Fortune's Favorites (40 page)

“I am grateful for it,” said Caesar sincerely.

The Dictator brushed this aside. “I want to know why you think Gaius Marius made you the flamen Dialis.”

Caesar paused to choose his words, understanding that his answer must be logical and unemotional.

“Gaius Marius saw a lot of me during the months after he had his second stroke,” he began.

Sulla interrupted. “How old were you?”

“Ten when it started. Almost twelve when it finished.”

“Go on.”

“I was interested in what he had to say about soldiering. I listened very intently. He taught me to ride, use a sword, throw a spear, swim.” Caesar smiled wryly. “I used to have gigantic military ambitions in those days.”

“So you listened very intently.”

“Yes, indeed. And I think that Gaius Marius gained the impression that I wanted to surpass him.”

“Why should he?”

Another rueful look. “I told him I did!”

“All right, now to the flaminate. Expound.”

“I can't give you a logical answer to that, I really can't. Except that I believe he made me flamen Dialis to prevent my having a military or a political career,” said Caesar, very uncomfortably. “That answer isn't all founded in my conceit. Gaius Marius was sick in his mind. He may have imagined it.”

“Well,” said Sulla, face inscrutable, “since he's dead, we'll never know the real answer, will we? However, given that his mind was diseased, your theory fits his character. He was always afraid of being outshone by men who had the birthright. Old and great names. His own name was a new one, and he felt he had been unfairly discriminated against because he was a New Man. Take, for example, my capture of King Jugurtha. He grabbed all the credit for that, you know! My work, my skill! If I had not captured Jugurtha, the war in Africa could never have been ended so expeditiously and finally. Your father's cousin, Catulus Caesar, tried to give me the credit in his memoirs, but he was howled down.”

Not if his life depended upon it would Caesar have betrayed by word or look what he thought of this astonishing version of the capture of King Jugurtha. Sulla had been Marius's legate! No matter how brilliant the actual capture had been, the credit had to go to Marius! It was Marius had sent Sulla off on the mission, and Marius who was the commander of the war. And the general couldn't do everything himself- that was why he had legates in the first place. I think, thought Caesar, that I am hearing one of the early versions of what will become the official story! Marius has lost, Sulla has won. For only one reason. Because Sulla has outlived Marius.

“I see,” said Caesar, and left it at that.

Scuffling a little, Sulla got out of his chair and walked across to the couch where the garb of the flamen Dialis lay. He picked up the ivory helmet with its spike and disc of wool, and tossed it between his hands. “You've lined it well,” he said.

“It's very hot, Lucius Cornelius, and I dislike the feel of sweating,” said Caesar.

“Do you change the lining often?” Sulla asked, and actually lifted the apex to sniff its interior. “It smells sweet. Ye gods, how a military helmet can stink! I've seen horses turn up their noses at the prospect of drinking from a military helmet.”

A faint distaste crossed Caesar's face, but he shrugged, tried to pass it off. “The exigencies of war,” he said lightly.

Sulla grinned. “It will be interesting to see how you cope with those, boy! You're a trifle precious, aren't you?”

“In some ways, perhaps,” said Caesar levelly.

The ivory apex bounced onto the couch. “So you hate the job, eh?” Sulla asked.

“I hate it.”

“Yet Gaius Marius was afraid enough of a boy to hedge him round with it.”

“It would seem so.”

“I remember they used to say in the family that you were very clever-could read at a glance. Can you?”

“Yes.”

Back to the desk: Sulla shuffled his papers and found a single sheet which he tossed at Caesar. “Read that,” he said.

One glance told Caesar why. It was execrably written, with such a squeezing together of the letters and absence of columns that it really did look like a continuous, meaningless squiggle.

“You don't know me Sulla but do I have something to tell you and it is that there is a man from Lucania named Marcus Aponius which has a rich property in Rome and I just want you to know that Marcus Crassus had this man Aponius put on the proscription list so he could buy the property real cheap at auction and that is what he did for two thousand sesterces-A Friend.'' Caesar finished his effortless translation and looked at Sulla, eyes twinkling.

Sulla threw back his head and laughed. “I thought that's what it said! So did my secretary. I thank you, Caesar. But you haven't seen it and you couldn't possibly have read it even if you had seen it.”

“Absolutely!”

“It causes endless trouble when one cannot do everything oneself,” Sulla said, sobering. “That is the worst feature about being Dictator. I have to use agents-the task is too Herculean. The man mentioned in there is someone I trusted. Oh, I knew he was greedy, but I didn't think he'd be so blatant.”

“Everyone in the Subura knows Marcus Licinius Crassus.”

“What, because of his little arsons-the burning insulae?”

“Yes-and his fire brigades which arrive the moment he's bought the property cheaply, and put the fire out. He's becoming the Subura's biggest landlord. As well as the most unpopular. But he won't get his hands on my mother's insula!” vowed Caesar.

“Nor will he get his hands on any more proscription property,” said Sulla harshly. “He impugned my name. I warned him! He did not listen. So I will never see him again. He can rot.”

It was awkward listening to this: what did Caesar care about the troubles a dictator had with his agents? Rome would never see another dictator! But he waited, hoping Sulla would eventually get to the point, and sensing that this roundabout route was Sulla's way of testing his patience-and probably tormenting him too.

“Your mother doesn't know it and nor do you, but I didn't order you killed,” the Dictator said.

Caesar's eyes opened wide. “You didn't? That's not what one Lucius Cornelius Phagites led Ria to believe! He got off with three talents of my mother's money pretending to spare me when I was ill. You've just finished telling me how awful it is to have to use agents because they get greedy. Well, that's as true of the bottom as it is of the top.”

“I'll remember the name, and your mother will get her money back,” said Sulla, obviously angry, “but that is not the point. The point is that I did not order you killed! I ordered you brought before me alive so I could ask you exactly the questions I have asked you.”

“And then kill me.”

“That was my original idea.”

“And now you've given your word that you won't kill me.”

“I don't suppose you've changed your mind about divorcing Cinna's daughter?”

“No. I will never divorce her.”

“So that leaves Rome with a difficult problem. I can't have you killed, you don't want the job, you won't divorce Cinna's daughter because she's your way out of the job-and don't bother trying to give me high-flown explanations about honor and ethics and principles!” Suddenly a look of incredible old age came into the ruined face, the unsupported lips folded and flapped, worked on themselves; he was Cronus contemplating eating his next child whole. “Did your mother tell you what transpired?”

“Only that you spared me. You know her.”

“Extraordinary person, Aurelia. Ought to have been a man.”

Caesar's most charming smile dawned. “So you keep saying! I must admit I'm rather glad she wasn't a man.”

“So am I, so am I! Were she a man, I'd have to look to my laurels.” Sulla slapped his thighs and leaned forward. “So, my dear Caesar, you continue to be a trouble to all of us in the priestly colleges. What are we going to do with you?”

“Free me from my flaminate, Lucius Cornelius. You can do nothing else save kill me, and that would mean going back on your word. I don't believe you would do that.”

“What makes you think I wouldn't break my word?”

Caesar raised his brows. “I am a patrician, one of your own kind! But more than that, I am a Julian. You'd never break your word to one as highborn as I.”

“That is so.” The Dictator leaned back in his chair. “We of the priestly colleges have decided, Gaius Julius Caesar, to free you from your flaminate, just as you have surmised. I can't speak for the others, but I can tell you why I want you freed. I think Jupiter Optimus Maximus does not want you for his special flamen. I think he has other things in mind for you. It is very possible that all of the business about his temple was his way of freeing you. I do not know for sure. I only feel it in my bones-but a man can do far worse than to follow such instincts. Gaius Marius was the longest trial of my life. Like a Greek Nemesis. One way or another, he managed to spoil my greatest days. And for reasons I do not intend to go into, Gaius Marius exerted himself mightily to chain you. I tell you this, Caesar! If he wanted you chained, then I want you freed. I insist upon having the last laugh. And you are the last laugh.”

Never had Caesar conceived of salvation from this unlikely quarter. Because it had been Gaius Marius who chained him, Sulla would see him freed. As he sat there looking at Sulla, Caesar became unshakably convinced that for no other reason was he being released. Sulla wanted the last laugh. So in the end Gaius Marius had defeated himself.

“I and my colleagues of the priestly colleges are now of the opinion that there may have been a flaw in the rituals of your consecration as flamen Dialis. Several of us-not I, but enough others-were present at that ceremony, and none of them can be absolutely certain that there was not a flaw. The doubt is sufficient given the blood-soaked horror of those days, so we have agreed that you must be released. However, we cannot appoint another flamen Dialis while you live, just in case we are mistaken and there was no flaw.” Sulla put both palms down on his desk. “It is best to have an escape clause. To be without a flamen Dialis is a grave inconvenience, but Jupiter Optimus Maximus is Rome, and he likes things to be legal. Therefore while you live, Gaius Julius Caesar, the other flamines will share Jupiter's duties among them.”

He must speak now. Caesar moistened his lips. “This seems a just and prudent course,” he said.

“So we think. It means, however, that your membership in the Senate ceases as of the moment the Great God signifies his consent. In order to obtain his consent, you will give Jupiter Optimus Maximus his own animal, a white bull. If the sacrifice goes well, your flaminate is over. If it should not go well-why, we will have to think again. The Pontifex Maximus and the Rex Sacrorum will preside“-a flicker of antic mirth came and went in the pale cold eyes-”but you will conduct the sacrifice yourself. You will provide a feast for all the priestly colleges afterward, to be held in the temple of Jupiter Stator in the upper Forum Romanum. This offering and feast are in the nature of a piaculum, to atone for the inconveniences the Great God must suffer because he will have no special priest of his own.”

“I am happy to obey,” said Caesar formally.

“If all goes well, you are a free man. You may be married to whomsoever you choose. Even Cinna's brat.”

“I take it then that there has been no change in Cinnilla's citizen status?” asked Caesar coolly.

“Of course there hasn't! If there had been, you'd wear the laena and apex for the rest of your life! I'm disappointed in you, boy, that you even bothered to ask.”

“I asked, Lucius Cornelius, because the lex Minicia will automatically extend to apply to my children by my wife. And that is quite unacceptable. I have not been proscribed. Why should my children suffer?”

“Yes, I see that,” said the Dictator, not at all offended at this straight speaking. “For that reason, I will amend my law to protect men like you. The lex Minicia de liberis will apply only to the children of the proscribed. If any of them are lucky enough to marry a Roman, then their children will be Roman.” He frowned. “It should have been foreseen. It was not. One of the penalties of producing so much legislation so quickly. But the way in which it was drawn to my attention put me publicly in a ridiculous position. All your fault, boy! And your silly uncle, Cotta. The priestly interpretation of my laws anent the other laws of Rome already on the tablets must stand for the children of the proscribed.”

“I'm glad for it,” said Caesar, grinning. “It's got me out of Gaius Marius's clutches.”

“That it has.” Sulla looked brisk and businesslike, and changed the subject. “Mitylene has revolted from Roman tribute. At the moment my proquaestor Lucullus is in the chair, but I have sent my praetor Thermus to govern Asia Province.

His first task will be to put down the revolt of Mitylene. You have indicated a preference for military duty, so I am sending you to Pergamum to join Thermus's staff. I expect you to distinguish yourself, Caesar,” said Sulla, looking his most forbidding. “On your conduct as a junior military tribune rests the final verdict about this whole business. No man in Roman history is more revered than the military hero. I intend to exalt all such men. They will receive privileges and honors not given to others. If you win accolades for bravery in the field, I will exalt you too. But if you do not do well, I will push you down harder and further than Gaius Marius ever could have.”

“That's fair,” said Caesar, delighted at this posting.

“One more thing,” said Sulla, something sly in his gaze. “Your horse. The animal you rode while flamen Dialis, against all the laws of the Great God.”

Caesar stiffened. “Yes?”

“I hear you intend to buy the creature back. You will not. It is my dictate that you will ride a mule. A mule has always been good enough for me. It must also be good enough for you.”

The like eyes looked a like murder. But-oh no! said Gaius Julius Caesar to himself, you won't trap me this way, Sulla! "Do you think, Lucius Cornelius, that I deem myself too good for a mule?” he asked aloud.

“I have no idea what you deem yourself too good for.”

“I am a better rider than any other man I have ever seen,” said Caesar calmly, “while you, according to reports, are just about the worst rider ever seen. But if a mule is good enough for you, it is certainly more than good enough for me. And I thank you sincerely for your understanding. Also your discretion.”