Colleen McCullough - 2. The Grass Crown

As the northern commander-in-chief, Lucius Julius, I believe the time has come to inform you of my plans. I write this on the Kalends of Sextilis, in camp near Reate. It is my intention to invade the lands of the Marsi. My army is finally in peak condition, and I am absolutely confident it will acquit itself in the same magnificent fashion as all my armies in the past have done, for the sake of Rome and the sake of their general.

Oho! thought Sulla, hackles rising. I've never heard the old boy express himself in quite those terms before! "For the sake of Rome and the sake of their general.'' Now what gnat is whining round in his mind? Why is he linking himself personally to Rome? My army! Not Rome's army, but my army! I wouldn't have noticed it we all say it except for his reference to himself as their general. This communication will go into the archives of the war. And in it, Gaius Marius is putting himself on an equal footing with Rome! Quickly Sulla lifted his head, glanced at Lucius Caesar; but if the southern commander-in-chief had spotted the phrase, he was pretending he had not. And so much subtlety, decided Sulla, Lucius Caesar did not have. He went back to deciphering Marius's letter.

I think you will agree with me, Lucius Julius, that we need a victory a complete and decisive victory in my theater. Rome has called our war against the Italians the Marsic War, so we must defeat the Marsi in the field, if at all possible break the Marsi beyond recovery. Now I can do that, my dear Lucius Julius, but in order to do it, I need the services of my old friend and colleague, Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Plus two more legions. I understand completely that you can ill afford to lose Lucius Cornelius not to mention two legions. If I did not consider it imperative that I ask, I would not ask this favor of you. Nor, I assure you, is this transfer of personnel a permanent one. Call it a loan, not a gift. Two months is all I need. If you can see your way clear to granting my petition, Rome will fare the better for your kindness to me. If you cannot see your way clear, then I must sit down again in Reate and think of something else.

Sulla raised his head and stared at Lucius Caesar, his brows climbing. "Well?" he asked, putting the letter down on Lucius Caesar's desk carefully. "By all means go to him, Lucius Cornelius," said Lucius Caesar indifferently. “I can deal with Aesernia without you. Gaius Marius is right. We need a decisive victory in the field against the Marsi. This southern theater is a shambles anyway. It's quite impossible to contain the Samnites and their allies or get enough of them together in one place to inflict a decisive defeat upon them. All I can do here is engage in demonstrations of Roman strength and persistence. There will be no decisive battle in the south, ever. It is in the north that must happen." Up went Sulla's hackles yet again. One of the two generals was thinking of himself in the same breath as Rome, the other was in a permanent slough of despond, incapable of seeing any light in east or west or south. Lucky perhaps that he could see a little glow in the north! How can we succeed in Campania with a man like Lucius Caesar in command? asked Sulla of himself. Ye gods, why is it that I am never quite senior enough? I'm better than Lucius Caesar! I may well be better than Gaius Marius! Since I entered the Senate I have spent my life serving lesser men even Gaius Marius is a lesser man because he isn't a patrician Cornelius. Metellus Piggle-wiggle, Gaius Marius, Catulus Caesar, Titus Didius, and now this chronically depressed scion of an ancient house! And who is it goes from strength to strength, wins the Grass Crown, and ends up governing a whole province at the ripe old age of thirty? Quintus Sertorius. A Sabine nobody. Marius's cousin! "Lucius Caesar, we will win!" said Sulla very seriously. "I tell you, I can hear the wings of Victory in the air all around us! We'll grind the Italians down to so much powder. Beat us in a battle or two the Italians may, but beat us in a war, they cannot! No one can! Rome is Rome, mighty and eternal. I believe in Rome!" "Oh, so do I, Lucius Cornelius, so do I!" said Lucius Caesar testily. "Now go away! Make yourself useful to Gaius Marius, for I swear you are not very useful to me!" Sulla got to his feet, and was actually as far as the outer doorway of the house Lucius Caesar had commandeered when he turned back. So intent had he been upon the letter that Lucius Caesar's physical appearance hadn't had the power to deflect his attention away from Gaius Marius. Now a fresh fear filled him. The general was sallow, lethargic, shivering, sweating. "Lucius Julius, are you well?" Sulla demanded. "Yes, yes!" Sulla sat down again. "You're not, you know." "I am well enough, Lucius Cornelius." "See a physician!" "In this village? It would be some filthy old woman prescribing decoctions of pig manure and poultices of pounded spiders." "I'll be going past Rome. I'll send you the Sicilian." "Then send him to Aesernia, Lucius Cornelius, because that is where he'll find me." Lucius Caesar's brow shone with sweat. "You are dismissed." Sulla lifted his shoulders, got up. "Be it on your own head. You've got the ague." And that, he reflected, going through the door onto the street without turning back this time, was that. Lucius Caesar was going to enter the Melfa Gorge in no fit state to organize a harvest dance. He was going to be ambushed, and he was going to have to retire to Teanum Sidicinum a second time to lick his wounds, with too many precious men lying dead in the bottom of that treacherous defile. Oh, why were they always so pigheaded, so obtuse? Not very far down the street he encountered the Piglet, looking equally grim. "You've got a sick man in there," said Sulla, jerking his head toward the house. "Don't rub it in!" cried Metellus Pius. "At the best of times he's quite impossible to cheer up, but in the grip of an ague I despair! What did you do to make him stiffen up and ignore you?" "Told him to forget Aesernia and concentrate on driving the Samnites out of western Campania.'' "Yes, that would account for it, with our commander-in-chief in his present state,'' said the Piglet, finding a smile. The Piglet's stammer had always fascinated Sulla, who said now, "Your stammer's pretty good these days." "Oh, why did you have to suh-suh-say that, Lucius Cornelius? It's only all ruh-ruh-right as long as I don't think about it, cuh-cuh-curse you!" "Really? That's interesting. You didn't stammer before when? Arausio, wasn't it?" " Yes. It' s a puh-puh-puh-pain in the arse!'' Metellus Pius drew a deep breath and endeavored to dismiss the thought of his speech impediment from consciousness. "In your pruh-pruh-present state of odium, I don't suppose he tuh-tuh-told you what he's planning to do when he gets back to Rome?" "No. What is he planning to do?" "Grant the citizenship to every Italian who hasn't so far lifted a finger against us." "You're joking!" "Not I, Lucius Cornelius! In his company? I've forgotten what a joke is. It's true, I swear it's true. As soon as things run down here well, they always do when autumn gets old he's putting off his general's suit and putting on his purple-bordered tuh-tuh-toga. His last act as consul, he says, will be to grant the citizenship to every Italian who hasn't gone to war against us." "But that's treason! Do you mean to say that he and the rest of the inadequate idiots in command have lost thousands of men for the sake of something they haven't even got the stomach to see through?" Sulla was trembling. "Do you mean to say he's leading six legions into the Melfa Gorge knowing every life he loses in the process is worthless? Knowing that he intends to open Rome's back door to every last Italian in the peninsula? Because that is what will happen, you know. They'll all get the franchise, from Silo and Mutilus down to the last freedman Silo and Mutilus have in their clientele! Oh, he can't!" "There's no use shouting at me, Lucius Cornelius! I'll be one of those fighting the franchise to the bitter end." "You won't even get the chance to fight it, Quintus Caecilius. You'll be in the field, not in the Senate. Only Scaurus will be there to fight it, and he's too old." Lips thin, Sulla stared sightlessly down the busy street. "It's Philippus and the rest of the saltatrices tonsae will vote. And they'll vote yes. As will the Comitia." "You'll be in the field too, Lucius Cornelius," said the Piglet gloomily. "I huh-huh-hear you've been seconded to duty with Gaius Marius, the fat old Italian turnip! He won't disapprove of Lucius Julius's law, I'll bet!" "I'm not so sure," said Sulla, and sighed. "One thing you have to admit about Gaius Marius, Quintus Caecilius he's first and last and foremost a soldier. Before his days in the field are over, there'll be a few Marsi too dead to apply for the citizenship." "Let us hope so, Lucius Cornelius. Because on the day that Gaius Marius enters a Senate half full of Italians, he'll be the First Man in Rome again. And consul a seventh time." "Not if I have anything to do with it," said Sulla.