Colleen McCullough - 5. Caesar

Oh, Marcus! That it should have come to this. Could you not see where it would all end, and how? Ateius Capito cursed you. The Jews cursed you. Your own army believed those curses, and you did nothing to disabuse them. Fifteen thousand good Roman soldiers are dead, ten thousand more sentenced to life on an alien frontier, my Aeduan cavalry are gone, most of the Galatians are gone, and Syria is being governed by an enterprising, insufferably arrogant and conceited young man whose contemptuous words about you are the words which will follow you for all time. The Parthians may have assassinated your person, but Gaius Cassius has assassinated your character. I know which fate I would prefer. Your wonderful older son is dead. He too is vulture fodder. In the desert it is not necessary to burn and bury. Old King Mithridates tied Manius Aquillius backward on an ass, then tipped molten gold down his gullet to cure his avarice. Was that what Orodes and Artavasdes planned for you? But you cheated them of that; you died cleanly before they could do it. A poor, hapless centurion, Paccianus, probably suffered that fate in your place. And your eye sockets gaze sightlessly over a vista of endless, freezingly cold mountains toward the icy infinity of the Caucasus. Caesar sat, remembering, for a long time. How pleased Crassus had been that the Pontifex Maximus had installed a bell he was too stingy to pay for himself. How competently and placidly he had walled Spartacus in through a time of snows. How difficult it had been to persuade him and Pompey to embrace publicly on the rostra when their first joint consulship ended. How easily he had issued the instructions which had saved Caesar from the hands of the moneylenders and permanent exile. How pleasant the many, many hours they had spent together over the years between Spartacus and Gaul. How desperately Crassus had hungered for a great military campaign and a triumph at the end of it. The dear sight of that big, bland, impassive face at Luca. All gone. Picked clean by the vultures. Not burned, not entombed. Caesar stiffened. Had anyone thought of it? He pulled paper toward him, dipped his reed pen in the inkwell and wrote to his friend Messala Rufus in Rome to buy the shades of those who had lost their heads a passage to the proper place. I am, he thought, screwing up his eyes, become an authority on severed heads.

Luckily Lucius Cornelius Balbus Major was with Caesar when he received Pompey's answer to his letter proposing two marriages and requesting legislation to enable him to stand for the consulship in absentia. "I am so alone," Caesar said to Balbus, but without self-pity. Then he shrugged. "Still, it happens as one grows older." "Until," said Balbus gently, "one retires to enjoy the fruits of one's labors, and has time to lie back among friends." The perceptive eyes began to twinkle, the generous mouth to curl up at its dented corners. "What an awful prospect! I do not intend to retire, Balbus." "Don't you think there will ever come a time when there is nothing left to do?" "Not for this Roman, if any Roman. When Gaul and my second consulship are over, I must avenge Marcus Crassus. I'm still reeling from that shock, let alone this." Caesar tapped Pompey's letter. "And the death of Publius Clodius?" The twinkle vanished, the mouth set. "The death of Publius Clodius was inevitable. His tampering with the mos maiorum could not be allowed to continue. Young Curio put it best in his letter to me odd, the disparate people Clodius's activities managed to throw into the same camp. He said that Clodius was going to hand a congress of Roman men over to a parcel of non-Romans." Balbus, a non-Roman Roman citizen, did not blink. "They say that young Curio is extremely distressed financially." "Do they?" Caesar looked thoughtful. "Do we need him?" "At the moment, no. But that might change." "What do you make of Pompeius in the light of his reply?" "What do you make of him, Caesar?" "I'm not sure, but I do know that I made a mistake in trying to woo him with more marriages. He's grown very particular in his choice of wives, so much is sure. The daughter of an Octavius and an Ancharia isn't good enough, or so I read it between his lines. Maybe I ought to have said straight out what I imagined he would see for himself without such bluntness that as soon as the younger Octavia was of marriageable age, I would be happy to slip the first Octavia out from under him and substitute the second girl. Though the first would have suited him very well. Not a Julian, no, but brought up by a Julian. It shows, Balbus." "I doubt that an air of aristocracy operates as profoundly upon Pompeius as a pedigree," said Balbus with the ghost of a smile. "I wonder whom he has in mind." "That's really why I've come to Ravenna, Caesar. A little bird perched on my shoulder and chirruped that the boni are dangling the widow of Publius Crassus under his nose." Caesar sat up straight. "Cacat!" He relaxed, shook his head. "Metellus Scipio would never do it, Balbus. Besides, I know the young woman. She's no Julia. I doubt she'd permit the likes of Pompeius to touch the hem of her robe, let alone lift it." "One of the problems," said Balbus deliberately, "to do with your rise into Rome's firmament, despite all that the boni have tried to do to prevent it, is that the boni have grown desperate enough to contemplate using Pompeius in much the same way that you use him. And how else can they bind him except through a marriage so stellar that he wouldn't dare offend them? To dower him with Cornelia Metella is literally to admit him into their ranks. Pompeius would see Cornelia Metella as confirmation from the boni that he is indeed the First Man in Rome." "So you think it's possible." "Oh, yes. The young woman is a cool person, Caesar. If she saw herself as an absolute necessity, she'd go to the sacrifice as willingly as Iphigenia at Aulis." "Though for far different reasons." "Yes and no. I doubt any man will ever satisfy Cornelia Metella in the way that her own father does, and Metellus Scipio bears some resemblance to Agamemnon. Cornelia Metella is in love with her own aristocracy, to the extent that she would refuse to believe a Pompeius from Picenum could detract from it." "Then," said Caesar with decision, "I won't move from this side of the Alps to the far side in a hurry this year. I'll have to monitor events in Rome too thoroughly." He clenched his teeth. "Oh, where has my luck gone? In a family famous for breeding more girls than boys, it can't produce a girl when I need one." "It isn't your luck carries you through, Caesar," said Balbus firmly. "You'll survive." "I take it Cicero is coming to Ravenna?" "Very shortly." "Good. Young Caelius has potential he ought not to waste on the likes of Milo." "Who can't be allowed to become consul." "He belongs to Cato and Bibulus." But when Balbus withdrew, Caesar's thoughts did not dwell upon events in Rome. They drifted to Syria and to the loss of seven silver Eagles no doubt displayed at this moment with great ostentation in the halls of the Parthian palace at Ecbatana. They would have to be wrested from Orodes, and that meant war with Orodes. Probably also war with Artavasdes of Armenia. Ever since he'd read Gaius Cassius's letter, a part of Caesar's mind had stayed in the East, wrestling with the concept of a strategy capable of conquering a mighty empire and two mighty armies. Lucullus had shown that it could be done at Tigranocerta. Then had undone everything. Or rather, had allowed Publius Clodius to undo it. At least that was one good piece of news. Clodius was dead. And there will never be a Clodius in any army of mine. I will need Decimus Brutus, Gaius Trebonius, Gaius Fabius and Titus Sextius. Splendid men all. They know how my mind works, they're able to lead and to obey. But not Titus Labienus. I do not want him for the Parthian campaign. He can finish his time in Gaul, but after that I am finished with him. Knitting up a structure for Gaul of the Long-hairs had proven an extremely difficult business, though Caesar knew how to do it. And one of the linchpins was to forge a good relationship with sufficient Gallic leaders to ensure two things: the first, that the Gauls themselves would feel they had a powerful say in their future; and the second, that the chosen Gallic leaders were absolutely committed to Rome. Not the Acco or Vercingetorix kind, but the Commius and Vertico kind, convinced that the best chance for the preservation of Gallic customs and traditions lay in sheltering behind the Roman shield. Oh, Commius wanted to be High King of the Belgae, yes, but that was permissible. In it were planted the seeds of Belgic fusion into one people rather than many peoples. Rome dealt well with client kings; there were a dozen within the fold. But Titus Labienus was not a deep thinker, nor political. And he had conceived a hatred for Commius based on the fact that Commius had preferred not to use Labienus as his conduit to Caesar. Aware of this, Caesar had always been careful to keep a distance between Labienus and King Commius of the Atrebates. Though until Hirtius had come in a hurry from Further Gaul yesterday, he hadn't realized the reason behind Labienus's request that Gaius Volusenus Quadratus, a military tribune senior enough for a prefecture, be seconded to duty with him over the winter. "Another one who hates Commius," said Hirtius, looking worn out from his journey. "They hatched a plot." "Volusenus hates Commius? Why?" asked Caesar, frowning. "It happened during the second expedition to Britannia, I gather. The usual thing. They both fancied the same woman." "Who spurned Volusenus in favor of Commius." "Exactly. Well, why should she not? She was a Briton, and already under Commius's protection. I remember her. Pretty girl." "Sometimes," said Caesar wearily, "I wish we just went off somewhere and budded. Women are a complication we men do not need to suffer." "I suspect," said Hirtius, smiling, "that women often feel the same way." "Which philosophical discussion is not getting us any closer to the truth about Volusenus and Labienus. What sort of plot did they hatch?" "The report came to me from Labienus that Commius was preaching sedition." "Is that all? Did Labienus give details?" "Only that Commius was going about among the Menapii, the Nervii and the Eburones stirring up a new revolt." "Among three tribes reduced to skeletons?" "And that he was thick with Ambiorix." "A convenient name to use. But I would have thought Commius would deem Ambiorix more a threat to his cherished high kingship than an ally willing to put him there." "I agree. Which is why I began to smell rotting fish. A long acquaintance with Commius has convinced me that he knows very well who can assist him onto his throne you." "What else?" "Had Labienus said no more, I might not have stirred out of Samarobriva," said Hirtius. "It was the last part of his typically curt letter which made me decide to seek more information about this so-called plot from Labienus himself." "What did he say?" "That I was not to worry. That he would deal with Commius." "Ah!" Caesar sat forward and linked his hands between his knees. "So you went to see Labienus?" "Too late, Caesar. The deed was done. Labienus summoned Commius to a parley. Instead of going himself, he deputed Volusenus to go on his behalf. With a guard of hand-picked centurions from among Labienus's cronies. Commius who cannot have suspected any foul play appeared with a few friends, no troops. I imagine he wasn't pleased to discover Volusenus there, though what the truth of the matter is I can have no idea. All I know is what Labienus told me with a mixture of pride in his own cleverness at thinking of the scheme, and chagrin that it went amiss." "Are you trying to say," asked Caesar incredulously, "that Labienus intended to assassinate Commius?" "Oh, yes," said Hirtius simply. "He made no secret of it. According to Labienus, you're an absolute fool for trusting Commius. Labienus knows he's plotting sedition." "Without proof which would stand up to close examination?" "He could produce none when I pressed the matter, certainly. Just kept insisting he was right and you were wrong. You know the man, Caesar. He's a force of nature!" "What happened?" "Volusenus had instructed one of the centurions to do the killing, while the other centurions were to concentrate on making sure none of the Atrebatans escaped. The signal for the centurion to strike was the moment in which Volusenus extended his hand to shake Commius's." "Jupiter! What are we, adherents of Mithridates? That's the sort of ploy an eastern king would use! Ohhh ... Go on." "Volusenus extended his hand, Commius extended his. The centurion whipped his sword from behind his back and swung it. Either his eye was out or he misliked the task. He caught Commius across the brow, a glancing blow which didn't even break the bone or render him unconscious. Volusenus drew his sword, but Commius was gone, gushing blood. The Atrebatans formed up around their king and extricated themselves without anyone else's so much as being wounded." "If I hadn't heard it from you, Hirtius, I would never have believed it," said Caesar slowly. "Believe it, Caesar, believe it!" "So Rome has lost a very valuable ally." "I would think so." Hirtius produced a slender scroll. "I received this from Commius. It was waiting when I returned to Samarobriva. I haven't opened it because it is intended for you. Rather than write to you, I came in person." Caesar took the scroll, broke its seal and spread it.