The Grass Crown (18 page)

“Didn’t Hannibal help to design Artaxata?” asked Mithridates.

“So they say,” said Tigranes shortly, and went back to his dreams of empire. “It is my ambition to extend Armenia southward to Egypt and westward to Cilicia. I want access to the Middle Sea, I want trade routes, I want warmer lands for growing grain, I want to hear every citizen of my kingdom speaking Greek.” He stopped, wet his lips. “How does that sit with you, Mithridates?”

“It sits well, Tigranes,” said the King of Pontus easily. “I will guarantee to give you support and soldiers to achieve your aims—if you will support me when I move westward to take the Roman province of Asia Minor away from the Romans. You may have Syria, Commagene, Osrhoene, Sophene, Gordyene, Palestina, and Nabataea. I will take all Anatolia, including Cilicia.”

Tigranes didn’t hesitate. “When?” he asked eagerly.

Mithridates smiled, sat back in his chair. “When the Romans are too busy to take much notice of us,” he said. “We’re young, Tigranes, we can afford to wait. I know Rome. Sooner or later Rome will become embroiled in a western war, or in Africa. And then we will move.”

To seal their pact Mithridates produced his eldest daughter by his dead queen, Laodice, a fifteen-year-old child named Cleopatra, and offered her to Tigranes as his wife. As yet Armenia had no queen, so he seized upon the match avidly; Cleopatra would become Queen of Armenia, a pledge of great significance, as it meant a grandson of Mithridates would fall heir to the throne of Armenia. When the golden-haired, golden-eyed child set eyes upon her husband-to-be, she wept in terror at his alien appearance; Tigranes made an enormous concession for one brought up in a claustrophobic oriental court of beards—real and artificial—and of curls—real and artificial—by shaving off his beard and cutting his long hair. His bride discovered that he was after all a handsome fellow, and put her hand in his, and smiled. Dazzled by so much fairness, Tigranes thought himself very lucky; it was perhaps the last time in his life he was to feel anything akin to humility.

Gaius Marius was profoundly glad to find his wife and son and their little Tarsian escort safe and well, and happily espousing the life of nomad shepherds; Young Marius had even learned quite a few words of the strange-sounding tongue the nomads spoke, and had become very expert with his sheep.

“Look, tata!” he said when he had brought his father to the place where his small collection of animals was grazing, close-fitting coats of kidskin covering the wool from the elements and burrs. Picking up a small stone, he threw it accurately just to one side of the leading beast; the whole flock stopped grazing at once, and obediently lay down. “See? They know that’s the signal to lie down. Isn’t it clever?”

“It certainly is,” said Marius, and looked down at his boy, so strong and attractive and brown. “Are you ready to go, my son?”

Dismay filled the big grey eyes. “Go?”

“We have to leave for Tarsus at once.”

Young Marius blinked to stem the tears, gazed adoringly at his sheep, sighed. “I’m ready, tata,” he said.

Julia edged her donkey alongside Marius’s tall Cappadocian horse as soon as she could after they got under way. “Can you tell me yet what was worrying you so?” she asked. “And why have you sent Morsimus ahead of us now in such a hurry?”

“Cappadocia has been the victim of a coup,” said Marius. “King Mithridates has installed his own son on the throne, with his father-in-law as the boy’s regent. The little Cappadocian lad who was the king is dead, I suspect killed by Mithridates. However, there’s not much I or Rome can do about it, more’s the pity.”

“Did you see the proper king before he died?”

“No. I saw Mithridates.”

Julia shivered, glanced at her husband’s set face. “He was there in Mazaca? How did you escape?”

Marius’s expression changed to surprise. “Escape? It wasn’t necessary to escape, Julia. Mithridates might be the ruler of the whole of the eastern half of the Euxine Sea, but he’d never dare to harm Gaius Marius!”

“Then why are we moving so fast?” asked Julia shrewdly.

“To give him no opportunity to start haboring ideas of harming Gaius Marius,” her husband said, grinning.

“And Morsimus?”

“Very prosaic, I’m afraid, meum mel. Tarsus will be even hotter now, so I’ve sent him to find us a ship. The moment we get to Tarsus we sail. But in a leisurely manner. We’ll spend a lovely summer exploring the Cilician and Pamphylian coasts, take that trip up into the mountains to visit Olba. I know I hustled you past Seleuceia Trachea on our way to Tarsus, but there’s no hurry now. As you’re a descendant of Aeneas, it’s fitting you should say hello to the descendants of Teucer. And they say there are several glorious lakes in the high Taurus above Attaleia, so we’ll visit them too. Is that to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, yes!”

This program being faithfully carried out, Gaius Marius and his family did not reach Halicarnassus until January, having pottered happily along a coastline renowned for its beauty and isolation. Of pirates they saw none, even at Coracesium, where Marius had the pleasure of climbing the mountainous spur on which stood the old pirate fortress, and finally worked out how to take it.

Halicarnassus seemed like home to Julia and Young Marius, who no sooner disembarked than were walking about the city reacquainting themselves with its delights. Marius himself sat down to decipher two letters, one from Lucius Cornelius Sulla in Nearer Spain, the other from Publius Rutilius Rufus in Rome.

When Julia came into his study, she found Marius frowning direfully.

“Bad news?” she asked.

The frown was replaced by a slightly wicked twinkle, then Marius composed his face to an expression of bland innocence. “I wouldn’t say bad news.”

“Is there any good news?”

“Absolutely splendid tidings from Lucius Cornelius! Our lad Quintus Sertorius has won the Grass Crown.”

Julia gasped. “Oh, Gaius Marius, how wonderful!”

“Twenty-eight years old… He’s a Marian, of course.”

“How did he win it?” Julia asked, smiling.

“By saving an army from annihilation, of course. that’s the only way one can win the corona obsidionalis.”

“Don’t be smart, Gaius Marius! You know what I mean.”

Marius relented. “Last winter he and the legion he commands were sent to Castulo to garrison the place, along with a legion seconded from Publius Licinius Crassus in Further Spain. Crassus’s troops got out of hand, with the result that Celtiberian forces penetrated the city’s defenses. And our dear lad covered himself in glory! Saved the city, saved both legions, won the Grass Crown.”

“I shall have to write him my congratulations. I wonder does his mother know? Do you think he would have told her?”

“Probably not. He’s too modest. You write to Ria.”

“I shall. What else does Lucius Cornelius have to say?”

“Not much.” A growl rumbled out of Marius. “He’s not happy. But then, he never is! His praise of Quintus Sertorius is generous, yet I think he’d rather have won the Grass Crown himself. Titus Didius won’t let him command in the field.”

“Oh, poor Lucius Cornelius! Whyever not?”

“Too valuable,” said Marius laconically. “He’s a planner.”

“Does he say anything about Quintus Sertorius’s German wife?”

“He does, as a matter of fact. She and the child are living in a big Celtiberian fortress town called Osca.”

“What about his own German wife, those twin boys she had?”

Marius shrugged. “Who knows? He never speaks of them.”

A little silence fell; Julia gazed out the window. Then she said, “I wish he did speak of them. It isn’t natural, somehow. I know they’re not Roman, that he can’t possibly bring them to Rome. And yet—surely he must have some feeling for them!”

Marius chose not to comment. “Publius Rutilius’s letter is very long and newsy,” he said provocatively.

“Is it fit for my ears to hear?”

Marius chuckled. “Eminently! Especially the conclusion.”

“Then read, Gaius Marius, read!”

“Greetings from Rome, Gaius Marius. I write this in the New Year, having been promised a very quick trip for my missive by none other than Quintus Granius of Puteoli. Hopefully it will find you in Halicarnassus, but if it does not, it will find you sooner or later.

“You will be pleased to know that Quintus Mucius staved off threat of prosecution, largely thanks to his eloquence in the Senate, and to supporting speeches by his cousin Crassus Orator and none other than Scaurus Princeps Senatus, who finds himself in agreement with everything Quintus Mucius and I did in Asia Province. As we expected, it was harder to deal with the Treasury than with the publicani; give a Roman businessman his due, he can always see commercial sense, and our new arrangements for Asia Province make sound commercial sense. It was chiefly the art collectors who wailed, Sextus Perquitienus in particular. The statue of Alexander he took from Pergamum has mysteriously disappeared from his peristyle, perhaps because Scaurus Princeps Senatus used his filching it as one of the most telling points in his address to the House. Anyway, the Treasury eventually subsided, muttering, and the censors recalled the Asian contracts. From now on, the taxes of Asia Province will be based upon the figures Quintus Mucius and I produced. However, I do not want to give you the impression that all is forgiven, even by the publicani. A well-regulated province is difficult to exploit, and there are plenty among the tax-farmers who would still like to exploit Asia Province. The Senate has agreed to send more distinguished men to govern there, which will help keep the publicani down.

“We have new consuls. None other than Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator and my own dear Quintus Mucius Scaevola. Our urban praetor is Lucius Julius Caesar, who has replaced that extraordinary New Man, Marcus Herennius. I’ve never seen anyone with more voter appeal than Marcus Herennius, though why escapes me. But all they have to do is see Herennius, and they start crying out to vote for him. A fact which did not please that slimy piece of work you had working for you when he was a tribune of the plebs—I mean Lucius Marcius Philippus. When all the votes for praetor were counted a year ago, there was Herennius at the top of the poll and Philippus at the very bottom. Of the six who got in, I mean. Oh, the wails and whines and whimpers! This year’s lot are not nearly as interesting. Last year’s praetor peregrinus, Gaius Flaccus, drew attention to himself by giving the full Roman citizenship to a priestess of Ceres in Velia, one Calliphana. All Rome is still dying to know why—but we all can guess!

“Our censors Antonius Orator and Lucius Flaccus, having finished the letting of the contracts (complicated by the activities of two people in Asia Province, which slowed them down quite a bit!), then scanned the senatorial rolls and found no one reprehensible, after which they scrutinized the knights, same result. Now they are moving toward a full census of the Roman People everywhere in the world, they say. No Roman citizen will escape their net, they say.

“With that laudable purpose in mind, they have set up their booth on the Campus Martius to do Rome. To do Italy, they have assembled an amazingly well organized force of clerks whose duty will be to go to every town in the peninsula and take a proper census. I approve, though there are many who do not; the old way—of having rural citizens go through the duumviri of their municipality and provincial citizens go through the governor—should be good enough. But Antonius and Flaccus insist their way will be better, so their way it is. I gather, however, that the provincial citizens will still have to go through their various governors. The fogies of course are predicting that the results will be the same as they always are.

“And a little provincial news, since you are in that neck of the world, but may not have heard. The eighth Antiochus of Syria, nicknamed Grypus Hook-nose, has been murdered by his cousin—or is it his uncle?—or his half brother?—the ninth Antiochus of Syria, nicknamed Cyzicenus. Whereupon the wife of Grypus, Cleopatra Selene of Egypt, promptly married his murderer, Cyzicenus! I wonder how much weeping she did between being widowed and remarried? However, this news does at least mean that for the moment northern Syria is under the rule of a single king.

“Of more interest to Rome is the death of one of the Ptolemies. Ptolemy Apion, bastard son of horrible old Ptolemy Gross Belly of Egypt, has just died in Cyrene. He was, you may recollect, the King of Cyrenaica. But he died without an heir. And you’ll never guess! He willed the Kingdom of Cyrenaica to Rome! Old Attalus of Pergamum has started a fashion. What a nice way to end up ruling the world, Gaius Marius. Left everything in a will.

“I do hope you decide to come home this year! Rome is a very lonely place without you, and I don’t even have Piggle-wiggle to complain about. There is the most peculiar rumor going around, incidentally—that Piggle-wiggle died as the result of being poisoned! The originator of the rumor is none other than that fashionable physician practitioner on the Palatine, Apollodorus Siculus. When Piggle-wiggle took ill, Apollodorus was summoned. Apparently he wasn’t happy about the death, so he asked for an autopsy. The Piglet refused, his tata Piggle-wiggle was burned, and his ashes put in a hideously ornate tomb, and all that was many moons ago. But our little Greek from Sicily has been doing some research, and now he insists that Piggle-wiggle drank a very nasty brew decocted from crushed peach seeds! The Piglet rightly says that no one had a motive, and has threatened to haul Apollodoras into court if he doesn’t stop going around saying Piggle-wiggle was poisoned. No one—even I!—thinks for one moment that the Piglet did his tata in, and who else is there, I ask you?

“One final delicious snippet, and I will leave you in peace. Family gossip, though it’s become the talk of Rome. Her husband having come home from abroad and seen the bright red hair of his new son, my niece has been divorced for adultery!

“Further details of this will be forthcoming when I see you in Rome. I will make an offering to the Lares Permarini for your safe return.”

Putting the letter down as if it burned, Marius looked at his wife. “Well, what do you think of that little bit of news?” he asked. “Your brother Gaius has divorced Aurelia for adultery! Apparently she’s had another boy—a boy with bright red hair! Oh ho ho ho! Three guesses who’s the father, eh?”

Julia was gaping, literally unable to find anything to say. A bright tide of red flooded into the skin of neck and head, her lips thinned. Then she began to shake her head, and went on shaking it until finally she found words. “It’s not true! It can’t be true! I don’t believe it!”

“Well, her uncle’s the one telling us. Here,” said Marius, and thrust the last part of Rutilius Rufus’s letter at Julia.

She took the scroll from him and began to work on separating the endless row of continuous letters into words, her voice sounding hollow, unnatural. Over and over she read the brief message, then put the letter down.

“It is not Aurelia,” she said firmly. “I will never believe it is Aurelia!”

“Who else could it be? Bright red hair, Julia! that’s the brand marked Lucius Cornelius Sulla, not Gaius Julius Caesar!”

“Publius Rutilius has other nieces,” said Julia stubbornly.

“On close terms with Lucius Cornelius? Living all alone in Rome’s worst slum?”

“How would we know? It’s possible.”

“So are flying pigs to a Pisidian,” said Marius.

“What’s living all alone in Rome’s worst slum got to do with it, anyway?” Julia demanded.

“Easy to carry on an affair undetected,” said Marius, who was highly amused. “At least until you produce a little red-haired cuckoo in the family nest!”

“Oh, stop wallowing’.” cried Julia, disgusted. “I do not believe it, I will not believe it.” Another idea occurred to her. “Besides, it can’t be my brother Gaius. He isn’t due to come home yet, and if he had come home, you would have heard. It’s your work he’s doing.” She looked at Marius with a minatory eye. “Well? Isn’t that true, husband?”

“He probably wrote to me in Rome,” said Marius feebly.

“After I wrote to tell him we’d be away for three years? And giving him our approximate whereabouts? Oh, come now, Gaius Marius, admit it’s highly unlikely to be Aurelia!”