“Yes, you’re right, divorce isn’t the answer. She would definitely damage the children more than she can at present.” Julia sighed, wiped her eyes. “Actually there are two troubled women in our family at the moment. May I suggest a different solution?”
“Anything, please!” cried Sulla.
“Well, my mother’s the second troubled woman, you see. She isn’t happy living with Brother Sextus and his wife and their son. Most of the trouble between her and my Claudian sister-in-law is because my mother still regards herself as the mistress of the house. They fight constantly. Claudians are headstrong and domineering, and all the women of that family are brought up to rather despise the old female virtues, where my mother is the exact opposite,” Julia explained, shaking her head sadly.
Sulla tried to look intelligent and at ease with all this female logic, but said nothing.
Julia struggled on. “Mama changed after my father’s death. I don’t suppose any of us ever realized how strong the bond was between them, or how heavily she relied on his wisdom and his direction. So she’s become crotchety and fidgety and fault finding—oh, sometimes intolerably critical! Gaius Marius saw how unhappy the situation was at home, and offered to buy Mama a villa on the sea somewhere so poor Sextus could have peace. But she flew at him like a spitting cat, and said she knew when she wasn’t wanted, and may she be treated like an oath breaker if she gave up residence in her house. Oh, dear!”
“I gather you’re suggesting that I invite Marcia to live with Julilla and me,” said Sulla, “but why should this suggestion appeal to her when the villa by the sea didn’t work?”
“Because she knew Gaius Marius’s suggestion was simply a way of getting rid of her, and she’s far too cantankerous these days to oblige poor Sextus’s wife,” said Julia frankly. “To invite her to live with you and Julilla is quite different. She would be living next door, for one thing. And for another, she’d be wanted. Useful. And she could keep an eye on Julilla.”
“Would she want to?” Sulla asked, scratching his head. “I gather from what Julilla’s said that she never comes to visit at all, in spite of the fact she’s living right next door.”
“She and Julilla fight too,” said Julia, beginning to grin as her worry faded. “Oh, do they! Julilla only has to set eyes on her coming through the front door, and she orders her home again. But if you were to invite her to make her home with you, then Julilla can’t do a thing.”
Sulla was grinning too. “It sounds as if you’re determined to make my house a Tartarus,” he said.
Julia lifted one brow. “Will that worry you, Lucius Cornelius? After all, you’ll be away.”
Dipping his hands in the bowl of water a servant was holding out to him, Sulla lifted one of his own brows. “I thank you, sister-in-law.” He got up, leaned over, and kissed Julia on the cheek. “I shall see Marcia tomorrow, and ask her to come and live with us. And I will be absolutely outspoken about my reasons for wanting her. So long as I know my children are being loved, I can bear being separated from them.”
“Are they not well cared for by your slaves?” Julia asked, rising too.
“Oh, the slaves pamper and spoil them,” said their father. “I will say this, Julilla acquired some excellent girls for the nursery. But that’s to make them into slaves, Julia! Little Greeks or Thracians or Celts or whatever other nationality the nurserymaids might happen to be. Full of outlandish superstitions and customs, thinking first in other languages than Latin, regarding their parents and relatives as some sort of remote authority figures. I want my children reared properly—in the Roman way, by a Roman woman. It ought to be their mother. But since I doubt that will happen, I cannot think of a better alternative than their stouthearted Marcian grandmother.”
“Good,” said Julia.
They moved toward the door.
“Is Julilla unfaithful to me?” he asked abruptly.
Julia didn’t pretend horror or experience anger. “I very much doubt that, Lucius Cornelius. Wine is her vice, not men. You’re a man, so you deem men a far worse vice than wine. I do not agree. I think wine can do your children more damage than infidelity. An unfaithful woman doesn’t stop noticing her children, nor does she burn her house down. A drunken woman does.” She flapped her hand. “The important thing is, let’s put Mama to work!”
Gaius Marius erupted into the room, respectably clad in purple-bordered toga and looking every inch the consul. “Come on, come on, Lucius Cornelius! Let’s get back and finish the performance before the sun goes down and the moon comes up!”
Wife and brother-in-law exchanged rueful smiles, and off went the two men to the inauguration.
*
Marius did what he could to mollify the Italian Allies. “They are not Romans,” he said to the House on the occasion of its first proper meeting, on the Nones of January, “but they are our closest allies in all our enterprises, and they share the peninsula of Italy with us. They also share the burden of providing troops to defend Italy, and they have not been well served. Nor has Rome. As you are aware, Conscript Fathers, at the moment a sorry business is working itself out in the Plebeian Assembly, where the consular Marcus Junius Silanus is defending himself against a charge brought against him by the tribune of the plebs Gnaeus Domitius. Though the word ‘treason’ has not been used, the implication is clear: Marcus Junius is one of those consular commanders of recent years who lost a whole army, including legions of Italian Allied men.”
He turned to look straight at Silanus, in the House today because the Nones were fasti—days of holiday or business—and the Plebeian Assembly could not meet. “It is not my place today to level any kind of charge at Marcus Junius. I simply state a fact. Let other bodies and other men deal with Marcus Junius in litigation. I simply state a fact. Marcus Junius has no need to speak in defense of his actions here today because of me. I simply state a fact.”
Deliberately he cleared his throat, the pause offering Silanus an opportunity to say something, anything; but Silanus sat in stony silence, pretending Marius didn’t exist. “I simply state a fact, Conscript Fathers. Nothing more, nothing less. A fact is a fact.”
“Oh, do get on with it!” said Metellus Numidicus wearily.
Marius bowed grandly, his smile wide. “Why, thank you, Quintus Caecilius! How could I not get on with it, having been invited to do so by such an august and notable consular as yourself?”
“‘August’ and ‘notable’ mean the same thing, Gaius Marius,” said Metellus Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus, with a weariness quite the equal of his younger brother’s. “You would save this House considerable time if you spoke a less tautologous kind of Latin.”
“I do beg the august and notable consular Lucius Caecilius’s pardon,” said Marius with another grand bow, “but in this highly democratic society of ours, the House is open to all Romans, even those—like myself—who cannot claim to be august and notable.” He pretended to search his mind, the eyebrows meeting in hairy abandon across his nose. “Now where was I? Oh, yes! The burden the Italian Allies share with us Romans, of providing troops to defend Italy. One of the objections to providing troops raised in the current spate of letters from the magistrates of the Samnites, the Apulians, the Marsi, and others”—he took a sheaf of small rolls from one of his clerks and showed it to the House—”concerns the legality of our asking the Italian Allies to provide troops for campaigns outside the borders of Italy and Italian Gaul. The Italian Allies, august and notable Conscript Fathers, maintain that they have been providing troops—and losing many, many thousands of these troops!—for Rome’s—and I quote the letters—’foreign wars’!”
The senators mumbled, rumbled.
“That allegation is completely unfounded!” snapped Scaurus. “Rome’s enemies are also Italy’s enemies!”
“I only quote the letters, Marcus Aemilius Princeps Senatus,” said Marius soothingly. “We should all be aware of what is in them, for the simple reason that I imagine this House will shortly be oblig
ed to receive embassages from all the Italian nations who have expressed their discontent in these very many letters.”
His voice changed, lost its mildly bantering tone. “Well, enough of this skirmishing! We are living in a peninsula cheek by jowl with our Italian friends—who are not Romans, and never can be Romans. That they have been elevated to their present position of importance in the world is due purely to the great achievements of Rome and Romans. That Italian nationals are present in large numbers throughout the provinces and spheres of Roman influence is due purely to the great achievements of Rome and Romans. The bread on their tables, the winter fires in their cellars, the health and number of their children, they owe to Rome and Romans. Before Rome, there was chaos. Complete disunity. Before Rome, there were the cruel Etruscan kings in the north of the peninsula, and the greedy Greeks in the south. Not to mention the Celts of Gaul.”
The House had settled down. When Gaius Marius spoke in serious vein everybody listened, even those who were his most obdurate enemies. For the Military Man—blunt and forthright though he was—was a powerful orator in his native Latin, and so long as his feelings were governed, his accent was not noticeably different from Scaurus’s.
“Conscript Fathers, you and the People of Rome have given me a mandate to rid us—and Italy!—of the Germans. As soon as possible, I will be taking the propraetor Manius Aquillius and the valiant senator Lucius Cornelius Sulla with me as my legates to Gaul-across-the-Alps. If it costs us our lives, we will rid you of the Germans, and make Rome— and Italy!—safe forever. So much I pledge you, in my own name and in the names of my legates, and in the names of every last one of my soldiers. Our duty is sacred to us. No stone will be left unturned. And before us we will carry the silver eagles of Rome’s legions and be victorious!”
The anonymous clusters of senators in the back of the House began to cheer and stamp their feet, and after a moment the front ranks of senators began to clap, even Scaurus. But not Metellus Numidicus.
Marius waited for silence. “However, before I leave, I must beg this House to do what it can to alleviate the concern of our Italian Allies. We can give no credence to these allegations that Italian troops are being used to fight in campaigns which do not concern the Italian Allies. Nor can we cease to levy the soldiers all the Italian Allies formally agreed per treaty to give us. The Germans threaten the whole of our peninsula, and Italian Gaul as well. Yet the dreadful shortage of men suitable to serve in the legions affects the Italian Allies as much as it affects Rome. The well has run dry, my fellow senators, and the level of the table feeding it will take time to rise. I would like to give our Italian Allies my personal assurance that so long as there is breath left in this un-august and un-notable body, never again will Italian—or Roman!—troops waste their lives on a battlefield. Every life of every man I take with me to defend my homeland I will treat with more reverence and respect than I do my own! So do I pledge it.”
The cheers and the stamping of feet began again, and the front ranks were quicker to start applauding. But not Metellus Numidicus. And not Catulus Caesar.
Again Marius waited for silence. “A reprehensible situation has been drawn to my attention. That we, the Senate and People of Rome, have taken into debt bondage many thousands of Italian Allied men, and sent them as our slaves throughout the lands we control around the Middle Sea. Because the majority of them have farming backgrounds, the majority of them are currently working out their debts in our grainlands of Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, and Africa. That, Conscript Fathers, is an injustice! If we do not enforce slavery upon Roman debtors anymore, nor should we on our Italian Allies. No, they are not Romans. No, they never can be Romans. But they are our little brothers of the Italian Peninsula. And no Roman sends his little brother into debt bondage.”
He didn’t give the few big grainland-owning senators time to protest; he swept on to his peroration. “Until I can give our grainland farmers their source of labor back in the form of German slaves, they must look for other labor than Italian debt slaves. For we, Conscript Fathers, must today enact a decree—and the Assembly of the People must ratify that decree—freeing all slaves of Italian Allied birth. We cannot do to our oldest and loyalest allies what we do not do to ourselves. These slaves must be freed! They must be brought home to Italy, and made to do what is their natural duty to Rome—serve in Rome’s auxiliary legions.
“I am told there is no capite censi population in any Italian nation anymore, because it is enslaved. Well, my fellow senators, the Italian capite censi can be better employed than in working the grainlands. We cannot field our traditional armies anymore, for the men of property who served in them are either too old, too young—or too dead! For the time being, the Head Count is our only source of military manpower. My valiant African army—entirely Roman Head Count!—has proved that the men of the Head Count can be turned into superb soldiers. And, just as history has demonstrated that the propertied men of the Italian nations are not one iota inferior as soldiers to the propertied men of Rome, so too will the next few years show Rome that the Head Count men of the Italian nations are not one iota inferior as soldiers to the Head Count men of Rome!”
He stepped down from the curule dais and walked to the middle of the floor. “I want that decree, Conscript Fathers! Will you give it to me?”
It had been supremely well done. Borne away on the force of Marius’s oratory, the House stampeded to a Division, while Metellus Numidicus, Metellus Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus, Scaurus, Catulus Caesar, and others shouted vainly to be heard.
“But how,” asked Publius Rutilius Rufus as he and Marius strolled the few short paces to Marius’s house after the Senate had been dismissed, “are you going to reconcile the grainland owners to this decree? You realize, I hope, that you’re treading heavily on the toes of exactly that group of knights and businessmen you depend upon most for support. All the favors you doled out in Africa to these men will seem very hollow. Do you understand how many of the grain slaves are Italian? Sicily runs on them!”
Marius shrugged. “My agents are at work already; I’ll survive. Besides which, just because I’ve been sitting down at Cumae for the last month doesn’t say I’ve been idle. I had a survey done, and the results are highly informative, not to mention interesting. Yes, there are many thousands of Italian Allied grain slaves. But in Sicily, for instance, the vast majority of the grain slaves are Greeks. And in Africa I’ve sent to King Gauda for replacement labor when the Italians are freed. Gauda is my client; he doesn’t have any choice but to do as I ask. Sardinia is the most difficult, for in Sardinia almost all the grain slaves are Italian. However, the new governor—our esteemed propraetor Titus Albucius—can be persuaded to do his level best in my cause, I’m sure.”
“He’s got a pretty arrogant quaestor in Pompey Cross-eyes from Picenum,” said Rutilius Rufus dubiously.
“Quaestors are like gnats,” said Marius contemptuously, “not experienced enough to head for parts unknown when a man starts clapping round his head.”
“That’s not a very complimentary observation to make about Lucius Cornelius!”
“He’s different.”
Rutilius Rufus sighed. “I don’t know, Gaius Marius, I’m sure! I just hope it all turns out as you think it will.”
“Old Cynic,” said Marius affectionately.
“Old Skeptic, if you please!” said Rutilius Rufus.
*
Word came to Marius that the Germans showed no sign of moving south into the Roman province of Gaul-across-the-Alps, save for the Cimbri, who had crossed to the western bank of the Rhodanus and were keeping clear of the Roman sphere. The Teutones, said Marius’s agent’s report, were wandering off to the northwest, and the Tigurini-Marcomanni-Cherusci were back among the Aedui and Ambarri looking as if they never intended to move. Of course, the report admitted, the situation could change at any moment. But it took time for eight hundred thousand people to gather up their belongings, their animals, and their wagons, and start
moving. Gaius Marius need not expect to see any Germans coming south down the Rhodanus before May or June. If they came at all.
It didn’t really please Gaius Marius, that report. His men were excited and primed for a good fight, his legates were anxious to do well, and his officers and centurions had been toiling to produce a perfect military machine. Though Marius had known since landing in Italy the previous December that there was a German interpreter saying the Germans were at loggerheads with each other, he hadn’t really believed they would not resume their southward progress through the Roman province. The Germans having annihilated an enormous Roman army, it was logical, natural, and proper for them to take advantage of their victory and move into the territory they had in effect won by force of arms. Settle in it, even. Otherwise, why give battle at all? Why emigrate? Why anything?
“They are a complete mystery to me!” he cried, chafing and frustrated, to Sulla and Aquillius after the report came.
“They’re barbarians,” said Aquillius, who had earned his place as senior legate by suggesting that Marius be made consul, and now was very eager to go on proving his worth.
But Sulla was unusually thoughtful. “We don’t know nearly enough about them,” he said.
“I just remarked about that!” snapped Marius.
“No, I was thinking along different lines. But”—he slapped his knees—”I’ll go on thinking about things for a bit longer, Gaius Marius, before I speak. After all, we don’t really know what we’ll find when we cross the Alps.”
“That one thing we do have to decide,” said Marius.
“What?” asked Aquillius.
“Crossing the Alps. Now that we’ve been assured the Germans are not going to prove a threat before May or June at the very earliest, I’m not in favor of crossing the Alps at all. At least, not by the usual route. We’re moving out at the end of January with a massive baggage train. So we’re going to be slow. The one thing I’ll say for Metellus Dalmaticus as Pontifex Maximus is that he’s a calendar fanatic, so the seasons and the months are in accord. Have you felt the cold this winter?” he asked Sulla.
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