Fortune's Favorites (76 page)

“That doesn't cast you down, Uncle?”

“Why should it? If anything, it cheers me up! Sulla keeps writing to beg me to return to Rome, and every governor and other official he sends out here comes to plead in person.”

“But you won't go.”

“I won't go. I like my chlamys and my Greek slippers much more than I ever liked my toga, and I enjoy a reputation here in Smyrna far greater than any I ever owned in Rome. It's a thankless and savage place, young Caesar-what a look of Aurelia you have! How is she? My ocean pearl found on the mud flats of Ostia ... That was what I always called her. And she's widowed, eh? A pity. I brought her and your father together, you know. And though you may not know it, I found Marcus Antonius Gnipho to tutor you when you were hardly out of diapers. They used to think you a prodigy. And here you are, twenty-one years old, a senator twice over, and Sulla's most prized war hero! Well, well!”

“I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm his most prized war hero,” said Caesar, smiling.

“Oh, but you are! I know! I sit here in Smyrna and hear everything. Sulla writes to me. Always did. And when he was settling the affairs of Asia Province he visited me often-it was I gave him his model for its reorganization. Based it on the program Scaurus and I evolved years ago. Sad, his illness. But it hasn't seemed to stop him meddling with Rome!”

He continued in the same vein for many days, hopping from one subject to another with the lightness of an easy heart and the interest of a born gossip, a spry old bird the years had not managed to strip of plumage or the ability to soar. If he had a favorite topic, that was Aurelia; Caesar filled in the gaps in his knowledge of her with gracefully chosen words and evident love, and learned in return many things about her he had not known. Of her relationship with Sulla, however, Rutilius Rufus had little to tell and refused to speculate, though he had Caesar laughing over the confusion as to which of his nieces had borne a red-haired son to a red-haired man.

“Gaius Marius and Julia were convinced it was Aurelia and Sulla, but it was Livia Drusa, of course, with Marcus Cato.”

“That's right, your wife was a Livia.”

“And the older of my two sisters was the wife of Caepio the Consul, who stole the Gold of Tolosa. You are related to the Servilii Caepiones by blood, young man.”

“I don't know the family at all.”

“A boring lot no amount of Rutilian blood could leaven. Now tell me about Gaius Marius and the flaminate he wished upon you.”

Intending to remain only a few days in Smyrna, Caesar ended in staying for two months; there was so much Rutilius Rufus wanted to know, and so much Rutilius Rufus wanted to tell. When finally he took his leave of the old man, he wept.

“I shall never forget you, Uncle Publius.”

“Just come back! And write to me, Caesar, do. Of all the pleasures my life still holds, there is none to equal a rich and candid correspondence with a genuinely literate man.”

But every idyll must end, and Caesar's came to a conclusion when he received a letter from Tarsus in April of the year Sulla died; he was in Nicomedia.

“Publius Servilius Vatia, who was consul last year, has been sent to govern Cilicia,” Caesar said to the King and Queen. “He requests my services as a junior legate-it seems Sulla has personally recommended me to him.”

“Then you don't have to go,” said Oradaltis eagerly.

Caesar smiled. “No Roman has to do anything, and that is really true from highest to lowest. Service in any institution is voluntary. But there are certain considerations which do tend to influence our decisions, voluntary in name though the duty may be. If I want a public career, I must serve in my ten campaigns, or else steadily for a full six years. No one is ever going to be able to accuse me of circumventing our unwritten laws.”

“But you're already a senator!”

“Only because of my military career. And that in turn means I must continue my military career.”

“Then you're definitely going,” said the King.

“At once.”

“I'll see about a ship.”

“No. I shall ride overland through the Cilician Gates.”

“Then I'll provide you with a letter of introduction to King Ariobarzanes in Cappadocia.”

The palace began to stir, and the dog to mourn; poor Sulla knew the signs that Caesar was about to depart.

And once more Caesar found himself committed to return. The two old people pestered him until he agreed he would, then disarmed him by bestowing Demetrius the hair-plucker upon him.

However, before he left Caesar tried yet again to convince King Nicomedes that the best course for Bithynia after his death would be as a Roman province.

“I'll think about it" was as far as Nicomedes would go.

Caesar now cherished little hope that the old King would decide in favor of Rome; the events in Lampsacus were too fresh in every non-Roman mind-and who could blame the King if he could not face the idea of bequeathing his realm to the likes of Gaius Verres?

The steward Eutychus was sent back to Aurelia in Rome; Caesar traveled with five servants (including Demetrius the hair-plucker) and Burgundus, and traveled hard. He crossed the Sangarius River and rode first to Ancyra, the largest town in Galatia. Here he met an interesting man, one Deiotarus, leader of the segment Tolistobogii.

“We're all quite young these days,” said Deiotarus. “King Mithridates murdered the entire Galatian thanehood twenty years ago, which left our people without chieftains. In most countries that would have led to the disintegration of the people, but we Galatians have always preferred a loose confederation. So we survived until the young sons of the chieftains grew up.”

“Mithridates won't trap you again,” said Caesar, who thought this Gaul was as cunning as he was clever.

“Not while I'm here, anyway,” said Deiotarus grimly. “I at least have had the advantage of spending three years in Rome, so I'm more sophisticated than my father ever was- he died in the massacre.”

“Mithridates will try again.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“You won't be tempted?”

“Never! He's still a vigorous man with many years left to rule, but he seems incapable of learning what I know for a fact-that Rome must win in the end. I would rather be in a position where Rome was calling me Friend and Ally.”

“That's right thinking, Deiotarus.”

On Caesar went to the Halys River, followed its lazy red stream until Mount Argaeus dominated the sky; from here to Eusebeia Mazaca was only forty miles northward across the wide shallow slope of the Halys basin.

Of course he remembered Gaius Marius's many tales of this country, of the vividly painted town lying at the foot of the gigantic extinct volcano, of the brilliant blue palace and that meeting with King Mithridates of Pontus. But these days Mithridates skulked in Sinope and King Ariobarzanes sat more or less firmly on the Cappadocian throne.

Less rather than more, thought Caesar after meeting him. For some reason no one could discover, the kings of Cappadocia had been as weak a lot as the kings of Pontus had been strong. And Ariobarzanes was no exception to the rule. He was patently terrified of Mithridates, and pointed out to Caesar how Pontus had stripped the palace and the capital of every treasure, down to the last golden nail in a door.

“But surely,” said Caesar to the timid king, a small and slightly Syrian-looking man, “the loss of those two hundred thousand soldiers in the Caucasus will strap Mithridates for many years to come. No proprietor of armies can afford the loss of such a huge number of men-especially men who were not only fully trained, but veterans of a good campaign. For they were, isn't that right?”

“Yes. They had fought to regain Cimmeria and the northern reaches of the Euxine Sea for Mithridates the summer before.”

“Successfully, one hears.”

“Indeed. His son Machares was left in Panticapaeum to be satrap. A good choice. I believe his chief task is to recruit a new army for his father.”

“Who prefers Scythian and Roxolanian troops.”

“They are superior to mercenaries, certainly. Both Pontus and Cappadocia are unfortunate in that the native peoples are not good soldiers. I am still forced to rely upon Syrian and Jewish mercenaries, but Mithridates has had hordes of warlike barbarians at his disposal now for almost thirty years.”

“Have you no army at the moment, King Ariobarzanes?”

“At the moment I have no need of one.”

“What if Mithridates marches without warning?”

“Then I will be off my throne once more. Cappadocia, Gaius Julius, is very poor. Too poor to afford a standing army.”

“You have another enemy. King Tigranes.”

Ariobarzanes twisted unhappily. “Do not remind me! His successes in Syria have robbed me of my best soldiers. All the Jews are staying home to resist him.”

“Then don't you think you should at least be watching the Euphrates as well as the Halys?”

“There is no money,” said the King stubbornly.

Caesar rode away shaking his head. What could be done when the sovereign of a land admitted himself beaten before the war began? His quick eyes noticed many natural advantages which would give Ariobarzanes untold opportunities to pounce upon an invader, for the countryside when not filled with towering snowcapped peaks was cut up into the most bizarre gorges, just as Gaius Marius had described. Wonderful places militarily as well as scenically, yet perceived by the King as no more than ready-made housing for his troglodytes.

“How do you feel now that you've seen a great deal more of the world, Burgundus?” Caesar asked his hulking freedman as they picked their way down into the depths of the Cilician Gates between soaring pines and roaring cascades.

“That Rome and Bovillae, Cardixa and my sons are grander than any waterfall or mountain,” said Burgundus.

“Would you rather go home, old friend? I will send you home gladly,” said Caesar.

But Burgundus shook his big blond head emphatically. “No, Caesar, I'll stay.” He grinned. “Cardixa would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“But nothing is going to happen to me!”

“Try and tell her that.”

Publius Servilius Vatia was installed in the governor's palace at Tarsus so comfortably by the time Caesar arrived before the end of April that he looked as if he had always been there.

“We are profoundly glad to have him,” said Morsimus, captain of the Cilician governor's guard and a Tarsian ethnarch.

Dark hair grizzled by the passage of twenty years since he had accompanied Gaius Marius to Cappadocia, Morsimus had been on hand to welcome Caesar, to whom the Cilician felt more loyalty than ever he could to a mere Roman governor; here was the nephew by marriage of both his heroes, Gaius Marius and Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and he would do whatever he could to assist the young man.

“I gather Cilicia suffered greatly under Dolabella and Verres,” said Caesar.

“Terribly. Dolabella was out of his mind on drugs most of the time, which left Verres to do precisely what he fancied.”

“Nothing was done to eject Tigranes from eastern Pedia?”

“Nothing at all. Verres was too preoccupied with usury and extortion. Not to mention the pilfering of temple artifacts he considered wouldn't be missed.”

“I shall prosecute Dolabella and Verres as soon as I go home, so I shall need your help in gathering evidence.”

“Dolabella will probably be in exile by the time you get home,” Morsimus said. “The governor had word from Rome that the son of Marcus Aemilius Scaurus and the lady Dalmatica is assembling a case against Dolabella even now, and that Gaius Verres is covering himself in glory by supplying young Scaurus with all his evidence-and that Verres will testify in court.”

“The slippery fellator! That means I won't be able to touch him. And I don't suppose it matters who prosecutes Dolabella, as long as he gets his just deserts. If I'm sorry it won't be me, that's because I'm late into the courts thanks to my priesthood, and victory against Dolabella and Verres would have made me famous.” He paused, then said, “Will Vatia move against King Tigranes?”

“I doubt it. He's here specifically to eliminate pirates.”

A statement confirmed by Vatia himself when Caesar sought an interview. An exact contemporary of Metellus Pius the Piglet (who was his close cousin into the bargain), Vatia was now fifty years old. Originally Sulla had intended that Vatia be consul with Gnaeus Octavius Ruso nine years earlier, but Cinna had beaten him in that election, and Vatia, like Metellus Pius, had had to wait a long time for the consulship which was his by birthright. His reward for unswerving loyalty to Sulla had been the governorship of Cilicia; he had preferred this province to the other consular province, Macedonia, which had in consequence gone to his colleague in the consulship, Appius Claudius Pulcher.

“Who never got to Macedonia,” said Vatia to Caesar. “He fell ill in Tarentum on his way, and returned to Rome. Luckily this happened before the elder Dolabella had left Macedonia, so he's been instructed to stay there until Appius Claudius is well enough to relieve him.”

“What's the matter with Appius Claudius?”

“Something long-standing, is all I know. He wasn't a fit man during our consulship-never cheered up no matter what I said! But he's so impoverished he has to govern. If he doesn't, he won't be able to repair his fortune.”

Caesar frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself. These dwelt upon the limitations inherent in a system which virtually forced a man sent to govern a province into a career of clerical crime; tradition had hallowed the right of a governor to sell citizenships, contracts, immunities from taxation and tithe, and pop the proceeds into his own hungry purse. Senate and Treasury unofficially condoned these activities in order to keep Rome's costs down, one of the reasons why it was so hard to get a jury of senators to convict a governor of extortion in his province. But exploited provinces meant hatred of Rome, a rolling reckoning for the future.

“I take it we are to go to war against the pirates, Publius Servilius?'' Caesar asked.

“Correct,” said the governor, surrounded by stacks of paper; clearly he enjoyed the clerical side of his duties, though he was not a particularly avaricious man and did not need to augment his fortune by provincial exploitation. Particularly when he was to go to war against the pirates, whose ill-gotten gains would give the governor of Cilicia plenty of legitimate spoils.