Caesar's Women (36 page)

“I thought you'd say that,” she said, composure intact. Then she remarked, apropos it seemed of nothing, “I hear that Metellus Pius Pontifex Maximus is ailing.”

That startled him. “Who told you so?”

“Clodia, for one. Her husband, Celer, says the whole family is desperately worried. And Aemilia Lepida, for another. Metellus Scipio is very cast down by the state of his father's health. He hasn't been well since his wife died.”

“It's certainly true that the old boy hasn't been attending any meetings of late,” said Caesar.

“Nor will he in the future. When I said he is ailing, I really meant he is dying.”

“And?” asked Caesar, for once baffled.

“When he dies, the College of Pontifices will have to co-opt another Pontifex Maximus.” The large and lustrous eyes which were Aurelia's best feature gleamed and narrowed. “If you were to be appointed Pontifex Maximus, Caesar, it would solve several of your most pressing problems. First and foremost, it would demonstrate to your creditors that you are going to be consul beyond any doubt. That would mean your creditors would be more willing to carry your debts beyond your praetorship if necessary. I mean, if you draw Sardinia or Africa as your province in the praetor's lots, you won't be able to recoup your losses as a praetor governor. Should that happen, I would think your creditors will grow very restless indeed.”

The ghost of a smile kindled his eyes, but he kept his face straight. “Admirably summed up, Mater,” he said.

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. “Secondly, Pontifex Maximus would endow you with a splendid residence at the expense of the State, and as it is a lifetime position, the Domus Publica would be yours for life. It is within the Forum itself, very large and eminently suitable. So,” his mother ended, her voice as level and unexcited as ever, “I have begun to canvass on your behalf among the wives of your fellow priests.”

Caesar sighed. “It's an admirable plan, Mater, but one which you cannot bring to fruition any more than I can. Between Catulus and Vatia Isauricus—not to mention at least half the others in the College!—I don't stand a chance. For one thing, the post normally goes to someone who has already been consul. For another, all the most conservative elements in the Senate adorn this College. They do not fancy me.”

“Nevertheless I shall go to work,” said Aurelia.

At which precise moment Caesar realized how it could be done. He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Yes, Mater, by all means go to work!” he said, wiping away tears of mirth. “I know the answer—oh, what a furor it's bound to create!”

“And the answer is?”

“I came to see you about Titus Labienus, who is—as I'm sure you know—Pompeius Magnus's tame tribune of the plebs this year. Just to air my thoughts aloud. You're so clever that I find you a most useful wall for bouncing ideas off,” he said.

One thin black brow flew up, the corners of her mouth quivered. “Why, thank you! Am I a better wall to bounce off than Servilia?''

Again he cried with laughter. It was rare for Aurelia to succumb to innuendo, but when she did she was as witty as Cicero. “Seriously,” he said when he could, “I know how you feel about that liaison, but acquit me of stupidity, please. Servilia is politically acute. She is also in love with me. However, she is not of my family, nor is she entirely to be trusted. When I use her as a wall, I make very sure I'm in complete Control of the balls.”

“You ease my mind enormously,” said Aurelia blandly. “What is this brilliant inspiration, then?”

“When Sulla nullified the lex Domitia de sacerdotiis, he went one step further than custom and tradition dictated by also removing the office of Pontifex Maximus from tribal election by the People. Until Sulla, the Pontifex Maximus had always been elected, he was never co-opted by his fellow priests. I'll have Labienus legislate to return the choice of priests and augurs to the People in their tribes. Including the office of Pontifex Maximus. The People will love the idea.”

“They love anything which ablates a law of Sulla's.”

“Precisely. Then all I have to do,” said Caesar, rising, “is get myself elected Pontifex Maximus.”

“Have Titus Labienus enact the law now, Caesar. Don't put it off! No one can be sure how much longer Metellus Pius has to live. He's lonely without his Licinia.”

Caesar took his mother's hand and raised it to his lips. “Mater, I thank you. The matter will be expedited, because it's a law can benefit Pompeius Magnus. He's dying to be a priest or an augur, but he knows he'll never be co-opted. Whereas at an election he'll bolt in.”

The volume of laughter and chatter from the study had risen, Caesar noticed as he entered the reception room; he had intended to leave immediately, but on the spur of the moment decided to visit his wife instead.

Quite a gathering, he thought, standing unobserved in the doorway from the dining room. Pompeia had completely redecorated the once-austere room, which was now overfilled with couches mattressed in goose down, a plethora of purple cushions and coverlets, many precious yet commonplace knick-knacks, paintings and statues. What had been an equally austere sleeping cubicle, he noted gazing through its open door, now bore the same cloyingly tasteless touch.

Pompeia was reclining on the best couch, though not alone; Aurelia might forbid her to entertain men, but could not prevent visits from Pompeia's full brother, Quintus Pompeius Rufus Junior. Now in his early twenties, he was a wild blade of increasingly unsavory reputation. No doubt it was through his offices that she had come to know ladies of the Claudian clan, for Pompeius Rufus was the best friend of none other than Publius Clodius, three years older but no less wild.

Aurelia's ban forbade the presence of Clodius himself, but not of his two younger sisters, Clodia and Clodilla. A pity, thought Caesar clinically, that the undisciplined natures of these two young matrons were fueled by a considerable degree of good looks. Clodia, married to Metellus Celer (the elder of Mucia Tertia's two half brothers) was marginally more beautiful than her younger sister, Clodilla, now divorced from Lucullus amid shock waves of scandal. Like all the Claudii Pulchri they were very dark, with large and luminous black eyes, long and curling black lashes, a profusion of waving black hair, and faintly olive—but perfect—skins. Despite the fact that neither was tall, both had excellent figures and dress sense, moved with grace. And they were quite well read, again especially Clodia, who had a taste for poetry of high order. They sat side by side on a couch facing Pompeia and her brother, each with her robe falling away from gleaming shoulders to give more than a hint of deliciously shaped plump breasts.

Fulvia was not unlike them physically, though her coloring was paler and reminded Caesar of his mother's ice-brown hair, purplish eyes, dark brows and lashes. A very positive and dogmatic young lady, imbued with a lot of rather silly ideas stemming from her romantic attachment to the Brothers Gracchi—grandfather Gaius and great uncle Tiberius. Her marriage to Publius Clodius had not met with her parents' approval, Caesar knew. Which had not stopped Fulvia, determined to have her way. Since her marriage she had become intimate with Clodius's sisters, to the detriment of all three.

None of these young women, however, worried Caesar as much as the two ripe and shady ladies who together occupied a third couch: Sempronia Tuditani, wife of one Decimus Junius Brutus and mother of another (an odd choice of friend for Fulvia—the Sempronii Tuditani had been obdurate enemies of both the Gracchi, as had the family of Decimus Junius Brutus Callaicus, grandfather of Sempronia Tuditani's husband); and Palla, who had been wife to both the censor Philippus and the censor Poplicola, and had borne each of them a son. Sempronia Tuditani and Palla had to be fifty years old, though they employed every artifice known to the cosmetics industry to disguise the fact, from painted and powdered complexions to stibium around the eyes and carmine on their cheeks and mouths. Nor had they been content to allow the bodily subsidence of middle age; they starved themselves assiduously to be stick-thin, and wore flimsy, floating robes they fancied brought back their long-vanished youth. The result of all this tampering with the ageing process, reflected Caesar with an inward grin, was as unsuccessful as it was ludicrous. His own mother, the merciless onlooker decided, was far more attractive, though at least ten years their senior. Aurelia, however, did not court the company of men, whereas Sempronia Tuditani and Palla were aristocratic whores who never lacked for masculine attention because they were famous for giving by far the best fellatio in Rome, including that obtainable from professionals of both sexes.

Their presence meant, Caesar concluded, that Decimus Brutus and young Poplicola also frequented the vicinity of Pompeia. Of Decimus Brutus perhaps no more was to be said than that he was young, bored, high-spirited and up to the usual mischief, from too much wine and too many women to the dice box and the gaming table. But young Poplicola had seduced his stepmother and tried to murder his father the censor, and had been formally relegated to penury and obscurity. He would never be permitted to enter the Senate, but since Publius Clodius's marriage to Fulvia and Clodius's subsequent access to almost unlimited money, young Poplicola was starting to be seen again in high circles.

It was Clodia who noticed Caesar first. She sat up much straighter on her couch, thrust out her breasts and gave him an alluring smile.

“Caesar, how absolutely divine to see you!” she purred.

“I return the compliment, of course.”

“Do come in!” said Clodia, patting her couch.

“I'd love to, but I'm afraid I'm on my way out.”

And that, Caesar decided as he let himself out the front door, was a room full of trouble.

* * *

Labienus beckoned, but first he would have to see Servilia, who had probably been waiting in his apartment down the road for some time, he realized. Women! Today was a day of women, and mostly women with nuisance value. Except for Aurelia, of course. Now there was a woman! A pity, thought Caesar, bounding up the stairs to his apartment, that none other measures up to her.

Servilia was waiting, though she was far too sensible to reproach Caesar for his tardiness, and far too pragmatic to expect an apology. If the world belonged to men—and it did—then undoubtedly it was Caesar's oyster.

No word was exchanged between them for some time. First came several luxurious and languorous kisses, then a sighing subsidence into each other's arms on the bed, freed from clothing and care. She was so delicious, so intelligent and untrammeled in her ministrations, so inventive. And he was so perfect, so receptive and powerful in his attentions, so unerring. Thus, absolutely content with each other and fascinated by the fact that familiarity had bred not contempt but additional pleasure, Caesar and Servilia forgot their worlds until the level of water in the chronometer had dripped away quite a lot of time.

Of Labienus he would not speak; of Pompeia he would, so he said as they lay entwined, “My wife is keeping odd company.”

The memory of those frenzied months of wasted jealousy had not yet faded from Servilia's mind, so she loved to hear any word from Caesar that indicated dissatisfaction. Oh, it was only scant moments after they were reconciled following the birth of Junia Tertia that Servilia understood Caesar's marriage was a sham. Still and all, the minx was delectable, and proximity was her ally; no woman of Servilia's age could rest in perfect surety when her rival was almost twenty years her junior.

“Odd company?” she asked, stroking voluptuously.

“The Clodias and Fulvia.”

“That's to be expected, considering the circles Brother Pompeius moves in.”

“Ah, but today there were additions to the menagerie!”

“Who?”

“Sempronia Tuditani and Palla.”

“Oh!” Servilia sat up, the delight of Caesar's skin evaporating. She frowned, thought, then said, “Actually that shouldn't have surprised me.”

“Nor me, considering who Publius Clodius's friends are.”

“No, I didn't mean through that connection, Caesar. You know of course that my younger sister, Servililla, has been divorced by Drusus Nero for infidelity.”

“I had heard.”

“What you don't know is that she's going to marry Lucullus.”

Caesar sat up too. “That's to exchange a dunderhead for an imbecile in the making! He conducts all manner of experiments with substances which distort reality, has done for years. I believe one of his freedmen has no duty other than to procure every kind of soporific and ecstatic for him—syrup of poppies, mushrooms, brews concocted from leaves, berries, roots.”

“Servililla says he likes the effect of wine, but dislikes its aftereffects intensely. Those other substances apparently don't produce the same painful aftereffects.” Servilia shrugged. “Anyway, it seems Servililla isn't complaining. She thinks she'll get to enjoy all that money and taste without a watchful husband to cramp her style.”

“He divorced Clodilla for adultery—and incest.”

“That was Clodius's doing.”

“Well, I wish your sister the best of luck,” said Caesar. “Lucullus is still stuck on the Campus Martius demanding the triumph the Senate keeps refusing him, so she won't see much of Rome from the inside of the walls.”

“He'll get his triumph soon,” said Servilia confidently. “My spies tell me that Pompeius Magnus doesn't want to have to share the Campus Martius with his old enemy when he comes home from the East positively covered in glory.” She snorted. “Oh, what a poseur! Anyone with any sense can see that Lucullus did all the hard work! Magnus just had to harvest the results of that hard work.”

“I agree, little though I care for Lucullus.” Caesar cupped a hand around one breast. “It is not like you to digress, my love. What has this to do with Pompeia's friends?''

“They call it the Clodius Club,” said Servilia, stretching. “Servililla told me all about it. Publius Clodius, of course, is its president. The chief—indeed, I suppose one would have to call it the only—aim of the Clodius Club is to shock our world. That's how the members entertain themselves. They're all bored, idle, averse to work, and possessed of far too much money. Drinking and wenching and gambling are tame. Shocks and scandals are the Club's sole purpose. Hence raffish women like Sempronia Tuditani and Palla, allegations of incest, and the cultivation of such peerless specimens as young Poplicola. The male members of the Club include some very young men who ought to know better—like Curio Junior and your cousin Marcus Antonius. I hear one of their favorite pastimes is to pretend they're lovers.”