The First Man in Rome (58 page)

But he was not by nature a romancer, a dreamer, a builder of fantasies, so he found it easy to abandon these thoughts when it came time to halt, to dismount. Keeping well clear of Jugurtha, he went to the lead holding the four spare horses, and cut it, then sent the animals careering in all directions with a shower of well-placed stones.

"I see," said Jugurtha, watching Sulla scramble astride his bay by grabbing at its mane.  “We have to ride a hundred miles on the same horses, eh? I was wondering how you were going to manage to transfer me from one beast to another." He laughed jeeringly. "My cavalry will catch you, Lucius Cornelius!"

"Hopefully not," said Sulla, and jerked his prisoner's mount forward.

Instead of proceeding due north to the sea, he headed due east across a small plain, and rode for ten miles through the breathless night of early summer, his way lit up by a sliver of moon in the west. Then in the far distance reared a range of mountains, solidly black; in front of it and much closer was a huddle of gigantic round rocks piled in jumbled heaps, looming above the sparse and stunted trees.

"Right where it ought to be!" Sulla exclaimed joyously, and whistled shrilly.

His own Ligurian cavalry squadron spilled out of the shelter afforded by the boulders, each man encumbered by two spare mounts; silently they rode to meet Sulla and his prisoner, and produced two extra horses. And two mules.

"I sent them here to wait for me six days ago, King Jugurtha," Sulla said. "King Bocchus thought I came to his camp alone, but as you see, I didn't. I had Publius Vagiennius following close behind me, and sent him back to bring up his troop to wait for me here."

Freed from his encumbrances, Sulla supervised the remounting of Jugurtha, who now was chained to Publius Vagiennius. And soon they were riding away, bearing northeast to skirt Jugurtha's camp by many miles.

"I don't suppose, your royal Majesty," said Publius Vagiennius with delicate diffidence, "that you would be able to tell me whereabouts I'd find snails around Cirta? Or around anywhere else in Numidia, for that matter?"

By the end of June the war in Africa was over. For a little while Jugurtha was housed in appropriately comfortable quarters within Utica, as Marius and Sulla tidied up. And there his two sons, Iampsas and Oxyntas, were brought to keep him company while his court disintegrated and the scrabbling for places of influence under the new regime began.

King Bocchus got his treaty of friendship and alliance from the Senate, and Prince Gauda the invalid became King Gauda of a considerably reduced Numidia. It was Bocchus who reaped the extra territory from a Rome too busy elsewhere to expand her African province by many hundreds of miles.

And as soon as a small fleet of good ships and stable weather ensured a smooth passage, Marius loaded King Jugurtha and his sons on board one of these hired vessels, and sent them to Rome for safekeeping. The Numidian threat vanished over the horizon with the passing of Jugurtha.

With them sailed Quintus Sertorius, determined that he was going to see action against the Germans in Gaul-across-the-Alps. He had applied to his cousin Marius for permission to leave.

"I am a fighting man, Gaius Marius," said the grave young
contubernalis,
"and the fighting here is finished. Recommend me to your friend Publius Rutilius Rufus, and let him give me duty in Further Gaul!"

"Go with my thanks and blessings, Quintus Sertorius," said Marius with rare affection. "And give my regards to your mother."

Sertorius's face lit up. "I will, Gaius Marius!"

"Remember, young Sertorius," said Marius on the day that Quintus Sertorius and Jugurtha sailed for Italy, "that I will need you again in the future. So guard yourself in battle if you're fortunate enough to find one. Rome has honored your bravery and skill with the Gold Crown, with
phalerae
and torcs and bracelets—all of gold. A rare distinction for one so young. But don't be rash. Rome is going to need you alive, not dead."

"I'll stay alive, Gaius Marius," Quintus Sertorius promised.

"And don't go off to your war quite the moment you arrive in Italy," Marius admonished. "Spend some time with your dear mother first."

"I will, Gaius Marius," Quintus Sertorius promised.

When the lad took his leave, Sulla looked at his superior ironically. "He makes you as clucky as an old hen sitting on one lone egg."

Marius snorted. "Rubbish! He's my cousin
on his mother's side, and I'm fond of her."

"Certainly," said Sulla, grinning.

Marius laughed. "Come now, Lucius Cornelius, admit that you're as fond of young Sertorius as I am!"

"I admit it freely. Nonetheless, Gaius Marius, he does
not
make me clucky!"

"Mentulam caco!"
said Marius.

And that was the end of the subject.

2

Rutilia, who was the only sister of Publius Rutilius Rufus, enjoyed the unusual distinction of being married to each of two brothers. Her first husband had been Lucius Aurelius Cotta, colleague in the consulship with Metellus Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus some fourteen years earlier; it was the same year Gaius Marius had been tribune of the plebs, and defied Metellus Dalmaticus Pontifex Maximus.

Rutilia had gone to Lucius Aurelius Cotta as a girl, whereas he had been married before, and already had a nine-year-old son named Lucius, like himself. They were married the year after Fregellae was leveled to the ground for rebelling against Rome, and in the year of Gaius Gracchus's first term as a tribune of the plebs, they had a daughter named Aurelia. Lucius Cotta's son was then ten years old, and very pleased to have acquired a little half sister, for he liked his stepmother, Rutilia, very much.

When Aurelia turned five years old, her father, Lucius Aurelius Cotta, died suddenly, only days after the end of his consulship. The widow Rutilia, twenty-four years old, clung for comfort to Lucius Cotta's younger brother, Marcus, who had not yet found a wife. Love grew between them, and with her father's and her brother's permission, Rutilia married her brother-in-law, Marcus Aurelius Cotta, eleven months after the death of Lucius Cotta. With her into Marcus's care, Rutilia brought her stepson and Marcus's nephew, Lucius Junior, and her daughter and Marcus's niece, Aurelia. The family promptly grew: Rutilia bore Marcus a son, Gaius, less than a year later, then another son, Marcus Junior, the year after that, and finally a third son, Lucius, seven years later.

Aurelia remained the only girl her mother bore, fascinatingly situated; by her father, she had a half brother older than herself, and by her mother, she had three half brothers younger than herself who also happened to be her first cousins because her father had been their uncle, where their father was her uncle. It could prove very, very bewildering to those not in the know, especially if the children explainedit.

"She's my cousin," Gaius Cotta would say, pointing to Aurelia.

"He's my brother," Aurelia would riposte, pointing to Gaius Cotta.

"He's my brother," Gaius Cotta would then say, pointing to Marcus Cotta.

"She's my sister," Marcus Cotta would say in his turn, pointing to Aurelia.

"He's my cousin," Aurelia would say last of all, pointing to Marcus Cotta.

They could keep it up for hours; little wonder most people never worked it out. Not that the complex blood links worried any of that strong-minded, self-willed cluster of children, who liked each other as well as loved each other, and all basked in a warm relationship with Rutilia and her second Aurelius Cotta husband, who also happened to adore each other.

The family Aurelius was one of the Famous Families, and its branch Aurelius Cotta was respectably elderly in its tenure of the Senate, though new to the nobility bestowed by the consulship. Rich because of shrewd investments, huge inheritances of land, and many clever marriages,
the Aurelius Cottas could afford to have multiple sons without worrying about adopting some of them out, and to dower the daughters more than adequately.

The brood which lived under the roof of Marcus Aurelius Cotta and his wife, Rutilia, was therefore financially very eligible marriage material, but also possessed great good looks. And Aurelia, the only girl, was the best-looking of them all.

"Flawless!" was the opinion of the luxury-loving yet restlessly brilliant Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator, who was one of the most ardent—and important—suitors for her hand.

"Glorious!" was the way Quintus Mucius Scaevola— best friend of and first cousin of Crassus Orator—put it; he too had entered his name on the list of suitors.

"Unnerving!" was Marcus Livius Drusus's comment; he was Aurelia's cousin, and very anxious to marry her.

"Helen of Troy!" was how Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus Junior described her, suing for her hand.

Indeed, the situation was exactly as Publius Rutilius Rufus had described it to Gaius Marius in his letter; everyone in Rome wanted to marry his niece Aurelia. That quite a few of the applicants had wives already neither disqualified nor dishonored them—divorce was easy, and Aurelia's dowry was so large a man didn't need to worry about losing the dowry of an earlier wife.

"I really do feel like King Tyndareus when every important prince and king came to sue for Helen's hand," Marcus Aurelius Cotta said to Rutilia.

"He had Odysseus to solve his dilemma," Rutilia commented.

"Well, I wish I did! No matter whom I give her to, I'm going to offend everyone who doesn't get her."

"Just like Tyndareus," nodded Rutilia.

And then Marcus Cotta's Odysseus came to dinner, though properly he was Ulysses, being a Roman of the Romans, Publius Rutilius Rufus. After the children—including Aurelia—had gone to bed, the conversation turned as always to the subject of Aurelia's marriage. Rutilius Rufus listened with interest, and when the moment came, offered his answer; what he didn't tell his sister and brother-in-law was that the real unraveler of the conundrum was Gaius Marius, whose terse letter he had just received from Africa.

"It's simple, Marcus Aurelius," he said.

"If it is, then I'm too close to see," said Marcus Cotta. "Enlighten me, Ulysses!"

Rutilius Rufus smiled. "No, I can't see the point of making a song and dance about it, the way Ulysses did," he said. "This is modern Rome, not ancient Greece. We can't slaughter a horse, cut it up into four pieces, and make all Aurelia's suitors stand on it to swear an oath of fealty to you, Marcus Aurelius."

"Especially not
before
they know who the lucky winner is!" said Cotta, laughing. "What romantics those old Greeks were! No, Publius Rutilius, I fear what we have to deal with is a collection of litigious-minded, hairsplitting Romans."

"Pre-
cisely
," said Rutilius Rufus.

"Come, brother, put us out of our misery and tell us," urged Rutilia.

"As I said, my dear Rutilia, simple. Let the girl pick her own husband."

Cotta and his wife stared.

"Do you really think that's wise?" asked Cotta.

"In this situation, wisdom fails, so what have you got to lose?" asked Rutilius Rufus. "You don't need her to marry a rich man, and there aren't any notorious fortune hunters on your list of suitors, so limit her choice to your list. Nor are the Aurelians, the Julians, or the Cornelians likely to attract social climbers. Besides which, Aurelia is full of common sense, not a scrap sentimental, and certainly not a romantic. She won't let you down, not my girl!"

"You're right," said Cotta, nodding. "I don't think there's a man alive could turn Aurelia's head."

So the next day Cotta and Rutilia summoned Aurelia to her mother's sitting room, with the intention of telling her what had been decided about her future.

She walked in; she didn't drift, undulate, stride, mince. Aurelia was a good plain walker, moved briskly and competently, disciplined hips and bottom to a neat economy, kept shoulders back, chin tucked in, head up. Perhaps her figure erred on the spare side, for she was tall and inclined to be flat-chested, but she wore her draperies with immaculate neatness, did not affect high cork heels, and scorned jewelry. Thick and straight, her palest-icy-brown hair was dragged severely back into a tight bun positioned right where it could not be seen from the front full face, giving her no softening frame of hair. Cosmetics had never sullied her dense and milky skin, without a blemish, faintly pinked across her incredible cheekbones and deepening to a soft rose within the hollows below. As straight and high-bridged as if Praxiteles had chiseled it, her nose was too long to incur animadversions about Celtic blood, and therefore could be forgiven its lack of character—in other words, its lack of truly Roman humps and bumps. Lushly crimsoned, deliciously creased at its corners, her mouth had that folded quality which drove men mad to kiss it into blooming. And in all this wonderful heart-shaped face, with its dented chin and its broad high forehead and its widow's peak, there dwelled an enormous pair of eyes everyone insisted were not dark blue, but
purple,
framed in long and thick black lashes, and surmounted by thin, arched, feathery black brows.

Many were the debates at men's dinner parties (for it could confidently be predicted that among the guests would be two or three of her gazetted suitors) as to what exactly constituted Aurelia's appeal. Some said it all lay in those thoughtful, detached purple eyes; some insisted it was the remarkable purity of her skin; others plumped for the carved starkness of her facial planes; a few muttered passionately about her mouth, or her dented chin, or her exquisite hands and feet.

"It's none of those things and yet it's all of those things," growled Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator. "Fools! She's a Vestal Virgin on the loose—she's
Diana,
not Venus! Unattainable. And therein lies her fascination,"

"No, it's those purple eyes," said Scaurus Princeps Senatus's young son, another Marcus like his father. "Purple is
the
color! Noble! She's a living, breathing omen."

But when the living, breathing omen walked into her mother's sitting room looking as sedate and immaculate as always, there entered no atmosphere of high drama with her; indeed, the character of Aurelia did not encourage high drama.

"Sit down, daughter," said Rutilia, smiling.

Aurelia sat and folded her hands in her lap.

"We want to talk to you about your marriage," said Cotta, and cleared his throat, hoping she would say something to help him elucidate.

He got no help at all; Aurelia just looked at him with a kind of remote interest, nothing more.

"How do you feel about it?" Rutilia asked.

Aurelia pursed her lips, shrugged. "I suppose I just hope you'll pick someone I like," she said.

"Well, yes, we hope that too," said Cotta.

"Who
don't
you like?" asked Rutilia.

"Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus Junior," Aurelia said without any hesitation, giving him his whole name.

Cotta saw the justice of that. "Anyone else?" he asked.

"Marcus Aemilius Scaurus Junior."

"Oh, that's too bad!" cried Rutilia. "I think he's very nice, I really do."

"I agree, he's very nice," said Aurelia, "but he's timid."

Cotta didn't even try to conceal his grin. "Wouldn't you like a timid husband, Aurelia? You could rule the roost!"

"A good Roman wife does not rule the roost."

"So much for Scaurus. Our Aurelia has spoken." Cotta waggled head and shoulders back and forth. "Anyone else you don't fancy?"

"Lucius Licinius."

"What's the matter with him?"

"He's fat." The pursed mouth pursed tighter.

"Unappealing, eh?"

"It indicates a lack of self-discipline, Father." There were times when Aurelia called Cotta Father, other times when he was Uncle, but her choice was never illogical; when their discourse revealed that he was acting in a paternal role, he was Father, and when he was acting in an avuncular role, he was Uncle.

"You're right, it does," said Cotta.

"Is there anyone you would prefer to marry above all the others?" asked Rutilia, trying the opposite tack.

The pursed mouth relaxed. "No, Mother, not really. I'm quite happy to leave the decision to you and Father."

"What do you hope for in marriage?" asked Cotta.

"A husband befitting my rank who adores his ... several fine children."

"A textbook answer!" said Cotta. "Go to the top of the class, Aurelia."

Rutilia glanced at her husband, only the faintest shadow of amusement in her eyes. "Tell her, Marcus Aurelius, do!"

Cotta cleared his throat again. "Well, Aurelia, you're causing us a bit of a problem," he said. "At last count I have had thirty-seven formal applications for your hand in marriage. Not one of these hopeful suitors can be dismissed as ineligible. Some of them are of rank far higher than ours, some of fortune far greater than ours—and some even have rank
and
fortune far in excess of ours! Which puts us in a quandary. If
we
choose your husband, we are going to make a lot of enemies, which may not worry us unduly, but will make life hard for your brothers later on. I'm sure you can see that."

"I do, Father," said Aurelia seriously.

"Anyway, your Uncle Publius came up with the only feasible answer.
You
will choose your husband, my daughter."

And for once she was thrown off-balance. She gaped.
"I
?
"

"You."

Her hands went up to press at her reddened cheeks; she stared at Cotta in horror. "But I can't do that!" she cried. "It isn't—it isn't
Roman
!"

"I agree," said Cotta. "Not Roman. Rutilian."

"We needed a Ulysses to tell us the way, and luckily we have one right in the family," said Rutilia.

"Oh!" Aurelia wriggled, twisted. "Oh, oh!"

"What is it, Aurelia? Can't you see your way clear to a decision?" asked Rutilia.

"No, it's not that," said Aurelia, her color fading to normal, then fading beyond it, and leaving her white-faced. "It's just—oh, well!" She shrugged, got up. "May I go?"

"Indeed you may."

At the door she turned to regard Cotta and Rutilia very gravely. "How long do I have to make up my mind?" she asked.

"Oh, there's no real hurry," said Cotta easily. "You're eighteen at the end of January, but there's nothing to say you have to marry, the moment you come of age. Take your time."

"Thank you," she said, and went out of the room.

Her own little room was one of the cubicles which opened off the atrium, and so was windowless and dark; in such a careful and caring family bosom, the only daughter would not have been permitted to sleep anywhere less protected. However, being the only daughter amid such a collection of boys, she was also much indulged, and could easily have grown into a very spoiled young lady did she have the germ of such a flaw in her. Luckily she did not. The consensus of family opinion was that it was utterly impossible to spoil Aurelia, for she had not an avaricious or envious atom in her. Which didn't make her sweet-natured, or even lovable; in fact, it was a lot easier to admire and respect Aurelia than it was to love her, for she did not give of herself. As a child she would listen impassively to the vainglorious posturing of her older brother or one of her first two younger brothers, then when she had had enough, she would thump him across the ear so hard his head rang, and walk away without a word.