Our Eternal Curse I (4 page)

With no warning Sulla walked in
and sat down on the couch opposite Julia as she quietly stitched her tapestry. 
His eyes stared out from the caked dust of a long road home.  Cecilia poured
him a goblet of wine and there he sat without speaking, just sipping and
looking at Julia.  Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest and completely
unable to speak she stared back in excited shock.

He was still so handsome and the
love which had lain dormant for so long surged through her as he drained his goblet,
placed it on the floor by his foot, then stood and walked deliberately over to
the motionless form.  Julia’s needle was still poised exactly as it had been at
the moment he re-entered her life and as he lifted her effortlessly into his
powerful arms Julia feared her rapidly beating heart might fail.

It was not an act of love but
one of violence.  The pain as he penetrated her was an ugly thing and nothing
that took place that evening matched her girlish fantasy of love.  He had no
idea that she was a virgin and if he had bothered to think about it he would
not have cared.  Julia was stock, just like the cattle and sheep on any of his
many estates.  It would not even have occurred to him that his act of pure
masculine aggression would sever her final shred of trust and self-esteem. 
There was simply no time for irrelevant trivia, he had a report to deliver in
the Senate.

Cecilia had known what was about
to happen as she poured the wine.  She could see it in Sulla’s eyes.  She had
seen that look before and it resembled an animal driven by a very basic
instinct.  Standing patiently by the front door Cecilia could do nothing but
wait for Sulla to leave and the moment he silently passed her on his way out
she dashed to the sitting room to find Julia lying on the floor exactly where
he had left her.  The wretched girl had a look of complete shock on her face. 
Her pure white skirt made crimson with her own blood was lifted above her waist
and lay crumpled on her belly.  Kneeling down Cecilia moved the hem gently to
cover her blood stained loins.  This is how it had been for her years before
and her memory of humiliation was as clear as the day it happened.

Julia could remember nothing
after Sulla left her lying on the cold stone floor.  From the moment he took her
in his arms until the moment he left had been a few minutes, but to Julia it
seemed endless and ongoing.  Crying for many days, she wanted to die.  The only
reason she found the strength to survive was purely and simply due to the
kindness of Cecilia and her belief in the decency of Joseph.  Without these two
steadfast elements Julia would have quietly laid her head down and let go, but
faith gave her just enough courage to raise herself from her stupor and walk to
the Cuppedenis.  Julia trusted her true friend Joseph who always gave
dependable advice; he would know what to do.

Her arrival at the little spice
stall was accompanied by feelings of relief because Julia felt confident that
Joseph’s explanation would help extinguish the terrible pain within, but much
to her surprise and disappointment he looked deeply troubled himself.  He had
never been too busy to talk before but this day he hardly acknowledged her
presence.

“
Is there a problem?” she asked with genuine
concern. “Can I help?”

“
No there is nothing you can do,” said Joseph with
his eyes lowered and the sound of total dejection in his voice.

“
What is it?” asked Julia trying to forget her own
pain in the interest of helping her dear friend.

“
Nothing,” was all he said.

“
Please.  Tell me.  If I can, I would like to help.”

While serving a customer Joseph
glanced at Julia.  Her sincerity was compelling.  “Six months ago there was an
uprising in my homeland of Judea,’ he explained without looking up from his
stall. “And whenever there is an uprising in the empire there are reprisals.  I
have only recently heard from others of my country that the rebellion was
unmercifully put down by the Roman Proconsul.  Now I have no idea what has
become of my wife and children or what will become of me, a Jew living in
Rome.’

Julia was shocked to hear that
Joseph had a wife and children because the man she thought of as a surrogate
father had never mentioned having a family.  Thinking back through her years of
talking to Joseph, Julia realized that the only information he had ever
volunteered was as a direct response to a question posed by her and as this
thought deepened she noticed a man standing at the stall who was furtively
touching a spice jar but looking intently at her.  What was different? Julia
realized that the change was in Joseph’s behavior.  He had not gestured for the
customer to purchase the spice as he usually did, so the man just stood
staring.  All too quickly Julia realized how Joseph had been using her as bait,
she was a freak, she knew that because people always stared.

She turned to look at Joseph at
the moment he raised his head, their eyes met and both knew what the other was
thinking.  Julia said nothing she simply turned and walked away.  There were no
more tears, what was happening was a confirmation of what she already knew deep
in her heart, no one can be genuinely trusted.

Victory parades were extremely
rare events given only to those who had won greatness for Rome and the only
time an army was allowed within the walls of the city.  Roman Senators believed
in the democratically elected Republic and hated raising one man above all
others but tradition dictated that Sulla must be given his day of honor so a
parade had been organized to welcome him home.  The Senators resented his
popularity as he rode proudly in the very chariot which had carried Julia to
Rome but were absolutely powerless to stop his army marching through the
crowd-lined streets.

Without so much as a thought for
the girl he had so recently crushed the great general looked towards the head
of the procession and watched his proud standard-bearers leading his column
through the heart of the city.  These lionskin-clad men carried silver eagles
mounted at the tips of stout wooden poles and everyone lining the route knew
that they were the bravest of the brave.  Each would rather die than lose the
standard entrusted to him and the combat-hardened legions that marched behind
would never suffer the intolerable ignominy of being one of only a handful of
legions too lose their regimental eagle in 500 years of wars.

Sulla loved the psychological
control his eagles gave him and despite his sacred oath to defend democracy he
considered them his personal instruments of war.  He had employed them to turn
the course of so many battles and their value could not be overstated. 
Thousands of his men had died following these inanimate pieces of metal into
impossible situations and their shaman-like power had snatched victory from the
jaws of defeat on so many occasions.  It was refreshing to know that he alone
controlled the influence they held over the faltering Republic’s greatest war
machine, these soldiers would defend him and his eagles or die to a man and the
power he held over Rome was intoxicating.

Sulla found it impossible to wipe
the smile from his face as he pondered how far he could take his megalomaniacal
desires.  Even the old slave who in the time-honored tradition stood in the
chariot behind him repeating, “Remember you are but a man not a God,” could not
dampen his elation.  Like a child who could no longer contain himself Sulla
laughed and shouted into the cacophony, “How many of you are going to die in
support of my Italian war?” and the black charioteer looked quizzically at his
general for clarification of the order.  Smiling broadly Sulla slapped his
trusted servant on the back and indicated that his words were not intended to
inspire any kind of action so the driver returned his attention to the panting
horses.  The modest slave may have heard Sulla’s indiscreet outburst but the
former could be put to death at the end of the parade anyway so Sulla turned to
give his crowd an even broader smile and laughed at the gullibility of his
sheep as they raised a spontaneous cheer.

This was the first day of his
victory procession and the population of Rome had come out in force to join in
the party which filled the city.  Sulla was pleasantly surprised to see that
the mood of the people had changed from tolerance to anger during his
three-year absence and the force of this transformation could be heard in the
voices of the multitude lining the streets.  They shouted the expected messages
of love and support for him but between the positive words were also unexpected
messages of hate for the Italian tribes.  Every man, women and child seemed to
be howling for a local war and they clearly wanted their hero Sulla to win it
for them.

“
You have beaten these fools from the East!” shouted
one man.

“
When are you going to teach the ungrateful Italians
the same lesson?” shouted another, sparking spontaneous cries of support from
the mob and Sulla marveled at the effectiveness of the plan he had so
impulsively put in place just hours before his departure three years earlier.

He had been reading the
Senatorial reports and knew that relations between the Italian tribes and Rome
were building to a critical stage.  He also knew that Romans could no longer
travel outside Rome for fear of attack and no one dared journey without a
military escort.  What he had not known however was the extent to which the
Roman population had swallowed his lies.  Sulla had expected the stories of
terrible massacres to provoke fear.  He had assumed that the almost weekly
atrocities would lead to a desire for peace and he had been preparing to push
the Senate into a war against the people’s will but this public outpouring of
hatred told him that Rome actually believed the tribes to be weak and they were
ready to fight.

It was a far better situation
than he could ever have hoped for and he was going to enjoy molding this naive
public opinion to suit his ends.  Sulla was going to subdue those insolent
tribes and get rich in the process but that was a matter for another day; now
it was time to enjoy the spectacle before him, Sulla was the name on everyone’s
lips and that made him smile as he waved at his adoring followers in an even
more spectacular fashion.

Following immediately behind
Sulla came the lumbering treasure wagons which crunched along the cobbles under
the sheer weight of their load.  The sight of so much affluence overwhelmed the
crowd and inspired them to cheer with all their hearts as each vehicle
passed.   Even though they were sturdy supply wagons they strained under the
mass of gold and silver ingots until the inevitable mechanical failure
happened.  It was the front wheel on the creaking wagon nearest Sulla which
gave up first and as it collapsed gold, silver and precious jewels spewed
everywhere.

Combined with the noise of the
terrible crash were the agonizing cries of a man who was nearly cut in half by
the falling wheel.  He was one of the many slaves employed to pick up horse
droppings who just happened to be in the wrong place when the accident
happened.  His cries incited the crowd to cheer even harder as the procession
ground to a halt and Sulla tried to hide his rage.

After a few brisk words to his
driver Sulla turned to entertain his audience while repairs were being made. 
The huge black charioteer dismounted, spoke to the centurion who commanded
Sulla’s personal bodyguard, then walked over to the distraught slave and
effortlessly cut the helpless man’s throat.  The sight of blood simultaneously
leaving so many parts of his body sent the spectators in to screams of
approval.  Sulla was always good under pressure and he continued to distract
the crowd with his antics while his bodyguard positioned themselves to prevent
the mob from helping themselves.

The booty in the wagon was
intended for the city treasury and his act of protection appeared to be
motivated by civic responsibility but nothing could be further from the truth. 
Tradition dictated that everyone involved in a Roman war received a bonus from
the spoils and a major part of the valuables being gathered up by the dung
slaves was earmarked for him.  Sulla’s legionaries who now worked to fix the wagon
would also be given a small share to fund the parcel of land they were given by
the state.  Officers received a larger amount in accordance with their rank but
the lion’s share went to the head of the army.  Sulla was now a much richer man
and he had no intention of letting the mob steal even a single denarius of his
hard-earned spoils.

The rebellious kings who
followed the treasure wagons were clearly relieved when the procession resumed
its progress because the delay had inspired the crowd to pelt them with
anything they could find including the horse droppings from all of the slave’s
buckets.  These once dignified potentates had brought disaster upon themselves
by revolting against Rome and they were clearly regretting their foolish
actions.  They had been allowed to dress in their full state regalia but their
bleeding wrists were bound by chains whilst a broken spear held their bent
elbows behind their stooped backs.  They were being made to walk in shame prior
to their painful execution later in the day and to make matters worse they were
now covered from head to toe in shit.  No other race of people could humiliate
quite like the Romans and these broken men were no longer eastern rulers but
mere examples being made for the benefit of other puppet Kings throughout the
Republic.

Passing along the Forum Romanum
Sulla turned to acknowledge the Senators standing on the white marble steps and
lifted a clenched fist to his breastplate in salute.  As he surveyed the men
who hated his popularity Sulla became shocked by the sight of Gaius Marius
standing awkwardly with the help of a young boy.  He had read reports of the
stroke which damaged his old adversary but what he saw astounded him, the
infirmity had robbed him of half his face and body.  Sulla instantly grasped
the meaning of this opportunity.  He realized that this was his moment, until
now he had languished in the shadow of the so-called “Father of Rome” always
the second-in-command to the great Gaius Marius but now he was old, crippled
and slowed by time.

Clearly trying to maintain both
his balance and his immense
dignitas
Marius was obviously very weak and
Sulla knew him well enough to know that inwardly he would be cursing his broken
body.  He was ready to be superseded as the first man in Rome and Sulla was
more than willing to take his place.

Returning his stare Sulla dipped
his head almost imperceptibly as he passed.  The crowd continued to cheer
because to everyone else the gloat was quite undetectable but Marius would
understand the meaning of his feigned respect.  Marius had been a lion once, a
fighting man, one of the best leaders Rome ever produced but now he was as a
broken down old fool who could no longer wield his power and wealth.

The men of the Senate watched
Sulla pass and worried about the power he wielded over both the army and the
people.  They hated leaving so much military might in one man’s hands because
Rome was a democratic Republic which killed its last king nearly five hundred
years before for abusing power.  The system of electing two new consuls every
year stopped ambitious men like Sulla from climbing to the top but his
popularity was becoming a threat to their order.  A way would usually be found
to prevent one man from controlling so much authority but Rome needed Sulla and
his army for the impending war with the Italian tribes so for a while at least,
they had to compromise.

It took two full days for the
triumph to pass through Rome and the Senators stood respectfully in the hot sun
throughout.  There were several marching bands in bright uniforms interspersed
by huge floats depicting victorious moments from Sulla’s conquests.  Actors
with exaggerated makeup portrayed scenes of the great General defeating the
Kings who had walked in shame.  The people watched in fascination as hundreds
of exotic animals snarled their way through the center of Rome the dangerous
ones in cages and the passive ones tethered to the wagons or led by slaves. 
All were destined to meet a bizarre death in the Circus Maximus and as is
always the case in Rome their end would be witnessed by a frantically cheering
mob.

Towards the end of the march
past came thousands of shackled men, women and children many of them carrying
babies some as black as coal.  The citizens of Rome had no sympathy for these
sad people who were destined to toil as slaves in homes, farms or mines because
folk like them were the very thing which allowed Roman society to function. 
Apart from the lucky few who would meet a dignified death as gladiators most of
them were destined to die as beasts of burden over many sad and painful years
of service.  Collectively they would fetch millions of sesterces at the slave
markets and much of that money would go to Sulla and as he thought about it he
could hardly wipe the smile from his face.