Fortune's Favorites (117 page)

The breath went out of Philippus with an audible whoof! He began to shake. “You wouldn't!” he cried.

“I would, you know.”

“But Crassus has eight legions sitting in Capua! It would be another civil war!”

“Pah!” said Pompey, still jiggling his foot. “Eight legions of cowards. I'd eat them for dinner.”

“That's what you said about Quintus Sertorius.”

The foot stopped. Pompey went pale, stiffened. “Don't ever say that to me again, Philippus.”

“Oh, cacat!” groaned Philippus, wringing his hands. “Magnus, Magnus, I beg you, don't do this! Where did you get the idea that Crassus is commanding an army of cowards? Because of the consuls' legions, the decimation? Well, disabuse yourself! He forged himself a splendid army, as loyal to him as yours is to you. Marcus Crassus is no Gellius or Clodianus! Haven't you heard what he did on the Via Appia between Capua and Rome?”

“No,” said Pompey, beginning to look just the slightest bit uncertain. “What did he do?”

“There are six thousand six hundred Spartacani hanging on six thousand six hundred crosses along the Via Appia between Capua and Rome-that's one cross every hundred feet, Magnus! He decimated the survivors of the consuls' legions to show them what he thought of craven troops, and he crucified the survivors of Spartacus's army to show every slave in Italy what happens to slaves who rebel. Those are not the actions of a man you can dismiss lightly, Magnus! Those are the actions of a man who might deplore civil war-it doesn't do his businesses any good!-but who, if the Senate so commands him, would take up arms against you. And stand a very good chance of destroying you!”

The uncertainty passed; Pompey's face set mulishly. “I will have my scribe make a fair copy of my letter, Philippus, and you will read it out in the House tomorrow.”

“You'll ruin yourself!”

“I won't.”

The interview was clearly at an end; Philippus got up. He wasn't out of the tent before Pompey was busy writing again. This time he addressed Marcus Licinius Crassus.

Greetings and a thousand congratulations, my old friend and colleague of the days fighting Carbo. While I was pacifying Spain, I hear that you have been pacifying Italy. They tell me you have welded a fine body of fighting men out of consular cravens and taught all of us how best to deal with rebellious slaves.

Once again, a thousand congratulations. If you are planning to be in your quarters this evening, may I pop in for a nice chat?

“Now what does he want?” demanded Crassus of Caesar.

“Interesting,” said Caesar, handing Pompey's letter back. “I don't think much of his literary style.”

“He doesn't have a literary style! He's a barbarian,”

“And do you plan to be in this evening so our friend can pop in for his 'nice chat'? I wonder is that phrase innocent, or is it full of guile?”

“Knowing Pompeius, he thinks the phrase is the correct one. And yes, I certainly plan to be in this evening,” said Crassus.

“With me or without me?” Caesar asked.

“With you. Do you know him?”

“I met him once a long time ago, but I very much doubt he'll remember me or the occasion.”

A statement Pompey confirmed when he arrived several hours later. “Have I met you, Gaius Julius? I don't remember.”

Caesar's laughter was spontaneous, but not mocking. “I'm not surprised, Gnaeus Pompeius. You only had eyes for Mucia.”

Light dawned. “Oh! You were there in Julia's house when I went to meet my wife! Of course!”

“How is she? I've not seen her in years.”

“I keep her in Picenum,” said Pompey, unaware that this way of putting the matter might sound odd. “We have a boy and a girl these days-and more soon, I hope. I haven't seen her in years either, Gaius Julius.”

“Caesar. I prefer to be called Caesar.”

“That's good, because I much prefer being called Magnus.”

“I imagine you do!”

Crassus decided it was time he got a word in. “Sit down, Magnus, please. You look very brown and fit for an old man- is it thirty-five now?”

“Not until the second-last day of September.”

“That's to split hairs. You've packed more into your first thirty-five years than most men do into twice that many, so I dread to think what seventy will bring for you. Spain all tidy?”

“Beautifully tidy. But,” said Pompey magnanimously, “I had some extremely competent help, you know.”

“Yes, he surprised everyone, old Pius. Never did a thing until he went out to Spain.” Crassus got up. “A drop of wine?”

Pompey laughed. “Not unless the vintage has improved, you incurable tightpurse!”

“It never varies,” said Caesar.

“Vinegar.”

“Just as well I don't drink wine, spending a whole campaign with him, isn't it?” asked Caesar, smiling.

“You don't drink wine? Ye gods!” At a loss, Pompey turned to Crassus. “Have you applied for your triumph yet?” he asked.

“No, I don't qualify for a triumph. The Senate prefers to call the war against Spartacus a slave war, so all I qualify for is an ovation.” Crassus cleared his throat, looked a little cast down. “However, I have applied for an ovation. To be held as soon as possible. I want to lay down my imperium in time to stand for the consular elections.”

“That's right, you were praetor two years ago, so there's no impediment, is there?” Pompey looked cheerful. “I doubt you'll have trouble getting in, after your resounding victory. Ovation one day, consul the next, I daresay.”

“That's the idea,” said Crassus, who hadn't smiled yet. “I have to persuade the Senate to grant me land for at least half of my troops, so being consul will be a help.”

“That it will,” said Pompey cordially, and got up. “Well, I must go. I like to get in a decent walk, keeps me from seizing up-getting to be an old man, as you say!”

And off he went, leaving Crassus and Caesar looking at each other blankly.

“What was all that about?” asked Crassus.

“I have a funny feeling,” said Caesar thoughtfully, “that we are going to find out.”

As a messenger had delivered the scribe-copied, neat and tidy version of Pompey's letter early in the afternoon, Philippus did not expect any further word from Pompey until after he had read the letter out in the Senate. But he had only just risen from the dinner couch late that same afternoon when another messenger arrived from Pompey to summon him back to the Campus Martius. For a wild moment Philippus contemplated sending a curt refusal; then he thought of the wonderful annual lump sum Pompey still paid him, sighed, and ordered a litter. No more walking!

''If you've changed your mind about my reading out your letter tomorrow, Magnus, all you had to do was notify me! Why am I here for the second time in one day?”

“Oh, don't worry about the letter!” said Pompey impatiently. “Just read the thing out and let them have their laugh. They'll be laughing on the other side of their faces soon enough. No, it's not for that I wanted to see you. I have a job for you that's far more important, and I want you to get started on it at once.”

Philippus frowned. “What job?” he asked.

“I'm going to drive Crassus onto my side,” said Pompey.

“Oho! And how do you plan to do that?”

“I won't be doing it. You and the rest of my lobby will. I want you to swing the Senate away from granting land to Crassus for his troops. But you have to do it now, before he's allowed his ovation, and well before the curule elections. You have to maneuver Crassus into a position which will prevent his offering the use of his army to the Senate if the Senate decides it must squash me with force. I didn't know how to go about it until I went to see Crassus a short time ago. And he let it drop that he's running for consul because he believes as consul he'll be in a better position to demand land for his veterans. You know Crassus! There's not a chance in the world that he'd pay for land himself, but he can't discharge his soldiers without some sort of settlement. He probably won't ask for much-after all, it was a short campaign. And that's the tack you're going to adopt-that a six months' campaign isn't worth giving away the ager publicus for, especially as the enemy was servile. If the booty was worth his army's while, then it might be content with that. But I know Crassus! Most of the booty won't be entered on the list for the Treasury. He can't help himself-he has to try to keep the lot. And get compensation for his men out of the State.”

“As a matter of fact I heard the booty wasn't great,” said Philippus, smiling. “Crassus declared that Spartacus paid out almost everything he had to the pirates when he tried to hire them to take his men to Sicily. But from other sources I've heard this wasn't so, that the sum he paid was half what he had in cash.”

“That's Crassus!” said Pompey with a reminiscent grin. "I tell you, he can't help himself. How many legions has he got? Eight? Twenty percent to the Treasury, twenty percent to Crassus, twenty percent to his legates and tribunes, ten percent to the cavalry and centurions, and thirty percent to the foot soldiers. That would mean each foot soldier would get about a hundred and eighty-five sesterces. Wouldn't pay the rent for long, would it?”

“I didn't realize you were so good at arithmetic, Magnus!”

“Always better at that than reading and writing.”

“How much will your men get from booty?''

“About the same. But the tally's honest, and they know it is. I always have a few representatives from the ranks present when I tot up booty. Makes them feel better, not so much to know their general's honest as because they think themselves honored. Those of mine who don't already have land will get land. From the State, I hope. But if not from the State, I'll give them some of my land.”

“That's remarkably generous of you, Magnus.”

“No, Philippus, it's just forethought. I'm going to need these men-and their sons!-in the future, so I don't mind being generous now. But when I'm an old man and I've fought my last campaign, I can assure you I won't be willing to stand the damage myself.” Pompey looked determined. “My last campaign is going to bring in more money than Rome has seen in a hundred years. I don't know what campaign it's going to be, except that I'll pick a rich one. Parthia's what I'm thinking of. And when I bring the wealth of Parthia back to Rome, I expect Rome to give my veterans land. My career so far has put me badly out of purse-well, you know how much I pay out each and every year to you and the rest of my lobby in the Senate!”

Philippus hunched himself defensively in his chair. “You'll get your money's worth!”

“You're not wrong about that, my friend. And you can start tomorrow,” said Pompey cheerfully. “The Senate must refuse to give Crassus land for his troops. I also want the curule elections delayed. And I want my application to be allowed to run for the consulship tabled in the House and kept tabled. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” The hireling got up. “There's only one real difficulty, Magnus. Crassus has a great many senators in debt to him, and I doubt we can turn them onto our side.”

“We can-if we give those men who don't owe Crassus much the money to pay him back. See how many owe him forty thousand sesterces or less. If they're our creatures or might be willing to be our creatures, instruct them to pay Crassus back immediately. If nothing else tells him how serious his situation is, that will,” said Pompey.

“Even so, I wish you'd let me postpone your letter!”

“You will read my letter out tomorrow, Philippus. I don't want anyone deluded about my motives. I want the Senate and Rome to know here and now that I am going to be consul next year.”

Rome and the Senate knew by the following noon, for at that hour Varro erupted into Pompey's tent, breathless and disheveled.

“You're not serious!” Varro gasped, throwing himself into a chair and flapping a hand in front of his flushed face.

“I am.”

“Water, I need water.” With a huge effort Varro pulled himself out of the chair and went to the table where Pompey kept his liquid refreshments. He downed a goodly draft, refilled his beaker and went back to his chair. “Magnus, they'll swat you like a moth!”

Pompey dismissed this with a contemptuous gesture, staring at Varro eagerly. “How did they take it, Varro? I want to hear every last detail!”

“Well, Philippus lodged an application to speak with the consul Orestes-who has the fasces for June-before the meeting, and as it was he who had requested the meeting be convened in the first place, he spoke as soon as the auguries were over. He got up and read out your letter.”

“Did they laugh?”

Startled, Varro lifted his head from his water. “Laugh? Ye gods, no! Everyone sat there absolutely stunned. Then the House began to buzz, softly at first, then louder and louder until the place was in an uproar. The consul Orestes finally managed to establish order, and Catulus asked to speak. I imagine you know pretty much what he had to say.”

“Out of the question. Unconstitutional. An affront to every legal and ethical precept in the history of Rome.”

“All that, and a great deal more. By the time he finished he was literally foaming at the mouth.”

“What happened after he finished?”

“Philippus gave a really magnificent speech-one of the best I've ever heard him give, and he's a great orator. He said you'd earned the consulship, that it was ridiculous to ask a man who had been propraetor twice and proconsul once to crawl into the House under a vow of silence. He said you'd saved Rome from Sertorius, you'd turned Nearer Spain into a model province, you'd even opened up a new pass across the Alps, and that all of those things-plus a lot more-proved that you had always been Rome's loyalest servant. I can't go into all his flights of fancy-ask him for a copy of his speech, he read it out-but he made a profound impression, I can tell you that.

“And then,” Varro went on, looking puzzled, “he changed horses! It was very odd! One moment he was talking about letting you run for consul, the next moment he was talking about the habit we had got into of doling out little pieces of Rome's precious ager publicus to appease the greed of common soldiers, who thanks to Gaius Marius now expected as a matter of course to be rewarded with public land after the smallest and meanest campaign. How this land was being given to these soldiers not in Rome's name, but in the general's name! The practice would have to stop, he said. The practice was creating private armies at the expense of Senate and People, because it gave soldiers the idea that they belonged to their general first, with Rome coming in a bad second.”