Fortune's Favorites (14 page)

Because Marcus Atius Balbus was a senator, he owned a domus in Rome as well as enormous estates at Aricia, so Ju-Ju could congratulate herself on yet one more advantage over her elder sister; she at least lived more or less permanently in Rome! On that late afternoon when all the family was summoned to the house of Gaius Marius, she was beginning to be heavy with child. Not that her pregnancy had prevented her mother from making her walk!

“It isn't good for pregnant women to coddle themselves,” said Aurelia. “That's why so many of them die in childbirth.”

“I thought you said they died because they ate nothing but fava beans,” Ju-Ju had countered, wistfully eyeing the litter in which she had made the journey from her husband's house on the Carinae to her mother's apartment building in the Subura.

“Those too. Pythagorean physicians are a menace.”

One more woman was present, though by blood she was not related to any of the others-or at least, not closely related. Her name was Mucia Tertia, and she was Young Marius's wife. The only daughter of Scaevola Pontifex Maximus, she had been called Mucia Tertia to distinguish her from her two famous cousins, the daughters of Scaevola the Augur.

Though she wasn't precisely beautiful, Mucia Tertia had disturbed many a man's sleep. A muddy green in color, her eyes were abnormally far apart and thickly fringed by black lashes which were longer at the outer corners of her eyes, thereby accentuating the distance between them; though she never said so, she deliberately trimmed her lashes shorter at the inner corners of her eyes with a tiny pair of ivory scissors from Old Egypt. Mucia Tertia was well aware of the nature of her unusual attractions. Her long, straight nose somehow managed not to be a disadvantage, even if the purists did think there ought to be some sort of bump or break in it. Again, her mouth was far from the Roman ideal of beauty, being very wide; when she smiled, she showed what seemed like a hundred perfect teeth. But her lips were full and sensuous, and she had a thick, creamy skin which went well with her dark red hair.

Caesar for one found her alluring, and at half-past seventeen was already highly experienced in sexual matters. Every female in the Subura had indicated willingness to help such a lovely young man find his amatory feet, and few were deterred when they discovered Caesar insisted they be bathed and clean; the word had gone out very quickly that young Caesar was equipped with a couple of mighty weapons, and knew how best to use them.

Most of the reason Mucia Tertia interested Caesar lay in a certain quality of enigma she owned; try as he might, she was one person he couldn't see to the bottom of. She smiled readily to display those hundred perfect teeth, yet the smile never originated in her extraordinary eyes, and she gave off no clues of gesture or expression as to what she really thought.

She had been married for four years of apparent indifference, as much on Young Marius's side as on hers. Their conversation together was pleasantly chatty but quite formal; they never exchanged those glances of secret understanding most married couples did; no move did either make to touch the other, even when no one was looking; and they had no children. If the union was genuinely devoid of feeling, Young Marius for one certainly did not suffer; his philanderings were common knowledge. But what about Mucia Tertia, of whom no whisper had ever circulated concerning indiscretion, let alone infidelity? Was Mucia Tertia happy? Did she love Young Marius? Or did she hate him? Impossible to tell, and yet-and yet-Caesar's instincts said she was desperately unhappy.

The group had settled down, and every eye was now fixed on Young Marius, who perversely had elected to sit upon a chair. Not to be outdone, Caesar too drew up a chair, but far removed from where Young Marius sat in the hollow of the U formed by the three dining couches; he sat behind his mother's shoulder, on the outside of the U, and so could not see the faces of his most beloved women. To him, it seemed more important by far to look at Young Marius, Mucia Tertia, and the steward Strophantes, who had been asked to attend and who stood near the doorway, having quietly refused Young Marius's invitation to seat himself.

Wetting his lips-an unusual sign of nervousness-Young Marius began to speak. “Earlier this afternoon, I had a visit from Gnaeus Papirius Carbo and Marcus Junius Brutus.”

“That's an odd combination,” said Caesar, who didn't want his cousin to flow on without interruption; he wanted Young Marius a little flustered.

The look Young Marius flashed him was angry, but not angry enough to fluster his thinking. A start only.

Then Caesar found his ploy foiled. Said Young Marius, “They came to ask me if I would stand for the consulship in conjunction with Gnaeus Carbo. I said I would.”

The stir was general. Caesar saw amazement on the faces of his sisters, a sudden spasm in his aunt's spine, a peculiar but unfathomable look in Mucia Tertia's remarkable eyes.

“My son, you're not even in the Senate,” said Julia.

“I will be tomorrow, when Perperna puts me on the rolls.”

“You haven't been quaestor, let alone praetor.”

“The Senate is willing to waive the usual requirements.”

“You don't have the experience or the knowledge!” Julia persisted, her voice despairing.

“My father was consul seven times. I grew up surrounded by consulars. Besides, you can't call Carbo inexperienced.”

Asked Aurelia, “Why are we here?”

Young Marius shifted his earnest and appealing gaze from his mother to his aunt. “To talk the matter over between us, of course!” he said, a little blankly.

“Rubbish!” said Aurelia bluntly. “Not only have you made up your mind already, but you've also told Carbo you'll run as his colleague. It seems to me that you've dragged us out of our warm house just to listen to news the city gossip 'would have brought to our ears almost as quickly.”

“That's not so, Aunt Aurelia!”

“Of course it's so!” snapped Aurelia.

Skin bright red, Young Marius turned back to his mother, a hand extended to her in appeal. “Mama, it's not so! I know I told Carbo I'd stand, but-but I always intended to listen to what my family had to say, truly! I can change my mind!”

“Hah! You won't change your mind,” said Aurelia.

Julia's fingers fastened upon Aurelia's wrist. “Be quiet, Aurelia! I want no anger in this room.”

“You're right, Aunt Julia-anger is the last emotion we want,” said Caesar, inserting himself between his mother and his aunt. From this new vantage spot he stared at his first cousin intently. “Why did you say yes to Carbo?” he asked.

A question which didn't fool Young Marius for a moment. “Oh, give me credit for more intelligence than that, Caesar!” he said scornfully. “I said yes for the same reason you would have, if you didn't wear a laena and an apex.”

“I can see why you'd think I would have said yes, but in actual fact I never would have. In suo anno is the best way.”

“It's illegal,” said Mucia Tertia unexpectedly.

“No,” said Caesar before Young Marius could answer. “It's against the established custom and even against the lex Villia annalis, but it's not exactly illegal. It could only become prosecutably illegal if your husband usurped the position against the will of Senate and People. Senate and People can legislate to nullify the lex Villia. And that is what will happen. Senate and People will procure the necessary legislation, which means the only one who will declare it illegal is Sulla.”

A silence fell. “That is the worst of it,” said Julia, voice faltering. “You'll be in the field against Sulla.”

“I would have been in the field against Sulla anyway, Mama,” said Young Marius.

“But not as the inaugurated representative of Senate and People. To be consul is to accept ultimate responsibility. You will be leading Rome's armies.” A tear trickled down Julia's cheek. “You'll be the focus of Sulla's thoughts, and he is the most formidable man! I don't know him as well as your Aunt Aurelia does, Gaius, but I know him quite well enough. I've even liked him, in the days when he used to take care of your father-he did, you know. He used to smooth over the little awkwardnesses which always seemed to happen around your father. A more patient and perceptive man than your father. A man of some honor too. But your father and Lucius Cornelius share one very important factor in common-when all else fails, from constitution to popular support, they are-or should that be were?-both capable of going to whatever lengths are necessary to achieve their aims. That's why both of them have marched on Rome in the past. And that is why Lucius Cornelius will march on Rome again if Rome takes this course, elects you consul. The very fact of your election will tell him that Rome intends to fight him to the end, that there can be no peaceful resolution.” She sighed, wiped the tear away. “Sulla is why I wish you'd change your mind, dear Gaius. If you had his years and background, you might possibly win. But you do not. You cannot win. And I will lose my one and only child.”

It was the plea of a reasonable and mature adult; Young Marius was neither, and his face as he listened to this heartfelt speech only set. His lips parted to answer.

“Well, Mater,” said Caesar, getting in first, “as Aunt Julia says, you know Sulla better than any of the rest of us! How do you feel about it?”

Little discomposed Aurelia, and she had no intention of telling them the details of her last discomposure: that awful, tragic encounter with Sulla in his camp. “It is true, I do know Sulla well. I've even seen him within the last six months, as all of you know. But in the old days I was always the last person he saw before he left Rome, and the first person he saw when he came back. Between his goings and his comings, I hardly saw him at all. That is typical of Sulla. At heart he's an actor. He can't live without drama. And he knew how to make an otherwise innocuous situation pregnant with meaning. That's why he chose to see me at the moments he did. It invested my presence in his life with more color, more significance. Instead of a simple visit to a lady with whom he liked to talk of relatively unimportant things, each visit became a farewell or a reunion. He endowed me with portent, I think it would be fair to say that.”

Caesar smiled at her. “You haven't answered my question, Mater,” he said gently.

“Nor I have,” said that extraordinary woman without alarm or guilt. “I will proceed to do so.” She looked at Young Marius sternly. “What you must understand is that if you face Sulla as the inaugurated representative of the Senate and People-that is, as consul-you will endow yourself with portent as far as Sulla is concerned. Your age combined with the identity of your father Sulla will use to heighten the drama of his struggle to achieve dominance in Rome. All of which is scant comfort to your mother, nephew. For her sake, give up this idea! Face Sulla on the field as just another military tribune.”

“How do you feel?” asked Young Marius of Caesar.

“I say-do it, cousin. Be consul ahead of your year.”

“Lia?”

She turned troubled eyes toward her Aunt Julia and said, “Please don't do it, cousin!”

“Ju-Ju?”

“I agree with my sister.”

“Wife?”

“You must go with your fortune.”

“Strophantes?”

The old steward sighed. “Domine, do not do it!”

With nods that rocked his upper body gently, Young Marius sat back on his chair and flung an arm along its tall back. He pursed his mouth, blew through his nostrils softly. “Well, no surprises, at any rate,” he said. “My female relatives and my steward exhort me not to step out of my time and status and imperil my person. Perhaps my aunt is trying to say that I will also imperil my reputation. My wife puts it all on the lap of Fortune-am I one of Fortune's favorites? And my cousin says I must go ahead.”

He got to his feet, a not unimposing presence. “I will not go back on my word to Gnaeus Papirius Carbo and Marcus Junius Brutus. If Marcus Perperna agrees to enroll me in the Senate, and the Senate agrees to procure the necessary legislation, I will declare myself a candidate for the consulship.”

“You haven't really told us why,” said Aurelia.

“I would have thought that was obvious. Rome is desperate. Carbo can find no suitable colleague. So where did he turn? To the son of Gaius Marius. Rome loves me! Rome needs me! That is why,” said the young man.

Only the oldest and loyalest of retainers would have found the courage to say what Strophantes did, speaking not only for the stricken mother, but for the father who was dead: “It is your father Rome loves, domine. Rome turns to you because of your father. Rome doesn't know you, except that you are the son of the man who saved her from the Germans, who won the first victories in the war against the Italians, and who was consul seven times. If you do this thing, it will be because you are your father's son, not because you are yourself.”

Young Marius loved Strophantes, as the steward well knew; considering its implications, he took the steward's speech very well. His lips tightened, that was all. When Strophantes was done, he merely said, “I know. It is up to me to show Rome that Young Marius is the equal of his dear old dad.”

Caesar looked at the floor, said nothing. Why, he was asking himself, didn't the crazy old man give the laena and apex of the flamen Dialis to someone else? I could do it. But Young Marius never will.

And so toward the end of December the electors in their Centuries met upon the Campus Martius in the place called after a sheepfold, and voted in Young Marius as senior consul, with Gnaeus Papirius Carbo as his junior colleague. The very fact that Young Marius polled far higher than did Carbo was an indication of Rome's desperation, her fears as well as her doubts. However, many who voted genuinely felt that something of Gaius Marius must have rubbed off on his son, and that under Young Marius victory against Sulla was a strong possibility.

In one respect the electoral results had highly gratifying consequences; recruitment, especially in Etruria and Umbria, accelerated at once. The sons and grandsons of Gaius Marius's clients flocked to join the son's legions, suddenly much lighter of heart, full of new confidence. And when Young Marius visited the enormous estates of his father, he was hailed as a savior, feted, adored.