The First Man in Rome (40 page)

"That's nice of the Senate," said Marius, and vanished.

"I piss on him!" Marius said to Rutilius Rufus moments later. "He thinks he's cooked my goose and saved his own. But he's wrong. I'm going to beat him, Publius Rutilius, you wait and see! I'm going to be in Rome in time to stand for consul, and then I'm going to have his prorogued command torn off him. And have it given to myself."

Rutilius Rufus eyed him thoughtfully. "I have a great deal of respect for your ability, Gaius Marius," he said, "but in this case, time is going to prove Piggle-wiggle the winner. You'll never make it to Rome for those elections."

"I will," said Marius, sounding supremely confident.

He rode from Cirta to Utica in two days, pausing to snatch a few hours' sleep en route, and ruthlessly commandeering a fresh horse at every opportunity. Before nightfall of the second day he had hired a small, fast ship he found in Utica harbor. And at dawn of the third day he set sail for Italy, having offered a costly sacrifice to the Lares Permarini on the seashore just as light began to filter into the eastern rim of the world.

"You sail to an unimaginably great destiny, Gaius Marius," said the priest who made the offering to the gods who protect all those who voyage on the sea. "I have never seen better omens than today."

His words were no surprise to Marius. Ever since Martha the Syrian prophetess had told him what his future held, he had remained unshaken in his conviction that things would turn out just as she predicted. So as the ship crept from Utica harbor, he leaned tranquilly on the rail and waited for a wind. It came out of the southwest at a steadily brisk twenty sea miles, and it blew the ship from Utica to Ostia in just three days, a perfect following wind in a perfect following sea, no need to hug the coast, no need to put in anywhere for shelter or provisions. All the gods were on his side, as Martha had foretold.

News of the miraculous voyage beat him into Rome, even though he delayed in Ostia only long enough to pay for his ship and reward its captain generously; so when he rode into the Forum Romanum and dismounted before the consul Aurelius's electoral table, a crowd had gathered. A crowd which cheered and applauded him wildly, and gave him to understand that he was the hero of the hour. Surrounded by people clapping him on the back, beaming at his magical appearance, Marius stepped up to the
consul suffectus
who had taken the place of Servius Sulpicius Galba, condemned by the Mamilian Commission, and laid Metellus's letter down on the table.

"If you will excuse the fact that I have not waited to change into the whitened toga, Marcus Aurelius," he said, "I am here to lodge my name as a candidate in the consular contest."

"Provided you can prove that Quintus Caecilius has freed you from your obligation to him, Gaius Marius, I will accept your name gladly," said the suffect consul, stirred by the crowd's welcome and aware that the most influential knights in the city were hurrying from every basilica and porticus around as the news of Marius's unexpected arrival spread.

How Marius had grown! How wonderfully substantial he looked as he stood half a head taller than those around him, smiling his fierce smile! How wide his shoulders, to take the burden of the consulship upon them! For the first time in his long career the Italian hayseed with no Greek experienced genuine political adulation; not the wholesome faithful esteem of soldiers, but the fickle self-serving adoration of the Forum masses. And Gaius Marius loved it, not because his image of himself needed it, but because it was so alien, so tainted, so inexplicable.

He plunged into the five most hectic days of his life, with neither the time nor the energy to give Julia more than a quick hug, and never home at an hour when his son might have been shown to him. For that hysterical welcome when he declared his candidacy was not an indication that he could win; the enormously influential Caecilius Metellus faction joined hands with every other aristocratic faction, patrician and plebeian, in a last-ditch effort to keep the Italian hayseed with no Greek out of the consul's ivory curule chair. His strength lay among the knights, thanks to his Spanish connections and to Prince Gauda's promises of coming concessions in a Gaudane Numidia, but there were many knights whose ties were to the various factions allied against him.

And people talked, people argued, people questioned, people debated: would it truly be a good thing for Rome to elect the New Man Gaius Marius consul? New Men were a risk. New Men didn't know the noble life. New Men made mistakes noblemen did not. New Men were New Men were New Men... Yes, his wife was a Julia of the Julians. Yes, his military record was an adornment to Rome. Yes, he was so rich he could confidently be expected to keep himself above corruption. But who had ever seen him in the law courts? Who had ever heard him speak about laws and lawmaking? Wasn't it true that he had been a disruptive element in the College of Tribunes of the Plebs all those years ago, with his defiance of those who knew Rome and Rome's needs better than he, and that obnoxious law which had narrowed the voting bridges in the
saepta?
And look at his age! He would be a full fifty years old if he became consul, and old men made poor consuls.

And over and above all these speculations and objections, the Caecilius Metellus faction made meaty capital out of the most repellent aspect of Gaius Marius as consul. He was not a Roman of the Romans. He was an Italian. Was Rome so devoid of suitable Roman noblemen that the consulship should go to an Italian New Man? Surely among the candidates were half a dozen men more worthy than Gaius Marius! Romans all. Good men all.

Of course Marius spoke, to small groups and to large ones, in the Forum Romanum, in the Circus Flaminius, from the podiums of various temples, in the Porticus Metelli, in all the basilicae. And he was a good speaker, well trained in rhetoric, though he had not used his skills until after he entered the Senate. Scipio Aemilianus had seen to his oratical polish. He held his audiences; no one walked away or dismissed him as a poor sort of speaker, though he couldn't rival Lucius Cassius or Catulus Caesar. Many were the questions thrown at him, some from those who simply wanted to know, some from those he himself had put up to ask, some from those his enemies had put up to ask, and some from those who were interested to hear the differences between his answers and Metellus's reports to the Senate.

The election itself was a quiet and orderly one, held in the voting grounds out on the Campus Martius, at the place called the
saepta.
Elections in the thirty-five tribes could be called in the well of the Comitia in the Forum Romanum, for it was easy to organize tribal voters in a relatively confined space; but the elections of the Centuriate Assembly were massively unwieldy in size, requiring as they did the deployment of the Centuries in the Five Classes.

As the vote of each century was called, starting with the First Century of the First Class, the pattern began to emerge: Lucius Cassius Longinus was going to be the choice of every century, but their choices of the second consul were rich and varied. Sure enough, the First and Second Classes voted so solidly for Lucius Cassius Longinus that he was returned in first place without missing a century, and so was designated the senior consul, who held
the fasces
for the month of January. But the name of the junior consul wasn't known until almost the end of the Third Class, so close was the contest between Gaius Marius and Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar.

And then it happened. The successful candidate for junior consul was Gaius Marius. The Caecilius Metelluses were still able to influence Centuriate voting—but not enough to keep Gaius Marius out. And that could be classified as a great triumph for Gaius Marius, the Italian hayseed with no Greek. He was a genuine New Man, the first of his family to hold a seat in the Senate, the first of his family to make his home inside the city of Rome, the first of his family to make a huge fortune, the first of his family to make a mark in the army.

*     *     *

Late in the afternoon of election day, Gaius Julius Caesar held a celebratory dinner, a family affair. His contact with Marius had been confined to a quick handshake in the Forum and another quick handshake on the Campus Martius when the centuries had assembled, so desperate had Marius's five-day election campaign been.

"You've had unbelievable luck," said Caesar, leading his guest of honor to the dining room while his daughter Julia went off to find her mother and younger sister.

"I know it," said Marius.

"We're very thin as to men today," Caesar went on, "with both my sons still in Africa, but I can offer you one more man as moral support, so we do equal the women."

"I have letters from Sextus and Gaius Julius, and plenty of news about their exploits," Marius said as they arranged themselves comfortably on the couch.

"Later will do."

The promised third man entered the dining room, and Marius started in surprise; for he recognized the young yet mature man who had been standing among the knights almost three years before while the sacrificial bull of the new consul Minucius Rufus had so fought its dying. How could one forget that face, that hair?

"Gaius Marius," said Caesar with a little constraint, "I would like you to meet Lucius Cornelius Sulla, not only my next-door neighbor, but also my fellow senator, and soon to be my other son-in-law."

"Well!" exclaimed Marius, extending his hand and shaking Sulla's with great warmth. "You're a lucky man, Lucius Cornelius."

"I'm well aware of it," said Sulla with feeling.

Caesar had chosen to be a trifle unorthodox in his dining arrangements, keeping the top couch for himself and Marius, and relegating Sulla to the second couch; not an insult, as he was careful to explain, but to make the group look a little larger, and give everyone plenty of room.

How interesting, thought Marius with a mental frown; I have never before seen Gaius Julius Caesar feeling at a disadvantage. But this oddly beautiful fellow upsets him in some way, throws him off balance....

And then the women came in, seated themselves on straight chairs opposite their partners, and the dinner got under way.

Try as he would not to present the picture of a doting elderly husband, Marius found his eyes constantly drawn to his Julia, who had grown in his absence into a ravishing young matron, gracious, unafraid of her new responsibilities, an excellent mother and chatelaine—and the most ideal of wives. Whereas, decided Marius, Julilla had not grown up satisfactorily at all. Of course he had not seen her in the worst throes of her wasting illness—which had ceased to plague her some time before, yet had left her with what he could only call a thin attitude to life—thin of body, thin of intellect, thin of experience, thin of contentment. Feverish in her talk, fluttery in her manner, she was prone to jump from fright, and could not stay settled on her chair; nor could she restrain herself from dominating her betrothed's attention, so that he often found himself excluded from the conversation between Marius and Caesar.

He bore it well, Marius noted, and seemed genuinely devoted to Julilla, fascinated no doubt by the way she focused her emotions upon him. But that, the practical Marius decided, would not last beyond six months of marriage. Not with a Lucius Cornelius Sulla the bridegroom! Nothing about him suggested a natural preference for female company, or an uxorious inclination.

At the end of the meal Caesar announced that he was taking Gaius Marius off to his study for a private talk. "Stay here if you like, or go about your various ways," he said calmly. "It is too long since Gaius Marius and I have met."

"There have been changes in your household, Gaius Julius," said Marius as they got comfortable in the
tablinum.

"Indeed there have—and therein lies most of my reason for wanting to get you on your own without delay."

"Well, I'm consul on New Year's Day next, and that's my life disposed of tidily," said Marius, smiling. "I owe it all to you—and not the least do I owe you the happiness of a perfect wife, an ideal partner in my enterprises. I've had little time to give her since my return, but now that I am elected, I intend to rectify that. Three days from now I'm taking Julia and my son to Baiae, and we're going to forget the whole world for a month."

"It pleases me more than you can know to hear you speak with such affection and respect of my daughter.''

Marius leaned back a little more comfortably in his chair. "Very well. Now to Lucius Cornelius Sulla. I remember some words you had to say about an aristocrat without the money to take up the life his birth entitled him to, and the name was his, your son-in-law to be. What happened to change things?"

"According to him, luck. He says if it goes on the way it has since he met Julilla, he's going to have to add a second nickname—Felix—to the name he inherited from his father. Who was a drunkard and a wastrel, but who married the wealthy Clitumna fifteen years ago or more, and died not long after: Lucius Cornelius met Julilla on New Year's Day almost three years ago, and she gave him a grass crown without knowing the significance of what she had done. He maintains that from that moment, his luck changed. First Clitumna's nephew died, who was her heir. Then a woman called Nicopolis died and left Lucius Cornelius a small fortune—she was, I gather, his mistress. And not many moons after that, Clitumna committed suicide. Having no heirs of her own blood, she left her whole fortune—the house next door, a villa at Circei, and some ten million denarii—to Lucius Cornelius."

"Ye gods, he does deserve to add Felix to his name," said Marius, rather dryly. "Are you being naive about this, Gaius Julius, or have you proved to your satisfaction that Lucius Cornelius Sulla didn't help any of the dead into Charon's ferry across the Styx?"

Caesar acknowledged the shaft with a raised hand, but grinned. "No, Gaius Marius, I assure you I have not been naive. I cannot implicate Lucius Cornelius in any of the three deaths. The nephew expired after a long bowel and stomach disorder, where the Greek freedwoman Nicopolis died of massive kidney failure within—I don't know, a day, two days, certainly no longer. Both were autopsied, and nothing suspicious was found. Clitumna was morbidly depressed before she killed herself. It happened at Circei, at a time when Lucius Cornelius was most definitely here in Rome. I've subjected all Clitumna's household slaves, both here and in Circei, to exhaustive questioning, and it is my considered opinion that there is nothing more to know about Lucius Cornelius Sulla.'' He grimaced.  “I have always been against torturing slaves to find evidence of crime because I don't think evidence produced by torture is worth a spoonful of vinegar. But I genuinely do not believe Clitumna's slaves would have a tale to tell even if they were tortured. So I elected not to bother."