He gave vent to a whinnying laugh. “You mean you’re going to marry some overbred buffoon like Drusus Nero!”
“It’s my sister Lilla who is married to Drusus Nero.”
“They dislike each other.”
“My heart bleeds for them.”
“I shall marry Uncle Mamercus’s daughter,” said Cato smugly.
Servilia stared, snorted. “You will not! Aemilia Lepida was contracted to marry Metellus Scipio years ago, when Uncle Mamercus was with his father, Pius, in Sulla’s army. And compared to Metellus Scipio, Cato, you’re a complete mushroom!”
“It makes no difference. Aemilia Lepida might be engaged to Metellus Scipio, but she doesn’t love him. They fight all the time, and who does she turn to when he makes her unhappy? To me, of course! I shall marry her, be sure of it!”
“Is there nothing under the sun that can puncture your unbelievable complacence?” she demanded.
“If there is, I haven’t met it,” he said, unruffled.
“Don’t worry, it’s lying in wait somewhere.”
Came another of those loud, neighing laughs. “You hope!”
“I don’t hope. I know.”
“My sister Porcia is all settled,” Cato said, not wanting to change the subject, simply imparting fresh information.
“To an Ahenobarbus, no doubt. Young Lucius?”
“Correct. To young Lucius. I like him! He’s a fellow with the right ideas.”
“He’s almost as big an upstart as you are.”
“I’m off,” said Cato, and got up.
“Good riddance!” Servilia said again, but this time to its object’s face rather than behind his back.
Thus it was that Servilia went to her empty bed that night plunged into a mixture of gloom and determination. So they did not approve of her intention to remarry, did they? So they all considered her finished as a force to be reckoned with, did they?
“They’re wrong!” she said aloud, then fell asleep.
In the morning she went to see Uncle Mamercus, with whom she had always got on very well.
“You are the executor of my husband’s will,” she said. “I want to know what becomes of my dowry.”
“It’s still yours, Servilia, but you won’t need to use it now you’re a widow. Marcus Junius Brutus has left you sufficient money in your own right to live comfortably, and his son is now a very wealthy young boy.”
“I wasn’t thinking of continuing to live alone, Uncle. I want to remarry if you can find me a suitable husband.”
Mamercus blinked. “A rapid decision.”
“There is no point in delaying.”
“You can’t marry again for another nine months, Servilia.”
“Which gives you plenty of time to find someone for me,” said the widow. “He must be at least as wellborn and wealthy as Marcus Junius, but preferably somewhat younger.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“So you’d like someone about thirty?”
“That would be ideal, Uncle Mamercus.”
“Not a fortune—hunter, of course.”
She raised her brows. “Not a fortune—hunter!”
Mamercus smiled. “All right, Servilia, I’ll start making enquiries on your behalf. It ought not to be difficult. Your birth is superlative, your dowry is two hundred talents, and you have proven yourself fertile. Your son will not be a financial burden for any new husband, nor will you. Yes, I think we ought to be able to do quite well for you!”
“By the way, Uncle,” she said as she rose to go, “are you aware that young Cato has his eye on your daughter?”
“What?”
“Young Cato has his eye on Aemilia Lepida.”
“But she’s already engaged—to Metellus Scipio!”
“So I told Cato, but he seems not to regard this engagement as an impediment. I don’t think, mind you, that Aemilia Lepida has any idea in her mind of exchanging Metellus Scipio for Cato. But I would not be doing my duty to you, Uncle, if I failed to inform you what Cato is going around saying.”
“They’re good friends, it’s true,” said Mamercus, looking perturbed, “but he’s exactly Aemilia Lepida’s age! That usually means girls aren’t interested.”
“I repeat, I don’t know that she is interested. All I’m saying is that Cato is interested. Nip it in the bud, Uncle—nip it in the bud!”
And that, said Servilia to herself as she emerged into the quiet street on the Palatine where Mamercus and Cornelia Sulla lived, will put you in your place, Marcus Porcius Cato! How dare you look as high as Uncle Mamercus’s daughter! Patrician on both sides!
Home she went, very pleased with herself. In many ways she was not sorry that life had served this turn of widowhood upon her; though at the time she married him Marcus Junius Brutus had not seemed too old, eight years of marriage had aged him in her eyes, and she had begun to despair of bearing other children. One son was enough, but there could be no denying several girls would contribute much; if well dowered they would find eligible husbands who would prove of use politically to her son. Yes, the death of Brutus had been a shock. But a grief it was not.
Her steward answered the door himself.
“What is it, Ditus?”
“Someone has called to see you, domina.”
“After all these years, you Greek idiot, you ought to know better than to phrase your announcement that way!” she snapped, enjoying his involuntary shiver of fear. “Who has called to see me?’’
“He said he was Decimus Junius Silanus, lady.”
“He said he was Decimus Junius Silanus. Either he is who he says he is, or he is not. Which is it, Epaphroditus?”
“He is Decimus Junius Silanus, lady.”
“Did you put him in the study?”
“Yes, lady.”
Off she went still wrapped in her black palla, frowning as she strove to place a face together with the name Decimus Junius Silanus. The same Famous Family as her late husband, but of the branch cognominated Silanus because the original bearer of that nickname had been, not ugly like the leering Silanus face which spouted water into every one of Rome’s drinking and washing fountains, but apparently too handsome. Owning the same reputation as the Memmii, the Junii Silani men continued to be too handsome.
He had called, he said, extending his hand to the widow, to give her his condolences and offer her whatever assistance he might. “It is very difficult for you, I imagine,” he ended a little lamely, and blushed.
Certainly from his face he could not be mistaken for any but a Junius Silanus, for he was fair of hair and blue of eye and quite startlingly handsome. Servilia liked blond men who were handsome. She placed her hand in his for exactly the proper length of time, then turned and shed her palla upon the back of her late husband’s chair, revealing herself clad in more black. The color suited her because her skin was clear and pale, yet her eyes and hair were as jet as her widow’s weeds. She also had a sense of style which meant she dressed smartly as well as becomingly, and she looked to the dazzled man as elegantly perfect in the flesh as she had in his memory.
“Do I know you, Decimus Junius?” she asked, gesturing that he sit on the couch, and herself taking up residence on a chair.
“You do, Servilia, but it was some years ago. We met at a dinner party in the house of Quintus Lutatius Catulus in the days before Sulla became Dictator. We didn’t talk for long, but I do remember that you had recently given birth to a son.”
Her face cleared. “Oh, of course! Please forgive me for my rudeness.” She put a hand to her head, looked sad. “It’s just that so much has happened to me since then.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said warmly, then sat without a thing to say, his eyes fixed upon her face.
She coughed delicately. “May I offer you some wine?”
“Thank you, no.”
“I see you have not brought your wife with you, Decimus Junius. Is she well?”
“I have no wife
.”
“Oh!”
Behind her closed and alluringly secretive face, the thoughts were racing. He fancied her! There could be no doubt about it, he fancied her! For some years, it seemed. An honorable man too. Knowing she was married, he had not ventured to increase his acquaintance with her or with her husband. But now that she was a widow he intended to be the first and stave off competition. He was very wellborn, yes—but was he wealthy? The eldest son, since he bore the first name of Decimus: Decimus was the first name of the eldest son in the Junii Silani. He looked to be about thirty, and that was right also. But was he wealthy? Time to fish.
“Are you in the Senate, Decimus Junius?”
“This year, actually. I’m a city quaestor.”
Good, good! He had at least a senatorial census. “Where are your lands, Decimus Junius?”
“Oh, all over the place. My chief country estate is in Campania, twenty thousand iugera fronting onto the Volturnus between Telesia and Capua. But I have river frontage lands on the Tiber, a very big place on the Gulf of Tarentum, a villa at Cumae and another at Larinum,” he said eagerly, keen to impress her.
Servilia leaned back infinitesimally in her chair and exhaled very cautiously. He was rich. Extremely rich.
“How is your little boy?” he asked.
That obsession she could not conceal, it flamed behind her eyes and suffused her face with a passion that sat ill upon her naturally enigmatic features. “He misses his father, but I think he understands.”
Decimus Junius Silanus rose to his feet. “It is time I went, Servilia. May I come again?”
Her creamy lids fell over her eyes, the black lashes fanning upon her cheeks. A faint pink came into them, a faint smile turned up the corners of her little folded mouth. “Please do, Decimus Junius. It would please me greatly,” she said.
And so much for you, Porcia Liciniana! she said to herself exultantly as she let her visitor personally out of her house. I have found my next husband, though I have not yet been a widow for a month! Wait until I tell Uncle Mamercus!
*
Said Lucius Marcius Philippus to Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus in a letter written a month after the death of Marcus Junius Brutus:
It is true that we are into the second half of the year, but things are proceeding quite well, all considered. I had hoped to tie Mamercus permanently to Rome, but after word came that Brutus as well as Lepidus was dead, he refused to believe that his role as Princeps Senatus tied him to Rome any longer, and asked the Senate for permission to prepare for the war against Sertorius. Our senatorial goats promptly turned into sheep and gave Mamercus the four legions belonging to Catulus, these still being under arms in Capua waiting for discharge. Catulus, I hasten to add, is well satisfied with his little campaign against Lepidus; he (undeservedly) earned an imposing military reputation without needing to venture further from Rome than the Campus Martius, and urged the Senate to give Mamercus the governance of Nearer Spain and the command against Sertorius.
It is possible that Mamercus might be what Spain needs. Therefore I must ensure that he never gets there. For I must procure for you a special commission in Spain before Lucullus can come back from Africa. Fortunately I think the right tool to foil Mamercus’s ambitions has just come into my hand. He—yes, naturally it is a man—is one of this year’s crop of twenty quaestors, by name Gaius Aelius Staienus. And he was assigned by lot to the army of the consul, no less! In other words he has been in Capua working for Catulus since the beginning of his term, and in future he will be working for Mamercus.
A trustier, bigger villain you are unlikely to meet, my dear Magnus! Quite up there with Gaius Verres—who, having secured the conviction and exile of the younger Dolabella by testifying against him in the prosecution brought by young Scaurus, now struts around Rome engaged to a Caecilia Metella, if you please! The daughter of Metellus Caprarius the Billy—goat, and sister of those three up—and—coming young men who are, alas, the best the Caecilii Metelli have produced in this generation. Quite a comedown.
Anyway, my dear Magnus, I have approached our villain Gaius Aelius Staienus and secured his services. We didn’t get around to precise amounts of money, but he won’t come cheap. He will, however, do whatever has to be done. Of that I am sure. His idea is to foment a mutiny among the troops as soon as Mamercus has been in Capua long enough for it to appear that Mamercus is the reason for the mutiny. I did venture to say that these were Sulla’s veterans and I didn’t think they’d turn on their beloved Sulla’s son-in-law, but Staienus just laughed at my doubts. My misgivings quite melted away, it was such a hearty and confident laugh. Not to mention that one cannot but expect great things from a man who arranged his own adoption into the Aelii, and tries to have people call him Paetus rather than Staienus! He impresses all sorts of men, but particularly those of low class, who approve of his style of oratory and are easily enflamed by it.
Thus having until I found Staienus opposed the Mamercus command, I have now changed my tune and press for it eagerly. Every time I see the dear fellow I ask him why he’s still lingering in Rome instead of taking himself off to Capua to train his troops. I think we can be sure that by September at the latest Mamercus will be the victim of a massive mutiny. And the moment I hear of it, I will start urging the Senate to turn its mind toward the special commission clause.
Luckily things continue to go from bad to worse in the Spains, which will make my task easier. So be patient and sanguine, my dear Magnus, do! It will happen, and it will happen early enough in the year for you to cross the Alps before the snows close the passes.
*
The mutiny when it came a little after the beginning of the month Sextilis was very cleverly engineered by Gaius Aelius Staienus, for it was neither bloody nor bitter, and smacked of such sincerity that its victim, Mamercus, found himself unwilling to discipline the men. A deputation had come to him and announced with absolute firmness that the legions would not go to Spain under any general save Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus because they believed no one except Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus could beat Quintus Sertorius.
“And perhaps,” said Mamercus to the House when he came to Rome to report—he was shaken enough to speak honestly—“they are quite right! I confess I do not blame them. They were very properly respectful. Enlisted men of their experience have a nose for such matters, and it is not as if they do not know me. If they think I cannot deal with Quintus Sertorius, then I too must wonder if I can. If they think Gnaeus Pompeius is the only man for the job, then I must wonder if they are not right.”
Those quiet and frank words had a profound effect upon the senators, who found themselves—even in their front ranks—bereft of indignation and the inclination to debate. Which made it easy for Philippus to be heard.
“Conscript Fathers,” he commenced with love in his voice, “it is high time we took stock of the situation in Spain with no passion and no prejudices. What a sober and uplifting experience it has been for me to listen to our very dear and very intelligent junior consul, our Princeps Senatus, Mamercus Aemilius Lepidus Livianus! Let me therefore continue in that same measured and thoughtful vein.”
Round he went in a circle, looking into every face he could manage to see from his position in the front row on the left side.
“The early successes of Quintus Sertorius after he re-entered Spain to join the Lusitani three and a half years ago were fairly easy to understand. Men like Lucius Fufidius held him lightly and offered battle precipitately. But by the time that our Pontifex Maximus, Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius, arrived to govern Further Spain, and his colleague Marcus Domitius Calvinus arrived to govern Nearer Spain, we knew Quintus Sertorius was going to be hard to beat. And then in that first campaigning summer Sertorius’s legate Lucius Hirtuleius attacked Calvinus’s six legions with a mere four thousand men!—and trounced him. Calvinus died on the field. So did most of his troops. Sertorius himself moved against Pius, though he preferred to concentrate upon Pius’s valued legate, Thorius. Thorius di
ed on the field and his three legions were badly mauled. Our beloved Pius was forced to retreat for the winter into Olisippo on the Tagus, with Sertorius on his tail.
“The following year—which was last year—saw no big battles. But no big successes either! Pius spent the time trying to stay out of Sertorius’s clutches while Hirtuleius overran central Spain and established Sertorius’s ascendancy among the Celtiberian tribes. Sertorius already had the Lusitani in the palm of his hand, and now almost all of Spain bade fair to being his—save for the lands between the Baetis River and the Orospeda Mountains, where Pius concentrated himself too strongly to tempt Sertorius.
“But last year’s governor of Gaul-across-the-Alps, Lucius Manlius, thought he could deal a blow at Sertorius. So he crossed the Pyrenees into Nearer Spain with four good legions. Hirtuleius met him on the Iberus River and beat him so soundly Lucius Manlius was forced to retreat immediately back into his own province. Where, he soon discovered, he was no longer safe! Hirtuleius followed him and inflicted a second defeat.
“This year has been no better for us, Conscript Fathers. Nearer Spain has not yet received a governor and Further Spain remains with the prorogued Pius, who has not moved west of the Baetis nor north of the Orospeda. Unopposed, Quintus Sertorius marched through the pass at Consabura into Nearer Spain and has set up a capital at Osca—for he has actually had the audacity to organize his occupation of Rome’s territories along Roman lines! He has an official capital city and a senate—even a school in which he intends to have the children of barbarian chieftains taught Latin and Greek so that they will be able to take their places as the leaders of Sertorian Spain! His magistrates bear Roman titles, his senate consists of three hundred men. And now he has been joined by Marcus Perperna Veiento and the forces of Lepidus that managed to escape from Sardinia.”
None of this was new, all of it was well known. But no one had drawn it all together and condensed it into a few moments of crisp, dispassionate speech. The House heaved a collective sigh and huddled down on its stools, defenseless.
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