The Grass Crown (56 page)

“My friends, I must depart,” said Drusus.

“We understand,” Scaurus said gently.

“My work will not be done now.”

“No, it will not,” said Marius.

“But to stop me, they had to do this.” He cried out in pain, but softly, worn out.

“Who was it?” asked Sulla.

“Any of seven men. I don’t know them. Ordinary men. Of the Third Class, I would say. Not Head Count.”

“Have you received any threats?” asked Scaevola.

“None.” He moaned again.

“We will find the assassin,” said Antonius Orator.

“Or the man who paid the assassin,” said Sulla.

They stood around the foot of the bed in silence then, not wanting to waste any more of what little life Drusus had left. But at the very end, when he was gasping with the effort of breathing and the pain had died down to something he could bear, Drusus struggled to sit up, looking at them out of clouding eyes.

“Ecquandone?” he asked, loudly, strongly. “Ecquandone similem mei civem habebit res publica? Who will ever be able to succor the Republic in my like?”

The work of the little film creeping across those splendid eyes became complete; they glazed to an opaque gold. Drusus died.

“No one, Marcus Livius,” said Sulla. “No one.”

Marcus Aemilius Scaurus

Quintus Poppaedius Silo received the news of Drusus’s death in a letter written by Cornelia II” Scipionis; it reached him in Marruvium not two days after the disaster, yet one more testament to the remarkable fortitude and presence of mind the mother of Drusus owned. Having promised her son she would tell Silo before he could learn the news in a roundabout way, she did not forget.

Silo wept, but without surprise or genuine shock. Afterward, he found himself lighter, full of new purpose; the time of waiting and wondering was over at last. With the death of Marcus Livius Drusus, any hope of peacefully attaining Italian enfranchisement had evaporated.

Off went letters to Gaius Papius Mutilus of the Samnites, Herius Asinius of the Marrucini, Publius Praesenteius of the Paeligni, Gaius Vidacilius of the Picentines, Gaius Pontidius of the Frentani, Titus Lafrenius of the Vestini, and whoever was currently leading the Hirpini, a nation famous for changing its praetors frequently. Only where to meet? All the Italian nations were acutely aware of the two Roman praetors trundling around the peninsula enquiring into “the Italian question,” and suspicious of any place having Roman or Latin status. Somewhere central to the majority and off the Roman track, yet on a good road—a Roman road, that is. The answer loomed in Silo’s mind almost immediately, rocky and forbidding, fortified with high walls, nestling in the lap of the central Apennines and with access to unfailing water. Corfinium on the Via Valeria and the river Aternus, a city of the Paeligni adjoining the lands of the Marrucini.

There in Corfinium they met only days after the death of Drusus, the leaders of eight Italian nations, and many of their followers—the Marsi, the Samnites, the Marrucini, the Vestini, the Paeligni, the Frentani, the Picentes, and the Hirpini. Excited and determined.

“It’s war,” said Mutilus in the council, almost the first words to be spoken. “It must be war, fellow Italians! Rome refuses to accord us the dignity and standing our deeds and our might have earned us. We will forge for ourselves an independent country having no truck with Rome or Romans, we will take back the Roman and Latin colonies founded within our borders, we will find our own destiny with our own men and our own money!”

The Homelands of the Italian Insurgents

Cheers and stamping feet greeted this militant declaration, a reaction Mutilus found exhilarating and Silo found heartening; for the one was consumed with hatred of Rome, and the other was devoid of faith in Rome.

“No more taxes for Rome! No more soldiers for Rome! No more lands for Rome! No more Italian backs bared for Roman lashes! No more debt-bondage to Rome! No more bowing and scraping and saluting and groveling to Rome!” Mutilus shouted. “We will be a power unto ourselves! We will replace Rome! For Rome, fellow Italians, will be in ashes!”

This meeting took place in Corfinium’s public marketplace, as Corfinium had no hall or forum great enough to hold the two thousand men who congregated there; so the cheers which greeted the second part of Mutilus’s short speech rose into the air and floated out over the city walls in a huge wave of sound that frightened birds and awed the populace.

And it is done, thought Silo, listening. All the decisions have been taken.

But there were many decisions yet to be taken. First, a new name for the new country.

“Italia!” cried Mutilus.

Then, a name for Italia’s new capital, hitherto Corfinium.

“Italica!” cried Mutilus.

After that, a government.

“A council of five hundred men, drawn equally from all the nations which join Italia,” said Silo, to whom Mutilus had yielded willingly; Mutilus was Italia’s heart, Silo was Italia’s brain. “All our civil regulations, including our constitution, will be drawn up and administered by this concilium Italiae, which will be permanently based here in our new capital of Italica. But, as you all know very well, we must war with Rome before Italia can come into real existence. Therefore, until the war with Rome is concluded successfully—as it will be!—Italia will have an inner or war council consisting of twelve praetors and two consuls. Roman names, I know, but they will do, for simplicity’s sake if for no other. Always acting with the knowledge and consent of the concilium Italiae itself, this war council will be responsible for the conduct of our war against Rome.”

“No one in Rome will believe it!” shouted Titus Lafrenius of the Vestini. “Two names? that’s all we have to offer! A name for a nonexistent country and a new name for an old city!”

“Rome will believe it,” said Silo steadily, “when we start issuing coins and calling for architects to design the nucleus of a magnificent city! Our first currency will show the eight founding nations symbolized by eight men with drawn swords about to sacrifice the pig, Rome, and on the other side, the face of a new goddess in the Italian pantheon—Italia herself! For our animal, we will take the Samnite bull. For our patron god, we will take Liber Pater, the Father of Freedom, and he will lead a panther on a string, for that is how tame we will make Rome! And before a year is out, our new capital city of Italica will have a forum as large as that in Rome, a council house big enough for five hundred men, a temple to Italia grander than the temple of Ceres in Rome, and a temple to Jupiter Italiae greater than the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in Rome! We will owe Rome nothing, as Rome will quickly see!”

The cheering broke out anew; Silo stood on the tribunal and waited, smiling fiercely, until quiet descended again.

“Rome will not find us divided!” he said. “So much do I swear to every man here, and to every man in a free Italia. We will pool our every resource, from men to money, from food to goods! And those who conduct the war against Rome in Italia’s name will work together more closely than any commanders in the history of war! All over Italia our soldiers are waiting for the call to arms! We have one hundred thousand men ready to take the field within days—and more will come, many more!” He paused, laughed aloud. “Within two years, my fellow Italians, I pledge you that it is Romans who will be crying out to become enfranchised citizens of Italia!”

Because the cause was as just as it was deserving, as longed for as it was needed, there was virtually no skirmishing for the positions of power, and no internal strife; the council of five hundred buckled down to its civic duties that very day, while the inner council sat down to talk war.

The magistrates of the inner council had been elected by the simple Greek show of hands, and even included two praetors from nations as yet to join Italia, so sure were the electors that the Lucani and the Venusini would be with them.

The two consuls were Gaius Papius Mutilus of the Samnites and Quintus Poppaedius Silo of the Marsi. Among the praetors were Herius Asinius of the Marrucini, Publius Vettius Scato of the Marsi, Publius Praesenteius of the Paeligni, Gaius Vidacilius of the Picentes, Marius Egnatius of the Samnites, Titus Lafrenius of the Vestini, Titus Herennius of the Picentes, Gaius Pontidius of the Frentani, Lucius Afranius of the Venusini, and Marcus Lamponius of the Lucani.

The war council, sitting inside the small meeting chamber of Corfinium/Italica, got down to business immediately also.

“We must enlist the Etrurians and the Umbrians,” said Mutilus. “Unless they join us, we will never be able to isolate Rome from the north. And if we can’t isolate Rome from the north, she will be able to continue using the resources of Italian Gaul.”

“The Etrurians and the Umbrians are a peculiar lot,” said the Marsian Scato. “They never have regarded themselves as Italian in the way we do ourselves—and the way Rome regards them, the fools!”

“They did march in force to protest the breaking up of the ager publicus,” said Herius Asinius. “Surely that indicates they will stand with us?”

“I think it indicates they won’t,” said Silo, frowning. “Of all the Italian nations, the Etrurians are the most closely tied to Rome, and the Umbrians just blindly follow the Etrurians. Whom do we know among them by name, for instance? No one! The trouble is that the Apennines have always shut them off from the rest of us to the east, Italian Gaul lies to their north, and Rome and Latium bound them to the south. They sell their pine and their pigs to Rome, not to other Italian nations.”

“The pine I can see, but what do a few pigs matter?” asked the Picentine, Vidacilius.

Silo grinned. “There are pigs and pigs, Gaius Vidacilius! Some pigs go oink-oink. Other pigs make wonderful mail-shirts.”

“Pisae and Populonia!” said Vidacilius. “I take your point.”

“Well, Etruria and Umbria are for the future,” said Mar-ius Egnatius. “I suggest we depute the most persuasive among our five hundred councillors outside to go and see their leaders, while we get down to what is more properly our business. War. How do we want to begin this war?”

“Quintus Poppaedius, what do you say?” asked Mutilus.

“We call our soldiers to arms. But while we’re doing that, I suggest that we lull Rome a little by sending a deputation to the Senate of Rome, asking again to be granted the citizenship.”

Marius Egnatius snorted. “Let them use their citizenship the way a Greek uses a pretty boy!”

“Oh, certainly,” said Silo pleasantly. “However, there’s no need to let them know that until we can provide them with a tool to ram it home in the person of our armies. We’re ready, yes, but it will take us at least a month to mobilize. I know for a fact that almost everybody in Rome thinks we’re years off being able to march. Therefore, why disillusion them? Another deputation will make it seem as if they’re right about our state of preparedness.”

“I agree, Quintus Poppaedius,” said Mutilus.

“Good. Then I suggest we pick a second lot of persuasive talkers from the five hundred councillors outside, to go to Rome. Led by at least one of the war council, I think.”

“One thing I’m sure of,” said Vidacilius, “is that if we are to win this war, we must do it quickly. We have to hit the Romans hard and fast, on as many fronts as possible. We have wonderfully trained troops, and we’re well supplied with all the materials of war. We have superb centurions.” He paused, looking very dour. “However, we don’t have any generals.”

“I disagree!” said Silo strongly. “If you mean by that we don’t have a Gaius Marius ready to hand, then you’re right. But he’s an old man now, and who else do the Romans have? Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar, he who prates that he beat the Cimbric Germans in Italian Gaul, when we all know it was Gaius Marius? They have Titus Didius, but he’s no Marius. More importantly, they have his legions in camp in Capua—four of them, and all veterans. Their best generals currently fighting are Sentius and Bruttius Sura in Macedonia, but no one would dare bring them home, they’re too busy.”

“Before Rome will see herself conquered by the likes of us,” said Mutilus bitterly, “she’ll throw every province she has to the four winds and bring the lot home to fight. That is why we have to win this war in a hurry!”

“I have one further thing to say about the subject of generals,” said Silo patiently. “It doesn’t really matter whom Rome has in her general’s cupboard, you know. Because Rome will behave as Rome always does—the consuls of the year will be the commanders in the field. I think we can discount Sextus Julius Caesar and Lucius Marcius Philippus—their terms are almost over. Who next year’s consuls are likely to be, I don’t know. However, they must surely have elected someone by now. Which is why I disagree with you, Gaius Vidacilius, and with you, Gaius Papius. We in this room have all done as much military service as any of the current crop of consular candidates in Rome. I for one have seen several major actions—and been privileged to see Rome lose horribly at Arausio! My praetor Scato, you yourself, Gaius Vidacilius, Gaius Papius, Herius Asinius, Marius Egnatius—why, there isn’t a man in this room who hasn’t served in his six campaigns! We know the command routines at least as well as whomsoever the Romans will field, both legates and commanders.”

“We also have a great advantage,” said Praesenteius. “We know the country better than the Romans do. We’ve been training men up and down Italy for years now. Roman military experience is abroad, not in Italy. Once the legionaries are out of their recruit schools in Capua, they’re gone. It’s a pity Didius’s troops haven’t been shipped out yet, but those four legions of veterans are just about all the troops Rome has at her disposal, short of bringing overseas legions home.”

“Didn’t Publius Crassus bring home troops from Further Spain when he celebrated his triumph?” asked Herius Asinius.

“He did, but they were shipped back again when the Spains revolted as usual,” said Mutilus, in best situation to know what was going on in Capua. “Titus Didius’s four were kept in case they were needed in Asia Province and Macedonia.”

At that moment a messenger came in from the marketplace with a note from the councillors; Mutilus took it, muttered his way through it several times, then laughed harshly.

“Well, generals of the war council, it appears our friends out there in the public square are as determined as we are to see this thing done! I have here a document informing us that all the members of the concilium Italiae have agreed that every major town in Italia will pair itself with a town of like size in a different Italian state, and the two will exchange hostages—fifty children from all walks of life, no less!”

“I’d call that evidence of mistrust,” said Silo.

“I suppose it is. Nonetheless, it’s also physical proof of dedication and determination. I’d prefer to call it an act of faith, that every town in Italia is willing to put the lives of fifty of its children at risk,” said Mutilus. “The fifty from my town of Bovianum are to go to Marruvium, while Marruvium’s fifty go to my town of Bovianum. I see several more exchanges have already been decided—Asculum Picentum and Sulmo—Teate and Saepinum. Good!”

Silo and Mutilus walked outside to confer with the grand council, and came back some time later to discover their fellow members of the war council had been talking strategy in their absence.

“We march on Rome first,” said Titus Lafrenius.