In answer, Marius circulated Catulus Caesar’s letter among the troops of his own army and Catulus Caesar’s; it had a laconic appendix from Marius himself attached, to the effect that the proceeds from the sale of Cimbric captives taken after Vercellae to the limit of the one third he had claimed for himself were to be donated to the army of Quintus Lutatius Catulus. His own army, he pointed out, had already been given the proceeds from the sale of the Teutonic slaves after Aquae Sextiae, and he didn’t wish Catulus Caesar’s army to feel entirely neglected, for he understood that Quintus Lutatius would—as was his right— be keeping the proceeds from the sale of his two thirds of the Cimbric slaves for himself.
Glaucia read out both letters in the Forum in Rome, and the People laughed themselves sick. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind who was the real victor, and who cared more for his troops than for himself.
“You’ll have to stop this campaign to vilify Gaius Marius,” said Scaurus Princeps Senatus to Metellus Numidicus, “or you’re going to be slapped about again the next time you go into the Forum. And you’d better write to Quintus Lutatius and tell him the same. Whether we like it or not, Gaius Marius is the First Man in Rome. He won the war against the Germans, and the whole of Rome knows it. He’s the popular hero, the popular demigod. Try to bring him down, and the city will unite to bring you down, Quintus Caecilius.”
“Piss on the People!” said Metellus Numidicus, who was feeling the strain of having to house his sister, Metella Calva, and whichever lowborn lover she fancied.
“Look, there are other things we can do,” urged Scaurus. “For one thing, you can run for consul again. It’s ten years since you were consul, believe it or not! Gaius Marius will be running again, nothing surer. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to saddle his sixth consulship with an inimical colleague like yourself?”
“Oh, when are we going to rid ourselves of this incurable disease called Gaius Marius?” cried Numidicus in despair.
“Hopefully it won’t be long,” said Scaurus, obviously not despairing. “A year. I doubt it will be more.”
“Never, more like.”
“No, no, Quintus Caecilius, you give up too easily! Like Quintus Lutatius, you let your hatred for Gaius Marius rule your head. Think! How much time during all his five eternal consulships has Gaius Marius actually spent in Rome herself?”
“A matter of days. What’s that to the point?”
“It is the whole point, Quintus Caecilius! Gaius Marius is not a great politician, though I do admit he’s got a wonderfully sharp brain between his ears. Where Gaius Marius shines is as a soldier and an organizer. I assure you, he’s not going to thrive in the Comitia and the Curia when his world shrinks down to nothing else. We won’t let him thrive! We’ll bait him like a bull, we’ll fasten our teeth in his carcass and we won’t let go. And we’ll bring him down. You wait and see.” Scaurus sounded supremely sure.
Staring at these welcome vistas Scaurus was opening up, Metellus Numidicus smiled. “Yes, I understand, Marcus Aemilius. Very well, I’ll stand for consul.”
“Good! You’ll get in—you can’t not get in after we bring every ounce of influence we have to bear on the First and Second Classes, no matter how much they love Gaius Marius.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to be his colleague!” Metellus Numidicus drew out his muscles in a secretive stretch. “I’ll block him every way I can! His life will be a misery.”
“I suspect we’ll have help from an unexpected quarter too,” said Scaurus, looking like a cat.
“What quarter?”
“Lucius Appuleius Saturninus is going to run for another term as a tribune of the plebs.”
“That’s ghastly news! How can it help us?” Numidicus asked.
“No, it’s excellent news, Quintus Caecilius, believe me. For when you sink your consular teeth into Gaius Marius’s rump, and so do I, and Quintus Lutatius, and half a hundred more, Gaius Marius won’t resist enlisting Saturninus to help him. I know Gaius Marius. He can be tried too far, and when that happens, he’ll lash out wildly in every direction. Just like a baited bull. He won’t be able to resist using Saturninus. And I think Saturninus is probably the worst tool a Gaius Marius could put his hands on. You wait and see!” Scaurus said. “It’s his allies will bring our bull Gaius Marius down.”
*
The tool was on his way to Italian Gaul to see Gaius Marius, more anxious to form an alliance with Marius than Marius was with him at that stage; for Saturninus was living in the Roman political arena, whereas Marius was still living in a military commander’s Elysium.
They met in the little resort town of Comum on the shores of Lake Larius, where Gaius Marius had hired a villa belonging to the late Lucius Calpurnius Piso, the same who had died with Lucius Cassius at Burdigala. For Marius was more tired than he would ever have admitted to Catulus Caesar, nearly ten years his junior; he packed Catulus Caesar off to the far end of the province to hear the assizes, and packed himself off very quietly to enjoy a vacation, leaving Sulla in command.
Naturally when Saturninus turned up, Marius invited him to stay; the two men settled down in welcome leisure to have their talks against the background of a lake far lovelier than any in Italy proper.
Not that Marius had grown more convoluted; when the time came to broach the subject, he attacked it straight on. “I don’t want Metellus Numidicus for my consular colleague next year,” he said abruptly. “I’ve got Lucius Valerius Flaccus in mind. He’s a malleable man.”
“He’d suit you well,” said Saturninus, “but you won’t pull it off, I’m afraid. The Policy Makers are already canvassing support for Metellus Numidicus.” He looked at Marius curiously. “Anyway, why are you running for a sixth term? Surely with the Germans defeated, you can rest on your laurels.”
“I only wish I could, Lucius Appuleius. But the job is not finished just because the Germans are defeated. I have two Head Count armies to discharge—or rather, I have one of six overstrength legions, and Quintus Lutatius has one of six very understrength legions. But I regard both armies as my responsibility, because Quintus Lutatius thinks he can just issue them with their discharge papers and forget about them.”
“You’re still determined to give them land, aren’t you?” asked Saturninus.
“I am. If I don’t, Lucius Appuleius, Rome will be the poorer in many ways. First off, because over fifty thousand veteran legionaries are going to descend upon Rome and Italy with a bit of money jingling in their purses. They’ll spend the lot in a few days, and then turn into a perpetual source of trouble wherever they live. If there’s a war, they’ll re-enlist. But if there’s no war on, they’re going to be a real nuisance,” said Marius.
Saturninus inclined his head. “I can see that.”
“I got the idea when I was in Africa, and that’s why I had the African islands reserved for veterans to settle in. Tiberius Gracchus wanted to resettle Rome’s poor on the land in Campania to make the city more comfortable and safer, and to put some new blood onto the land. But Italy was a mistake, Lucius Appuleius,” Marius said dreamily. “We need Romans of humble sort in our provinces. Especially veteran soldiers.”
The view was so beautiful, but Saturninus didn’t see it. “Well, we all heard the speech about bringing Rome’s way of life to the provinces,” he said. “And we all heard Dalmaticus’s reply. But that’s not your real object, is it, Gaius Marius?’’
The eyes flashed beneath the eyebrows. “How very acute of you! Of course it’s not!” He leaned forward in his chair. “It costs Rome a great deal of money to send armies to the provinces to put down rebellions and police the laws. Look at Macedonia. Two legions on permanent duty there—-not Roman legions, admittedly, but they still cost the State money it could put to better use elsewhere. Now what if twenty or thirty thousand Roman veterans were settled in three or four colonies across Macedonia? Greece and Macedonia are very empty places these days, have been for a century or more—the people all left. Ghost towns everywhere! And Roman absentee landlo
rds owning enormous properties, producing little, putting nothing back into the country, parsimonious about employing local men and women. And whenever the Scordisci come down across the border, there’s war, and the absentee landlords bleat to the Senate, and the governor runs in different directions dealing with marauding Celts on the one hand, and irate letters from Rome on the other. Well, I’d put the land held by Roman absentee landlords to better use. I’d fill it up with veteran soldier colonies. More populous by far—and a ready-made garrison force in case of serious war.”
“And you got this idea in Africa,” said Saturninus.
“While I was doling out vast tracts to Roman men who will rarely if ever visit Africa. They’ll put in overseers and gangs of grain slaves, ignore local conditions and the local people, keep Africa from going ahead, and lay it wide open to another Jugurtha. I don’t want Roman ownership of provincial land to stop—I just want some parcels of provincial land to contain large numbers of well-trained professional Romans we can call on in times of need.” He forced himself to lie back again, not to betray the urgency of his desire. “There’s already been one small example of how veteran colonies in foreign lands can help in times of emergency. My first little lot I settled personally on the island of Meninx heard about the Sicilian slave uprising, organized themselves into units, hired some ships, and reached Lilybaeum just in time to prevent the city’s falling to Athenion the slave.”
“I do see what you’re trying to achieve, Gaius Marius,” Saturninus said. “It’s an excellent scheme.”
“But they’ll fight me, if for no other reason than it’s me,” said Marius with a sigh.
A tiny shiver ran up Saturninus’s spine; quickly he turned head and eyes away, pretended to admire the reflection of trees and mountains and sky and clouds in the perfect mirror of the lake. Marius was tired! Marius was slowing down! Marius was not looking forward to his sixth consulship one little bit!
“I daresay you witnessed all the squealing and shouting in Rome about my giving the citizenship to those wonderful soldiers from Camerinum?” Marius asked.
“I did. All Italy heard the racket,” said Saturninus, “and all Italy liked what you did. Where Rome of the Policy Makers definitely did not.”
“Well, and why shouldn’t they be Roman citizens?” Marius demanded angrily. “They fought better than any other men on the field, Lucius Appuleius, and that’s a fact. If I had my way, I’d confer the citizenship on every man in the whole of Italy.” He drew a breath. “When I say I want land for the Head Count veterans, I mean just that. Land for the lot of them—Romans, Latins—and Italians.”
Saturninus whistled. “That’s asking for trouble! The Policy Makers will never lie down for it.”
“I know. What I don’t know is if you’ve got the courage to stand up for it.”
“I’ve never really taken a good long look at courage,” said Saturninus thoughtfully, “so I’m not sure how much of it I own. But yes, Gaius Marius, I think I have the courage to stand up for it.”
“I don’t need to bribe to secure my own election—I can’t lose,” Marius said. “However, there’s no reason why I can’t hire a few fellows to distribute bribes for the post of junior consul. And for you, if you need help, Lucius Appuleius. And for Gaius Servilius Glaucia too. I understand he’s going to be running for election as a praetor?”
“He is indeed. And yes, Gaius Marius, we’d both be happy to accept help in getting elected. In return, we’ll do whatever is necessary to assist you in getting your land.”
Marius drew a roll of paper out of his sleeve. “I’ve done a little work already—just sketched out the sort of bill I think is necessary. Unfortunately I’m not one of Rome’s greatest legal draftsmen. Where you are. But—and I hope you’ll not take exception to my saying it—Glaucia is a lawmaking genius. Can the pair of you formulate great laws from my ill-educated scribbles?”
“You help us into office, Gaius Marius, and I assure you we’ll give you your laws,” said Saturninus.
There could be no mistaking the relief which coursed through Marius’s big fit body; he sagged. “Only let me pull this off, Lucius Appuleius, and I swear I don’t care if I’m never consul a seventh time,” he said.
“A seventh time?”
“It was prophesied that I would be consul seven times.”
Saturninus laughed. “Why not? No one would ever have thought it possible that one man would be consul six times. But you will be.”
The elections for the new College of the Tribunes of the Plebs were held as Gaius Marius and Catulus Caesar led their armies south toward Rome and their single joint triumph, and they were hotly contested. There were over thirty candidates for the ten posts, and more than half of that number were creatures in the employ of the Policy Makers, so the campaign was bitter and violent.
Glaucia, president of the current ten tribunes of the plebs, was deputed to hold the elections for the incoming college; had the Centuriate elections for consuls and praetors already been held, he would not have been able to officiate, for his status as praetor-elect would have disqualified him. As it was, nothing prevented his conducting the tribunate elections.
The proceedings took place in the well of the Comitia, with Glaucia presiding from the rostra, and his nine fellow tribunes of the plebs drawing the lots to see which of the thirty-five tribes would vote first through to last, then marshaling each tribe when its turn came to vote.
A lot of money had changed hands, some of it on behalf of Saturninus, but a great deal more on behalf of the anonymous candidates fielded by the Policy Makers. Every rich man on the conservative front benches had dug deep into his cashbox, and votes were bought for men like Quintus Nonius from Picenum, a political nobody of stoutly conservative heart. Though Sulla had had nothing to do with his entering the Senate, nor his standing for the tribunate of the plebs, he was the brother of Sulla’s brother-in-law; when Sulla’s sister, Cornelia Sulla, had married into the wealthy squirarchical family of Nonius from Picenum, the luster of her name inspired the men of the family of Nonius to try their luck on the cursus honorum. Her son was being groomed for the most earnest attempt, but the boy’s uncle decided to see what he could do first.
It was an election full of shocks. Quintus Nonius from Picenum got in easily, for example. Whereas Lucius Appuleius Saturninus didn’t get in at all. There were ten places for tribunes of the plebs, and Saturninus came in eleventh.
“I—don’t—believe it!” Saturninus gasped to Glaucia. “I just don’t believe it! What happened?”
Glaucia was frowning; suddenly his own chances to become a praetor seemed dim. Then he shrugged, clapped Saturninus on the back with rough comfort, and stepped down from the rostra. “Don’t worry,” he said, “something might change things yet.”
“What can possibly change an election result?” Saturninus demanded. “No, Gaius Servilius, I’m out!”
“I’ll see you shortly—here. Just stay here, don’t go home yet,” said Glaucia, and hurried off into the crowd.
The moment he heard his name called as one of the ten new tribunes of the plebs, Quintus Nonius from Picenum wanted to go home to his expensive new house on the Carinae. There his wife waited with his sister-in-law Cornelia Sulla and her boy, anxious to know the results, provincial enough to doubt Quintus Nonius’s chances.
However, it was more difficult to leave the Forum area than Quintus Nonius had counted on, for every few feet he was stopped and warmly congratulated; a natural courtesy could not allow him to fob off his well-wishers, so he lingered in a forced detention, beaming and bowing, shaking a hundred hands.
One by one Quintus Nonius’s companions dropped away, until he entered the first of the alleyways on his route home attended only by three close friends who also lived on the Carinae. When they were set upon by a dozen men armed with clubs, one of the friends managed to break away and run back toward the Forum, crying for help, only to find it virtually deserted. Luckily Saturninus and Glaucia were stan
ding talking to some others near the rostra, Glaucia looking red-faced and a little disheveled; when the cry for help came, they all followed at a run. But it was too late. Quintus Nonius and his two friends were dead.
“Edepol!” said Glaucia, getting to his feet after verifying that Quintus Nonius was indeed dead. “Quintus Nonius has just been elected a tribune of the plebs, and I’m the officer in charge of proceedings.” He frowned. “Lucius Appuleius, will you see Quintus Nonius is carried home? I’d better go back to the Forum and deal with the electoral dilemma.”
The shock of finding Quintus Nonius and his friends lying extinguished in lakes of their own blood deprived those who had come to the rescue of their normal faculties, including Saturninus; no one noticed how artificial Glaucia sounded, including Saturninus. And standing on an empty rostra shouting to a deserted Forum Romanum, Gaius Servilius Glaucia announced the death of the newly elected tribune of the plebs Quintus Nonius. He then announced that the candidate who came in eleventh would replace Quintus Nonius in the new college—Lucius Appuleius Saturninus.
“It’s all set” said Glaucia complacently later, at Saturninus’s house. “You are now a legally elected tribune of the plebs, co-opted to fill Quintus Nonius’s shoes.”
He was not over-endowed with scruples since those awful events which had seen him dismissed from his post as quaestor at Ostia, but Saturninus was nonetheless so shocked he stared at Glaucia, aghast.
“You didn’t!” he cried.
Glaucia put the tip of his index finger against the side of his nose and smiled at Saturninus from beneath his brows, a smile owning much fierceness. “Ask me no questions, Lucius Appuleius, and I’ll tell you no lies,” he said.
“The shame of it is that he was a nice fellow.”
“Yes, he was. But that’s his luck, to wind up dead. He was the only one who lived on the Carinae, so he was elected—in more ways than one. It’s too hard to set something up on the Palatine—there aren’t enough people on the streets.”
Saturninus sighed, shrugged off his depression. “You’re right. And I’m in. I thank you for your help, Gaius Servilius.”
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