Fortune's Favorites

  May I respectfully request that my own imperium be permitted to stand for the time being? I can perform a useful function here in Italian Gaul by holding the province for the Senate and People of Rome.

  The Senate under Philippus's skillful guidance pronounced those men who had taken part in Lepidus's rebellion sacer, but because the horrors of the proscriptions still lingered, did not exact any reprisals against their families; the crude pottery jar containing his ashes in her lap, the widow of Marcus Junius Brutus could relax. Her six-year-old son's fortune was safe, though it would be up to her to ensure that he did not suffer political odium when he grew up.

  Servilia told the child of his father's death in a way which gave him to understand that he was never to admire or assist his father's murderer, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, the Picentine upstart. The boy listened, nodding solemnly. If the news that he now had no father upset him or grieved him, he gave no sign.

  He had not yet sprung into speedy growth, but remained a weedy, undersized little boy with spindly legs and a pouting face. Very dark of hair and eye and olive of skin, he had produced a certain juvenile prettiness which his besotted mama saw as permanent beauty, and his tutor spoke highly of his ability to read and write and calculate (what the tutor did not say, however, was that little Brutus entirely lacked an original bent, and imagination). Naturally Servilia had no intention of ever sending Brutus to school with other boys; he was too sensitive, too intelligent, too precious-someone might pick on him!

  Only three members of her family had come to pay their condolences to Servilia, though two of those were, strictly speaking, not close relatives.

  After the last of their various parents, grandparents and others had died, the only surviving person linked to them by blood, Uncle Mamercus, had placed the six orphaned children of his brother and sister in the charge of a Servilius Caepio cousin and her mother. These two women, Gnaea and Porcia Liciniana, now came to call-a courtesy Servilia could well have done without. Gnaea remained the dour and silent subordinate of her overpowering mother; at almost thirty years of age, she was even plainer and flatter of chest than she had been in her late adolescence. Porcia Liciniana dominated the conversation. As she had done all of her life.

  "Well, Servilia, I never thought to see you a widow at such an early age, and I'm sorry for you," said this formidable lady. "It always seemed remarkable to me that Sulla spared your husband and his father from the proscription lists, though I assumed that was because of you. It might have been awkward-even for Sulla!-to proscribe the father-in-law of his own son-in-law's niece, but he really ought to have done so. Old Brutus stuck to Gaius Marius and then Carbo like a moth melted into a wax candle. It had to have been his son's marriage to you saved them both. And you would think the son would have learned, wouldn't you? But no! Off he went to serve an idiot like Lepidus! Anyone with any sense could have seen that business would never prosper."

  "Quite so," said Servilia colorlessly.

  "I'm sorry too," said Gnaea gruffly, contributing her mite.

  But the glance Servilia bestowed upon this poor creature held neither love nor pity; Servilia despised her, though she did not loathe her as she did the mother.

  “What will you do now?'' asked Porcia Liciniana.

  "Marry again as soon as I can."

  "Marry again! That is not fitting for one of your rank. I did not remarry after I was widowed."

  "I imagine no one asked you," said Servilia sweetly.

  Thick-skinned though she was, Porcia Liciniana nonetheless felt the sting of the acid in this statement, and rose majestically to her feet. "I've done my duty and paid my condolences," she said. "Come, Gnaea, it's time to go. We mustn't hinder Servilia in her search for a new husband."

  "And good riddance to you, you old verpa!" said Servilia to herself after they had gone.

  Quite as unwelcome as Porcia Liciniana and Gnaea was her third visitor, who arrived shortly afterward. The youngest of the six orphans, Marcus Porcius Cato was Servilia's half brother through their common mother, sister to Drusus and Mamercus.

  "My brother Caepio would have come," said young Cato in his harsh and unmelodic voice, "except that he's out of Rome with Catulus's army-a contubernalis, if you know that term."

  "I know it," said Servilia gently.

  But the thickness of Porcia Liciniana's skin was as air compared to Marcus Porcius Cato's, so this sally was ignored. He was now sixteen years old and a man, but he still lived in the care of Gnaea and her mother, as did his full sister, Porcia.

  Mamercus had sold Drusus's house as too large some time ago; they all occupied Cato's father's house these days.

  Though the massive size of his blade-thin eagle's nose would never allow him to be called handsome, Cato was actually a most attractive youth, clear-skinned and wide-shouldered. His large and expressive eyes were a soft grey, his closely cropped hair an off-red that shaded to chestnut, and his mouth quite beautiful. To Servilia, however, he was an absolute monster-loud, slow to learn, insensitive, and so pugnaciously quarrelsome that he had been a thorn in the side of his older siblings from the time he began to walk and talk.

  Between them lay ten years of age and different fathers, but more than that; Servilia was a patrician whose family went back to the time of the Kings of Rome, whereas Cato's branch of his family went back to a Celtiberian slave, Salonia, who had been the second wife of Cato the Censor. To Servilia, this slur her mother had brought upon her own and her husband's families was an intolerable one, and she could never set eyes upon any of her three younger siblings without grinding her teeth in rage and shame. For Cato these feelings were undisguised, but for Caepio, supposed to be her own full brother (she knew he was not), what she felt had to be suppressed. For decency's sake. Rot decency!

  Not that Cato felt any social stigma; he was inordinately proud of his great-grandfather the Censor, and considered his lineage impeccable. As noble Rome had forgiven Cato the Censor this second marriage (founded as it had been in a sly revenge against his snobbish son by his first wife, a Licinia), young Cato could look forward to a career in the Senate and very likely the consulship.

  “Uncle Mamercus turned out to have picked you an unsuitable husband," said Cato.

  "I deny that," said Servilia in level tones. "He suited me well. He was, after all, a Junius Brutus. Plebeian, perhaps, but absolutely noble on both sides."

  "Why can you never see that ancestry is far less important than a man's deeds?" demanded Cato.

  "It is not less important, but more."

  "You're an insufferable snob!"

  "I am indeed. I thank the gods for it."

  "You'll ruin your son."

  "That remains to be seen."

  "When he's a bit older I'll take him under my wing. That will knock all the social pretensions out of him!"

  "Over my dead body."

  "How can you stop me? The boy can't stay plastered to your skirts forever! Since he has no father, I stand in loco parentis."

  "Not for very long. I shall remarry."

  "To remarry is unbecoming for a Roman noblewoman! I would have thought you would have set out to emulate Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi."

  "I am too sensible. A Roman noblewoman of patrician stock must have a husband to ensure her pre-eminence. A husband, that is, who is as noble as she is."

  He gave vent to a whinnying laugh. "You mean you're going to marry some overbred buffoon like Drusus Nero!"

  "It's my sister Lilla who is married to Drusus Nero."

  "They dislike each other."

  "My heart bleeds for them."

  "I shall marry Uncle Mamercus's daughter," said Cato smugly.

  Servilia stared, snorted. "You will not! Aemilia Lepida was contracted to marry Metellus Scipio years ago, when Uncle Mamercus was with his father, Pius, in Sulla's army. And compared to Metellus Scipio, Cato, you're a complete mushroom!"

  "It makes no difference. Aemilia Lepida might be engaged to Metellus Scipio, but she doesn't love
him. They fight all the time, and who does she turn to when he makes her unhappy? To me, of course! I shall marry her, be sure of it!"

  "Is there nothing under the sun that can puncture your unbelievable complacence?" she demanded.

  "If there is, I haven't met it," he said, unruffled.

  "Don't worry, it's lying in wait somewhere."

  Came another of those loud, neighing laughs. "You hope!"

  "I don't hope. I know."

  "My sister Porcia is all settled," Cato said, not wanting to change the subject, simply imparting fresh information.

  "To an Ahenobarbus, no doubt. Young Lucius?"

  "Correct. To young Lucius. I like him! He's a fellow with the right ideas."

  "He's almost as big an upstart as you are."

  "I'm off," said Cato, and got up.

  "Good riddance!" Servilia said again, but this time to its object's face rather than behind his back.

  Thus it was that Servilia went to her empty bed that night plunged into a mixture of gloom and determination. So they did not approve of her intention to remarry, did they? So they all considered her finished as a force to be reckoned with, did they?

  "They're wrong!" she said aloud, then fell asleep.

  In the morning she went to see Uncle Mamercus, with whom she had always got on very well.

  "You are the executor of my husband's will," she said. "I want to know what becomes of my dowry."

  "It's still yours, Servilia, but you won't need to use it now you're a widow. Marcus Junius Brutus has left you sufficient money in your own right to live comfortably, and his son is now a very wealthy young boy."

  "I wasn't thinking of continuing to live alone, Uncle. I want to remarry if you can find me a suitable husband."

  Mamercus blinked. "A rapid decision."

  "There is no point in delaying."

  "You can't marry again for another nine months, Servilia."

  "Which gives you plenty of time to find someone for me," said the widow. "He must be at least as wellborn and wealthy as Marcus Junius, but preferably somewhat younger."

  "How old are you now?"

  "Twenty-seven."

  "So you'd like someone about thirty?"

  "That would be ideal, Uncle Mamercus."

  "Not a fortune-hunter, of course."

  She raised her brows. "Not a fortune-hunter!"

  Mamercus smiled. "All right, Servilia, I'll start making enquiries on your behalf. It ought not to be difficult. Your birth is superlative, your dowry is two hundred talents, and you have proven yourself fertile. Your son will not be a financial burden for any new husband, nor will you. Yes, I think we ought to be able to do quite well for you!"

  "By the way, Uncle," she said as she rose to go, "are you aware that young Cato has his eye on your daughter?"

  "What?"

  "Young Cato has his eye on Aemilia Lepida."

  "But she's already engaged-to Metellus Scipio!"

  "So I told Cato, but he seems not to regard this engagement as an impediment. I don't think, mind you, that Aemilia Lepida has any idea in her mind of exchanging Metellus Scipio for Cato. But I would not be doing my duty to you, Uncle, if I failed to inform you what Cato is going around saying."

  "They're good friends, it's true," said Mamercus, looking perturbed, "but he's exactly Aemilia Lepida's age! That usually means girls aren't interested."

  "I repeat, I don't know that she is interested. All I'm saying is that Cato is interested. Nip it in the bud, Uncle- nip it in the bud!"

  And that, said Servilia to herself as she emerged into the quiet street on the Palatine where Mamercus and Cornelia Sulla lived, will put you in your place, Marcus Porcius Cato! How dare you look as high as Uncle Mamercus's daughter! Patrician on both sides!

  Home she went, very pleased with herself. In many ways she was not sorry that life had served this turn of widowhood upon her; though at the time she married him Marcus Junius Brutus had not seemed too old, eight years of marriage had aged him in her eyes, and she had begun to despair of bearing other children. One son was enough, but there could be no denying several girls would contribute much; if well dowered they would find eligible husbands who would prove of use politically to her son. Yes, the death of Brutus had been a shock. But a grief it was not.

  Her steward answered the door himself.

  "What is it, Ditus?"

  "Someone has called to see you, domina."

  "After all these years, you Greek idiot, you ought to know better than to phrase your announcement that way!" she snapped, enjoying his involuntary shiver of fear. "Who has called to see me?''

  "He said he was Decimus Junius Silanus, lady."

  "He said he was Decimus Junius Silanus. Either he is who he says he is, or he is not. Which is it, Epaphroditus?"

  "He is Decimus Junius Silanus, lady."

  "Did you put him in the study?"

  "Yes, lady."

  Off she went still wrapped in her black palla, frowning as she strove to place a face together with the name Decimus Junius Silanus. The same Famous Family as her late husband, but of the branch cognominated Silanus because the original bearer of that nickname had been, not ugly like the leering Silanus face which spouted water into every one of Rome's drinking and washing fountains, but apparently too handsome. Owning the same reputation as the Memmii, the Junii Silani men continued to be too handsome.

  He had called, he said, extending his hand to the widow, to give her his condolences and offer her whatever assistance he might. "It is very difficult for you, I imagine," he ended a little lamely, and blushed.

  Certainly from his face he could not be mistaken for any but a Junius Silanus, for he was fair of hair and blue of eye and quite startlingly handsome. Servilia liked blond men who were handsome. She placed her hand in his for exactly the proper length of time, then turned and shed her palla upon the back of her late husband's chair, revealing herself clad in more black. The color suited her because her skin was clear and pale, yet her eyes and hair were as jet as her widow's weeds. She also had a sense of style which meant she dressed smartly as well as becomingly, and she looked to the dazzled man as elegantly perfect in the flesh as she had in his memory.

  "Do I know you, Decimus Junius?" she asked, gesturing that he sit on the couch, and herself taking up residence on a chair.

  "You do, Servilia, but it was some years ago. We met at a dinner party in the house of Quintus Lutatius Catulus in the days before Sulla became Dictator. We didn't talk for long, but I do remember that you had recently given birth to a son."

  Her face cleared. "Oh, of course! Please forgive me for my rudeness." She put a hand to her head, looked sad. "It's just that so much has happened to me since then."

  "Think nothing of it," he said warmly, then sat without a thing to say, his eyes fixed upon her face.

  She coughed delicately. "May I offer you some wine?"

  "Thank you, no."

  “I see you have not brought your wife with you, Decimus Junius. Is she well?"

  "I have no wife."

  "Oh!"

  Behind her closed and alluringly secretive face, the thoughts were racing. He fancied her! There could be no doubt about it, he fancied her! For some years, it seemed. An honorable man too. Knowing she was married, he had not ventured to increase his acquaintance with her or with her husband. But now that she was a widow he intended to be the first and stave off competition. He was very wellborn, yes- but was he wealthy? The eldest son, since he bore the first name of Decimus: Decimus was the first name of the eldest son in the Junii Silani. He looked to be about thirty, and that was right also. But was he wealthy? Time to fish.

  "Are you in the Senate, Decimus Junius?"

  "This year, actually. I'm a city quaestor."

  Good, good! He had at least a senatorial census. "Where are your lands, Decimus Junius?"

  "Oh, all over the place. My chief country estate is in Campania, twenty thousand iugera fronting onto the Volturnus between Telesia and Capua. But I
have river frontage lands on the Tiber, a very big place on the Gulf of Tarentum, a villa at Cumae and another at Larinum," he said eagerly, keen to impress her.

  Servilia leaned back infinitesimally in her chair and exhaled very cautiously. He was rich. Extremely rich.

  "How is your little boy?" he asked.

  That obsession she could not conceal, it flamed behind her eyes and suffused her face with a passion that sat ill upon her naturally enigmatic features. "He misses his father, but I think he understands."

  Decimus Junius Silanus rose to his feet. "It is time I went, Servilia. May I come again?"

  Her creamy lids fell over her eyes, the black lashes fanning upon her cheeks. A faint pink came into them, a faint smile turned up the corners of her little folded mouth. "Please do, Decimus Junius. It would please me greatly," she said.

  And so much for you, Porcia Liciniana! she said to herself exultantly as she let her visitor personally out of her house. I have found my next husband, though I have not yet been a widow for a month! Wait until I tell Uncle Mamercus!

  Said Lucius Marcius Philippus to Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus in a letter written a month after the death of Marcus Junius Brutus:

  It is true that we are into the second half of the year, but things are proceeding quite well, all considered. I had hoped to tie Mamercus permanently to Rome, but after word came that Brutus as well as Lepidus was dead, he refused to believe that his role as Princeps Senatus tied him to Rome any longer, and asked the Senate for permission to prepare for the war against Sertorius. Our senatorial goats promptly turned into sheep and gave Mamercus the four legions belonging to Catulus, these still being under arms in Capua waiting for discharge. Catulus, I hasten to add, is well satisfied with his little campaign against Lepidus; he (undeservedly) earned an imposing military reputation without needing to venture further from Rome than the Campus Martius, and urged the Senate to give Mamercus the governance of Nearer Spain and the command against Sertorius.