Caesar (58 page)

“Yes, a bargain. I can't possibly accommodate ten thousand amphorae of wine in my house, and if I put it in storage down at Tusculum, the whole district would steal it. So I'll take the worst five hundred amphorae in poor old Hortensius's cellar, and give you the nine thousand five hundred best.”

“You're mad, Cato! Rent a stout warehouse, or sell it! I will buy whatever I can afford of it, so I won't lose. But you can't just give away almost all of it, you just can't!”

“I didn't say I was giving it away. I said I would make a bargain with you. That means I want to trade it.”

“What on earth do I have worth that much?”

“Your daughter,” said Cato. Philippus's jaw dropped. “What?”

“I'll trade you the wine for your daughter.”

“But you divorced her!”

“And now I'm going to remarry her.”

“You are mad! What do you want her back for?”

“That's my business,” said Cato, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. He stretched voluptuously. “I intend to remarry her as soon as Quintus Hortensius has gone into his urn.” The jaw snapped shut, the mouth worked; Philippus swallowed. “My dear fellow, you can't do that! The mourning period is a full ten months! And that is even if I did agree,” he added. The humor fled from Cato's eyes, which became their normal stern, resolute selves. He compressed his lips. “In ten months,” he said, voice very harsh, “the world might have ended. Or Caesar might have marched on Rome. Or I might have been banished to a village on the Euxine Sea. Ten months are precious. Therefore I will marry Marcia immediately after the funeral of Quintus Hortensius.”

“You can't! I won't consent! Rome would go insane!”

“Rome is insane.”

“No, I won't consent!”

Cato sighed, turned in his chair and stared dreamily out of his study window. “Nine thousand five hundred enormous, huge, gigantic amphorae of vintage wine,” he said. “How much does one amphora hold? Twenty-five flagons? Multiply nine thousand five hundred by twenty-five, and you have two hundred and thirty-seven thousand five hundred flagons of an unparalleled collection of Falernian, Chian, Fucine, Samian...” He sat up so suddenly that Philippus started. “Why, I do believe that Quintus Hortensius had some of that wine King Tigranes, King Mithridates and the King of the Parthians used to buy from Publius Servilius!”

The dark eyes were rolling wildly, the handsome face was a picture of confusion; Philippus clasped his hands together and extended them imploringly to Cato. “I can't! It would create a worse scandal than your divorcing her and marrying her to poor old Hortensius! Cato, please! Wait a few months!”

“No wine!” said Cato. “Instead, you can watch me take it down, wagonload after wagonload, to the Mons Testaceus in the Port of Rome, and personally break every amphora with a hammer.” The dark skin went absolutely white. “You wouldn't!”

“Yes, I would. After all, as you said yourself, I have the worst palate in Rome. And I can afford to drink all the ghastly piss I want. As for selling it, that would be tantamount to taking money from Quintus Hortensius. I never accept monetary bequests.” Cato sat back in his chair, put his arms behind his head, and looked ironically at Philippus. “Make up your mind, man! Conduct your widowed daughter to her marriage with her ex-husband in five days' time—and slurp your way ecstatically through two hundred and thirty-seven thousand five hundred flagons of the world's best wine—or watch me break them into shards on the Mons Testaceus. After doing which, I will marry Marcia anyway. She's twenty-four years old, and she passed out of your hand six years ago. She's sui iuris; you can't stop us. All you can do is lend our second union a little respectability. For myself, I am indifferent to that kind of respectability. You know that. But I would prefer that Marcia feel comfortable enough to venture outside our door.” Frowning, Philippus studied the highly strung creature gazing at him quite indomitably. Perhaps he was mad. Yes, of course he was mad. Everyone had known it for years. The kind of single-minded dedication to a cause that Cato owned was unique. Look at how he kept on after Caesar. Would keep on keeping on after Caesar. Today's encounter, however, had revealed a great many more facets to Cato's madness than Philippus had suspected existed. He sighed, shrugged. “Very well then. If you must, you must. Be it on your own heads, yours and Marcia's.” His expression changed. “Hortensius never laid a finger on her, you know. At least, I suppose you must know, since you want to remarry her.”

“I didn't know. I assumed the opposite.”

“He was too old, too sick and too addled. He simply set her on a metaphorical pedestal as Cato's wife, and adored her.”

“Yes, that makes sense. She has never ceased to be Cato's wife. Thank you for the information, Philippus. She would have told me herself, but I would have hesitated to believe her.”

“Do you think so poorly of my Marcia? After husbanding her?”

“I husbanded a woman who cuckolded me with Caesar too.” Philippus got to his feet. “Quite so. But women differ as much as men.” He started to walk to the door, then turned. “Do you realize, Cato, that I never knew until today that you have a sense of humor?” Cato looked blank. “I don't have a sense of humor,” he said. Thus it was that very shortly after the funeral of Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, the seal was set upon the most delicious and exasperating scandal in the history of Rome: Marcus Porcius Cato remarried Marcia, the daughter of Lucius Marcius Philippus.

Halfway through May the Senate voted to postpone any discussion of Caesar's provinces until the Ides of November. Cato's lobbying had succeeded, though, not surprisingly, persuasion of his closest adherents proved hardest; Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus wept, Marcus Favonius howled. Only letters from Bibulus to each of them had finally reconciled them to it.“ Oh, good!” said Curio gleefully in the House after the vote. “I can have a few months off. But don't think that I won't be interposing my veto again on the Ides of November, because I will.”

“Veto away, Gaius Curio!” brayed Cato, the fabulous aura of his scandalous remarriage endowing him with considerable glamour. “You'll be out of office shortly after that, and Caesar will fall.”

“Someone else will take my place,” said Curio jauntily.“ But not like you” was Cato's rejoinder. “Caesar will never find another like you.” Perhaps Caesar would not, but his envisioned replacement for Curio was hurrying from Gaul to Rome. The death of Hortensius had created a gap in more than the ranks of the great advocates; he had also been an augur, which meant that his spot in the College of Augurs was up for election. And Ahenobarbus was going to try again, determined that he would put his family back into the most exclusive club in Rome, the priestly colleges. Priest or augur did not matter, though priest would have been more satisfactory for one whose grandfather had been Pontifex Maximus and brought in the law which required public election for priests and augurs. Only candidates for consul and praetor were compelled to register in person inside the sacred boundary of Rome; for all other magistracies, including the religious ones, in absentia candidacy could be obtained. Thus Caesar's envisioned replacement for Curio as tribune of the plebs, hurrying from Gaul, sent ahead and registered as a candidate for the vacant augurship of Quintus Hortensius. The election was held before he reached Rome, and he won. Ahenobarbus's very vocal chagrin when he was defeated yet again seemed likely to inspire the writing of several epic poems.“ Marcus Antonius!” sniffled Ahenobarbus, his shiny hairless pate rucked into wrinkles by his writhing fingers. Rage was not possible; he had passed beyond it into despair at the last augural election, when Cicero had beaten him. “Marcus Antonius! I thought Cicero was as low as the electors could get, but Marcus Antonius! That oaf, that lecher, that brainless bully-boy brat! Rome is littered with his bastards! A cretin who vomits in public! His father committed suicide rather than come home to face his trial for treason; his uncle tortured free Greek men, women and children; his sister was so ugly they had to marry her to a cripple; his mother is undoubtedly the silliest female alive even if she is a Julia; and his two younger brothers differ from Antonius only in having even less intelligence!”

Ahenobarbus's auditor was Marcus Favonius; Cato seemed to spend every spare moment at home with Marcia these days, Metellus Scipio was off in Campania dancing attendance on Pompey, and the boni lesser lights were all thronging admiringly around the Marcelli.“ Do cheer up, Lucius Domitius,” Favonius soothed. “Everyone knows why you lost. Caesar bought Antonius the post.”

“Caesar didn't spend half the money I did on bribing,” Ahenobarbus moaned, hiccuping. Then it came out. “I lost because I'm bald, Favonius! If I had one single strand of hair somewhere on my head it would be all right, but here I am, only forty-seven years old, and I've been as bare as a baboon's arse since I turned twenty-five! Children point and giggle and call me Egghead, women lift their lips in revulsion, and every man in Rome thinks I'm too decrepit to be worth voting for!”

“Oh, tch tch tch,” clucked Favonius helplessly. He thought of something. “Caesar's bald, but he doesn't have any trouble.”

“He's not bald!” cried Ahenobarbus. “He's still got enough hair to comb forward and cover his scalp, so he's not bald!” He ground his teeth. “He's also obliged by law to wear his Civic Crown on all public occasions, and it holds his hair in place.” At which point Ahenobarbus's wife marched in. She was that Porcia who was Cato's older full sister, and she was short, plump, sandy-haired and freckled. They had been married early and the union had proven a very happy one; the children had come along at regular intervals, two sons and four daughters, but luckily Lucius Ahenobarbus was so rich the number of sons whose careers he had to finance and daughters he had to dower was immaterial. They had, besides, adopted one son out to an Attilius Serranus. Porcia looked, crooned, shot Favonius a glance of sympathy, and pulled Ahenobarbus's despised head against her stomach, patting his back. “My dear, stop mourning,” she said. “For what reason I do not know, the electors of Rome decided years ago that they were not going to put you in a priestly college. It has nothing to do with your lack of hair. If it did, they wouldn't have voted you in as consul. Concentrate your efforts on getting our son Gnaeus elected to the priestly colleges. He's a very nice person, and the electors like him. Now stop carrying on, there's a good boy.”

“But Marcus Antonius!” he groaned.“ Marcus Antonius is a public idol, a phenomenon of the same kind as a gladiator.” She shrugged, rolling her hand around her husband's back like a mother with a colicky baby. “He's not like Caesar in ability, but he is like Caesar when it comes to charming the crowds. People like to vote for him, that's all.”

“Porcia's right, Lucius Domitius,” said Favonius.“ Of course I'm right.”

“Then tell me why Antonius bothered to come to Rome? He was returned in absentia.”

Ahenobarbus's plaintive question was answered a few days later when Mark Antony, newly created augur, announced that he would stand for election as a tribune of the plebs.“ The boni are not impressed,” said Curio, grinning. For a creature who always looked magnificently well, Antony was looking, thought Curio, even more magnificently well. Life with Caesar had done him good, including Caesar's ban on wine. Rarely had Rome produced a specimen to equal him, with his height, his strongman's physique, his awesomely huge genital equipment, and his air of unquenchable optimism. People looked at him and liked him in a way they never had Caesar. Perhaps, thought Curio cynically, because he radiated masculinity without owning beauty of face. Like Sulla's, Caesar's charms were more epicene; if they were not, that ancient canard about Caesar's affair with King Nicomedes would not be so frequently trotted out, though no one could point to any suspect sexual activity since, and King Nicomedes rested on the testimony of two men who loathed Caesar, the dead Lucullus and the very much alive Bibulus. Whereas Antony, who used to give Curio lascivious kisses in public, was never for one moment apostrophized as homosexual.“ I didn't expect the boni to be impressed,” said Antony, “but Caesar thinks I'll do very well as tribune of the plebs, even when that means I have to follow you.”

“I agree with Caesar,” answered Curio. “And, whether you like it or not, my dear Antonius, you are going to pay attention and learn during the next few months. I'm going to coach you to counter the boni.” Fulvia, very pregnant, was lying next to Curio on a couch. Antony, who owned great loyalty to his friends, had known her for many years and esteemed her greatly. She was fierce, devoted, intelligent, supportive. Though Publius Clodius had been the love of her youth, she seemed to have transferred her affections to the very different Curio most successfully. Unlike most of the women Antony knew, Fulvia bestowed love for other than nest-making reasons. One could be sure of her love only by being brave, brilliant and a force in politics. As Clodius had been. As Curio was proving to be. Not unexpected, perhaps, in the granddaughter of Gaius Gracchus. Nor in a creature so full of fire. She was still very beautiful, though she was now into her thirties. And clearly as fruitful as ever: four children by Clodius, now one by Curio. Why was it that in a city whose aristocratic women were so prone to die in the childbed, Fulvia popped out babies without turning a hair? She destroyed so many of the theories, for her blood was immensely old and noble, her genealogy much intermarried. Scipio Africanus, Aemilius Paullus, Semprordus Gracchus, Fulvius Flaccus. Yet she was a baby manufactory.“ When's the sprog due?” asked Antony.“ Soon,” said Fulvia, reaching out to ruffle Curio's hair. She smiled at Antony demurely. “We—er—anticipated our legal conjoining.”

“Why didn't you get married sooner?”

“Ask Curio,” she yawned.“ I wanted to be clear of debt before I married an extremely rich woman.” Antony looked shocked. “Curio, I never have understood you! Why should that worry you?”

“Because,” said a new voice cheerfully, “Curio isn't like the rest of us impoverished fellows.”

“Dolabella! Come in, come in!” cried Curio. “Shift over, Antonius.” Publius Cornelius Dolabella, patrician pauper, eased himself down onto the couch beside Antony and accepted the beaker of wine Curio poured and watered.“ Congratulations, Antonius,” he said. They were, thought Curio, very much the same kind of man, at least physically. Like Antony, Dolabella was tall and owned both a superb physique and unassailable masculinity, though Curio thought he probably had the better intellect, if only because he lacked Antony's intemperance. He was also much handsomer than Antony; his blood relationship to Fulvia was apparent in their features and in their coloring—pale brown hair, black brows and lashes, dark blue eyes. Dolabella's financial position was so precarious that only a fortuitous marriage had permitted him to enter the Senate two years earlier; at Clodius's instigation, he had wooed and won the retired Chief Vestal Virgin, Fabia, who was the half sister of Cicero's wife, Terentia. The marriage hadn't lasted long, but Dolabella came out of it still legally possessed of Fabia's huge dowry—and still possessed of the affections of Cicero's wife, who blamed Fabia for the disintegration of the marriage.“ Did I hear right, Dolabella, when my ears picked up a rumor that you're paying a lot of attention to Cicero's daughter?” asked Fulvia, munching an apple. Dolabella looked rueful. “I see the grapevine is as efficient as ever,” he said.“ So you are courting Tullia?”

“Trying not to, actually. The trouble is that I'm in love with her.”

“With Tullia?”

“I can understand that,” said Antony unexpectedly. “I know we all laugh at Cicero's antics, but not his worst enemy could dismiss the wit or the mind. And I noticed Tullia years ago, when she was married to the first one—ah—Piso Frugi. Very pretty and sparkly. Seemed as if she might be fun.”

“She is fun,” said Dolabella gloomily.“ Only,” said Curio with mock seriousness, “with Terentia for a mother, what might Tullia's children look like?” They all roared with laughter, but Dolabella definitely did appear to be a man deeply in love.“ Just make sure you get a decent dowry out of Cicero” was Antony's last word on the subject. “He might complain that he's a poor man, but all he suffers from is shortage of cash. He owns some of the best property in Italia. And Terentia even more.”

Early in June the Senate met in the Curia Pompeia to discuss the threat of the Parthians, who were expected to invade Syria in the summer. Out of which arose the vexed question of replacement governors for Cicero in Cilicia and Bibulus in Syria. Both men had adherents lobbying remorselessly to make sure that they were not prorogued for a further year, which was a nuisance, as the pool of potential governors was not large (most men took a province after their term as consul or praetor— the Ciceros and Bibuluses were rare) and the most important fish in it were all intent upon replacing Caesar, not Cicero and Bibulus. Couch generals shrank from embracing war with the Parthians, whereas Caesar's provinces seemed to be pacified for many years to come. The two Pompeys were in attendance; the statue dominated the curule dais, and the real man dominated the bottom tier on the left-hand side. Looking very strong and rather more happily steely than of yore, Cato sat on the bottom tier of the right-hand side next to Appius Claudius Pulcher, who had emerged from his trial acquitted and promptly been elected censor. The only trouble was that the other censor was Lucius Calpurnius Piso, Caesar's father-in-law, and a man with whom Appius Claudius could not get on. At the moment they were still speaking to each other, mostly because Appius Claudius intended to purge the Senate and, thanks to new legislation his own brother Publius Clodius had introduced while a tribune of the plebs, one censor could not take it upon himself to expel men from the Senate or alter a knight's status in the tribes or Centuries; Clodius had introduced a veto mechanism, and that meant Appius Claudius had to have Lucius Piso's consent to his measures. But the Claudii Marcelli were still very much the center of senatorial opposition to Caesar and all other Popularis figures, so it was Gaius Marcellus Major, the junior consul, who conducted the meeting—and held the fasces for June.“ We know from Marcus Bibulus's letters that the military situation in Syria is critical,” said Marcellus Major to the House. “He has about twenty-seven cohorts of troops all told, and that is ridiculous. Besides which, none of them are good troops, even including the Gabiniani returned from Alexandria. A most invidious situation, for a man to have to command soldiers who murdered his sons. We must send more legions to Syria,”

“And where are we going to get these legions from?” asked Cato loudly. “Thanks to Caesar's remorseless recruiting—another twenty-two cohorts this year—Italia and Italian Gaul are bare.”

“I am aware of that, Marcus Cato,” said Marcellus Major stiffly. “Which does not alter the fact that we have to send at least two more legions to Syria.” Pompey piped up, winking at Metellus Scipio, sitting opposite him and looking smug; they were getting on splendidly together, thanks to Pompey's willingness to indulge his father-in-law's taste for pornography. “Junior consul, may I make a suggestion?”

“Please do, Gnaeus Pompeius.” Pompey got to his feet, smirking. “I understand that were any member of this House to propose that we solve our dilemma by ordering Gaius Caesar to give up some of his very many legions, our esteemed tribune of the plebs Gaius Curio would immediately veto the move. However, what I suggest is that we act entirely within the parameters which Gaius Curio has laid down.” Cato was smiling, Curio frowning.“ If we can act within those parameters, Gnaeus Pompeius, I for one would be immensely pleased,” said Marcellus Major.“ It's simple,” said Pompey brightly. “I suggest that I donate one of my legions to Syria, and that Gaius Caesar donate one of his legions to Syria. Therefore neither of us suffers, and both of us have been deprived of exactly the same proportion of our armies. Isn't that correct, Gaius Curio?”