Colleen McCullough - 1. First Man in Rome

Though he had made himself sound confident enough to Rutilius Rufus, young Gaius Caesar walked home in less hopeful mood. Aurelia's fame was widespread. Many of his friends had applied for her hand; some Marcus Cotta had refused to add to his list, others were entered on it. Among the successful applicants were names more august than his, if only because those names were allied to enormous fortunes. To be a Julius Caesar meant little beyond a social distinction so secure even poverty could not destroy its aura. Yet how could he compete against the likes of Marcus Livius Drusus, or young Scaurus, or Licinius Orator, or Mucius Scaevola, or the elder of the Ahenobarbus brothers? Not knowing that Aurelia had been given the opportunity to choose her own husband, young Caesar rated his chances extremely slender. When he let himself in through the front door and walked down the passageway to the atrium, he could see the lights still burning in his father's study, and blinked back sudden tears before going quietly to the half-open door, and knocking. "Come," said a tired voice. Gaius Julius Caesar was dying. Everyone in the house knew it, including Gaius Julius Caesar, though not a word had been spoken. The illness had started with difficulty in swallowing, an insidious thing which crept onward, so slowly at first that it was hard to tell whether there actually was a worsening. Then his voice had begun to croak, and after that the pain started, not unbearable at first. It had now become constant, and Gaius Julius Caesar could no longer swallow solid food. So far he had refused to see a doctor, though every day Marcia begged him to. "Father?" "Come and keep me company, young Gaius," said Caesar, who turned sixty this year, but in the lamplight looked more like eighty. He had lost so much weight his skin hung on him, the planes of his skull were just that, a skull, and constant suffering had bleached the life out of his once-intense blue eyes. His hand went out to his son; he smiled. "Oh, Father!" Young Caesar tried manfully to keep the emotion out of his voice, but could not; he crossed the room to Caesar, took the hand, and kissed it, then stepped closer and gathered his father to him, arms about the skinny shoulders, cheek against the lifeless silver-gilt hair. "Don't cry, my son," Caesar croaked. "It will soon be over. Athenodorus Siculus is coming tomorrow." A Roman didn't cry. Or wasn't supposed to cry. To young Caesar that seemed a mistaken standard of behavior, but he mastered his tears, drew away, and sat down near enough to his father to retain his clasp of the clawlike hand. "Perhaps Athenodorus will know what to do," he said. "Athenodorus will know what all of us know, that I have an incurable growth in my throat," said Caesar. "However, your mother hopes for a miracle, and I am far enough gone now for Athenodorus not to even think of offering her one. I have gone forward with living for only one reason, to make sure all the members of my family are properly provided for, and to assure myself they are happily settled." Caesar paused, his free hand groping for the cup of unwatered wine which was now his only physical solace. A minute sip or two, and he continued. "You are the last, young Gaius," he whispered. "What am I to hope for you? Many years ago I gave you one luxury, which you have not yet espoused the luxury of choosing your own wife. Now I think the time is here for you to exercise your option. It would make me rest easier if I knew you were decently settled." Young Gaius Caesar lifted his father's hand and laid it against his cheek, leaning forward and taking all the weight of his father's arm. "I've found her, Father," he said. "I met her tonight isn't that strange?" "At Publius Rutilius's?" asked Caesar incredulously. The young man grinned. "I think he was playing matchmaker!" "An odd role for a consul." "Yes." Young Caesar drew a breath. "Have you heard of his niece Marcus Cotta's stepdaughter, Aurelia?" "The current beauty? I think everyone must have." "That's her. She's the one." Caesar looked troubled. "Your mother tells me there's a line of suitors clear around the block, including the richest and noblest bachelors in Rome and even some who are not bachelors, I hear." "All absolutely true," said young Gaius. "But I shall marry her, never fear!" "If your instincts about her are right, then you're going to make a rod for your own back," said the caring father very seriously. "Beauties of her caliber don't make good wives, Gaius. They're spoiled, capricious, willful, and pert. Let her go to some other man, and choose a girl of humbler kind." He bethought himself of a comforting fact, and relaxed. "Luckily you're a complete nobody compared to Lucius Licinius Orator or Gnaeus Domitius Junior, even if you are a patrician. Marcus Aurelius won't even consider you, of that I'm sure. So don't set your heart on her to the exclusion of all others." "She'll marry me, tata, wait and see!" And from that contention Gaius Julius Caesar did not have the strength to budge his son, so he let himself be helped to the bed where he had taken to sleeping alone, so restless and transient were his periods of sleep.

Aurelia lay on her stomach within the closely curtained litter as it jiggled and joggled her up and down the hills between her Uncle Publius's house and her Uncle Marcus's house. Gaius Julius Caesar Junior! How wonderful he was, how perfect! But would he want to marry her? What would Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi think? Sharing the litter with her mistress, Cardixa watched her with great curiosity; this was an Aurelia she had never seen before. Bolt upright in a corner and carefully holding a candle shielded by thin alabaster so that the interior of the litter was not completely darkened, she noted symptoms of a marked change. Aurelia's quick tense body was utterly relaxed in a sprawl, her mouth was held less tightly, and creamy eyelids hid whatever lurked in her eyes. Being of excellent intelligence, Cardixa knew exactly the reason for the change; the terribly good-looking young man Publius Rutilius had produced almost like a main course. Oh, cunning old villain that he was! And yet Gaius Julius Caesar Junior was a very special person, just right for Aurelia. Cardixa knew it in her bones. Whatever Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi might have done in a similar situation, by the time she arose next morning Aurelia knew her course of action. The first thing she did was to send Cardixa around to the Caesar house with a note for her young man. "Ask to marry me," it said baldly. After which she did nothing at all, simply hid herself in her workroom and appeared for meals as inconspicuously as possible, aware herself that she was changing, and not wanting her vigilant parents to see it before she made her move. The following day she waited until Marcus Cotta's clients had been attended to, in no hurry because Cotta's secretary had informed her there were no meetings of Senate or People for him to attend; he would certainly remain at home for an hour or two after the last client departed. "Father?" Cotta looked up from the papers on his desk. "Ah! It's Father today, is it? Come in, daughter, come in.'' He smiled at her warmly. "Would you like your mother here too?" "Yes, please." "Then go and fetch her." Off she went, reappearing a moment later with Rutilia. "Sit down, ladies," said Cotta. They disposed themselves side by side on a couch. "Well, Aurelia?" "Have there been any new applicants?" she asked abruptly. "As a matter of fact, yes. Young Gaius Julius Caesar came to see me yesterday, and as I have nothing against him, I added him to the list. Which makes my total thirty-eight." Aurelia blushed. Fascinated, Cotta stared at her, never having seen her discomposed in his entire acquaintance of her. The tip of a pink tongue came out, wetted her lips. Rutilia, he noted, had swiveled on the couch to observe her daughter, and was equally intrigued by the blush and the discomposure. "I've made up my mind," Aurelia said. "Excellent! Tell us," prompted Cotta. "Gaius Julius Caesar Junior." "What?" asked Cotta blankly. "Who?" asked Rutilia blankly. "Gaius Julius Caesar Junior,'' Aurelia repeated patiently. "Well, well! The last horse entered in the race," said Cotta, amused. "My brother's late entry," said Rutilia. "Ye gods, he's clever! How did he know?" "He's a remarkable man," said Cotta to his wife, then said to his stepdaughter, "You met Gaius Julius Junior at your uncle's the day before yesterday was that for the very first time?" "Yes." "But he's the one you want to marry." "Yes." "My darling girl, he's a relatively poor man," said the mother. "There won't be any luxury for you as the wife of young Gaius Julius, you know." "One doesn't marry in order to live in luxury." "I'm glad you have the good sense to know that, my child. However, he's not the man I would have chosen for you," said Cotta, not really pleased. "I'd like to know why, Father," said Aurelia. "It's a strange family. Too too unorthodox. And they're bound ideologically as well as maritally to Gaius Marius, a man I absolutely detest," said Cotta. "Uncle Publius likes Gaius Marius," said Aurelia. "Your Uncle Publius is sometimes a little misguided," Cotta answered grimly. "However, he's not so besotted that he'd vote against his own class in the Senate just for the sake of Gaius Marius where I cannot say the same of the Julians of Gaius's branch! Your Uncle Publius soldiered with Gaius Marius for many years, and that creates an understandable bond. Where old Gaius Julius Caesar welcomed Gaius Marius with open arms, and has taught his whole family to esteem him." "Didn't Sextus Julius marry one of the lesser Claudias not long ago?" asked Rutilia. "I believe so." "Well, that's an unimpeachable union, at any rate. Maybe the sons are not so attached to Gaius Marius as you think." "They're brothers-in-law, Rutilia." Aurelia interjected, "Father and Mother, you left it up to me," she said sternly. "I am going to marry Gaius Julius Caesar, and that's that." It was said with great firmness, but not insolently. Cotta and Rutilia gazed at her in consternation, finally understanding; the coolly sensible Aurelia was in love. "That's true, we did," said Cotta briskly, deciding there was no alternative save to make the best of it. "Well, off with you!" He waved dismissal to his wife and niece. "I have to get the scribes onto writing thirty-seven letters. And then I had better walk round to see Gaius Julius father and son, I suppose." The general letter Marcus Aurelius Cotta sent out said: