The First Man in Rome (63 page)

He didn't remember. All young Caesar could think about these days was Aurelia.

They were married in April, on a perfect spring day, with every omen auspicious; even Gaius Julius Caesar seemed better.

Rutilia wept and Marcia wept, the one because this was the first of her children to enter the married state, the other because this was the last of her children to do so. Julia and Julilla were there, as was Sextus's wife, Claudia, but none of their husbands were; Marius and Sulla were still in Africa, and Sextus Caesar was recruiting in Italy, unable to get leave from the consul Gnaeus Mallius Maximus.

Cotta had wanted to rent a house on the Palatine for the young couple for their first month together. "Get used to being married first, then get used to living in the Subura," he said, most concerned for his only girl.

But the young couple resolutely refused, so the wedding walk was a very long one, and the bride was cheered by— or so it seemed—-the whole of the Subura. Young Caesar was profoundly glad the veil hid his bride's face, but took his own share of the casually obscene raillery in excellent part, smiling and bowing as they walked.

"It's our new neighborhood, we'd best learn to get on with them," he said. "Just close your ears."

"I'd rather you steered clear of them," muttered Cotta, who had wanted to hire gladiators to escort the bridal party; the teeming masses and the crime rate worried him sick, as did the language.

By the time they reached Aurelia's insula they had quite a gathering tacked on behind, hopeful it seemed that there would be plenty of wine at the end of the road, and determined to invade the festivities. However, when young Caesar got the big door unlocked and swung his new wife off her feet to carry her across the threshold, Cotta, Lucius Cotta, and the two Gauls managed to keep the throng at bay for long enough for young Caesar to get inside and slam the door. Amid howls of protest, Cotta marched away down the Vicus Patricii with his head up.

Only Cardixa was present inside the apartment; Aurelia had decided to use her leftover dowry money to buy household servants, but had postponed this duty until after her marriage, for she wanted to do it all by herself, not suffer the presence and advice of her mother or her mother-in-law. Young Caesar too had servants to buy—the steward, the wine steward, his secretary, a clerk, and a valet—but Aurelia had more: two heavy-duty cleaning maids, a laundress, a cook and assistant cook, two general-purpose servants, and a strong man. Not a large household by any means, but adequate.

It was growing dark outside, but the apartment was far darker, something the high noon of their only previous visit had not indicated. Light percolating down the nine floors of the central well dimmed early, as did light coming in from the street, a defile of tall insulae. Cardixa had lit what lamps they had, but they were far too few to banish black corners; she herself had retired to her little room, to leave the newlyweds decently alone.

The noise was what amazed Aurelia. It came from everywhere—the street outside, the stairwell leading to the upper floors, the central light-well—even the ground seemed to rumble. Cries, curses, crashes, shouted conversations, screamed altercations and vituperations, babies crying, children wailing, men and women hawking and spitting, a band of musicians banging away at drums and cymbals, snatches of song, oxen bellowing, sheep bleating, mules and asses wheezing, carts endlessly trundling, howls of laughter.

"Oh, we won't be able to hear ourselves think!" she said, blinking away sudden tears. "Gaius Julius, I'm so sorry! I never thought of the noise!"

Young Caesar was wise enough and sensitive enough to know that a part at least of this uncharacteristic outburst was due not to the noise, but to an unacknowledged nervousness brought on by the hectic events of the past few days, the sheer strain of getting married. He had felt it himself; how much greater then must it be for his new little wife?

So he laughed cheerfully and said, "We'll get used to it, never fear. I guarantee that in a month we won't even notice it. Besides, it's bound to be less in our bedroom." And he took her by the hand, feeling it tremble.

Sure enough, the master's sleeping cubicle, reached through his study, was quieter. It was also pitch-black and utterly airless unless the door to the study was left open, for it had been given a false ceiling for storage purposes.

Leaving Aurelia standing in the study, young Caesar went and fetched a lamp from the reception room. Hand in hand, they entered the cubicle, and stood enchanted. Cardixa had decked it out in flowers, strewn scented petals all over the double sleeping couch, and stood every height of vase along the walls, then stuffed them with roses, stocks, violets; on a table reposed a flagon of wine, one of water, two golden cups, and a big plate of honey cakes.

Neither of them was shy. Being Romans, they were properly enlightened about sexual matters, yet modest. Every Roman who could afford it preferred privacy for intimate activities, especially if the body was to be bared; yet they were not inhibited. Of course young Caesar had had his share of adventures, though his face belied his nature; the one was strikingly noticeable, the other quietly inconspicuous. For with all his undeniable gifts, young Caesar was basically a retiring man, lacking the push and shove of an aggressive and political personality; a man others could rely upon, but who was more likely to advance their careers than his own.

Publius Rutilius Rufus's instincts had been exactly right. Young Caesar and Aurelia fitted together beautifully. He was tender, considerate, respectful, warmly loving rather than full of fire; perhaps had he burned with passion, shemight have kindled from him, but that neither of them would ever know. Their lovemaking was delicate in its touch, soft in its kisses, slow in its pace. It satisfied them; it even inspired them. And Aurelia was able to tell herself that she had surely earned the unqualified approval of Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi, for she had done her duty exactly as Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi must have done hers, with a pleasure and contentment that guaranteed the act itself would never rule her life or dictate her conduct outside the marriage bed—yet also guaranteed that she would never come to dislike the marriage bed.

3

During the winter which Quintus Servilius Caepio spent in Narbo grieving for his lost gold, he received a letter from the brilliant young advocate Marcus Livius Drusus, one of Aurelia's most ardent—and most disappointed—suitors.

I was but nineteen when my father the censor died, and left me to inherit not only all his property, but also the position
of paterfamilias.
Perhaps luckily, my only onerous burden was my thirteen-year-old sister, deprived as she was of both father and mother. At the time, my mother, Cornelia, asked to take my sister into her household, but of course I declined. Though there was never any divorce, you are I know aware of the coolness between my parents that came to a head when my father agreed that my young brother should be adopted out. My mother was always far fonder of him than of me, so when my brother became Mamercus Aemilius Lepidus Livianus, she pleaded his young age as an excuse, and went with him to his new household, where indeed she found a kind of life far freer and more licentious than ever she could have lived under my father's roof. I refresh your memory about these things as a point of honor, for I feel my honor touched by my mother's shabby and selfish behavior.

I have, I flatter myself, brought up my sister, Livia Drusa, as befits her great position. She is now eighteen years old, and ready for marriage. As, Quintus Servilius, am I, even at my young age of twenty-three. I know it is more customary to wait until after twenty-five to marry, and I know there are many who prefer to wait until after they enter the Senate. But I cannot. I am the
paterfamilias,
and the only male Livius Drusus of my generation. My brother, Mamercus Aemilius Lepidus Livianus, can no longer claim the Livius Drusus name or any share of the Livius Drusus fortune. Therefore it behooves me to marry and procreate, though I decided at the time of my father's death that I would wait until my sister was old enough to marry.

The letter was as stiff and formal as the young man, but Quintus Servilius Caepio had no fault to find with that; he and the young man's father had been good friends, just as his son and the young man were good friends.

Therefore, Quintus Servilius, I wish as the head of my family to propose a marriage alliance to you, the head of your family. I have not, incidentally, thought it wise to discuss this matter with my uncle, Publius Rutilius Rufus. Though I have nothing against him as husband of my Aunt Livia, nor as father of her children, I do not consider either his blood or his temperament sufficiently weighty to make his counsel of any value. Only recently, for instance, it came to my ears that he actually persuaded Marcus Aurelius Cotta to allow his stepdaughter, Aurelia, to choose her own husband. A more un-Roman act is hard to imagine. And of course she chose a pretty-boy Julius Caesar, a flimsy and impoverished fellow who will never amount to anything.

There. That disposed of Publius Rutilius' Rufus. On ploughed Marcus Livius Drusus, sore of heart, but also sore of
dignitas.

In electing to wait for my sister, I thought to relieve my own wife of the responsibility of housing my sister, and being answerable for her conduct. I can see no virtue in transmitting one's own duties to others who cannot be expected to share the same degree of concern.

What I now propose, Quintus Servilius, is that you permit me to marry your daughter, Servilia Caepionis, and permit your son, Quintus Servilius Junior, to marry my sister, Livia Drusa. It is an ideal solution for both of us. Our ties through marriage go back many generations, and both my sister and your daughter have dowries of exactly the same size, which means that no money needs to change hands, an advantage in these times of cash-flow shortages.

Please let me know your decision.

There was really nothing to decide; it was the match Quintus Servilius Caepio had dreamed of, for the Livius Drusus fortune was vast, as was the Livius Drusus nobility. He wrote back at once:

My dear Marcus Livius, I am delighted. You have my permission to go ahead and make all the arrangements.

And so Drusus broached the matter with his friend Caepio Junior, anxious to prepare the ground for the letter he knew would soon arrive from Quintus Servilius Caepio to his son; better that Caepio Junior saw his coming marriage as desirable than the result of a direct order.

"I'd like to marry your sister," he said to Caepio Junior, a little more abruptly than he had meant to.

Caepio Junior blinked, but didn't answer.

"I'd also like to see you marry my sister," Drusus went on.

Caepio Junior blinked several times, but didn't answer.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Drusus.

Finally Caepio Junior marshaled his wits (which were not nearly as great as either his fortune or his nobility), and said, "I'd have to ask my father."

"I already have," said Drusus. "He's delighted."

"Oh! Then I suppose it's all right," said Caepio Junior.

"Quintus Servilius, Quintus Servilius, I want to know what
you
think!" cried Drusus, exasperated.

"Well, my sister likes you, so that's all right.. .. And I like your sister, but. . ." He didn't go on.

"But what?" demanded Drusus.

"I don't think your sister likes me."

It was Drusus's turn to blink. "Oh, rubbish! How could she not like you? You're my best friend! Of course she likes you! It's the ideal arrangement, we'll all stay together."

"Then I'd be pleased," said Caepio Junior.

"Good!" said Drusus briskly. "I discussed all the things which had to be discussed when I wrote to your father— dowry payments and the like. Nothing to worry about."

"Good," said Caepio Junior.

They were sitting on a bench under a splendid old oak tree growing beside the Pool of Curtius in the lower Forum Romanum, for they had just eaten a delicious lunch of unleavened bread pockets stuffed with a spicy mixture of lentils and minced pork.

Rising to his feet, Drusus handed his large napkin to his body servant, and stood while the man made sure his snowy toga was unsullied by the food.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked Caepio Junior.

"Home to tell my sister," said Drusus. He lifted one sharply peaked black brow. "Don't you think you ought to go home to your sister and tell her?"

"I suppose so," said Caepio Junior dubiously. "Wouldn't you rather tell her yourself? She likes you."

"No, you have to tell her, silly! You're
in loco parentis
at the moment, so it's your job—just as it's my job to tell Livia Drusa." And off went Drusus up the Forum, heading for the Vestal Steps.

His sister was at home—where else would she be? Since Drusus was the head of the family and their mother, Cornelia, was forbidden the door, Livia Drusa could not leave the house for a moment without her brother's permission. Nor would she ever have dared to sneak out, for in her brother's eyes she was potentially branded with her mother's shame, and seen as a weak and corruptible female creature who could not be allowed the smallest latitude; he would have believed the worst of her, even on no evidence at all beyond escape.

"Please ask my sister to come to the study," he said to his steward when he arrived at his house.

It was commonly held to be the finest house in all Rome, and had only just been completed when Drusus the censor died. The view from the loggia balcony across the front of its top storey was magnificent, for it stood on the very highest point of the Palatine cliff above the Forum Romanum. Next door to it was the
area Flacciana,
the vacant block once containing the house of Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, and on the far side of that was the house of Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar.