Fortune's Favorites (10 page)

“What will you do, Quintus Sertorius?”

“Make as much trouble for Sulla as I can. In Sinuessa, I think. But after I fetch my gear from Scipio's camp.” He cleared his throat. “I can take you all the way to Sulla. He'd never try to detain me if I came on business like this.”

“No, just take us as far as some spot from which we can find his camp without getting lost.” Aurelia heaved a small and pleasurable sigh. “How nice it will be to see Lucius Cornelius again! It is four years since he was last in Rome. He always visited me just after he arrived, and just before he left. A kind of tradition. Now I have to break it, and all because of one stubborn daughter. Still, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that Lucius Cornelius and I will set eyes upon each other again. I have missed his visits dreadfully.”

Almost Sertorius opened his mouth to warn her, but in the end he didn't. What he knew about Sulla's condition was hearsay, and what he knew about Aurelia was hard fact. She would prefer to make her own discoveries, of that he was sure.

So when the earth-and-timber ramparts of Sulla's camp began to trace lines across the rolling Campanian horizon, Quintus Sertorius bade his cousin-in-law a grave goodbye, geed up his horse and departed.

A new road led across the fields toward the ramparts, worn already by a ceaseless progress of supply carts and shod hooves; there could be no excuse for getting lost.

“We must have passed right by it,” said Lucius Decumius, scowling. “Hid from view by the size of your arse, Burgundus!”

“Now, now,” said Aurelia calmly, “stop quarreling, do!”

And that was the end of the conversation. An hour later the little band of riders paused before the gate while Lucius Decumius demanded to see the general, then entered a world very strange and new to Aurelia, who had never been anywhere near an army camp in her entire life. Many were the glances she received as they paced down the broad high street which led as straight as a spear shaft toward the tiny aperture of another gate in the far distance. Perhaps three miles lay between, she realized, amazed.

Halfway along the Via Principalis there reared the only piece of raised ground within the camp; an obviously artificial knoll upon which stood a large stone house. The big red general's flag was flying to indicate that the general was in, and the red-haired duty officer seated at his table under an awning stood up awkwardly when he saw that the general's visitor was a woman. Lucius Decumius, his sons, Burgundus, Cardixa and the other female servant remained by the horses as Aurelia walked sedately up the path toward the duty officer and the sentries who flanked him.

Because she was completely wrapped in voluminous fine fawn wool, all young Marcus Valerius Messala Rufus the duty officer could see was her face. But that, he thought, catching his breath, was quite enough. As old as his mother, yet the most beautiful woman! Helen of Troy hadn't been young either. For the years had not dimmed Aurelia's magic; she still turned all heads whenever she appeared outside her own apartment.

“I would like to see Lucius Cornelius Sulla, please.”

Messala Rufus neither asked for her name nor thought to warn Sulla of her advent; he simply bowed to her and gestured with his hand toward the open door. Aurelia entered, smiling her thanks.

Though the shutters were wide to let in air, the room was shadow-filled, especially in the far corner where a man was bent over his desk writing busily by the light of a big lamp.

Her voice could be no one else's: “Lucius Cornelius?”

Something happened. The bowed shoulders stiffened, hunched up as if to ward off some frightful blow, and the pen and paper skittled across the surface of the table, so violently were they thrust away. But after that he sat without moving, back to her.

She advanced a few paces. “Lucius Cornelius?”

Still nothing, but her eyes were becoming used to the gloom and took in the sight of a head of hair which did not belong to Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Little ginger-red curls, quite ridiculous.

Then he heaved himself around as if convulsing, and she knew it was Lucius Cornelius Sulla only because he looked at her out of Lucius Cornelius Sulla's eyes. Unmistakably his eyes.

Ye gods, how could I do this to him? But I didn't know! If I had known, a siege tower could not have dragged me here! What is my face saying? What does he see in my expression?

“Oh, Lucius Cornelius, how good to see you!” she said in exactly the right tones, covered the rest of the distance to his desk, and kissed him on both poor scarred cheeks. Then she sat down on a folding chair close by, tucked her hands in her lap, gave him an unselfconscious smile, and waited.

“I didn't intend ever to see you again, Aurelia,” he said, not taking his eyes from hers. “Couldn't you wait until I got to Rome? This is a departure from our normal habit I didn't expect.”

“Rome seems to be the hard way for you-an army at your back. Or perhaps I sensed this would be the first time you did not come to visit. But no, dear Lucius Cornelius, I'm not here for any guessable reason. I'm here because I'm lost.”

“Lost?”

“Yes. I'm trying to find Quintus Pedius. My silly daughter won't come to Rome and Quintus Pedius-he's her second husband, which you won't know-doesn't want her anywhere near two firmly encamped armies.” It came out quite cheerfully and convincingly, she thought. It ought to reassure him.

But he was Sulla, so he said, “Gave you a shock, didn't I?”

She did not attempt to dissemble. “In some ways, yes. The hair, principally. Yours is gone, I presume.”

“Along with my teeth.” He bared his gums like an ape.

“Well, we all come to it if we live long enough.”

“Wouldn't want me to kiss you now the way I did a few years ago, would you?”

Aurelia put her head to one side, smiled. “I didn't want you to kiss me that way even then, though I did enjoy it. Far too much for my own peace of mind. How you hated me!”

“What did you expect? You turned me down. I don't like women turning me down.”

“I do remember that!”

“I remember the grapes.”

“So do I.”

He drew a deep breath, squeezed his eyelids together. “I wish I could weep!”

“I am glad you can't, dear friend,” she said tenderly.

“You wept for me then.”

“Yes, I did. But I won't weep for you now. That would be to mourn for a vanished reflection gone a long way down the river. You're here. I rejoice at that.”

He got up at last, an old tired man. “A cup of wine?”

“Yes, indeed.”

He poured, she noticed, from two separate flagons. “You wouldn't like the urine I'm forced to drink these days. As dry and sour as I am.”

“I'm pretty dry and sour myself, but I won't insist upon tasting your choice if you don't recommend that I do.” She took the simple cup he handed her and sipped gratefully.

“Thank you, it's good. We've had a long day looking for Quintus Pedius.”

“What's your husband about, to leave you to do his job? Is he away yet again?” asked Sulla, sitting down with more ease.

The luminous eyes grew glassily stern. “I have been a widow for two years, Lucius Cornelius.”

That astonished him. “Gaius Julius, dead? He was as fit as a boy! Was he killed in battle?”

“No. He just died-suddenly.”

“Yet here I am, a thousand years older than Gaius Julius, still hanging on to life.” It came out sounding bitter.

“You're the October Horse, he was just the middle of the field. A good man, and I liked being married to him. But I never thought him a man who needed to hang on to life,” said Aurelia.

“Just as well perhaps that he didn't. If I take Rome, it would have gone hard for him. I presume he would have elected to follow Carbo.”

“He followed Cinna, for Gaius Marius's sake. But Carbo? That I do not know.” She changed the subject, growing used now to the way he looked, who had been as beautiful as Apollo. “Is your wife well, Lucius Cornelius?”

“When I last heard. She's still in Athens. Gave me twins last year, a boy and a girl.” He chuckled. “She's afraid they're going to grow up to look like her Uncle Piggle-wiggle.”

“Oh, poor little things! But that's nice, to have children. Do you ever wonder about your other twins, the boys your German wife had? They'd be young men now.”

“Young Cherusci! Taking scalps and burning Romans alive in wicker cages.”

It was going to be all right. He was calmer, less tormented. Of all the fates she had imagined might have been lying in wait for Lucius Cornelius Sulla, the loss of his special and unique attraction had not been among them. And yet he was still Sulla. His wife, she thought, probably loved him just as much as she ever had when he looked like Apollo.

For some time they talked on, slipping back through the rolling years as they exchanged information about this one and that one; he, she noticed, liked to talk about his protégé, Lucullus, and she, he noticed, liked to talk about her only son, who was now called Caesar.

“As I remember, young Caesar was scholarly. Being flamen Dialis ought to suit him,” said Sulla.

Aurelia hesitated, seemed about to say something, then apparently said a different something: “He has made a tremendous effort to be a good priest, Lucius Cornelius.”

Frowning, Sulla glanced at the window nearest to him. “I see the sun is westering, that's why it's so dim in here. Time to get you on your way. I'll have some cadets act as guides-Quintus Pedius is not far beyond my camp. And you may tell your daughter that if she stays, she's a fool. My men are not ravening beasts, but if she's a true Julia she'll be a sore temptation, and one cannot forbid the troops to drink wine when they're in a permanent camp in Campania. Take her to Rome at once. I'll provide an escort for you as far as Ferentinum on the day after tomorrow. That will see you safely out of the clutches of both the armies encamped hereabouts.”

She rose. “I have Burgundus and Lucius Decumius, and dear Lucius Decumius's sons as well. But I would appreciate an escort if you can truly spare the men. Is there no battle imminent between you and Scipio?”

Oh, how sad, never to see that wonderful Sullan smile again! The best he could do these days was a grunt that didn't disturb the scabs and scars of his face. “That idiot? No, I don't foresee a battle,” he said, standing in his doorway. He gave her a little push. “Now go, Aurelia. And don't expect me to visit you in Rome.”

Off she went to join her waiting escort, while Sulla began to issue instructions to Messala Rufus. And in no time, it seemed, they were riding down the Via Praetoria toward yet another one of the four gates into Sulla's enormous camp.

One look at her face had not encouraged any of her companions to speak to her, so Aurelia was accorded the much-needed peace of finishing her journey inside her own thoughts.

I have always liked him, even though he became our enemy. Even though he is not a good person. My husband was a genuinely good person, and I loved him, and was faithful to him with my mind and my body. Yet-I know it now, though I did not until now-some little bit of me did I give to Lucius Cornelius Sulla. The bit my husband did not want, would not have known what to do with. We only kissed that once, Lucius Cornelius and I. But it was as beautiful as it was black. A passionate and engulfing mire. I did not yield. But ye gods, how I wanted to! I won a victory of sorts. Yet-did I perhaps lose a war?

Whenever he walked into my comfortable little world, a gale blew in around him; if he was Apollo, he was also Aeolus, and ruled the winds of my spirit, so that the lyre at my core hummed a melody my husband never, never heard.... Oh, this is worse than the grief of death and utter parting! I have looked upon the wreckage of a dream that was as much mine as his, and he knows it, poor Lucius Cornelius. But what courage! A lesser man would have fallen upon his sword. His pain, his pain! Why am I feeling this? I am busy, practical, unimaginative. My life is sifted out and very satisfying. But now I understand what bit of myself has always belonged to him; the bird bit, that might have lifted in soaring spirals singing its heart out while all the earth below burned away to an unimportant nothing. And no, I am not sorry I kept my feet upon the earth, never soared. It suits the way I am. He and I would never have known a moment's peace. Oh, I bleed for him! I weep for him!

And because she rode in front of all save the party of Roman officers, who led the way, her people did not see Aurelia's tears any more than they had seen Lucius Cornelius Sulla, the wreckage of a dream.

The patient and protesting letter Gaius Norbanus sent to Scipio Asiagenus did nothing to avert Scipio's self-inflicted disaster; yet no one was more astonished than Scipio Asiagenus when, having decided after all to give battle, he discovered that his troops would not fight for him. Instead, his eight legions deserted en masse to Sulla.

In fact, even when Sulla stripped him of his consular insignia of office and sent him packing under the escort of a squadron of cavalry, Scipio Asiagenus was still incapable of appreciating Rome's predicament. Quite tranquilly and complacently he went off to Etruria and began to recruit another army from among the enormous number of Gaius Marius's clients who lived there. Gaius Marius might be dead, but his memory would never fade. Whereas Scipio Asiagenus was merely a passing presence.

“He doesn't even understand that he broke a solemn truce,” said Sulla, looking puzzled. “I know the Scipiones are on the way down, but that one-! He's not worthy of the name Cornelius Scipio. If I take Rome, I'll execute him.”

“You should have executed him when you had him,” said the Piglet, a little waspishly. “He's living to be a nuisance. ”

“No, he's the poultice I'm applying to Etruria's boil,” said Sulla. “Draw the poison out, Pius, while there's only one head to deal with. Don't leave it to become a carbuncle.”

More wisdom, of course; Metellus Pius grinned. “What a wonderful metaphor!”

Though the month was still Quinctilis and summer not yet over, Sulla moved no more that year. With Scipio's departure the two camps were joined cozily together, and Sulla's hoary centurions began working upon the young and inexperienced troops who had belonged to Carbo's Rome. Fear of Sulla's veterans had operated upon them more powerfully than had the more friendly aspects of fraternization; the slight exposure of scant days had revealed to them a kind of soldier they didn't know-hardbitten, weathered, completely professional. Definitely not the sort of men any raw recruit could confidently face on a field of battle. Desertion had seemed the better alternative.