Fortune's Favorites (82 page)

“Completely.”

What Pompey did not explain to Geminius was the ultimate reason for this second chance for Brutus. Kid Butcher was aiming for the command in Spain against Sertorius, and his chances of getting it were much greater if he could find an excuse for not demobilizing. Could he make it appear that Italian Gaul was potentially rebellious right along the length of the Via Aemilia, then he had every excuse for lingering there with his army now that the war was over. He would be far enough away from Rome not to seem to present any threat to the Senate, yet he would still be under arms. Ready to march for Spain.

Geminius did exactly as he was told. When Brutus arrived in the township of Regium Lepidum some distance to the northwest of Mutina, he was welcomed joyfully. As the name of the place indicated, it was populated by clients of the Aemilii Lepidi, and naturally it offered to fight for Brutus if he wished. But before Brutus could answer, Geminius and his five squadrons of cavalry rode in through the open gates. There in the forum of Regium Lepidum, Geminius publicly adjudged Marcus Junius Brutus an enemy of Rome, and cut his head off.

Back went the head to Pompey in Mutina, together with a laconic message from Geminius to the effect that he had surprised Brutus in the act of organizing a fresh insurrection, and that in Geminius's opinion Italian Gaul was unstable.

Off went Pompey's report to the Senate:

For the time being I consider it my duty to garrison Italian Gaul with my two legions of veterans. The troops Brutus commanded I disbanded as disloyal, though I did not punish them beyond removing their arms and armor. And their two eagles of course. I consider the conduct of Regium Lepidum a symptom of the general unrest north of the border, and hope this explains my decision to stay.

I have not dispatched the head of the traitor Brutus with this record of my deeds because he was at the time of his death a governor with a propraetorian imperium, and I don't think the Senate would want to pin it up on the rostra. Instead, I have sent the ashes of body and head to his widow for proper interment. In this I hope I have not erred. It was no part of my intentions to execute Brutus. He brought that fate upon himself.

May I respectfully request that my own imperium be permitted to stand for the time being? I can perform a useful function here in Italian Gaul by holding the province for the Senate and People of Rome.

The Senate under Philippus's skillful guidance pronounced those men who had taken part in Lepidus's rebellion sacer, but because the horrors of the proscriptions still lingered, did not exact any reprisals against their families; the crude pottery jar containing his ashes in her lap, the widow of Marcus Junius Brutus could relax. Her six-year-old son's fortune was safe, though it would be up to her to ensure that he did not suffer political odium when he grew up.

Servilia told the child of his father's death in a way which gave him to understand that he was never to admire or assist his father's murderer, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, the Picentine upstart. The boy listened, nodding solemnly. If the news that he now had no father upset him or grieved him, he gave no sign.

He had not yet sprung into speedy growth, but remained a weedy, undersized little boy with spindly legs and a pouting face. Very dark of hair and eye and olive of skin, he had produced a certain juvenile prettiness which his besotted mama saw as permanent beauty, and his tutor spoke highly of his ability to read and write and calculate (what the tutor did not say, however, was that little Brutus entirely lacked an original bent, and imagination). Naturally Servilia had no intention of ever sending Brutus to school with other boys; he was too sensitive, too intelligent, too precious-someone might pick on him!

Only three members of her family had come to pay their condolences to Servilia, though two of those were, strictly speaking, not close relatives.

After the last of their various parents, grandparents and others had died, the only surviving person linked to them by blood, Uncle Mamercus, had placed the six orphaned children of his brother and sister in the charge of a Servilius Caepio cousin and her mother. These two women, Gnaea and Porcia Liciniana, now came to call-a courtesy Servilia could well have done without. Gnaea remained the dour and silent subordinate of her overpowering mother; at almost thirty years of age, she was even plainer and flatter of chest than she had been in her late adolescence. Porcia Liciniana dominated the conversation. As she had done all of her life.

“Well, Servilia, I never thought to see you a widow at such an early age, and I'm sorry for you,” said this formidable lady. “It always seemed remarkable to me that Sulla spared your husband and his father from the proscription lists, though I assumed that was because of you. It might have been awkward-even for Sulla!-to proscribe the father-in-law of his own son-in-law's niece, but he really ought to have done so. Old Brutus stuck to Gaius Marius and then Carbo like a moth melted into a wax candle. It had to have been his son's marriage to you saved them both. And you would think the son would have learned, wouldn't you? But no! Off he went to serve an idiot like Lepidus! Anyone with any sense could have seen that business would never prosper.”

“Quite so,” said Servilia colorlessly.

“I'm sorry too,” said Gnaea gruffly, contributing her mite.

But the glance Servilia bestowed upon this poor creature held neither love nor pity; Servilia despised her, though she did not loathe her as she did the mother.

“What will you do now?'' asked Porcia Liciniana.

“Marry again as soon as I can.”

“Marry again! That is not fitting for one of your rank. I did not remarry after I was widowed.”

“I imagine no one asked you,” said Servilia sweetly.

Thick-skinned though she was, Porcia Liciniana nonetheless felt the sting of the acid in this statement, and rose majestically to her feet. “I've done my duty and paid my condolences,” she said. “Come, Gnaea, it's time to go. We mustn't hinder Servilia in her search for a new husband.”

“And good riddance to you, you old verpa!” said Servilia to herself after they had gone.

Quite as unwelcome as Porcia Liciniana and Gnaea was her third visitor, who arrived shortly afterward. The youngest of the six orphans, Marcus Porcius Cato was Servilia's half brother through their common mother, sister to Drusus and Mamercus.

“My brother Caepio would have come,” said young Cato in his harsh and unmelodic voice, “except that he's out of Rome with Catulus's army-a contubernalis, if you know that term.”

“I know it,” said Servilia gently.

But the thickness of Porcia Liciniana's skin was as air compared to Marcus Porcius Cato's, so this sally was ignored. He was now sixteen years old and a man, but he still lived in the care of Gnaea and her mother, as did his full sister, Porcia.

Mamercus had sold Drusus's house as too large some time ago; they all occupied Cato's father's house these days.

Though the massive size of his blade-thin eagle's nose would never allow him to be called handsome, Cato was actually a most attractive youth, clear-skinned and wide-shouldered. His large and expressive eyes were a soft grey, his closely cropped hair an off-red that shaded to chestnut, and his mouth quite beautiful. To Servilia, however, he was an absolute monster-loud, slow to learn, insensitive, and so pugnaciously quarrelsome that he had been a thorn in the side of his older siblings from the time he began to walk and talk.

Between them lay ten years of age and different fathers, but more than that; Servilia was a patrician whose family went back to the time of the Kings of Rome, whereas Cato's branch of his family went back to a Celtiberian slave, Salonia, who had been the second wife of Cato the Censor. To Servilia, this slur her mother had brought upon her own and her husband's families was an intolerable one, and she could never set eyes upon any of her three younger siblings without grinding her teeth in rage and shame. For Cato these feelings were undisguised, but for Caepio, supposed to be her own full brother (she knew he was not), what she felt had to be suppressed. For decency's sake. Rot decency!

Not that Cato felt any social stigma; he was inordinately proud of his great-grandfather the Censor, and considered his lineage impeccable. As noble Rome had forgiven Cato the Censor this second marriage (founded as it had been in a sly revenge against his snobbish son by his first wife, a Licinia), young Cato could look forward to a career in the Senate and very likely the consulship.

“Uncle Mamercus turned out to have picked you an unsuitable husband,” said Cato.

“I deny that,” said Servilia in level tones. “He suited me well. He was, after all, a Junius Brutus. Plebeian, perhaps, but absolutely noble on both sides.”

“Why can you never see that ancestry is far less important than a man's deeds?” demanded Cato.

“It is not less important, but more.”

“You're an insufferable snob!”

“I am indeed. I thank the gods for it.”

“You'll ruin your son.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“When he's a bit older I'll take him under my wing. That will knock all the social pretensions out of him!”

“Over my dead body.”

“How can you stop me? The boy can't stay plastered to your skirts forever! Since he has no father, I stand in loco parentis.”

“Not for very long. I shall remarry.”

“To remarry is unbecoming for a Roman noblewoman! I would have thought you would have set out to emulate Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi.”

“I am too sensible. A Roman noblewoman of patrician stock must have a husband to ensure her pre-eminence. A husband, that is, who is as noble as she is.”

He gave vent to a whinnying laugh. “You mean you're going to marry some overbred buffoon like Drusus Nero!”

“It's my sister Lilla who is married to Drusus Nero.”

“They dislike each other.”

“My heart bleeds for them.”

“I shall marry Uncle Mamercus's daughter,” said Cato smugly.

Servilia stared, snorted. “You will not! Aemilia Lepida was contracted to marry Metellus Scipio years ago, when Uncle Mamercus was with his father, Pius, in Sulla's army. And compared to Metellus Scipio, Cato, you're a complete mushroom!”

“It makes no difference. Aemilia Lepida might be engaged to Metellus Scipio, but she doesn't love him. They fight all the time, and who does she turn to when he makes her unhappy? To me, of course! I shall marry her, be sure of it!”

“Is there nothing under the sun that can puncture your unbelievable complacence?” she demanded.

“If there is, I haven't met it,” he said, unruffled.

“Don't worry, it's lying in wait somewhere.”

Came another of those loud, neighing laughs. “You hope!”

“I don't hope. I know.”

“My sister Porcia is all settled,” Cato said, not wanting to change the subject, simply imparting fresh information.

“To an Ahenobarbus, no doubt. Young Lucius?”

“Correct. To young Lucius. I like him! He's a fellow with the right ideas.”

“He's almost as big an upstart as you are.”

“I'm off,” said Cato, and got up.

“Good riddance!” Servilia said again, but this time to its object's face rather than behind his back.

Thus it was that Servilia went to her empty bed that night plunged into a mixture of gloom and determination. So they did not approve of her intention to remarry, did they? So they all considered her finished as a force to be reckoned with, did they?

“They're wrong!” she said aloud, then fell asleep.

In the morning she went to see Uncle Mamercus, with whom she had always got on very well.

“You are the executor of my husband's will,” she said. “I want to know what becomes of my dowry.”

“It's still yours, Servilia, but you won't need to use it now you're a widow. Marcus Junius Brutus has left you sufficient money in your own right to live comfortably, and his son is now a very wealthy young boy.”

“I wasn't thinking of continuing to live alone, Uncle. I want to remarry if you can find me a suitable husband.”

Mamercus blinked. “A rapid decision.”

“There is no point in delaying.”

“You can't marry again for another nine months, Servilia.”

“Which gives you plenty of time to find someone for me,” said the widow. “He must be at least as wellborn and wealthy as Marcus Junius, but preferably somewhat younger.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“So you'd like someone about thirty?”

“That would be ideal, Uncle Mamercus.”

“Not a fortune-hunter, of course.”

She raised her brows. “Not a fortune-hunter!”

Mamercus smiled. “All right, Servilia, I'll start making enquiries on your behalf. It ought not to be difficult. Your birth is superlative, your dowry is two hundred talents, and you have proven yourself fertile. Your son will not be a financial burden for any new husband, nor will you. Yes, I think we ought to be able to do quite well for you!”

“By the way, Uncle,” she said as she rose to go, “are you aware that young Cato has his eye on your daughter?”

“What?”

“Young Cato has his eye on Aemilia Lepida.”

“But she's already engaged-to Metellus Scipio!”

“So I told Cato, but he seems not to regard this engagement as an impediment. I don't think, mind you, that Aemilia Lepida has any idea in her mind of exchanging Metellus Scipio for Cato. But I would not be doing my duty to you, Uncle, if I failed to inform you what Cato is going around saying.”

“They're good friends, it's true,” said Mamercus, looking perturbed, “but he's exactly Aemilia Lepida's age! That usually means girls aren't interested.”

“I repeat, I don't know that she is interested. All I'm saying is that Cato is interested. Nip it in the bud, Uncle- nip it in the bud!”

And that, said Servilia to herself as she emerged into the quiet street on the Palatine where Mamercus and Cornelia Sulla lived, will put you in your place, Marcus Porcius Cato! How dare you look as high as Uncle Mamercus's daughter! Patrician on both sides!

Home she went, very pleased with herself. In many ways she was not sorry that life had served this turn of widowhood upon her; though at the time she married him Marcus Junius Brutus had not seemed too old, eight years of marriage had aged him in her eyes, and she had begun to despair of bearing other children. One son was enough, but there could be no denying several girls would contribute much; if well dowered they would find eligible husbands who would prove of use politically to her son. Yes, the death of Brutus had been a shock. But a grief it was not.