Caesar's Women

  * * *

  He met his harpy the next day toward evening in his rooms on the Vicus Patricii. Forty-five years old, though she didn't look it. The voluptuous figure hadn't spread, nor the wonderful breasts sagged; in fact, she looked magnificent.

  Expecting a frenzy, instead she offered him a slow and erotic languorousness he found irresistible, a tangled web of the senses she wove in tortuous patterns which reduced him to a helpless ecstasy. When he had first known her, he had been able to sustain an erection for hours without succumbing to orgasm, but she had, he admitted, finally beaten him. The longer he knew her, the less able he was to resist her sexual spell. Which meant that his only defense was to conceal these facts from her. Never yield vital information to Servilia! She would chew on it until she sucked it dry.

  "I hear that since you crossed the pomerium and declared your candidacy, the boni have declared an all-out war," she said as they lay together in the bath.

  "You surely didn't expect anything else?"

  “No, of course not. But the death of Catulus has released a brake. Bibulus and Cato are a terrible combination in that they have two assets they can now use without fear of criticism or disapproval—one is the ability to rationalize any atrocious action into virtue, and the other is a complete lack of foresight. Catulus was a vile man because he had a smallness of nature his father never had—that came of owning a Domitia for mother. His father's mother was a Popillia, much better stock. Yet Catulus did have some idea of what being a Roman nobleman is, and he could upon occasion see the outcome of certain boni tactics. So I warn you, Caesar, his death is a disaster for you."

  "Magnus said something like that about Catulus too. I'm not asking for guidance, Servilia, but I am interested in your opinion. What would you have me do to counter the boni?”

  "I think the time has come to admit that you can't win without some very strong allies, Caesar. Until now it's been a lone battle. From now it must be battle united with other forces. Your camp has been too small. Enlarge it."

  "With what? Or perhaps that ought to be, with whom?"

  "Marcus Crassus needs you to salvage his clout among the publicani, and Atticus is not fool enough to glue himself to Cicero blindly. He has a soft spot for Cicero, but a softer spot by far for his commercial activities. Money he doesn't need, but power he craves. Lucky perhaps that political power has never intrigued him, otherwise you'd have some competition. Gaius Oppius is the greatest of all Roman bankers. You already have Balbus, the greatest banker of them all, in your camp. Entice Oppius to your side as well. Brutus is definitely yours, thanks to Julia."

  She lay with those gorgeous breasts floating gently on the surface of the water, her thick black hair pulled up in unplanned loops to keep it dry, and those big black eyes staring into the layers of her own mind, absolutely inward.

  "And what about Pompeius Magnus?" he asked idly.

  She stiffened; the eyes suddenly focused on him, "No, Caesar, no! Not the Picentine butcher! He doesn't understand how Rome works, he never did and he never will. There's a mine of natural ability there, a massive force for good or ill. But he isn't a Roman! Were he a Roman, he would never have done what he did to the Senate before he became consul. He has no subtle streak, no inner conviction of invincibility. Pompeius thinks rules and laws were meant to be broken for his personal benefit. Yet he hungers for approval and he is perpetually torn by conflicting desires. He wants to be the First Man in Rome for the rest of his life, but he really has no idea of the right way to do that."

  "It's true that he didn't handle his divorce of Mucia Tertia very wisely."

  "That," she said, "I put down to Mucia Tertia. One forgets who she is. Scaevola's daughter, Crassus Orator's loved niece. Only a Picentine oaf like Pompeius would have locked her up in a fortress two hundred miles from Rome for years on end. So when she cuckolded him, she did it with a peasant like Labienus. She would much rather have had you."

  "That I've always known.'*

  "So too her brothers. That's why they believed her."

  "Ah! I thought as much."

  "However, Scaurus suits her well enough."

  "So you think I should stay away from Pompeius."

  "A thousand times, yes! He can't play the game because he doesn't know the rules."

  "Sulla controlled him."

  "And he controlled Sulla. Never forget that, Caesar."

  "You're right, he did. Still and all, Sulla needed him.''

  "More fool Sulla," said Servilia scornfully.

  When Lucius Flavius took Pompey's land bill back to the Plebs any chance of its passing died. Celer was there in the Comitia to torment and harangue; so bitter was the confrontation with poor Flavius that he ended in invoking his right to conduct business unobstructed, and hied Celer off to the Lautumiae. From his cell Celer convoked a meeting of the Senate; then when Flavius barred its door with his own body, Celer ordered the wall pulled down and personally supervised its demolition. Nothing prevented his leaving the cell, the Lautumiae being what it was, but the senior consul preferred to show Lucius Flavius up by ostentatiously conducting his consular and senatorial business from that cell. Frustrated and very angry, Pompey had no choice other than to call his tribune of the plebs to order. With the result that Flavius authorized Celer's release, and went no more to meetings of the Plebeian Assembly. The land bill was impossible to promulgate.

  In the meantime canvassing for the curule elections proceeded at a hectic pace, public interest stimulated enormously by the return of Caesar. Somehow when Caesar wasn't in Rome everything tended to be boring, whereas the presence of Caesar guaranteed that fur would fly. Young Curio was up on the rostra or Castor's platform every time one or the other became vacant, and seemed to have decided to replace Metellus Nepos as Caesar's most personal critic (Nepos had departed for Further Spain). The tale of King Nicomedes was retold with many witty embellishments—though, said Cicero to Pompey in complete exasperation, "It's young Curio I'd call effeminate. He was certainly Catilina's cub, if not something more to Catilina than that."

  "I thought he belonged to Publius Clodius?" asked Pompey, who always found it difficult to keep track of the intricacies involved in political and social alliances.

  Cicero could not suppress a shiver at mention of that name. "He belongs to himself first," he said.

  "Are you doing your best to help Lucceius's candidacy?"

  "Naturally!" Cicero said haughtily.

  As indeed he was, though not without constant awkward chance encounters during escort duty in the Forum.

  Thanks to Terentia, Publius Clodius had become a very bitter and dangerous enemy. Why was it that women made life so hard? If she had only left him alone, Cicero might have avoided testifying against Clodius when his trial for sacrilege finally came on a twelvemonth ago. For Clodius announced that at the time of the Bona Dea he had been in Interamna, and produced some respectable witnesses to confirm this. But Terentia knew better.

  "He came around to see you on the day of the Bona Dea," she said sternly, "to tell you that he was going to western Sicily as quaestor, and wanted to do well. It was the day of Bona Dea, I know it was! You told me he'd come to ask for a few tips."

  "My dear, you're mistaken!" Cicero had managed to gasp. "The provinces weren't even assigned until three months after that!"

  "Rubbish, Cicero! You know as well as I do that the lots are fixed. Clodius knew where he was going! It's that trollop Clodia, isn't it? You won't testify because of her."

  "I won't testify because I have an instinct that this is one sleeping beast I ought not to arouse, Terentia. Clodius has never cared overmuch for me since I helped to defend Fabia thirteen years ago! I disliked him then. I now find him detestable. But he's old enough to be in the Senate, and he's a patrician Claudius. His senior brother Appius is a great friend of mine and Nigidius Figulus's. Amicitia must be preserved."

  "You're having an affair with his sister Clodia, and that's why you refuse to do your duty," said Terentia, lo
oking mulish.

  "I am not having an affair with Clodia! She's disgracing herself with that poet fellow, Catullus."

  "Women," said Terentia with awful logic, "are not like men, husband. They don't have just so many arrows in their quivers to shoot. They can lie on their backs and accept an arsenal."

  Cicero gave in and testified, thereby breaking Clodius's alibi. And though Fulvia's money bought the jury (which acquitted him by thirty-one to twenty-five votes), Clodius had neither forgiven nor forgotten. Added to which, when Clodius immediately afterward assumed his seat in the Senate and tried to be witty at Cicero's expense, Cicero's unruly tongue had covered him in glory and Clodius in ridicule—yet one more grudge Clodius harbored.

  At the beginning of this year the tribune of the plebs Gaius Herennius—a Picentine, so was he acting on Pompey's orders?—had begun to make moves to have Clodius's status changed from patrician to plebeian through the medium of a special act in the Plebeian Assembly. Clodia's husband, Metellus Celer, had looked on in some amusement, and done nothing to countermand it. Now Clodius was heard everywhere saying that the moment Celer opened the booth for elections in the Plebs, he would be applying to stand as a tribune of the plebs. And that once he was in office he would see Cicero prosecuted for executing Roman citizens without a trial.

  Cicero was terrified, and not ashamed to say so to Atticus, whom he begged to use his influence with Clodia and have her call her little brother off. Atticus had refused, saying simply that no one could control Publius Clodius when he was in the mood for one of his revenges. Cicero was his choice of the moment.

  Despite all of which, those chance encounters happened. If a consular candidate was not allowed to give gladiatorial games in his own name and with his own money, there was nothing to stop someone else's giving a grand show in the Forum in honor of the candidate's tata or avus, provided that tata or avus was also an ancestor or relation of the games giver. Therefore none other than Metellus Celer the senior consul was giving gladiatorial games in honor of a mutual ancestor of his and Bibulus's.

  Clodius and Cicero were both escorting Lucceius as he moved through the lower Forum canvassing mightily, and found themselves thrown together by movements among those immediately surrounding Caesar, canvassing nearby. And since there was nothing else for it than to put on a good face and behave nicely to each other, Cicero and Clodius proceeded to do so.

  "I hear you gave gladiatorial games after you returned from Sicily," said Clodius to Cicero, his rather bewitching dark face transformed by a big smile, "is that right, Marcus Tullius?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I did," Cicero said brightly.

  "And did you reserve places on the special seating for your Sicilian clients?"

  "Er—no," said Cicero, flushing; how to explain that they had been extremely modest games and the seating not adequate for his Roman clients?

  "Well, I intend to seat my Sicilian clients. The only trouble is that my brother-in-law Celer isn't co-operating."

  "Then why not apply to your sister Clodia? She must have plenty of seats at her disposal, surely. She's the consul's wife."

  "Clodia?" Her brother reared up, his voice becoming loud enough to attract the attention of those in the vicinity who were not already listening to these two avowed enemies being terribly nice to each other. "Clodia? She wouldn't give me an inch!"

  Cicero giggled. "Well, why should she give you an inch when I hear that you give her six of your inches regularly?''

  Oh, he'd done it this time! Why was his tongue such a traitor? The whole lower Forum suddenly lay down on the ground in helpless paroxysms of laughter, Caesar leading, while Clodius stood turned to stone and Cicero succumbed to the deliciousness of his own wit even in the midst of a bowel-watering panic.

  "You'll pay for that!" Clodius whispered, gathered what he could of dignity about him and stalked off with Fulvia on his arm, her face a study in rage.

  "Yes!" she shrieked. "You'll pay for that, Cicero! I'll make a rattle out of your tongue one day!"

  An unbearable humiliation for Clodius, who was to find that June was not his lucky month. When his brother-in-law Celer threw open his booth to plebeian candidates and Clodius lodged his name as a candidate for the tribunate of the plebs, Celer refused him.

  "You're a patrician, Publius Clodius."

  "I am not a patrician!" said Clodius, hands clenched into fists. "Gaius Herennius procured a special enactment in the Plebs removing my patrician status."

  "Gaius Herennius wouldn't know the law if he fell over it," Celer said coolly. "How can the Plebs strip you of patrician status? It isn't the prerogative of the Plebs to say anything about the Patriciate. Now go away, Clodius, you're wasting my time. If you want to be a plebeian, do it the proper way—get yourself adopted by a plebeian."

  Off went Clodius, fuming. Oh, that list was growing! Now Celer had earned a prominent place on it.

  But revenge could wait. First he had to find a plebeian willing to adopt him, if that was the only way to do it.

  He asked Mark Antony to be his father, but all Antony did was roar with laughter. "I don't need the million I'd have to charge you, Clodius, not now I'm married to Fadia and her tata has an Antonian grandchild on the way."

  Curio looked offended. "Rubbish, Clodius! If you think I'm going to go around calling you my son, you've got another think coming! I'd look sillier than I'm making Caesar look."

  "Why are you making Caesar look silly?" Clodius asked, curiosity aroused. "I'd much rather the Clodius Club supported him to the last member."

  "I'm bored," Curio said curtly, "and I'd really like to see him lose his temper—they say it's awesome."

  Nor was Decimus Brutus about to oblige. "My mother would kill me if my father didn't," he said. "Sorry, Clodius."

  And even Poplicola baulked. "Have you calling me tata! No, Clodius, no!"

  Which of course was why Clodius had preferred to pay Herennius some of Fulvia's limitless supply of money to procure that act. He hadn't fancied being adopted; it was too ridiculous.

  Then Fulvia became inspired. "Stop looking among your peers for help," she said. "Memories in the Forum are long, and they all know it. They won't do something that might see them laughed at later on. So find a fool."

  Well, there were any number of those available! Clodius sat down to think, and found the ideal face swimming in front of his gaze. Publius Fonteius! Dying to get into the Clodius Club but constantly rebuffed. Rich, yes; deserving, no. Nineteen years old, no paterfamilias to hamper him, and clever as a bit of wood.

  "Oh, Publius Clodius, what an honor!" breathed Fonteius when approached. "Yes, please!"

  "Of course you understand that I can't acknowledge you as my paterfamilias, which means that as soon as the adoption is over you'll have to release me from your authority. It's very important to me that I keep my own name, you see."

  "Of course, of course! I'll do whatever you want."

  Off went Clodius to see Caesar Pontifex Maximus.

  "I've found someone willing to adopt me into the Plebs," he announced without preamble, "so I need the permission of the priests and augurs to procure a lex Curiata. Can you get it for me?"

  The handsome face considerably above Clodius's own did not change its mildly enquiring expression, nor was there a shadow of doubt or disapproval in the pale, dark-ringed, piercing eyes. The humorous mouth didn't twitch. Yet for a long moment Caesar said nothing. Finally, "Yes, Publius Clodius, I can get it for you, but not in time for this year's elections, I'm afraid."

  Clodius went white. "Why not? It's simple enough!"

  "Have you forgotten that your brother-in-law Celer is an augur? He did refuse your application to stand for the tribunate."

  "Oh."

  "Be of good cheer, it will happen eventually. The matter can wait until he goes to his province."

  "But I wanted to be tribune of the plebs this year!"

  "I appreciate that. However, it isn't possible." Caesar paused. "There is a fee, Clodi
us," he added gently.

  "What?" Clodius asked warily.

  "Persuade young Curio to stop prating about me."

  Clodius stuck his hand out immediately. "Done!" he said.

  "Excellent!"

  "Are you sure there's nothing else you want, Caesar?"

  "Only gratitude, Clodius. I think you'll make a splendid tribune of the plebs because you're enough of a villain to be aware of the power in Law." And Caesar turned away with a smile.

  Naturally Fulvia was waiting nearby.

  "Not until Celer goes to his province," Clodius said to her.

  She put her arms about his waist and kissed him lasciviously, scandalizing several bystanders. "He's right," she said. "I do like Caesar, Publius Clodius! He always reminds me of a wild beast pretending to be tamed. What a demagogue he'd make!"

  Clodius experienced a twinge of jealousy. "Forget Caesar, woman!" he snarled. "Remember me, the man you're married to? I am the one who'll be the great demagogue!"

  On the Kalends of Quinctilis, nine days before the curule elections, Metellus Celer called the Senate into session to debate the allocation of the consular provinces.

  "Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus has a statement to make," he said to a crowded House, "so I will give him the floor."

  Surrounded by boni, Bibulus rose looking as majestic and noble as his diminutive size allowed. "Thank you, senior consul. My esteemed colleagues of the Senate of Rome, I want to tell you a story concerning my good friend the knight Publius Servilius, who is not of the patrician branch of that great family, but shares the ancestry of the noble Publius Servilius Vatia Isauricus. Now Publius Servilius has the four-hundred-thousand-sesterces census, yet relies entirely for this income upon a rather small vineyard in the Ager Falernus. A vineyard, Conscript Fathers, which is so famous for the quality of the wine it produces that Publius Servilius lays it down for years before selling it for a fabulous price to buyers from all over the world. It is said that both King Tigranes and King Mithridates bought it, while King Phraates of the Parthians still does. Perhaps King Tigranes still does too, given that Gnaeus Pompeius mistakenly called Magnus took it upon his own authority to absolve that royal personage of his transgressions—in Rome's name!—and even let him keep the bulk of his income."