Fortune's Favorites (118 page)

“Oh, good!” purred Pompey. “Did he stop there?”

“No, he didn't,” said Varro sipping his water. He licked his lips, a nervous reaction; the idea was beginning to occur to him that Pompey was behind all of it. “He went on to refer specifically to the campaign against Spartacus, and to Crassus's report to the House. Mincemeat, Magnus! Philippus made mincemeat out of Crassus! How dared Crassus apply for land for the veterans of a six months' campaign! How dared Crassus apply for land to reward soldiers who had had to be decimated before they found the courage to fight! How dared Crassus apply for land to give to men who had only done what any loyal Roman was expected to do-put down an enemy threatening the homeland! A war against a foreign power was one thing, he said, but a war against a felon leading an army of slaves conducted on Italian soil was quite another. No man was entitled to ask for rewards when he had literally been defending his home. And Philippus ended by begging the House not to tolerate Crassus's impudence, nor encourage Crassus to think he could buy personal loyalty from his soldiers at the expense of Rome.”

“Splendid Philippus!” beamed Pompey, leaning forward. “So what happened after that?”

“Catulus got up again, but this time he spoke in support of Philippus. How right Philippus was to demand that this practice started by Gaius Marius of giving away State land to soldiers should stop. It must stop, said Catulus! The ager publicus of Rome had to stay in the public domain, it could not be used to bribe common soldiers to be loyal to their commanders.”

“And did the debate end there?”

“No. Cethegus was given leave to speak, and he backed both Philippus and Catulus without reservation, he said. After him, so did Curio, Gellius, Clodianus, and a dozen others. After which the House worked itself into such a state that Orestes decided to terminate the meeting,” Varro ended.

“Wonderful!” cried Pompey.

“This is your doing, Magnus, isn't it?”

The wide blue eyes opened even wider. “My doing? Whatever can you mean, Varro?”

“You know what I mean,” said Varro, tight-lipped. “I confess I've only just seen it, but I have seen it! You're using all your senatorial employees to drive a wedge between Crassus and the House! And if you succeed, you will have succeeded in removing Crassus's army from the Senate's command. And if the Senate has no army to command, Rome cannot teach you the lesson you so richly deserve, Gnaeus Pompeius!”

Genuinely hurt, Pompey gazed beseechingly at his friend. “Varro, Varro! I deserve to be consul!”

“You deserve to be crucified!”

Opposition always hardened Pompey; Varro could see the ice forming. And, as always, it unmanned him. So he said, trying to retrieve his lost ground, “I'm sorry, Magnus, I spoke in anger. I retract that. But surely you can see what a terrible thing you are doing! If the Republic is to survive, every man of influence in it must avoid undermining the constitution. What you have asked the Senate to allow you to do goes against every principle in the mos maiorum. Even Scipio Aemilianus didn't go so far-and he was directly descended from Africanus and Paullus!”

But that only made matters worse. Pompey got up, stiff with outrage. “Oh, go away, Varro! I see what you're saying! If a prince of the blood didn't go so far, how dare a mere mortal from Picenum? I will be consul!”

The effect the doings of that meeting of the Senate had on Marcus Terentius Varro was as nothing compared to the effect it had on Marcus Licinius Crassus. His report came from Caesar, who had restrained Quintus Arrius and the other senatorial legates after the meeting concluded, though Lucius Quinctius took some persuading.

“Let me tell him,” Caesar begged. “You're all too hot, and you'll make him hot. He has to remain calm.”

“We never even got a chance to speak our piece!” cried Quinctius, smacking his fist into the palm of his other hand. “That verpa Orestes let everyone talk who was in favor, then closed the meeting before a single one of us could answer!”

“I know that,” said Caesar patiently, “and rest assured, we'll all get our chance at the next meeting. Orestes did the sensible thing. Everyone was in a rage. And we'll have the floor first next time. Nothing was decided! So let me tell Marcus Crassus, please.”

And so, albeit reluctantly, the legates had gone to their own homes, leaving Caesar to stride out briskly for the Campus Martius and Crassus's camp. Word of the meeting had flown about like a wind; as he slipped neatly through the crowds of men in the lower Forum Romanum on his way to the Clivus Argentarius, Caesar heard snatches of talk which all revolved around the prospect of yet another civil war. Pompey wanted to be consul-the Senate wouldn't have it-Crassus wasn't going to get his land-it was high time Rome taught these presumptuous generals a much-needed lesson- what a terrific fellow Pompey was-and so on.

“... And there you have it,” Caesar concluded.

Crassus had listened expressionless to the crisp and succinct summary of events Caesar presented to him, and now that the tale was over he maintained that expressionless mask. Nor did he say anything for some time, just gazed out of the open aperture in his tent wall at the quiet beauty of the Campus Martius. Finally he gestured toward the scene outside and said without turning to face Caesar, “Lovely, isn't it? You'd never think a cesspool like Rome was less than a mile down the Via Lata, would you?”

“Yes, it is lovely,” said Caesar sincerely.

“And what do you think about the not so lovely events in the Senate this morning?”

“I think,” said Caesar quietly, “that Pompeius has got you by the balls.”

That provoked a smile, followed by a silent laugh. “You are absolutely correct, Caesar.” Crassus pointed in the direction of his desk, where piles of filled moneybags lay all over its surface. “Do you know what those are?”

“Money, certainly. I can't guess what else.”

“They represent every small debt a senator owed me,” said Crassus. “Fifty repayments altogether.”

“And fifty fewer votes in the House.”

“Exactly.” Crassus heaved his chair around effortlessly and put his feet up among the bags atop his desk, leaned back with a sigh. “As you say, Caesar, Pompeius has got me by the balls.”

“I'm glad you're taking it calmly.”

“What's the point in ranting and raving? That wouldn't help. Couldn't change a thing. More importantly, is there anything that will change the situation?”

“Not from a testicular aspect, for sure. But you can still work within the parameters Pompeius has set-it's possible to move about, even with someone's hairy paw wrapped around your poor old balls,” said Caesar with a grin.

Crassus answered it. “Quite so. Who would have thought Pompeius had that kind of brilliance?”

“Oh, he's brilliant. In an untutored way. But it was not a politic ploy, Crassus. He hit you with the stunning hammer first and then stated his terms. If he owned any political sense, he would have come to you first and told you what he intended to do. Then it might have been arranged in peace and quiet, without all of Rome stirred into a fever pitch at the prospect of another civil war. The trouble with Pompeius is that he has no idea how other people think, or how they're going to react. Unless, that is, their thoughts and reactions are the same as his own.”

“You are probably right, but I think it has more to do with Pompeius's self-doubt. If he absolutely believed he could force the Senate to let him be consul, he would have come to me before he moved. But I'm less important to him than the Senate, Caesar. It's the Senate he has to sway. I'm just his tool. So what can it matter to him if he stuns me first? He's got me by the balls. If I want land for my veterans, I have to inform the Senate that it can't rely on me or my soldiers to oppose Pompeius.” Crassus shifted his booted feet; the bags of money chinked.

“What do you intend to do?”

“I intend,” said Crassus, swinging his feet off the desk and standing up, “sending you to see Pompeius right now. I don't need to tell you what to say. Negotiate, Caesar.”

Off went Caesar to negotiate.

One of the few certainties, he thought wryly, was that he would find each general at home; until triumph or ovation was held, no general could cross the pomerium into the city, for to do so was to shed imperium automatically, thereby preventing triumph or ovation. So while legates and tribunes and soldiers could come and go as they pleased, the general himself was obliged to remain on the Campus Martius.

Sure enough, Pompey was at home-if a tent could be called a home. His senior legates Afranius and Petreius were with him, looked at Caesar searchingly; they had heard a little about him-pirates and the like-and knew that he had won the Civic Crown at twenty years of age. All things which made viri militares like Afranius and Petreius respect a man mightily; and yet this dazzling fellow, immaculate enough to be apostrophized a dandy, didn't look the type. Togate rather than clad in military gear, nails trimmed and buffed, senatorial shoes without a scuff or a smear of dust, hair perfectly arranged, he surely could not have walked from Crassus's quarters to Pompey's through wind and sun!

“I remember you said you didn't drink wine. Can I offer you water?” asked Pompey, gesturing in the direction of a chair.

“Thank you, I require nothing except a private conversation,” said Caesar, seating himself.

“I'll see you later,” said Pompey to his legates.

He waited until he saw the two disappointed men well out of hearing down the path toward the Via Recta before he directed his attention at Caesar. “Well?” he asked in his abrupt manner.

“I come from Marcus Crassus.”

“I expected to see Crassus himself.”

“You're better off dealing with me.”

“Angry, is he?”

Caesar's brows lifted. “Crassus? Angry? Not at all!”

“Then why can't he come to see me himself?”

“And set all of Rome chattering even harder than it already is?” asked Caesar. “If you and Marcus Crassus are to do business, Gnaeus Pompeius, better that you do so through men like me, who are the soul of discretion and loyal to our superiors.”

“So you're Crassus's man, eh?”

“In this matter, yes. In general I am my own man.”

“How old are you?” asked Pompey bluntly.

“Twenty-nine in Quinctilis.”

“Crassus would call that splitting hairs. You'll be in the Senate soon, then.”

“I'm in the Senate now. Have been for almost nine years.”

“Why?”

“I won a Civic Crown at Mitylene. Sulla's constitution says that military heroes enter the Senate,” said this dandy.

“Everyone always refers to Rome's constitution as Sulla's constitution,” said Pompey, deliberately ignoring unwelcome information like a Civic Crown. He had never won a major crown himself, and it hurt. “I'm not sure I'm grateful to Sulla!”

“You ought to be. You owe him your various special commissions,” said Caesar, “but after this little episode, I very much doubt that the Senate will ever be willing to award another special commission to a knight.”

Pompey stared. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. You can't force the Senate into letting you become consul and expect the Senate to forgive you, Gnaeus Pompeius. Nor can you expect to control the Senate forever. Philippus is an old man. So is Cethegus. And when they go, who will you use in their stead? The seniors in the Senate will all be men of Catulus's persuasion-the Caecilii Metelli, the Cornelii, the Licinii, the Claudii. So a man wanting a special commission will have to go to the People, and by the People I do not mean patricians and plebeians combined. I mean the Plebs. Rome used to work almost exclusively through the Plebeian Assembly. I predict that in the future, that is how she will work again. Tribunes of the plebs are so enormously useful-but only if they have their legislating powers.” Caesar coughed. “It's also cheaper to buy tribunes of the plebs than it is the high fliers like Philippus and Cethegus.”

All of that sank in; impassively Caesar watched it vanish thirstily below Pompey's surface. He didn't care for the fellow, but wasn't sure exactly why. Having had much childhood exposure to Gauls, it was not the Gaul in him Caesar objected to. So what was it? While Pompey sat there digesting what he had said, Caesar thought about the problem, and came to the conclusion that it was simply the man he didn't care for, not what he represented. The conceit, the almost childish concentration on self, the lacunae in a mind which obviously held no respect for the Law.

“What does Crassus have to say to me?” demanded Pompey.

“He'd like to negotiate a settlement, Gnaeus Pompeius.”

“Involving what?”

“Wouldn't it be better if you put forward your requirements first, Gnaeus Pompeius?”

“I do wish you'd stop calling me that! I hate it! I am Magnus to the world!”

“This is a formal negotiation, Gnaeus Pompeius. Custom and tradition demand that I address you by praenomen and nomen. Are you not willing to put forward your requirements first?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” snapped Pompey, not sure exactly why he could feel his temper fraying, except that it had to do with this smooth, polished fellow Crassus had sent as his representative. Everything Caesar had said so far made eminent good sense, but that only made the situation more maddening. He, Magnus, was supposed to be calling the tune, but this interview wasn't coming up to expectation. Caesar behaved as if it were he had the power, he the upper hand. The man was prettier than dead Memmius and craftier than Philippus and Cethegus combined-and yet he had won the second highest military decoration Rome could award-and from an incorruptible like Lucullus, at that. So he had to be very brave, a very good soldier. Had Pompey also known the stories about the pirates, the will of King Nicomedes and the battle on the Maeander, he might have decided to conduct this interview along different lines; Afranius and Petreius had heard some of it, but-typical Pompey!-he had heard nothing. Therefore the interview proceeded with more of the real Pompey on display than would otherwise have been the case.

“Your requirements?” Caesar was prompting.

“Are purely to persuade the Senate to pass a resolution that will let me run for consul.”