Publius Vatinius was the only child, and Fortune did not seem to favor him. When he was a lad he succumbed to what was called the Summer Disease, and emerged from it with the muscles below the knees of both legs so wasted that the only way he could walk was to pinch his thighs together tightly and fling his lower legs to each side; the resulting gait was reminiscent of a duck's. He then developed swelling lumps in his neck which sometimes abscessed, burst, and left terrible scars. He was therefore not a pretty sight. However, what had been denied his physical appearance was given instead to his nature and his mind. The nature was truly delightful, for he was witty, joyous, and very hard to ruffle. The mind was so acute it had early perceived that his best defense was to draw attention to his unsightly diseases, so he made a joke of himself and allowed others to do the same.
Because Vatinius Senior was relatively young to have a grown son, Publius Vatinius was not really needed at home, nor would he ever be able to stride around the properties the way his father did; Vatinius Senior concentrated upon training more remote relatives to take over the business, and sent his son to Rome to become a gentleman.
The vast upheavals and dislocations which followed in the wake of the Italian War had created a before-and-after situation which saw these newly prosperous families—and there were many of them—patronless. Every enterprising senator and knight of the upper Eighteen was looking for clients, yet prospective clients aplenty went unnoticed. As had the Vatinius family. But not once Publius Vatinius, a little old at twenty-five, finally arrived in Rome. Having settled in and settled down in lodgings on the Palatine, he looked about for a patron. That his choice fell on Caesar said much about his inclinations and his intelligence. Lucius Caesar was actually the senior of the branch, but Publius Vatinius went to Gaius because his unerring nose said Gaius was going to be the one with the real clout.
Of course Caesar had liked him instantly, and admitted him as a client of great value, which meant Vatinius's Forum career got under way in a most satisfactory manner. The next thing was to find Publius Vatinius a bride, since, as Vatinius said, "The legs don't work too well, but there's nothing wrong with what hangs between them."
Caesar's choice fell on the eldest child of his cousin Julia Antonia, her only daughter, Antonia Cretica. Of dowry she had none, but by birth she could guarantee her husband public prominence and admission to the ranks of the Famous Families. Unfortunately she was not a very prepossessing female creature, nor was she bright of intellect; her mother always forgot she existed, so wrapped up was she in her three sons, and perhaps too Antonia Cretica's size and shape proved a maternal embarrassment. At six feet in height she had shoulders nearly as wide as her young brothers', and while Nature gave her a barrel for a chest, Nature forgot to add breasts. Her nose and chin fought to meet across her mouth, and her neck was as thick as a gladiator's.
Did any of this worry the crippled and diminutive Publius Vatinius? Not at all! He espoused Antonia Cretica with zest in the year of Caesar's curule aedileship, and proceeded to sire a son and a daughter. He also loved her, his massive and ugly bride, and bore with perpetual good humor the opportunities this bizarre alliance offered to the Forum wits.
"You're all green with envy," he would say, laughing. "How many of you climb into your beds knowing you're going to conquer Italia's highest mountain? I tell you, when I reach the peak, I am as filled with triumph as she is with me!"
In the year of Cicero's consulship he was elected a quaestor, and entered the Senate. Of the twenty successful candidates he had polled last, no surprise given his lack of ancestry, and drew the lot for duty supervising all the ports of Italy save for Ostia and Brundisium, which had their own quaestors. He had been sent to Puteoli to prevent the illegal export of gold and silver, and had acquitted himself very respectably. Thus the ex-praetor Gaius Cosconius, given Further Spain to govern, had personally asked for Publius Vatinius as his legate.
He was still in Rome waiting for Cosconius to leave for his province when Antonia Cretica was killed in a freak accident on the Via Valeria. She had taken the children to see their grandparents in Alba Fucentia, and was returning to Rome when her carriage ran off the road. Mules and vehicle rolled and tumbled down a steep slope, breaking everything.
"Try to see the good in it, Vatinius," said Caesar, helpless before such genuine grief. "The children were in another carriage, you still have them."
"But I don't have her!" Vatinius wept desolately. "Oh, Caesar, how can I live?"
"By going to Spain and keeping busy," said his patron. "It is Fate, Vatinius. I too went to Spain having lost my beloved wife, and it was the saving of me." He got up to pour Vatinius another goblet of wine. “What do you want done with the children? Would you rather they went to their grandparents in Alba Fucentia, or stayed here in Rome?"
"I'd prefer Rome," Vatinius said, mopping his eyes, "but they need to be cared for by a relative, and I have none in Rome."
"There's Julia Antonia, who is also their grandmother. Not a very wise mother, perhaps, but adequate for such young charges. It would give her something to do."
"You advise it, then."
"I think so—for the time being, while you're in Further Spain. When you come home, I think you should marry again. No, no, I'm not insulting your grief, Vatinius. You won't ever replace this wife, it doesn't work that way. But your children need a mother, and it would be better for you to forge a new bond with a new wife by siring more. Luckily you can afford a large family."
"You didn't sire more with your second wife."
"True. However, I'm not uxorious, whereas you are. You like a home life, I've noticed it. You also have the happy ability to get on with a woman who is not your mental equal. Most men are built so. I am not, I suppose." Caesar patted Vatinius on the shoulder. "Go to Spain at once, and remain there until at least next winter. Fight a little war if you can—Cosconius isn't up to that, which is why he's taking a legate. And find out all you can about the situation in the northwest."
"As you wish," said Vatinius, hauling himself to his feet. "And you're right, of course, I must marry again. Will you look out for someone for me?"
"I most certainly will."
A letter came from Pompey, written after Metellus Nepos had arrived in the Pompeian fold.
Still having trouble with the Jews, Caesar! Last time I wrote to you I was planning to meet the old Queen's two sons in Damascus, which I did last spring. Hyrcanus impressed me as more suitable than Aristobulus, but I didn't want them to know whom I favored until I'd dealt with that old villain, King Aretas of Nabataea. So I sent the brothers back to Judaea under strict orders to keep the peace until they heard my decision—didn't want the losing brother intriguing in my rear while I marched on Petra.
But Aristobulus worked out the right answer, that I was going to give the lot to Hyrcanus, so he decided to prepare for war. Not very smart, but still, I suppose he didn't have my measure yet. I put the expedition against Petra off, and marched for Jerusalem. Went into camp all around the city, which is extremely well fortified and naturally well placed for defense—cliffy valleys around it and the like.
No sooner did Aristobulus see this terrific-looking Roman army camped on the hills around than he came running to offer surrender. Along with several asses loaded down with bags of gold coins. Very nice of him to offer them to me, I said, but didn't he understand that he'd ruined my campaigning plans and cost Rome a much bigger sum of money than he had in his bags? But I'd forgive all if he agreed to pay for the expense of moving so many legions to Jerusalem. That, I said, would mean I wouldn't have to sack the place to find the money to pay. He was only too happy to oblige.
I sent Aulus Gabinius to pick up the money and order the gates opened, but Aristobulus's followers decided to resist. They wouldn't open the gates to Gabinius, and did some pretty rude things on top of the walls as a way of saying they were going to defy me. I arrested Aristobulus, and moved the army up. That made the city surrender, but there's a part of th
e place where this massive temple stands—a citadel, you'd have to call it. A few thousand of the die-hards barricaded themselves in and refused to come out. A hard place to take, and I never was enthusiastic about siege. However, they had to be shown, so I showed them. They held out for three months, then I got bored and took the place. Faustus Sulla was first over the walls—nice in a son of Sulla's, eh? Good lad. I intend to marry him to my daughter when we get home, she'll be old enough by then. Fancy having Sulla's son as my son-in-law! I've moved up in the world nicely.
The temple was an interesting place, not like our temples at all. No statues or anything like that, and it sort of growls at you when you're inside. Raised my hackles, I can tell you! Lenaeus and Theophanes (I miss Varro terribly) wanted to go behind this curtain into what they call their Holy of Holies. So did Gabinius and some of the others. It was bound to be full of gold, they said. Well, I thought about it, Caesar, but in the end I said no. Never set foot inside, wouldn't let anyone else either. I'd got their measure by then, you see. Very strange people. Like us the religion is a part of the State, but it's also different from us. I'd call them religious fanatics, really. So I issued orders that no one was to offend them religiously, from the rankers all the way up to my senior legates. Why stir up a nest of hornets when what I want from one end of Syria to the other is peace, good order, and client kings obedient to Rome, without turning the local customs and traditions upside down? Every place has a mos maiorum.
I put Hyrcanus in as both King and High Priest, and took Aristobulus prisoner. That's because I met the Idumaean prince, Antipater, in Damascus. Very interesting fellow. Hyrcanus isn't impressive, but I rely on Antipater to manipulate him—in Rome's direction, of course. Oh yes, I didn't neglect to inform Hyrcanus that he's there not by the grace of his God but by the grace of Rome, that he's Rome's puppet and always under the thumb of the Governor of Syria. Antipater suggested that I sweeten this cup of vinegar by telling Hyrcanus that he ought to channel most of his energies into the High Priesthood—clever Antipater! I wonder does he know I know how much civil power he's usurped without lifting a warring finger?
I didn't leave Judaea quite as big as it was before the two silly brothers focused my attention on such a piddling spot. Anywhere that Jews were in a minority I drafted into Syria as an official part of the Roman province—Samaria, the coastal cities from Joppa to Gaza, and the Greek cities of the Decapolis all got their autonomy and became Syrian.
I'm still tidying up, but it begins to near the end at last. I'll be home by the end of this year. Which leads me to the deplorable events of the last year and the beginning of this one. In Rome, I mean. Caesar, I can't thank you enough for your help with Nepos. You tried. But why did we have to have that sanctimonious fart Cato in office? Ruined everything. And as you know, I haven't got a tribune of the plebs left worth pissing on. Can't even find one for next year!
I am bringing home mountains of loot, the Treasury won't even begin to hold Rome's share. There were sixteen thousand talents given in bonuses to my troops alone. Therefore I absolutely refuse to do what I've always done in the past, give my soldiers tenure of my own land. This time Rome can give them land. They deserve it, and Rome owes it to them. So if I die trying, I'll see they get State land. I rely on you to do what you can, and if you happen to have a tribune of the plebs inclined to think your way, I would be happy to share the cost of his hire. Nepos says there's going to be a big fight over land, not that I didn't expect it. Too many powerful men leasing public land out for their latifundia. Very shortsighted of the Senate.
I heard a rumor, by the way, and wondered if you'd heard it too. That Mucia's being a naughty girl. I asked Nepos, and he flew so high I wondered if he was ever going to come down again. Well, brothers and sisters do tend to stick together, so I suppose it's natural he didn't like the question. Anyway, I'm making enquiries. If there's any truth in it, it's bye-bye to Mucia. She's been a good wife and mother, but I can't say I've missed her much since I've been away.
"Oh, Pompeius," said Caesar as he put the letter down, "you are in a league all of your own!"
He frowned, thinking of the last part of Pompey's missive first. Titus Labienus had left Rome to return to Picenum soon after he relinquished office, and presumably had resumed his affair with Mucia Tertia. A pity. Ought he perhaps to write and warn Labienus what was coming? No. Letters were prone to be opened by the wrong people, and there were some who were past masters of the art of resealing them. If Mucia Tertia and Labienus were in danger, they would have to deal with it themselves. Pompey the Great was more important; Caesar was beginning to see all sorts of alluring possibilities after the Great Man came home with his mountains of loot. The land wasn't going to be forthcoming; his soldiers would go unrewarded. But in less than three years' time, Gaius Julius Caesar would be senior consul, and Publius Vatinius would be his tribune of the plebs. What an excellent way to put the Great Man in the debt of a far greater man!
Both Servilia and Marcus Crassus had been right; after that amazing day in the Forum, Caesar's year as urban praetor became very peaceful. One by one the rest of Catilina's adherents were tried and convicted, though Lucius Novius Niger was no longer the judge in the special court. After some debate the Senate decided to transfer the trials to Bibulus's court once the first five had been sentenced to exile and confiscation of property.
And, as Caesar learned from Crassus, Cicero got his new house. The biggest Catilinarian fish of all had never been named by any of the informers—Publius Sulla. Most people knew, however, that if Autronius had been involved, so had Publius Sulla. The nephew of the Dictator and husband of Pompey's sister, Publius Sulla had inherited enormous wealth, but not his uncle's political acumen and certainly not his uncle's sense of self-preservation. Unlike the rest, he had not entered the conspiracy to increase his fortune; it had been done to oblige his friends and alleviate his perpetual boredom.
"He's asked Cicero to defend," said Crassus, chuckling, "and that puts Cicero in a frightful predicament."
"Only if he intends to consent, surely," said Caesar.
"Oh, he's already consented, Gaius."
"How do you know all this?"
“Because our swan of an ex-consul has just been to see me. Suddenly he has the money to buy my house— or hopes he has."
"Ah! How much are you asking?"
"Five million."
Caesar leaned back in his chair, shaking his head dolefully. "You know, Marcus, you always remind me of a speculation builder. Every house you build for your wife and children you swear by all the Gods is going to stay theirs. Then along comes someone with more money than sense, offers you a fat profit, and—bang! Wife and children are homeless until the next house is built."
"I paid a long price for it," said Crassus defensively.
"Not nearly as long as five million!"
"Well, yes," said Crassus, then brightened. "Tertulla has taken a dislike to the place, as a matter of fact, so she isn't brokenhearted at the thought of moving. I'm going to buy on the Circus Maximus side of the Germalus this time—next door to that palace Hortensius maintains to house his fish ponds."
“Why has Tertulla taken a dislike to it after all these years?" Caesar asked skeptically.
"Well, it belonged to Marcus Livius Drusus."
"I know that. I also know he was murdered in its atrium.''
"There's something there!" Crassus whispered.
"And it's welcome to gnaw at Cicero and Terentia, eh?" Caesar began to laugh. "I told you at the time that it was a mistake to use black marble inside—too many dark corners. And, knowing how little you pay your servants, Marcus, I'd be willing to bet some of them have a fine old time of it moaning and sighing out of the shadows. I would also be willing to bet that when you move, your evil presences will go with you—unless you cough up some solid wage rises, that is."
Crassus brought the subject back to Cicero and Publius Sulla. "It appears," he said, "that Publius Sulla is willing to 'lend' Cice
ro the entire sum if he defends."
"And gets him off," said Caesar gently.
"Oh, he'll do that!" This time Crassus laughed, an extremely rare event. "You ought to have heard him! Busy rewriting the history of his consulship, no less. Do you remember all those meetings through September, October and November? When Publius Sulla sat beside Catilina supporting him loudly? Well, according to Cicero that wasn't Publius Sulla sitting there, it was Spinther wearing his imago!"
"I hope you're joking, Marcus."
"Yes and no. Cicero now insists that Publius Sulla spent the bulk of those many nundinae looking after his interests in Pompeii! He was hardly in Rome, did you know that?"
"You're right, it must have been Spinther wearing his imago."
"He'll convince the jury of it, anyway."
At which moment Aurelia poked her head round the door. "When you have the time, Caesar, I would like a word with you," she said.
Crassus rose. "I'm off, I have some people to see. Speaking of houses," he said as he and Caesar walked to the front door, “I must say the Domus Publica is the best address in Rome. On the way to and from everywhere. Nice to pop in knowing there's a friendly face and a good drop of wine."
"You could afford the good drop of wine yourself, you old skinflint!"
"You know, I am getting old," said Crassus, ignoring the noun. "What are you, thirty-seven?"
"Thirty-eight this year."
"Brrr! I'll be fifty-four." He sighed wistfully. "You know, I did want a big campaign before I retired! Something to rival Pompeius Magnus."
"According to him, there are no worlds left to conquer."
"What about the Parthians?"
"What about Dacia, Boiohaemum, all the lands of the Danubius?"