The Grass Crown (66 page)

“They must have a proper home,” said Mamercus.

“They already have a proper home.”

That Mamercus gave in was not evidence of weakness, simply that he was a practical man and saw the inadvisability of overruling Claudia. Did he bring them home after this declaration of war, their plight would be worse. He couldn’t be inside his house all day every day, and Claudia’s reaction indicated that she would make it her business to take out her resentment at being saddled with them on them at every opportunity.

He went to see Marcus Aemilius Scaurus Princeps Senatus, who was admittedly not an Aemilius Lepidus, but was the senior Aemilius in the whole gens. Scaurus was also co-executor of Drusus’s will, and sole executor of Caepio’s will. Therefore it was Scaurus’s duty to do what he could about the children. Mamercus felt wretched. The death of his mother was a colossal blow to him, for he had always known her, always lived with her until she went to Drusus—which she had done, come to think of it just after he had married his Claudia and brought her home! Not one word of disparagement of Claudia had she ever uttered. But, looking back, how glad Cornelia Scipionis must have been to have a perfect excuse to move out.

By the time Mamercus reached the house of Marcus Aemilius Scaurus he had fallen out of love with Claudia Mamercus and would never replace that emotion with a friendlier, more comfortable kind of love. Until today he would have deemed it impossible to fall out of love so quickly, so thoroughly; yet—here he was, knocking on Scaurus’s door, devastated by the loss of his mother and out of love with his wife.

It therefore cost Mamercus nothing to explain his predicament to Scaurus in the bleakest terms.

“What should I do, Marcus Aemilius?”

Scaurus Princeps Senatus sat back in his chair, lucent green eyes fixed upon this Livian face, with its beaky nose, dark eyes, prominent bones. The last of two families, was Mamercus. He must be cherished and assisted in every way possible.

“Certainly I think you must accommodate the wishes of your wife, Mamercus. Which means you will have to leave the children in Marcus Livius Drusus’s house. And that in turn means you must find someone noble to live there with them.”

“Who?”

“Leave it with me, Mamercus,” said Scaurus briskly. “I’ll think of somebody.”

Think of somebody Scaurus did, two days later. Very pleased with himself, he sent for Mamercus.

“Do you remember that particular Quintus Servilius Caepio who was consul two years before our illustrious relative Aemilius Paullus fought Perseus of Macedonia at Pydna?” asked Scaurus.

Mamercus grinned. “Not personally, Marcus Aemilius! But I do know who you mean.”

“Good,” said Scaurus, grinning back. “That particular Quintus Servilius Caepio had three sons. The oldest was adopted out to the Fabii Maximi, with bitter results—Eburnus and his unfortunate son.” Scaurus was enjoying this; he was one of Rome’s greatest experts in noble genealogy and could trace the ramifications in the family tree of anyone who mattered. “The youngest son, Quintus, sired the consul Caepio who stole the Gold of Tolosa and lost the battle of Arausio. He also sired a girl, Servilia, who married our esteemed consular Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar. From Caepio the consul there came that Caepio who was killed the other day by the Marsian Silo, and the girl who married your brother, Drusus.”

“You’ve left out the middle son,” said Mamercus.

“On purpose, Mamercus, on purpose! He’s the one I’m really interested in today. His name was Gnaeus. However, he married much later than his younger brother, Quintus, so that his son, a Gnaeus of course, was only old enough to be a quaestor while his first cousin was already a consular and busy losing the battle of Arausio. Young Gnaeus was quaestor in Asia Province. He had recently married a Porcia Liciniana—not a well-dowered girl, but Gnaeus didn’t need a well-dowered girl. He was, as are all the Servilii Caepiones, a very wealthy man. When Gnaeus the quaestor left for Asia Province he had produced one child—a girl I shall call Servilia Gnaea to distinguish her from all the other Servilias. Now the sex of his and Porcia Liciniana’s child, Servilia Gnaea, was most unfortunate.”

Scaurus paused for breath, beaming. “Isn’t it wonderful, my dear Mamercus, how tortuously interconnected all our families are?”

“Daunting, I’d rather call it,” said Mamercus.

“Getting back to the two-year-old girl, Servilia Gnaea,” said Scaurus, sinking pleasurably into his chair, “I used the word ’unfortunate’ with good reason. Gnaeus Caepio had prudently made his will before he left for Asia Province and his quaestorship, but I imagine he never dreamed for a moment that it would be executed. Under the lex Voconia de mulierum hereditatibus, Servilia Gnaea—a girl!—could not inherit. His will left his very large fortune to his first cousin, Caepio who lost the battle of Arausio and stole the Gold of Tolosa.”

“I notice, Marcus Aemilius, that you’re very frank about the fate of the Gold of Tolosa,” said Mamercus. “Everyone always says he did steal it, but I’ve never heard someone of your auctoritas say so unequivocally before.”

Scaurus flapped an impatient hand. “Oh, we all know he took it, Mamercus, so why not say so? You’ve never struck me as a chatty individual, so I think I’m safe in saying it to you.”

“You are.”

“The understanding, of course, was that Caepio of Arausio and the Gold of Tolosa would return the fortune to Servilia Gnaea if he inherited it. Naturally Gnaeus Caepio had provided for the girl to the full extent the law allowed in his will—a pittance compared to the entire fortune. And off he went as quaestor to Asia Province. On the way back, his ship was wrecked and he was drowned. Caepio of Arausio and the Gold of Tolosa inherited. But he did not give the fortune back to the little girl. He simply added it to his own already astronomical fortune, though he needed it not at all. And in the fullness of time, poor Servilia Gnaea’s inheritance passed to the Caepio killed the other day by Silo.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Mamercus, scowling.

“I agree. But it’s also life,” said Scaurus.

“What happened to Servilia Gnaea? And her mother?”

“Oh, they’ve survived, of course. They live very modestly in Gnaeus Caepio’s house, which Caepio the consul and then in turn his son did permit the two women to keep. Not legally, just as a domicile. When the will of the last Quintus Caepio is probated—I am in the middle of that task now—the house will be documented in it. As you know, everything Caepio had with the exception of lavish dowries for his two girls goes to the little boy, Caepio of the red hair, ha ha! Much to my surprise, I was named sole executor! I had thought someone like Philippus would be named, but I ought to have known better. No Caepio ever lived who did not cultivate his fortune assiduously. Our recently deceased Caepio must have decided that if Philippus or Varius were executor, too much might go missing. A wise decision! Philippus would have behaved like a pig in acorns.”

“All this is fascinating, Marcus Aemilius,” said Mamercus, experiencing the stirrings of an interest in genealogy, “but I am as yet unenlightened.”

“Patience, patience, Mamercus, I’m getting there!” said Scaurus.

“I imagine, by the way,” said Mamercus, remembering what his brother Drusus had said, “that one of the reasons you were appointed executor was due to my brother, Drusus. He had, it seemed, certain information about Caepio that he threatened to disclose if Caepio didn’t leave his children properly cared for in his will. It may be that Drusus stipulated the executor. Caepio was very much afraid of whatever information Drusus had.”

“The Gold of Tolosa again,” said Scaurus complacently. “It has to be, you know. My investigations into Caepio’s affairs, though only two or three days old, are already fascinating. So much money! The two girls have been left dowries of two hundred talents each—yet that doesn’t even begin to reach the limits of what they could have inherited, even under the lex Voconia. Red-haired Young Caepio is the richest man in Rome.”

“Please, Marcus Aemilius! Finish the story!”

“Oh, yes, yes! The impatience of youth! Under our laws, given that the beneficiary is a minor, I am obliged to take into my consideration even such petty things as the house in which Servilia Gnaea—now aged seventeen—and her mother Porcia Liciniana still live. Now I have no idea what kind of man red-haired Young Caepio will turn out to be, and I have no wish to leave my own son testamentary headaches. It is not impossible that Young Caepio on reaching manhood will demand to know why I went on allowing Servilia Gnaea and her mother to live rent-free in that house. The original ownership by the time that Young Caepio is a man will be so far in the past that he may never know it. Legally, it is his house.”

“I do see where you’re going, Marcus Aemilius,” said Mamercus. “Go on, do! I’m fascinated.”

Scaurus leaned forward. “I would suggest, Mamercus, that you offer Servilia Gnaea—not her mother!—a job. The poor girl has absolutely no dowry. It has taken all of her slender inheritance to afford her and her mother comfortable living in the fifteen years since the father died. The Porcii Liciniani are not in any position to help, I add. Or will not help, which amounts to the same thing. Between our first talk and this one, I popped round to see Servilia Gnaea and Porcia Liciniana, ostensibly as the executor of Caepio’s will. And after I had explained my own predicament, they became quite frantic as to what the future might hold for them. I explained, you see, that I thought I must sell the house so that its lack of earning rent over the past fifteen years need not appear in the estate accounts.”

“That’s clever enough and devious enough to allow you to qualify for the job of High Chamberlain to King Ptolemy of Egypt,” said Mamercus, laughing.

“True!” said Scaurus, and drew a breath. “Servilia Gnaea is now seventeen, as I have said. That means she will reach normal marriageable age in about a year’s time. But, alas, she is not a beauty. In fact she’s extremely plain, poor thing. Without a dowry—and she has no dowry—she’ll never get a husband of remotely her own class. Her mother is a true Cato Licinianus, not impressed by the idea of a rich but vulgar knight or a rich but bucolic farmer for her daughter. However, needs must when there is no dowry!”

How convoluted he is! thought Mamercus, looking attentive.

“What I suggest you do is this, Mamercus. Having received a worrisome visit from me already, the ladies will be in a mood to listen to you. I suggest that you propose that Servilia Gnaea—and her mother, but only as her guest!—accept a commission from you to look after the six children of Marcus Livius Drusus. Live in Drusus’s house. Enjoy a generous allowance for upkeep, living expenses, and maintenance. On the condition that Servilia Gnaea remains single until the last child is well and truly of age. The last child is Young Cato, now three. Three from sixteen is thirteen. Therefore Servilia Gnaea will have to remain single for the next thirteen to fourteen years. That would make her about thirty when her contract with you is worked out. Not an impossible age for marriage! Particularly if you offer to present her with a dowry the same size as the dowries of her young cousins—the two girls she will be looking after—when she finishes her task. The Caepio fortune can well afford to donate her two hundred talents, Mamercus, believe me. And to make absolutely sure—I am, after all, no longer a young man—I will peel off those two hundred talents now, and invest them in Servilia Gnaea’s name. In trust until her thirty-first birthday. Provided she has acquitted herself to your and my satisfaction.”

A wicked grin spread across Scaurus’s face. “She is not pretty, Mamercus! But I guarantee that when Servilia Gnaea turns thirty-one she will find herself able to pick and choose between a dozen hopeful men of her own class. Two hundred talents are irresistible!” He fiddled with his pen for a moment, then looked directly into Mamercus’s eyes, his own beautiful orbs stern. “I am not a young man. And I am the only Scaurus left among the Aemilii. I have a young wife, a daughter just turned eleven, and a son five years old. I am now the sole executor of Rome’s greatest private fortune. Should anything happen to me before my son is mature, to whom do I trust the fortunes of my own loved ones, and the fortunes of those three Servilian children? You and I are the joint executors of Drusus’s estate, which means we share the care of the three Porcian children already. Would you be willing to act as trustee and executor for me and mine after my death? You are a Livius by birth, but an Aemilius by adoption. I would rest easier, Mamercus, if you said yes to me. I need the reassurance of an honest man at my back.”

Mamercus did not hesitate. “I say yes, Marcus Aemilius.”

Which concluded their discussion. From Scaurus’s house Mamercus went immediately to see Servilia Gnaea and her mother. They lived in an excellent location on the Circus Maximus side of the Palatine, but Mamercus was quick to note that, while Caepio might have permitted the ladies to live in the place, he had not been generous with funds for its upkeep. The paint on the stuccoed walls was flaking badly and the atrium ceiling was marred by several huge patches of damp and mildew; in one corner the leak was evidently so bad that the plaster had fallen away, exposing the hair and slats beneath. The murals had once been very attractive, but time and neglect had both faded and obscured them. However, a glance into the peristyle-garden while he waited to be received indicated that the ladies were not lazy, for it was carefully kept, full of flowers, minus weeds.

He had asked to see both of them, and both of them came, Porcia more curious than anything else. Of course she knew he was married; no noble Roman mother with a daughter needing a husband left any youngish man of her own class uninvestigated.

Both women were dark, Servilia Gnaea darker than her mother, however. And plainer, despite the fact that the mother had a true Catonian nose, hugely aquiline, whereas the daughter’s nose was small: For one thing, Servilia Gnaea suffered dreadfully from acne; her eyes were set too close together and were slightly piggy, and her mouth was un-fashionably wide and thin-lipped. The mother looked very proud and haughty. The daughter simply looked dour; she had that humorless kind of character flatness which had the power to daunt many a more courageous man than Mamercus, who did not lack courage in the least.