“We’ll have a look at Athens, Smyrna, Pergamum, Nicomedia, a hundred other places.”
“Tarsus?” she asked eagerly. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to travel the world!”
He still ached, but the sleepiness surged back overwhelmingly. Down went his eyelids; his lower jaw sagged.
For a few more moments Julia chattered on, then ran out of superlatives, and sat hugging her knees happily. She turned to Gaius Marius, smiling tenderly. “Dear love, I don’t suppose... ?” she asked delicately.
Her answer was his first snore. Good wife of twelve years that she was, she shook her head gently, still smiling, and turned him onto his right side.
2
Having stamped out every last ember of the slave revolt in Sicily, Manius Aquillius had come home, if not in triumph, at least in high enough standing to have been awarded an ovation by the Senate. That he could not ask for a triumph was due to the nature of the enemy, who, being enslaved civilians, could not claim to be the soldiers of an enemy nation; civil wars and slave wars occupied a special niche in the Roman military code. To be commissioned by the Senate to put down a civil uprising was no less an honor and no less an undertaking than dealing with a foreign army and enemy, but the general’s right to claim a triumph was nonetheless denied. The triumph was the way the People of Rome were physically shown the rewards of war—the prisoners, the captured money, plunder of all descriptions from golden nails in once-kingly doors to packets of cinnamon and frankincense. For everything taken enriched the coffers of Rome, and the People could see with their own eyes how profitable a business war was—if you were Roman, that is, and being Roman, won. But in civil and slave uprisings there were no profits to be made, only losses to be endured. Property looted by the enemy and recaptured had to be returned to its rightful owners; the State could demand no percentage of it.
Thus the ovation was invented. Like the triumph, it consisted of a procession along the same route; however, the general didn’t ride in the antique triumphal chariot, did not paint his face, did not wear triumphal garb; no trumpets sounded, only the less inspirational tweetling of flutes; and rather than a bull, the Great God received a sheep, thereby sharing the lesser status of the ceremony with the general.
His ovation had well satisfied Manius Aquillius. Having celebrated it, he took his place in the Senate once more, and as a consular—an ex-consul—was asked to give his opinion ahead of a consular of equal standing but who had not celebrated a triumph or ovation. Tainted with the lingering odium of his parent, another Manius Aquillius, he had originally despaired of reaching the consulship. Some facts were hard to live down if a man’s family was only moderately noble; and the fact was that Manius Aquillius’s father had, in the aftermath of the wars following the death of King Attalus III of Pergamum, sold more than half the territory of Phrygia to the father of the present King Mithridates of Pontus for a sum of gold he had popped into his own purse. By rights the territory should have gone, together with the rest of King Attalus’s possessions, into the formation of the Roman Asia Province, as King Attalus had willed his kingdom to Rome. Backward, owning a populace so ignorant they made poor slaves, Phrygia hadn’t seemed to the elder Manius Aquillius like much of a loss for Rome. But the men in Senate and Forum with real clout had not forgiven the elder, nor forgotten the incident when the younger Manius Aquillius entered the political arena.
To attain the praetorship had been a struggle, and had cost most of what was left of that Pontic gold, for the father had been neither thrifty nor prudent. So when the younger Manius Aquillius’s own golden opportunity had come, he seized it very quickly. After the Germans had defeated that ghastly pair Caepio and Mallius Maximus in Gaul-across-the-Alps—and looked set to pour down the Rhodanus Valley and into Italy—it had been the praetor Manius Aquillius who had proposed that Gaius Marius be elected consul in absentia in order to have the requisite imperium to deal with the menace. His action put Gaius Marius under an obligation to him—an obligation Gaius Marius was only too happy to discharge.
As a result, Manius Aquillius had served as Marius’s legate and been instrumental in defeating the Teutones at Aquae Sextiae. Bearing the news of that much-needed victory to Rome, he had been elected junior consul in conjunction with Marius’s fifth term. And after the year of his consulship was over, he had taken two of his general’s superbly trained veteran legions to Sicily, there to cauterize the festering sore of a slave revolt which had been going on for several years at great peril to Rome’s grain supply.
Home again, treated to an ovation, he had hoped to stand for election as censor when it came time to vote a new pair in. But the leaders with the real clout in Senate and Forum had only been biding their time. Gaius Marius himself had fallen in the aftermath of Lucius Appuleius Saturninus’s attempt to take over Rome, and Manius Aquillius found himself without protection. He was haled into the extortion court by a tribune of the plebs with plenty of clout and powerful friends among the knights who served both as jurors and presidents of the major courts—the tribune of the plebs Publius Servilius Vatia. Not one of the patrician Servilii, admittedly, Vatia came nonetheless from an important plebeian noble family. And he intended to go far.
The trial took place in an uneasy Forum; several events had helped render it so, starting with the days of Saturninus, though everyone had hoped after his death that there would be no more Forum violence, no more murders of magistrates. Yet there had been violence, there had been murder; chiefly as the result of the efforts of Metellus Numidicus Piggle-wiggle’s son, the Piglet, to bring some of his vindicated father’s enemies to account. Out of the Piglet’s strenuous fight to bring his father home, he had earned a more worthy cognomen than the Piglet—he was now Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius—Pius meaning the Dutiful One. And with that fight successfully concluded, the Piglet Metellus Pius was determined Piggle-wiggle’s enemies would suffer. Including Manius Aquillius, so obviously Gaius Marius’s man.
*
Attendance in the Plebeian Assembly was down, so a poor audience surrounded the spot in the lower Forum Romanum where the extortion court had been directed by the Plebeian Assembly to set up its tribunal.
“This whole business is manifestly ridiculous,” said Publius Rutilius Rufus to Gaius Marius when they arrived to hear the proceedings of the last day of Manius Aquillius’s trial. “It was a slave war! I doubt there were any pickings to be had from Lilybaeum clear to Syracuse—and you can’t tell me that all those greedy Sicilian grain farmers didn’t keep a strict eye on Manius Aquillius! He wouldn’t have had the chance to palm a bronze coin!”
“This is the Piglet’s way of getting at me,” said Marius, shrugging. “Manius Aquillius knows that. He’s just paying the penalty for supporting me.”
“And paying the penalty for his father’s selling most of Phrygia,” said Rutilius Rufus.
“True.”
The proceedings had been conducted in the new manner laid down by the dead Gaius Servilius Glaucia when he legislated to give the courts back to the knights, thereby excluding the Senate from them save as defendants. Over the preceding days the jury of fifty-one of Rome’s most outstanding businessmen had been nominated, challenged and chosen, the prosecution and the defense had given their preliminary addresses, and the witnesses had been heard. Now on this last day the prosecution would speak for two hours, the defense for three, and the jury would then deliver its verdict immediately.
Servilius Vatia had done well for the State, Vatia himself being no mean advocate, and his helpers good; but there was no doubt that the audience, larger by far on this last day, had gathered to hear the heavy artillery—the advocates leading Manius Aquillius’s defense.
Cross-eyed Caesar Strabo spoke first, young and vicious, superbly well trained and gifted by nature with a fine turn of rhetorical phrase. He was followed by a man so able he had won the extra cognomen of Orator—Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator. And Crassus Orator gave way to another man who had won the cognomen Orator—Marc
us Antonius Orator. To have acquired this cognomen, Orator, was not merely because of consummate public speaking; it rested too upon an unparalleled knowledge of the procedures of rhetoric—the proper, defined steps which had to be adhered to. Crassus Orator had the finer background in law, but Antonius Orator was the finer speaker.
“By a whisker only,” said Rutilius Rufus after Crassus Orator ended and Antonius Orator began.
A grunt was his only answer; Marius was concentrating upon Antonius Orator’s speech, wanting to be sure he got his money’s worth. For of course Manius Aquillius wasn’t paying for advocates of this quality, and everyone knew it. Gaius Marius was funding the defense. According to law and custom, an advocate could not solicit a fee; he could, however, accept a gift tendered as a token of appreciation for a job well done. And, as the Republic grew from middle into elderly age, it became generally accepted that advocates be given gifts. At first these had been works of art or furniture; but if the advocate was needy, he then had to dispose of the work of art or piece of furniture given to him. So in the end it had come down to outright gifts of money. Naturally nobody spoke about it, and everybody pretended it didn’t happen.
“How short your memories are, gentlemen of the jury!” cried Antonius Orator. “Come now, cast your minds back a few short years in time, to those impoverished Head Count crowds in our beloved Forum Romanum, their bellies as empty as their granaries. Do you not remember how some of you”—there were inevitably half a dozen grain lords on the panel—”could put no less than fifty sesterces a modius upon what little wheat your private granaries contained? And the crowds of Head Count gathered day after day, and looked at us, and growled in their throats. For Sicily, our breadbasket, was a ruin, a very Iliad of woes—”
Rutilius Rufus clutched at Marius’s arm and emitted a squawk of outraged horror. “There he goes! Oh, may every last one of these verbal thieves come down with worm-eaten sores! That’s my little epigram! A very Iliad of woes, indeed! Don’t you remember, Gaius Marius, how I wrote that selfsame phrase to you in Gaul years ago? And had to suffer Scaurus’s stealing it! And now what happens? It’s passed into general usage, with Scaurus’s name on it!”
“Tace!” said Marius, anxious to hear Marcus Antonius Orator.
“—made more woeful by a monumental maladministration! Now we all know who the monumental maladministrator was, don’t we?” The keen reddish eye rested upon a particularly vacant face in the second row of the jury. “No? Ah—let me refresh your memories! The young Brothers Lucullus brought him to account, sent him into a citizenless exile. I refer of course to Gaius Servilius Augur. No crops had been gathered in Sicily for four years when the loyal consul Manius Aquillius arrived. And I would remind you that Sicily is the source of over half our grain.”
Sulla slid up, nodded to Marius, then bent his attention upon the still simmering Rutilius Rufus. “How goes the trial?”
Rutilius Rufus snorted. “Oh, concerning Manius Aquillius, who knows? The jury wants to find any excuse to convict him, so I daresay it will. He’s to be an object lesson for any imprudent fellows who might contemplate supporting Gaius Marius.”
“Tace!” growled Marius again.
Rutilius Rufus moved out of earshot, tugging at Sulla to follow. ‘‘You’re not nearly so quick to support Gaius Marius yourself these days, are you, Lucius Cornelius?”
“I have a career to advance, Publius Rutilius, and I doubt I can do so by supporting Gaius Marius.”
Rutilius Rufus acknowledged the truth of this with a nod. “Yes, that’s understandable. But, my friend, he doesn’t deserve it! He deserves that those of us who know him and hold him in regard should stand by him.”
That cut; Sulla hunched his shoulders, hissed his pain. “It’s all very well for you to talk! You’re a consular, you’ve had your day! I haven’t! You can call me traitor if you like, but I swear to you, Publius Rutilius, that I will have my day! And the gods help those who oppose me.”
“Including Gaius Marius?”
“Including him.”
Rutilius Rufus said no more, only shook his head in despair.
Sulla too was silent for a while, then said, “I hear the Celtiberians are proving more than our current governor in Nearer Spain can bear. Dolabella in Further Spain is so tied down by the Lusitani that he can’t move to assist. It looks as if Titus Didius is going to have to go to Nearer Spain during his consulship.”
“That’s a pity,” said Rutilius Rufus. “I like Titus Didius’s style, New Man though he may be. Sensible laws for a change—and out of the consul’s chair.”
Sulla grinned. “What, you don’t think our beloved senior consul Metellus Nepos thought the laws up?”
“No more than you do, Lucius Cornelius. What Caecilius Metellus ever born was more concerned with improving the machinery of government than his own standing? Those two little laws of Titus Didius’s are as important as beneficial. No more rushing bills through the Assemblies, because now three full nundinae days must elapse between promulgation and ratification. And no more tacking unrelated matters together to make a law that’s as confusing as unwieldy. Yes, if nothing else good has happened this year in Senate or Comitia, at least we can claim Titus Didius’s laws,” said Rutilius Rufus with satisfaction.
But Sulla wasn’t interested in Titus Didius’s laws. “All fine and fair, Publius Rutilius, but you’re missing my point! If Titus Didius goes to Nearer Spain to put down the Celtiberians, I’m going with him as his senior legate. I’ve already had a word with him, and he’s more than agreeable. It’s going to be a long and nasty war, so there’ll be booty to share in, and reputations to be made. Who knows? I might even get to command an army.”
“You already have a military reputation, Lucius Cornelius.”
“But look at all the cacat between then and now!” cried Sulla angrily. “They’ve forgotten, all these voting idiots with more money than sense! So what happens? Catulus Caesar would prefer I was dead in case I ever open my mouth about a mutiny, and Scaurus punishes me for something I didn’t do.” He showed his teeth. “They ought to worry, that pair! Because if the day ever comes when I decide they’ve kept me out of the ivory chair forever, I’ll make them wish they were never born!”
And I believe him! thought Rutilius Rufus, conscious of a coldness in his bones. Oh, this is a dangerous man! Better that he absents himself. “Then go to Spain with Didius,” he said. “You’re right, it’s the best way to the praetorship. A fresh start, a new reputation. But what a pity you can’t manage election as curule aedile. You’re such a showman you’d put on wonderful games! After that, you’d be a landslide praetor.”
“I don’t have the money for curule aedile.”
“Gaius Marius would give it to you.”
“I won’t ask. Whatever I have, at least I can say I got it for myself. No one gave it to me—I took it.”
Words which caused Rutilius Rufus to remember the rumor Scaurus had circulated about Sulla during his campaign to be elected a praetor; that in order to obtain enough money to qualify as a knight, he had murdered his mistress, and then to obtain a senatorial census, he had murdered his stepmother. Rutilius Rufus’s inclination had been to dismiss the rumor along with all the other usual rubbish about carnal knowledge of mothers and sisters and daughters, interfering sexually with little boys, and making meals out of excrement. But sometimes Sulla said such things! And then—one wondered...
There was a stir on the tribunal; Marcus Antonius Orator was coming to an end.
“Here before you is no ordinary man!” he shouted. “Here before you is a Roman of the Romans, a soldier— and a gallant one!—a patriot, a believer in Rome’s greatness! Why should a man like this pilfer pewter plate from peasants, steal sorrel soup from servants and bad bread from bakers? I ask you, gentlemen of the jury! Have you heard any stories of gargantuan peculations, of murder and rape and misappropriation? No! You’ve had to sit and listen to a shady collection of mean little men, all sniveling at the
loss of ten bronze coins, or a book, or a catch of fish!”
He drew a breath and made himself look even bigger, blessed with the wonderful physique of all the Antonians, the curly auburn hair, the reassuringly unintellectual face. Every last member of the jury was fascinated by him.
“He’s got them,” said Rutilius Rufus placidly.
“I’m more interested in what he intends to do with them,” said Sulla, looking alert.
There was a gasp, a cry of amazement. Antonius Orator strode up to Manius Aquillius and assaulted him! He ripped the toga away, then took the neck of Aquillius’s tunic in both hands, tore it as easily as if it had been tacked together, and left Manius Aquillius standing on the tribunal clad in nothing more than a loincloth.
“Look!” thundered Antonius. “Is this the lily-white, plucked hide of a saltatrix tonsa? Do you see the flab and paunch of a stay-at-home glutton? No! What you see are scars. War scars, dozens of them. This is the body of a soldier, a brave and very gallant man, a Roman of the Romans, a commander so trusted by Gaius Marius that he was given the task of going behind enemy lines and attacking from the rear! This is the body of one who didn’t stagger screaming off the battlefield when a sword nicked him, or a spear skinned his thigh, or a stone knocked the wind out of him! This is the body of one who bound up serious wounds as mere nuisances and got on with the job of killing enemy!” The advocate’s hands waved in the air, flopped down limply. “Enough. That’s enough. Give me your verdict,” he said curtly.
They gave their verdict. ABSOLVO.
“Poseurs!” sniffed Rutilius Rufus. “How can the jurors fall for it? His tunic shreds like paper, and there he stands in a loincloth, for Jupiter’s sake! What does that tell you?”
“That Aquillius and Antonius cooked it up beforehand,” said Marius, smiling broadly.
“It tells me that Aquillius doesn’t have enough to risk standing there without a loincloth,” said Sulla.
Masters of Rome Boxset: First Man in Rome, the Grass Crown, Fortune's Favourites, Caesar's Women, Caesar Page 123
