The Grass Crown (32 page)

“I will be that tribune of the plebs,” said Drusus firmly.

“Good! Good! No one will be able to accuse you of being a demagogue, or of wooing the Third and Fourth Classes. You will be well above the usual age for a tribune of the plebs, therefore will present as someone mature, responsible. You are the son of a most conservative censor, and the only liberal tendency you have is your well-known sympathy for the Italians,” said Marius, pleased.

“But not yet,” said Rutilius Rufus strongly. “We must wait, Gaius Marius! We must lobby, we must secure support in every sector of the Roman community first—and that is going to take several years. I don’t know whether you noticed it, but the crowds outside the Curia Hostilia today proved to me what I have always suspected—that opposition to Italian enfranchisement is not limited to the top. It’s one of those odd issues where Rome is united from the top all the way down to the capite censi Head Count—and where, unless I’m mistaken, the Latin Rights citizens are also on Rome’s side.”

“Exclusivity,” said Marius, nodding. “Everyone likes being better than the Italians. I think it’s very possible that this sense of superiority is more entrenched among the lower Classes than it is among the elite. We’ll have to enlist Lucius Decumius.”

“Lucius Decumius?” asked Drusus, knitting his brows.

“A very low fellow I am acquainted with,” said Marius, grinning. “However, he has a great deal of clout in his low way. And as he is utterly devoted to my sister-in-law Aurelia, I shall endeavor to enlist her so she in turn can enlist him.”

Drusus’s frown grew darker. “I doubt you’ll have much luck with Aurelia,” he said. “Didn’t you see her older brother, Lucius Aurelius Cotta, up there on the praetors’ part of the platform? He was cheering and clapping with the rest. And so was his uncle, Marcus Aurelius Cotta.”

“Rest easy, Marcus Livius, she’s not nearly as hidebound as her male relatives,” said Rutilius Rufus, looking besotted. “That young woman has a mind of her own, and she’s tied by marriage to the most unorthodox and radical branch of the Julii Caesares. We will enlist Aurelia, never fear. And, through her, we will also enlist Lucius Decumius.”

There was a light knock on. the door; Julia floated in, surrounded by the gauziest of linen draperies, purchased on Cos. Like Marius, she looked splendidly brown and fit.

“Marcus Livius, my dear fellow,” she said, coming to slip her arms about him as she stood behind his chair and leaned her head down to kiss his cheek. “I shan’t unman you by being too maudlin, I just want you to know how very sorry I am, and to tell you that there is always a warm welcome for you here.”

And, so soothing was her presence, so strong her radiated sympathy, that Drusus found himself exquisitely comforted, and felt revived rather than cast down by her condolences. He reached up to take her hand, and kissed it. “I thank you, Julia.”

She sat in the chair Rutilius Rufus brought for her and accepted a cup of lightly watered wine, absolutely sure of her welcome in this male group, though it must have been obvious to her as she came in that the discussion had been deep and serious.

“The lex Licinia Mucia,” she said.

“Quite right, mel,” said Marius, gazing at her adoringly, more in love with her now than he had been when he married her. “However, we’ve gone as far as we can at the moment. Though I shall need you. I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

“I shall do whatever I can,” she said, clasped Drusus on the forearm and shook it, beginning to laugh. “You, Marcus Livius, indirectly broke up our holiday!”

“How could I possibly have done that?” asked Drusus, smiling.

“Blame me,” said Rutilius Rufus with a wicked chuckle.

“I do!” said Julia, darting a fierce look at him. “Your uncle, Marcus Livius, wrote to us in Halicarnassus last January and told us that his niece had just been divorced for adultery, having given birth to a red-haired son!”

“It’s all true,” said Drusus, his smile growing.

“Yes, but the trouble is, he has another niece—Aurelia! And, though you may not know it, there was a little gossip in the family about her friendship with a certain red-haired man who is now serving as senior legate to Titus Didius in Nearer Spain. So when we read your uncle’s cryptic comment, my husband assumed he was talking about Aurelia. And I insisted on coming home because I would have offered my life as a bet that Aurelia would not involve herself with Lucius Cornelius Sulla beyond simple friendship. When we got here, I learned that we had been worried about the wrong niece! Publius Rutilius tricked us brilliantly.” She laughed again.

“I was missing you,” said Rutilius Rufus impenitently.

“Families,” said Drusus, “can be a dreadful nuisance. But I must admit that Marcus Porcius Cato Salonianus is a more likable man by far than Quintus Servilius Caepio. And Livia Drusa is happy.”

“Then all’s well,” said Julia.

“Yes,” said Drusus. “All is well.”

Quintus Poppaedius Silo was traveling from place to place during the days which intervened between the first discussion of the lex Licinia Mucia and its passage into law by a virtually unanimous vote of the tribes in the Assembly of the Whole People. So it was from Gaius Papius Mutilus that Silo learned of the new law, when he arrived in Bovianum.

“Then it’s war,” he said to Mutilus, face set.

“I am afraid so, Quintus Poppaedius.”

“We must call a council of all the national leaders.”

“It is already in train.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Where the Romans will never think of looking,” said Papius Mutilus. “In Grumentum, ten days from now.”

“Excellent!” cried Silo. “Inland Lucania is a place no Roman ever thinks of for any reason. There aren’t any Roman landlords or latifundia within a day’s ride of Grumentum.”

“Nor any resident Roman citizens, more importantly.”

“How will we get rid of visiting Romans, should any turn up?” asked Silo, frowning.

“Marcus Lamponius has it all worked out,” said Mutilus with a faint smile. “Lucania is brigand territory. So any visiting Romans will be captured by brigands. After the council is over, Marcus Lamponius will cover himself in glory by securing their release without payment of ransom.”

“Clever! When do you yourself intend to start out?”

“Four days from now.” Mutilus linked his arm through Silo’s and strolled with him into the peristyle-garden of his large and elegant house; for, like Silo, Mutilus was a man of property, taste, education. “Tell me what happened during this trip of yours to Italian Gaul, Quintus Poppaedius.”

“I found things pretty much as Quintus Servilius Caepio led me to believe two and a half years ago,” said Silo contentedly. “A whole series of neat-looking little towns scattered up the River Medoacus beyond Patavium, and up both the Sontius and the Natiso above Aquileia. The iron is shipped overland from that part of Noricum near Noreia, but most of its journey is by water—down an arm of the Dravus, then it’s portaged across the watershed to the Sontius and the Tiliaventus, where it goes the rest of the way by water also. The settlements highest up the rivers are devoted to the production of charcoal, which is sent down to the steel settlements by water. I posed as a Roman praefectus fabrum when I visited the area—and I paid in cash, which everyone grabbed at. Sufficient cash, I add, to ensure that they’ll work madly to complete my order. And, as I turned out to be the first serious client they had seen, they’re very happy to go on making arms and armaments exclusively for me.”

Mutilus looked apprehensive. “Are you sure it was wise to pose as a Roman praefectus fabrum?” he asked. “What happens if a real Roman praefectus fabrum walks in? He’ll know you’re not what you purported to be—and notify Rome.”

“Rest easy, Gaius Papius, I covered my tracks very well,” said Silo, unperturbed. “You must understand that because of me it is not necessary for these new settlements to search for business. Roman orders go to established places like Pisae and Populonia. Whereas shipping from Patavium and Aquileia, our armaments can be transported down the Adriatic to Italian ports the Romans don’t use. No Roman will get a whiff of our cargoes, let alone learn that eastern Italian Gaul is in the armaments business. Roman activity lies in the west, on the Tuscan Sea.”

“Can eastern Italian Gaul take on more business?”

“Definitely! The busier the area becomes, the more smiths it will attract. I’ll say this for Quintus Servilius Caepio, he’s got a wonderful little scheme going.”

“What about Caepio? He’s no friend to the Italians!”

“But cagey,” said Silo, grinning. “It’s no part of his plans to advertise his business ventures inside Rome—he’s just trying to hide the Gold of Tolosa in out-of-the-way corners. And he works well shielded from senatorial scrutiny, which means he’s not going to be vetting anything beyond the account books too thoroughly. Nor visiting his investments too often. It surprised me when he demonstrated a talent for this sort of thing—his blood is much higher quality than his thinking apparatus under every other circumstance. No, we don’t need to worry too much about Quintus Servilius Caepio! As long as the sesterces keep tinkling into his moneybags, he’ll stay very quiet and very happy.”

“Then what we have to do is concentrate upon finding more money,” said Mutilus, and ground his teeth together. “By all our old Italian gods, Quintus Poppaedius, it would afford me and mine enormous satisfaction to stamp Rome and Romans out of existence!”

But the next day Mutilus was made to suffer the presence of a Roman, for Marcus Livius Drusus arrived in Bovianum, hot on the trail of Silo, and full of news.

“The Senate is busy drawing lots to empanel judges for these special courts right now,” said Drusus, uneasy because he was inside a chronic hotbed of insurrection like Bovianum, and hoping he had not been seen coming here.

“Do they really intend to enforce the provisions of the lex Licinia Mucia?” asked Silo, still hardly able to believe it.

“They do,” said Drusus grimly. “I’m here to tell you that you have about six market intervals to do what you can to cushion the blow. By seasonal summer the quaestiones will be in session, and every place where a quaestio sits will be plastered with posters advertising the joys and financial rewards of laying information. There’ll be many a nasty type raring to earn four or eight or twelve thousand sesterces—and some will make their fortunes, I predict. It’s a disgrace, I agree, but the Whole People—yes, patricians as well as plebeians!—passed that wretched law well-nigh unanimously.”

“Where will the closest court to me be situated?” asked Mutilus, his face ugly.

“Aesernia. In every case the regional quaestio will sit in a Roman or Latin Rights colony.”

“They wouldn’t be game to sit anywhere else.”

A silence fell. Neither Mutilus nor Silo said anything about war, which alarmed Drusus more than if they had talked of it openly. He knew he had intruded upon the hatching of many plots, but he was caught in a cleft stick; too loyal a Roman not to lodge information about any plots, he was too loyal a friend to Silo to want to learn about any plots. So he held his tongue and concentrated upon doing what he could without impugning his patriotism.

“What do you suggest we do?” asked Mutilus of Drusus.

“As I said, what you can to cushion the blow. Convince those living in Roman or Latin colonies or municipalities that they must flee immediately if they put their names down as Roman citizens without entitlement. They won’t want to move, but you must persuade them to move. If they stay, they’ll be flogged, fined, disbarred, and evicted,” said Drusus.

“They can’t do it!” cried Silo, hands clawing at nothing. “Marcus Livius, there are just too many of these so-called spurious citizens! Surely Rome has to see the sheer volume of enemies she’ll make if she enforces this law! It’s one thing to flog an Italian here and an Italian there, but to flog whole villages and towns of them? Insanity! The country won’t lie down under it, I swear it won’t!”

Drusus put his hands over his ears, shaking his head. “No, Quintus Poppaedius, don’t say it! I beg you, don’t say a word I could construe as treason! I am still a Roman! Truly, I am only here to help you as best I can. Don’t involve me in things I sincerely hope will never bear fruit, please! Get your false citizens out of any place where to stay will lead to discovery. And do it now, while they can at least salvage something of their investments in living among Romans or Latins. It doesn’t matter that everyone will know why they’re leaving as long as they go far enough away to make apprehension difficult. The armed militiamen will be too few and too busy guarding their judges to voyage far afield in search of culprits. One thing you can always rely on—the traditional reluctance of the Senate to spend money. In this situation, it’s your friend. Get your people out! And make sure the full Italian tributes are paid. Don’t let anyone refuse to pay because of a Roman citizenship that isn’t a true one.”

“It will be done,” said Mutilus, who as a Samnite knew how remorseless Roman vengeance could be. “We will bring our people home, and we will look after them.”

“Good,” said Drusus. “That alone will reduce the number of victims.” He fidgeted restlessly. “I cannot stay here, I must be off before noon and reach Casinum before nightfall—a more logical place to find a Livius Drusus than Bovianum. I have land at Casinum.”

“Then go, go!” said Silo nervously. “I wouldn’t have you charged with treason for all the world, Marcus Livius. You’ve been a genuine friend to us, and we appreciate it.”

“I’ll go in a moment,” said Drusus, finding it in him to smile. “First, I want your word that you will not seek recourse in war until there is absolutely no other alternative. I have not given up hope of a peaceful solution, and I now have some powerful allies in the Senate. Gaius Marius is back from abroad and my uncle Publius Rutilius Rufus is also working on your behalf. I swear to you that before too many years have gone by, I will seek office as a tribune of the plebs—and I will then force a general enfranchisement for the whole of Italy though the Plebeian Assembly. But it cannot be done now. We must first gain support for the idea within Rome and among our peers. Especially among the knights. The lex Licinia Mucia may well turn out to be more your friend than your enemy. We think that when its effects are seen, many Romans will shift their sympathy toward the Italian nationals. I am sorry that it will create heroes for your cause in the most painful and costly way—but heroes they will be, and eventually Romans will weep at their plight. So I vow it to you.”