“Please, sir! We will freeze to death out here! We will all die! Do you want this blood on your hands?” I shouted, but even I knew this was in vain. What responsibility did this man have to give away his livelihood to strangers?
The woman appeared again, and shouted at her husband, “We hardly have enough clothing for the winter! Tell that man to leave!” she cried.
I loosened my grip on the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and shut the door. I heard the lock click shut behind it.
I turned and walked back to the men in total defeat.
They had begun to shiver, their entire bodies trapped in a convulsion.
“We will have to kill them,” one of them said.
“Let’s just take the horses! Bugger these Gaul bastards. We can take the horses and make like Mercury for the coast,” another cried.
“We need to leave, Sertorius. We need to make for the mountain passes. It’s our only chance. The Cimbri will be here soon,” Marcellus said, looking over his shoulder.
I placed my hands on my hips, and then on my head, praying for the gods to illuminate my mind.
Without thinking, I turned and sprinted back to the house.
Marcellus and the others shouted after me.
“Please! I beg of you! Please help us! The Cimbri will hunt us down!” I shouted, banging against the door with all the might left within my body. “I beg you! We will all die!”
Marcellus and a few others grabbed me by my arms and dragged me away. I fought against them with all my might.
“My name is Quintus Sertorius, a military tribune! I have information about the Cimbri that—” Marcellus tried to cover my mouth. “Information that the consul needs to hear to defeat them!”
They wrapped up my arms and dragged me away, releasing me only once I’d stopped fighting.
I let out a moan and fell to the earth in despair.
And then the door creaked opened. The man stepped out, axe now in hand.
“You said you have information about the Cimbri?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. That’s right. I’ve been spying on them these last eight months. I have enough intelligence to help Rome defeat them!” I nodded vehemently. He shut the door behind him.
“Gods, what have you done?” one of the freed prisoners asked.
“I think you’ve killed us now, boy,” Marcellus said, placing his hands akimbo on his hips.
The door opened again. And this time, the man approached with folded cloaks in his hands.
“How many are there?” he asked.
“Nine,” I said, regaining my composure. “I don’t need anything.”
He handed me the clothes he had gathered.
“Tha… Thank… Thank you, sir.” I lost control of myself. I wept, knelt at his feet, as he stepped back, absent the clothing he had brought for us. “I would pay you all that I have, but I have nothing,” I said.
His face was stern. He knew what he was doing would cost him a great deal. It was a difficult decision to make.
“There are four paint horses you can take. Don’t touch the stallions. Four is all I can afford to give,” he said, flinching as he heard his wife screaming inside the hut.
“Thank you,” I said, tears flowing freely. I searched for the right words to say but could not find them. He said nothing in reply. “What is your name?” I asked.
“Vallicus,” he said, after deliberating.
“Vallicus, I will sacrifice to your health. I will sacrifice for the rest of my life.”
He exhaled and nodded.
“You give me hope,” I said, my words carried on puffs of breath.
“If you can help destroy the Cimbri, it will be worth it. There is no life here while they exist. Go on, now. Or they’ll catch you.” He turned again to enter his hut, to face whatever punishment his wife deemed fit.
The men struggled to throw the wool cloaks on, and then hurried to mount the horses. The Cimbri’s best riders were likely already searching for us. We had no time to lose.
“Ya!” I kicked the horse into a gallop, Ax bouncing along behind me, the three other overburdened horses to my side.
II
War
20
Scroll XX
To spare you the arduous details of our long trek back to camp, of freezing and starving, I’ve here included an exert from Sulla’s memoir.
It’s likely that you own a copy yourself, or have at least borrowed it, as it has been distributed to all ends of the Republic. Just in case you’ve not come across his writing, it here follows. I have not altered his words or opinions to reflect more kindly on myself, or Consul Marius, which I’m sure you’ll be able to tell.
The following took place while I was within the lion’s den of the Cimbri camp. Rome didn’t sleep while I was gone, and Sulla’s account details the political happenings that subsequently took place.
May to Quintilis—Year of the consulship of Marius and Orestes
It was nearly May when we returned to Rome. Just when the weather was becoming bearable in Gaul, Marius was determined to drag me back into the infernal heat of the city. The elections were scheduled for the fifth month, Quintilis, and the great general was fixed on gaining himself another consecutive consulship, despite how illegal it may be. He invited me along, or demanded, rather, not so much because he enjoyed my company but to keep an eye on me.
The moment we stepped onto the Via Appia, Marius was already beginning the skeevy business of campaigning for the election. All sorts of unscrupulous men flocked to his side for a moment with the consul, hoping that they might glean a bit of the prosperity that had followed him for so many years. The men of probity and respect did not greet us, of course, which suited me just fine. By this point, I would rather not be associated with the old general any more than I had to.
As soon as Marius was distracted with shaking hands and casting out prophetic promises, I stepped away on my own business. Namely, satiating my appetites.
I’d take a Gallic trollop whenever I could on campaign, but there’s nothing quite like a Roman matron. You know, the type who hates you during and asks you to leverage your position in her favor even before she cleans herself up.
I was a widower now, after all, and free to do as I liked. I took full advantage of my time there, to be certain.
Regardless of my status as a single man, though, Marius looked at me with irritation whenever he saw me about the forum with a mistress. As if my gallivanting somehow dishonored the corpse of my long-dead wife. I didn’t see it that way. I was faithful to Ilia. I never communed with a younger woman equal to or above her station the entire time we were married. I didn’t believe she would mind now that she was with Hades and Persephone.
Aside from indulging myself in the pleasures of the flesh, I attended plays in the forum whenever I could. I was never happier than when watching actors on the stage. Such grace and beauty, such poise. It was, and remains, incredible to me that, for a moment, one man can become another before your very eyes. It’s very much like politics in that way, except politics isn’t quite so endearing.
When it was up to me, I’d see plays with Roscius the comedian or Metrobius the impersonator of women. Both were old friends, but I’ll admit that it was difficult to pay attention when I attended the plays of the latter, as I could hardly take my eyes off him.
I did take one brief detour while I was there, to the Suburra, where I was reared in utter poverty. I hiked up my toga as I walked, ensuring that the stark white of its fringes wasn’t tainted with the muck of my youth. The buildings were much as I remembered, slanted and decaying, overgrowth crawling up the sides of the sunbaked brick, vines and tendrils hanging from the rafters. The people were much the same too, so I wasn’t shocked when I found the tenant of my father’s old insula, toothless and with one eye that seemed to be running away from the other.
“Greetings, citizens,” I said, nodding at him.
He grumbled and concocted some sort of fa
ce in greeting. It’s hard to tell the purpose when a man has no teeth.
“Are you the owner of this block of insula?” I gestured to the dilapidated apartments behind me.
“Mm-hmm.” He nodded and seemed to be chewing on something with his gums.
“Would you sell it?” I asked.
“For the right price.” He hawked some bile by his mud-caked toes.
I turned and analyzed the building for a moment. The rapturous cries of children playing carried out from the courtyard within, as well as that of their mothers, who were yelling at them to be careful. Looking at the horse shit and cobblestone paths leading to the insula doorway, I remembered finding my father there once. He had passed out after a night of whoring and gambling. By the time I found him in the morning, the street urchins had stolen every piece of jewelry off him. At least that made it easier for me to drag him up the steps.
“Four thousand denarii?” I asked with cocked eyebrow.
He debated for a moment, his eyes looking thoughtfully in different directions. He made a grumble from deep in his chest before replying, “Couldn’t do it.”
Something turned in my stomach as my gaze drifted to the slanted doorway, leading to the steps where our beaded door once hung. I had almost forgotten, but then the memory returned to me. A beautiful little cat pouncing up the stairs. I remembered it clearly then. I was just a boy, no more than ten or eleven years old. The cat came to me, choose me, in a way no one else did. He was the first friend I ever had, to be honest. The purring little feline was someone to talk to since my father was too drunk and my mother too dead.
“Never mind, then,” I said to the man with the friendliest smile I could conjure. I remembered finding that cat a few weeks later skinned and butchered by the older boys in the insula. They were too poor and too bored to have anything else to do, but I would have killed them all if I had been old enough to do it. If I could go back and kill them, I would. I’d kill them now if I knew how to find them. “No matter. I was just going to burn it.”
Despite the attempts to distance myself, I was required to be at the consul’s side from time to time. And Marius was a dreadfully boring man to be in Rome with. He kept poor company, for one thing. Reprobate drunken degenerates, the lot of them, which I don’t typically mind, but they receive their jollies from scheming for power rather than a lyre and the recitation of good poetry. Not the sort I enjoy dining with. Besides that, the old general refused to attempt a dinner party that wasn’t in his own triclinium, where he was most comfortable. And don’t get me started on the quality of his cook. Ghastly doesn’t begin to describe it. It was a wonder I could keep the food down, especially mixed with the soldier’s swill wine he served.
Besides that, Marius never tarried far from his wife’s hip. Julia was a prude in the most ancient, respectable sort of way, ensuring that the rest of us didn’t enjoy ourselves too much in her presence. I imagine that the majority of the time Marius didn’t spend scheming for an election he spent having dull sex with his wife. I imagine it must have been like an old farmer and his hag, who love each other very much but just aren’t as creative or passionate as they once were. On the same note, I have to imagine Marius is the kind of man who cries after coitus…one statement from Julia like, “You are a better man than your father,” or, “Those mean old patricians just don’t understand you,” and he’d burst into tears like an old wineskin with new wine. All that bravado and anger must escape sometime, nay?
So there I was, attempting to pass the time as Marius consorted with these profligates, who were spinning webs of the coming victories, not only of the barbarians in the field but his total political conquest once he returned. They all cheered him on and licked their grimy lips as he talked of the spoils he would lavish upon them for their complicity in it. The men most often at his little rallies were Lucius Saturninus and Gaius Glaucia. The latter was a man of little consequence. He was born with some good blood in him, but I’d say there was more good blood on his hands, even by this age. He had a certain look of the eye that was common of rabble-rousers like him, like barbarians really, always looking for a fight. Marius promised him an opportunity to stick one up the arse of the nobles, and that was enough to satisfy him.
Saturninus, on the other hand, rather intrigued him. He was slightly more reserved than the others, and his flatteries seemed to be more calculated and poised. I could tell from the moment Marius introduced us that this young man had more intelligence in his pinky finger than the old general did in his entire body, and that frightened me more than all the rest of their vainglorious boasting.
At least at this moment I had nothing to be afraid of. I was a member of their little alliance for all intents and purposes. Marius may have viewed me with suspicion, but the others didn’t seem to. He didn’t have a problem inviting me to these dinners, after all, so why should they? I don’t think it occurred to Marius at the time that I would ever turn on him. The old general would have never admitted it, to be certain, but I believe, even then, that he looked on me as a son. Marius wasn’t a young man at this point, remember, and he had no legitimate heir, at least not after Maximus’s death. Some believed he was now impotent or sterile, but I always privately wondered if he just couldn’t find the right hole. If knowledge of poetry is correlated to the knowledge of women, and it usually is, then Marius must have been the most clueless man in Rome.
Regardless, I knew his invitations were for a more direct purpose. Now that our alliance had been fractured in some ways, he wanted to show me the scope of his power and tell me about all the things he would soon accomplish, with or without my help. If I had believed that any of it was more than the babbling of second-class men, he would have been right. But I didn’t believe a word of it.
I was already searching for a suitable wife. Not among the ladies I was consorting with, mind you, but among the sisters and daughters of Rome’s finest. I was forced to tell Marius I was already engaged to another when he offered me the hand of his ill-born daughter, which was false. I simply did not wish to attach myself to Marius any further. As much as I respected him for his discipline in the field, I knew him to be a dimwit in politics. Marius had taken me as far as he could, and it was time to solidify new alliances. It wasn’t personal. But I had a mission, one tasked to me by Apollo himself, and I wasn’t going to let sentiments for an old soldier like Marius get in the way of that.
It was at this time that I discovered Porcia. She was a tasty young thing with a wild look in her eye, and she came from good stock to boot. With brothers like Lucius and Marcus Porcius Cato, I knew she could help me ascend to the pinnacle of Roman politics. She saw in me someone who could give her a bit more adventure than the dusty old senators who were pining for her hand.
It wasn’t quite time for Porcia and I to wed, though. I hoped I’d have long enough to make the political connections necessary for her betrothal, but Marius cut my time short.
He called me to his tablinum the day after he was elected to his fifth consulship, as if I were one of his slaves.
“Your Highness.” I dipped low in a bow and then smiled at one of his prettier slaves.
“Leave us.” He gestured to all those in attendance. I frowned in mock fear as the doors slammed shut behind us.
“What’s wrong, Consul? Shouldn’t you be elated on a day like this?”
“You won’t be returning with me to Gaul,” he said.
The humor drained from my face.
“Why?” I tried to restrain myself but felt my face twitching. I could have squashed the man if I’d desired. But I didn’t. Not yet.
“You’ll be remaining here in Italy. You’ll be assisting in the levying of our soldiers for the upcoming campaign. We’ll need more good men for the fight, and I want you to oversee it.” He was careful not to meet my eyes.
I began to breath heavily. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help the intensive breaths from being audible.
“Why?” I asked again, more forcefully th
is time.
A snarl crossed his face, but again he did not meet my eyes. “I cared for you, Lucius. And you’ve wounded me gravely. I think it’s best if we’re no longer around one another.”
I choked up for a moment, and not all of it was for show. I’m sure I could have persuaded him to let me stay, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted in that moment.
“It wasn’t lack of care for you, Marius, but a desire to advance.”
“For a year or—”
I cut him off. “As a brother I looked—”
He cut me off. “For a year or more! No more.”
I stepped toward his desk, forcefully enough that it drew his attention.
“You weren’t born with a drop of good blood in you, Marius, and yet I was still raised more lowly than you. I made a promise as a child, Marius. A promise that I would be nothing like my father. That I would become powerful and great!” For a brief moment of foolishness, I expected him to sympathize with me and understand where I was coming from. I had forgotten what a stubborn old wretch he really was.
He leaned back in his chair and made it clear that he was resigned to end the discussion. He refused to look at me, like a schoolboy in a dispute when the tutor has taken his side. Power was in his hands this day, but I wouldn’t allow it to remain so for long.
“I’ll be back, Marius,” I said, pointing at his side-turned face. “I’ll be back with more power and influence.” I walked to the door but paused and turned to him one last time. “Even more power and influence than you.”
Up until that point, I had pitied the man. I had pitied him for his boundless ambition and his bounded ability.
But after that day, I always hated him.
21
Scroll XXI
Four days before the kalends of March 652 ab urbe condita
The Noise of War Page 19
