"Is that where you're going, is it, Caesar?"
"I've been thinking of it, yes."
"The Parthians," said Crassus positively, stepping through the door. "More gold that way than to the north."
"Every race esteems gold most," said Caesar, "so every race will yield gold."
"You'll need it to pay your debts."
"Yes, I will. But gold isn't the great lure, at least for me. In that respect Pompeius Magnus has things correct. The gold just appears. What's more important is the length of Rome's reach."
Crassus's answer was a wave; he turned in the direction of the Palatine and disappeared.
There was never any point in trying to avoid Aurelia when she wanted a word, so Caesar went straight from the front door to her quarters, now thoroughly imprinted with her hand: none of the handsome decor was visible anymore, covered with pigeonholes, scrolls, papers, book buckets, and a loom in the corner. Suburan accounts no longer interested her; she was helping the Vestals in their archiving.
"What is it, Mater?" he asked, standing in the doorway.
"It's our new Virgin," she said, indicating a chair.
He sat down, willing now to listen. "Cornelia Merula?"
"The very same."
"She's only seven, Mater. How much trouble can she make at that age? Unless she's wild, and I didn't think she was."
"We have put a Cato in our midst," said his mother.
"Oh!"
"Fabia can't deal with her, nor can any of the others. Junia and Quinctilia loathe her, and are beginning to pinch and scratch."
"Bring Fabia and Cornelia Merula to my office now, please."
Not many moments later Aurelia ushered the Chief Vestal and the new little Vestal into Caesar's office, an immaculate and most imposing setting glowing dully in crimson and purple.
There was a Cato look to Cornelia Merula, who reminded Caesar of that first time he had ever seen Cato, looking down from Marcus Livius Drusus's house onto the loggia of Ahenobarbus's house, where Sulla had been staying. A skinny, lonely little boy to whom he had waved sympathetically. She too was tall and thin; she too had that Catonian coloring, auburn hair and grey eyes. And she stood the way Cato always stood, legs apart, chin out, fists clenched.
"Mater, Fabia, you may sit down," said the Pontifex Maximus formally. One hand went out to the child. "You may stand here," he said, indicating a spot in front of his desk. "Now what's the trouble, Chief Vestal?" he asked.
"A great deal, it seems!" said Fabia tartly. "We live too luxuriously—we have too much spare time—we are more interested in wills than Vesta—we have no right to drink water which hasn't been fetched from the Well of Juturna—we don't prepare the mola salsa the way it was done during the reigns of the kings—we don't mince the October Horse's parts properly—and more besides!"
"And how do you know what happens to the October Horse's parts, little blackbird?" Caesar asked the child kindly, preferring to call her that (Merula meant a blackbird). "You haven't been in the Atrium Vestae long enough to have seen an October Horse's parts." Oh, how hard it was not to laugh! The parts of the October Horse which were rushed first to the Regia to allow some blood to drip onto the altar, then to Vesta's sacred hearth to allow the same, were the genitalia plus the tail complete with anal sphincter. After the ceremonies all of these were cut up, minced, mixed with the last of the blood, then burned; the ashes were used during a Vestal feast in April, the Parilia.
"My great-grandmother told me," said Cornelia Merula in a voice which promised one day to be as loud as Cato's.
"How does she know, since she isn't a Vestal?"
"You," said the little blackbird, "are in this house under false pretenses. That means I don't have to answer you."
"Do you want to be sent back to your great-grandmother?"
"You can't do that, I'm a Vestal now."
"I can do it, and I will if you don't answer my questions."
She was not at all cowed; instead, she thought about what he said carefully. "I can only be ejected from the Order if I am prosecuted in a court and convicted."
"What a little lawyer! But you are wrong, Cornelia. The law is sensible, so it always makes provision for the occasional blackbird caged up with snow-white peahens. You can be sent home." Caesar leaned forward, eyes chilly. "Please don't try my patience, Cornelia! Just believe me. Your great-grandmother would not be amused if you were declared unsuitable and sent home in disgrace."
"I don't believe you," Cornelia said stubbornly.
Caesar rose to his feet. "You'll believe me after I've taken you home this very moment!" He turned to Fabia, listening fascinated. "Fabia, pack her things, then send them on."
Which was the difference between seven and twenty-seven; Cornelia Merula gave in. "I'll answer your questions, Pontifex Maximus," she said heroically, eyes shining with tears, but no tears falling.
By this time Caesar just wanted to squash her with hugs and kisses, but of course one couldn't do that, even were it not so important that she be, if not tamed, at least made tractable. Seven or twenty-seven, she was a Vestal Virgin and could not be squashed with hugs and kisses.
"You said I'm here under false pretenses, Cornelia. What did you mean by that?"
"Great-grandmother says so."
“Is everything great-grandmother says true?''
The grey eyes widened in horror. "Yes, of course!"
"Did great-grandmother tell you why I'm here under false pretenses, or was it simply a statement without facts to back it up?" he asked sternly.
"She just said so."
“I am not here under false pretenses, I am the legally elected Pontifex Maximus."
"You are the flamen Dialis," Cornelia muttered.
"I was the flamen Dialis, but that was a very long time ago. I was appointed to take your great-grandfather's place. But then some irregularities in the inauguration ceremonies were discovered, and all the priests and augurs decided I could not continue to serve as flamen Dialis."
"You are still the flamen Dialis!"
"Domine," he said gently. "I am your lord, little blackbird, which means you behave politely and call me domine."
"Domine, then."
"I am not still the flamen Dialis."
"Yes you are! Domine."
"Why?"
"Because," said Cornelia Merula triumphantly, "there isn't a flamen Dialis!"
"Another decision of the priestly and augural colleges, little blackbird. I am not the flamen Dialis, but it was decided not to appoint another man to the post until after my death. Just to make everything in our contract with the Great God absolutely legal."
"Oh."
"Come here, Cornelia."
She came round the corner of his desk reluctantly, and stood where he pointed, two feet away from his chair.
"Hold out your hands."
She flinched, paled; Caesar understood great-grandmother a great deal better when Cornelia Merula held out her hands as a child does to receive punishment.
His own hands went out, took hers in a firm warm clasp. "I think it's time you forgot great-grandmother as the authority in your life, little blackbird. You have espoused the Order of Rome's Vestal Virgins. You have passed out of great-grandmother's hands and into mine. Feel them, Cornelia. Feel my hands."
She did so, shyly and very timidly. How sad, he thought, that until her eighth year she has clearly never been hugged or kissed by the paterfamilias, and now her new paterfamilias is bound by solemn and sacred laws never to hug or kiss her, child that she is. Sometimes Rome is a cruel mistress.
"They're strong, aren't they?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"And much bigger than yours."
"Yes."
"Do you feel them shake or sweat?"
"No, domine."
“Then there is no more to be said. You and your fate are in my hands, I am your father now. I will care for you as a father, the Great God and Vesta require it. But most of why I will care for you is becaus
e you are you, a little girl. You won't be slapped or spanked, you won't be shut in dark cupboards or sent to bed without your supper. That is not to say the Atrium Vestae is a place without punishment, only that punishments should be carefully thought out, and always made to fit the crime. If you break something, you will have to mend it. If you soil something, you will have to wash it. But the one crime for which there is no other punishment than being sent home as unsuitable is the crime of sitting in judgement on your seniors. It is not your place to say what the Order drinks, how that drink is obtained, nor which side of the cup is the side to sip from. It is not your place to define what exactly is Vestal tradition or custom. The mos maiorum is not a static thing, it doesn't stay as it was during the reigns of the kings. Like everything else in the world, it changes to suit the times. So no more criticisms, no more sitting in judgement. Is that understood?''
"Yes, domine."
He let go her hands, never having put himself closer to her than those two feet. "You may go, Cornelia, but wait outside. I want to speak to Fabia."
"Thank you, Pontifex Maximus," sighed Fabia, beaming.
"Don't thank me, Chief Vestal, just cope with these ups and downs sensibly," said Caesar. "I think in future it might be wise if I take a more active part in the education of the three young girls. Classes once every eight days from an hour after dawn until noon. On, let us say, the third day after the nundinus."
The interview was clearly at an end; Fabia rose, made an obeisance, and left.
"You handled that extremely well, Caesar," said Aurelia.
"Poor little thing!"
"Too many spankings."
"What an old horror great-grandmother must be."
"Some people live to be too old, Caesar. I hope I do not."
"The important thing is, have I banished Cato?"
"Oh, I think so. Especially if you tutor her. That's an excellent idea. Not Fabia nor Arruntia nor Popillia has one grain of common sense, and I cannot interfere too much. I am a woman, not the paterfamilias."
"How odd, Mater! In all my life I have never been paterfamilias to a male!"
Aurelia got to her feet, smiling. "For which I am very glad, my son. Look at Young Marius, poor fellow. The women in your hand are grateful for your strength and authority. If you had a son, he would have to live under your shadow. For greatness skips not one but usually many generations in all families, Caesar. You would see him as yourself, and he would despair."
The Clodius Club was gathered in the big and beautiful house Fulvia's money had bought for Clodius right next door to the expensive insula of luxury apartments that represented his most lucrative investment. Everyone of genuine importance was there: the two Clodias, Fulvia, Pompeia Sulla, Sempronia Tuditani, Palla, Decimus Brutus (Sempronia Tuditani's son), Curio, young Poplicola (Palla's son), Clodius, and an aggrieved Mark Antony.
"I wish I were Cicero," he was saying gloomily, "then I'd have no need to get married."
"That sounds like a non sequitur to me, Antonius," said Curio, smiling. "Cicero's married, and to a shrew at that."
"Yes, but he's so well known to be able to get people off at trial that they're even willing to 'lend' him five million," Antony persisted. "If I could get people off at trial, I'd have my five million without needing to marry."
"Oho!" said Clodius, sitting up straighten "Who's the lucky little bride, Antonius?"
"Uncle Lucius—he's paterfamilias now because Uncle Hybrida won't have anything to do with us—refuses to pay my debts. My stepfather's estate is embarrassed, and there's nothing left of what my father had. So I have to marry some awful girl who smells of the shop."
"Who?" asked Clodius.
"Her name's Fadia."
"Fadia? I've never heard of a Fadia," said Clodilla, a very contented divorcée these days. "Tell us more, Antonius, do!"
The massive shoulders lifted in a shrug. "That's it, really. No one has ever heard of her."
"Getting information out of you, Antonius, is like squeezing blood out of a stone," said Celer's wife, Clodia. "Who is Fadia?"
"Her father's some filthy-rich merchant from Placentia."
"You mean she's a Gaul?” gasped Clodius.
Another man might have bridled defensively; Mark Antony merely grinned. "Uncle Lucius swears not. Impeccably Roman, he says. I suppose that means she is. The Caesars are experts on bloodlines."
"Well, go on!" from Curio.
"There's not much more to tell you. Old man Titus Fadius has a son and a daughter. He wants the son in the Senate, and decided the best way he can do that is to find a noble husband for the daughter. The son's ghastly, apparently, no one would have him. So I'm it." Antony flashed a smile at Curio, displaying surprisingly small but regular teeth. "You were nearly it, but your father said he'd prostitute his daughter before he'd consent."
Curio collapsed, shrieking. "He should hope! Scribonia is so ugly only Appius Claudius the Blind would have been interested."
"Oh, do shut up, Curio!" said Pompeia. "We all know about Scribonia, but we don't know about Fadia. Is she pretty, Marcus?"
"Her dowry's very pretty."
"How much?" asked Decimus Brutus.
"Three hundred talents are the going price for the grandson of Antonius Orator!"
Curio whistled. "If Fadius asked my tata again, I'd be glad to sleep wearing a blindfold! That's half as much again as Cicero's five million! You'll even have a bit left over after you've paid all your debts."
"I'm not quite Cousin Gaius, Curio!" said Antony, chortling. "I don't owe more than half a million." He sobered. "Anyway, none of them are about to let me get my hands on ready cash. Uncle Lucius and Titus Fadius are drawing up the marriage agreements so that Fadia keeps control of her fortune."
"Oh, Marcus, that's dreadful!" cried Clodia.
"Yes, that's what I said straight after I refused to marry her on those terms," Antony said complacently.
"You refused?" asked Palla, raddled cheeks working like a squirrel nibbling nuts.
"Yes."
“And what happened then?''
"They backed down."
"All the way?"
"Not all the way, but far enough. Titus Fadius agreed to pay my debts and give me a cash settlement of a million besides. So I'm getting married in ten days' time, though none of you has been asked to the wedding. Uncle Lucius wants me to look pure."
"No gall, no Gaul!" howled Curio.
Everyone fell about laughing.
The meeting proceeded merrily enough for some time, though nothing important was said. The only attendants in the room were poised behind the couch on which lay Pompeia together with Palla, and they both belonged to Pompeia. The younger was her own maid, Doris, and the elder was Aurelia's valued watchdog, Polyxena. Not one member of the Clodius Club was unaware that everything Polyxena heard would be reported faithfully to Aurelia once Pompeia returned to the Domus Publica, an annoyance of major proportions. In fact, there were many meetings held without Pompeia, either because the mischief being plotted was not for dissemination to the mother of the Pontifex Maximus, or because someone was proposing yet again that Pompeia be ejected. One good reason, however, had permitted Pompeia continued admission: there were times when it was useful to know that a rigid old pillar of society with a great deal of influence in that society was being fed information.
Today Publius Clodius reached the end of his tether. "Pompeia," he said, voice hard, "that old spy behind you is an abomination! There's nothing going on here all of Rome can't know, but I object to spies, and that means I have to object to you! Go home, and take your wretched spy with you!"
The luminous and amazingly green eyes filled with tears; Pompeia's lip trembled. "Oh, please, Publius Clodius! Please!"
Clodius turned his back. "Go home," he said.
An awkward silence fell while Pompeia bundled herself off her couch, into her shoes and out of the room, Polyxena following with her customary wooden expression, and Doris sniffling.
"That was unkind, Publius," said Clodia after they had gone.
"Kindness is not a virtue I esteem!" Clodius snapped.
"She's Sulla's granddaughter!"
"I don't care if she's Jupiter's granddaughter! I am sick to death of putting up with Polyxena!"
"Cousin Gaius," said Antony, "is not a fool. You'll gain no access to his wife without someone like Polyxena present, Clodius."
"I know that, Antonius!"
"He's had so much experience himself," Antony explained with a grin. "I doubt there's a trick he doesn't know when it comes to cuckolding husbands." He sighed happily. "He's the north wind, but he does adorn our stuffy family! More conquests than Apollo."
"I don't want to cuckold Caesar, I just want to be free of Polyxena!" snarled Clodius.
Suddenly Clodia began to giggle. "Well, now that the Eyes and Ears of Rome have departed, I can tell you what happened at Atticus's dinner party the other evening."
"That must have been exciting for you, Clodia dear," young Poplicola said. "Very prim and proper!"
"Oh, absolutely, especially with Terentia there."
"So what makes it worth mentioning?" Clodius asked grumpily, still incensed over Polyxena.
Clodia's voice dropped, became fraught with significance. "I was seated opposite Cicero!" she announced.
"How could you bear such ecstasy?" asked Sempronia Tuditani.
"How could he bear such ecstasy, you mean!"
All heads turned her way.
"Clodia, he didn't!" cried Fulvia.
"He certainly did," Clodia said smugly. "He fell for me as hard as an insula coming down in an earthquake."
“In front of Terentia?''
"Well, she was round the corner facing the lectus imus, so she had her back to us. Yes, thanks to my friend Atticus, Cicero slipped his leash."
“What happened?'' asked Curio, helpless with laughter.
"I flirted with him from one end of the dinner to the other, that's what happened. I flirted outrageously, and he adored it! Not to mention me. Told me he didn't know there was a woman in Rome so well read. That was after I quoted the new poet, Catullus." She turned to Curio. "Have you read him? Glorious!"
Curio wiped his eyes. "Haven't heard of him."
Caesar's Women Page 59
