptune wouldn’t have the courage to spoil Piggle-wiggle’s plans! Actually you’ve been lucky in more ways than that—if you’d been in Rome, you’d have had the unenviable task of going among the Italian Allies to persuade them to hand over troops.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing, I take it?”
“Since early January, when the lots gave Metellus charge of the African war against Jugurtha. Oh, it wasn’t difficult to recruit, not with all Italy burning to avenge the insult of passing beneath the yoke. But men of the right kind are getting very thin on the ground,” said Marius.
“Then we had better hope that the future doesn’t hold any more military disasters for Rome,” said Rutilius Rufus.
“Indeed we had.”
“How has-Piggle-wiggle behaved toward you?”
“Quite civilly, all considered,” said Marius. “He came to see me the day after he was inaugurated, and at least did me the courtesy of being blunt about his motives. I asked him why he wanted me—and you, for that matter—when we had made such a fool of him in the old days at Numantia. And he said he didn’t care a fig for Numantia. What concerned him was winning this present war in Africa, and he couldn’t think of a better way to do that than to avail himself of the services of the two men in all the world best equipped to understand Jugurtha’s strategy.”
“It’s a shrewd idea,” Rutilius Rufus said. “As the commander, he’ll reap the glory. What matters who wins the war for him, when it’s he who’ll ride in the triumphal chariot and gather in all the accolades? The Senate won’t offer you or me the new last name of Numidicus; they’ll offer it to him.”
“Well, he needs it more than we do. Metellus Piggle-wiggle is a Caecilius, Publius Rutilius! Which means his head rules his heart, especially where his skin is concerned.”
“Oh, very aptly put!” said Rutilius Rufus appreciatively.
“He’s already lobbying to have the Senate extend his command in Africa into next year,” Marius said.
“Which just goes to show that he got sufficient of Jugurtha’s measure all those years ago to realize beating Numidia into submission won’t be easy. How many legions is he taking?”
“Four. Two Roman, two Italian.”
“Plus the troops already stationed in Africa—say, two more legions. Yes, we ought to do it, Gaius Marius.”
“I agree.”
Marius got up from behind his desk and went to pour wine.
“What’s this I hear about Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio?” asked Rutilius Rufus, accepting the goblet Marius held out to him just in time, for Marius shouted with laughter and spilled his own drink.
“Oh, Publius Rutilius, it was wonderful! Honestly, I never cease to be amazed at the antics of the old Roman nobles. There was Scipio, respectably elected a praetor, and awarded the governorship of Further Spain when the lots were drawn for the praetor’s provinces. But what does he do? He gets up in the Senate and solemnly declines the honor of governing Further Spain! ‘Why?’ asks Scaurus, astonished—he supervised the drawing of the lots. ‘Because,’ says Scipio with an honesty I found quite endearing, ‘I would rape the place.’ It brought the House down— cheers, howls of mirth, feet stamping, hands clapping. And when the noise died down at last, Scaurus simply said, ‘I agree, Gnaeus Cornelius, you would rape the place.’ So now they’re sending Quintus Servilius Caepio to govern Further Spain in Scipio’s stead.”
“He’ll rape the place too,” said Rutilius Rufus, smiling.
“Of course, of course! Everyone knew that, including Scaurus. But Caepio at least has the grace to pretend he won’t, so Rome can turn a blind eye Spainward and life can go on in the usual way,” said Marius, back behind his desk. “I love this place, Publius Rutilius, I really do.”
“I’m glad Silanus is being kept at home.”
“Well, luckily someone has to govern Rome! What an escape! The Senate positively scrambled to prorogue Minucius Rufus’s governorship of Macedonia, I can assure you. And that niche being filled, nothing was left for Silanus except Rome, where things are more or less self-perpetuating. Silanus at the head of an army is a prospect to make Mars himself blanch.”
“Absolutely!” said Rutilius Rufus fervently.
“It’s a good year so far, actually,” Marius said. “Not only was Spain saved from the tender mercies of Scipio, and Macedonia from the tender mercies of Silanus, but Rome herself is considerably the lighter of villains, if I may be excused calling some of our consulars villains.”
“The Mamilian Commission, you mean?”
“Precisely. Bestia, Galba, Opimius, Gaius Cato, and Spurius Albinus have all been condemned, and there are more trials scheduled, though no surprises. Gaius Memmius has been most assiduous in assisting Mamilius in gathering evidence of collusion with Jugurtha, and Scaurus is a ruthless president of the court. Though he did speak in defense of Bestia—then turned round and voted to condemn him.”
Rutilius Rufus smiled. “A man has to be flexible,” he said. “Scaurus had to acquit himself of his duty toward a fellow consular by speaking up for him, but it wouldn’t swerve him from his duty toward the court. Not Scaurus.”
“No, not Scaurus!”
“And where have the condemned gone?” Rutilius Rufus asked.
“Quite a few seem to be choosing Massilia as their place of exile these days, though Lucius Opimius went to western Macedonia.”
“But Aulus Albinus survived.”
“Yes. Spurius Albinus took all the blame, and the House voted to permit him,” said Marius, and sighed. “It was a nice legal point.”
*
Julia went into labor on the Ides of March, and when the midwives informed Marius that it was not going to be an easy birth, he summoned Julia’s parents immediately.
“Our blood is too old and too thin,” said Caesar fretfully to Marius as they sat together in Marius’s study, husband and father bound together by a mutual love and fear.
“My blood isn’t,” said Marius.
“But that can’t help her! It may help her daughter if she has one, and we must be thankful for that. I had hoped my marrying Marcia would infuse a little plebeian strength into my line—but Marcia is still too noble, it seems. Her mother was patrician, a Sulpicia. I know there are those who argue that the blood must be kept pure, but I have noticed time and time again that the girls of ancient family have a tendency to bleed in childbirth. Why else is the death rate among the girls of ancient family so much higher than it is among other girls?’’ And Caesar ran his hands through his silver-gilt hair.
Marius couldn’t sit any longer; he got to his feet and began to pace up and down. “Well, she does have the best attention money can buy,” he said, nodding in the direction of the confinement room, from which no noises of distress had yet begun to emanate.
“They couldn’t save Clitumna’s nephew last autumn,” said Caesar, yielding to gloom.
“Who? Your unsatisfactory next-door neighbor, you mean?”
“Yes, that Clitumna. Her nephew died last September after a protracted illness. Only a young fellow, seemed healthy enough. The doctors did everything they could think of doing, but he died anyway. It’s preyed on my mind since.”
Marius stared at his father-in-law blankly. “Why on earth should it prey on your mind?” he asked. “What possible connection is there?”
Caesar chewed at his lip. “Things always happen in threes,” he said cheerlessly. “The death of Clitumna’s nephew was a death in close proximity to me and mine. There have to be two more deaths.”
“If so, then the deaths will occur in that family.”
“Not necessarily. There just have to be three deaths, all connected in some way. But until the second death happens, I defy a soothsayer to predict what the connection will be.”
Out went Marius’s hands, half in exasperation, half in despair. “Gaius Julius, Gaius Julius! Try to be optimistic, I beg of you! No one has yet come to say Julia is in danger of dying, I was simply told that the birth wouldn’t be easy. So I sent for you to help me blunder through this awful waiting, not to make me so downcast I can’t see a trace of light!”
Ashamed, Caesar made a conscious effort. “As a matter of fact, I’m glad Julia’s time is here,” he said more briskly. “I haven’t wanted to bother her of late, but once she’s over her delivery I’m hoping she will be able to spare the time to talk to Julilla.”
Privately Marius considered what Julilla needed was a sore bottom from an unsparing parental hand, but he managed to look interested; after all, he had never been a parent himself, and now that (all going well) he was about to become a parent, he ought to admit to himself that he might turn out to be as doting a tata as Gaius Julius Caesar.
“What’s the matter with Julilla?” he asked.
Caesar sighed. “She’s off her food. We’ve had some difficulty in making her eat for a long time, but during the last four months it’s worsened. She’s lost pounds and pounds! And now she’s prone to fainting fits, drops like a stone in her tracks. The doctors can find nothing wrong with her.’’
Oh, will I really get like this? Marius asked himself; there is nothing wrong with that spoiled young lady that a good dose of indifference wouldn’t cure! However, he supposed she was something to talk about, so he tried to talk about her. “I gather you’d like Julia to get to the bottom of it?”
“Indeed I would!”
“She’s probably in love with someone unsuitable,” said Marius, utterly ignorant, but totally correct.
“Nonsense!” said Caesar sharply.
“How do you know it’s nonsense?”
“Because the doctors thought of that, and I made full inquiries,” said Caesar, on the defensive.
“Who did you ask? Her?”
“Naturally!”
“It might have been more practical to ask her girl.”
“Oh, really, Gaius Marius!”
“She’s not pregnant?”
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