Colleen McCullough - 6. The October Horse - A Novel of Caesar and Cleopatra

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When Brutus had finally returned from Italian Gaul he seemed, to his mother at any rate, in a very strange mood. That he had much enjoyed the work Caesar had given him was patent, yet he was more than usually absentminded, didn't notice when Servilia picked and carped, wasn't pierced by her barbs. Most fascinating of all the changes in him was his skin. It had cleared up so dramatically that he was able to shave closely, and only the pockmarks remained to testify to that noisome affliction that had plagued him for almost twenty-five years. He and Gaius Cassius would be forty next year, ought to be candidates for the praetorship this year. A gift that now lay in Caesar's purlieu. Caesar! Caesar, who was inarguably the ruler of the world, as Servilia's lover, Lucius Pontius Aquila, said to her at least once every time they met. A tribune of the plebs at the moment, Aquila chafed unbearably at his impotence; with a dictator in office, he could veto nothing the Dictator promulgated as a law, and burned to find something he could do to indicate his loathing of all that Caesar was and stood for. As for Gaius Cassius, he grumbled around Rome with nothing much to do and little hope of that praetorship, frittered away his time with men like Cicero and Philippus. Much to Rome's surprise, Cassius had suddenly abrogated Stoicism and espoused Epicureanism, for no reason Servilia could see beyond the fact that it devastated Brutus so much that Brutus was avoiding him. Not easy, when both of them visited Cicero interminably! So Servilia devoted most of her own time to congress with Queen Cleopatra, desperately lonely in her marble mausoleum. Of course the Queen knew very well that Servilia had been Caesar's mistress for years, but had made it plain that this did not affect their friendship. Rather, she seemed to regard it as a bond. An attitude of mind Servilia understood. "Do you think he'll ever come home?" she asked Servilia as May drew toward its end. "I agree with Cicero he has to," Servilia stated firmly. "If he's planning on going off to fight the Parthians, he has a great deal to do in Rome first." "Oh, Cicero!" said Cleopatra with a moue of distaste. "I don't know when I've met a bigger poseur than Cicero." "He doesn't like you either," said Servilia. "Mama," cried Caesarion, galloping in astride a hobbyhorse, "Philomena says I can't go outside!" "If Philomena says you can't go outside, my son, then you can't go outside," said Cleopatra. "I can't believe how like Caesar he is," said Servilia with a hard lump in her throat. Oh, why wasn't it I to give him a son? Mine would have been Roman, and patrician through and through. The little boy galloped off with his usual sunny acceptance of Mama's authority. "To look at, yes," said Cleopatra, smiling tenderly, "but can you imagine Caesar so obedient, even at that age?" "Actually, no. Why can't he go outside? It's a perfect day for playing in the sun, and sunlight's good for him." Cleopatra's face clouded. "Yet another reason why I wish his father would return. The Transtiberini have been eluding my guards, and they prowl the grounds bent on mischief. They carry knives, and use them to slice up the nostrils or cut off ears. Some of our children Caesarion's age have suffered, as well as my women servants." "My dear Cleopatra, what do you have guards for? Send the boy out under guard, don't coop him up inside!" "He'd insist on playing with the guards." "Why not?" asked Servilia, astonished. "He can only play with his equals." Servilia pursed her lips. "My ancestry, Cleopatra, is very much better than yours, but even I can see no sense in that. He will soon learn to distinguish his equals, but in the meantime he will have sun, air and exercise." "I have a different solution," said Cleopatra, looking stubborn. "I can't wait to hear it." "I'm going to have a high wall built all around my estate." "That won't keep the Transtiberini out." "Yes, it will. I'll have every cubit of it patrolled." Eyes rolling, Servilia gave up. Some months of Cleopatra's company had shown her how different Roman women were from eastern ones. The Queen of Egypt might rule millions, but she didn't have a particle of common sense. First meeting had demonstrated one very soothing fact: that whatever he felt for her, Caesar was not fathoms deep in love with Cleopatra. Probably, knowing him, he was intrigued at the thought of fathering a king he was acknowledged the father of; Caesar had bedded several queens, but they were all the wives of someone else. Whereas this queen was his, and his alone. Oh, she had her attractions. Though she had no common sense, she understood laws and government. But the longer Servilia knew her, the less she worried about Queen Cleopatra.

Brutus was visiting a far different woman from Cleopatra; his first port of call upon returning to Rome had been Porcia, who had welcomed him ecstatically, but not offered her lips or one of those bear hugs that lifted Brutus clean off his feet. The reason was not lack of love, or second thoughts: the reason had a name. Statyllus. Though he had originally been going to Brutus in Placentia, Statyllus ended in getting no farther than Rome, where he presented himself at Bibulus's house and beseeched young Lucius Bibulus to take him in. As Lucius never thought to ask his stepmama what she thought, Porcia found herself back in an odd facsimile of Cato's house during her childhood, taking a back seat to an eternally tippling philosopher, and watching Statyllus insidiously persuading Lucius to tipple as well. Oh, it wasn't fair! Why hadn't she pushed harder to send young Lucius off to Gnaeus Pompeius in Spain? He was old enough to be a contubernalis now, but he had been so disconsolate at Cato's death that she had not felt it right to push. Once Statyllus arrived, she rued that. Thus, her eyes drinking Brutus in but very aware of Statyllus in the background, Porcia held aloof. "Dear Brutus, your skin has cleared up," she said, dying to reach out and stroke his smooth, clean-shaven jaw. "I think it's you," he said, a smile lighting his eyes. "Your mother must be pleased." He snorted. "Her? She's too busy huddling heads with that revolting foreigner across the Tiber." "Cleopatra? You do mean Cleopatra?" "I certainly do. Servilia practically lives there." "I would have thought she'd be the last one Servilia wanted to stand on good terms with, Porcia said, flabbergasted. "I also, but apparently we're wrong. Oh, I have no doubt that she has something nasty up her sleeve, but I have no idea what. She simply says that Cleopatra entertains her." Thus that first meeting got no further than a meeting of eyes, a shy exchange of glances; nor did any of the other meetings that followed progress beyond visual caresses. Sometimes it was just Statyllus standing watch, at other times Statyllus and Lucius. In June, Brutus drew Porcia out of earshot and spoke with painful directness. "Porcia, will you marry me?" he asked. She turned into a pillar of flame, alight from head to foot. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cried.

Brutus went home to send Claudia packing on the spot, so eager to divorce her that it never occurred to him to cite proper grounds, like childlessness. He just summoned her, handed her the bill of divorcement, and had her conveyed in a litter to her older brother, who roared loudly enough to be heard on the far side of the city, then came around to see the unfeeling husband. "You can't do this!" Appius Claudius shouted, striding up and down the atrium, too angry to wait until Brutus could shoo him into a more private environment. Curious to see who was making such a fuss, Servilia appeared immediately; Brutus found himself facing an irate brother-in-law and an even more irate mother. "You can't do this!" Servilia echoed. Perhaps it was his suddenly respectable face endowed Brutus with courage, or perhaps it was his love for Porcia; he himself wasn't sure. Whatever the basis, he confronted both of them with chin up and eyes hard. "I have already done it," he said, "and that is the end of it. I do not like my wife. I have never liked my wife." "Then give her dowry back!" Appius Claudius Pulcher yelled. Brutus raised his brows. "What dowry?" he asked. "Your late father never provided one. Now go away!" He turned on his heel, marched to his study, and bolted himself in. "Nine years of marriage!" he could hear Appius Claudius saying to Servilia. "Nine years of marriage! I'll have him in court!" An hour later Servilia started pounding on the study door in a way that told the listening Brutus that she was prepared to go on pounding forever if necessary. Best get it over and done with well, some of it, anyway. News of his plans for Porcia could wait. He opened the door with a resolute gesture and stood back. "You fool!" Servilia snapped, black eyes flashing. "What did you do that for? You can't divorce a woman as well liked and nice as Claudia for no reason!" "I don't care if all Rome likes her, I don't like her." "You won't earn any friends for this." "I don't expect to, or want to." "This will set Rome by the ears! Brutus, she's a Claudian of the highest rank! And dowryless! At least settle something on her so she has some financial independence," Servilia said, her mood calming a little. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Just what are you up to?" "I'm putting my house in order," said Brutus. "Settle some money on her." "Not a sestertius." Servilia ground her teeth, a sound which in the old days had reduced him to a shivering wreck. Now he endured it without any change in expression. "Two hundred talents," said Servilia. "Not one sestertius, Mama." "You odious skinflint! Do you want all Rome to condemn you?" "Go away," said the worm, turned at last. Which meant that it was Servilia who sent Claudia two hundred talents in an attempt to silence the clacking tongues. Lentulus Spinther the younger had just divorced his wife in scandalous circumstances too, but the sensation that had caused paled to insignificance beside the hitherto inoffensive Brutus's coldhearted rejection of his poor, blameless, sweet little wife. And though he was universally condemned for it, Brutus went about unconcerned. Very much aware that she had lost her ascendancy over her son, Servilia retired to the shadows to watch and wait. He was up to something, and time would reveal exactly what. His skin had quite healed; so, it seemed, had the spirit within him. But if he was under the illusion that his mother had no tricks left, he would soon learn otherwise. Oh, what was the matter with her life? One disappointment after another for as long as she could remember.