I Am Rome, page 4
“There’s nothing to apologize for. But, by Hercules, I agree with Aurelia that we should be respectful of Marius. He has always kept us close.”
“That’s precisely my concern,” Cotta said. “Being close to him may now prove dangerous. The Senate is trying to recover all the power and influence it has lost because of Marius, Saturninus, and Glaucia. The optimates are on the counterattack and they will try to grab everything they can. They’ve been waiting for an excuse—Memmius’s assassination has provided it. Nothing will stop them now. Not even Marius, no matter how many times he’s been consul.”
A silence fell over the room.
Uncomfortable.
Tense.
“I should go,” Cotta finally said, feeling that his hard truths were unwelcome there.
“We’ll have none of that, brother,” Aurelia responded. “I only ask that you be more courteous to our guests. Even if you disagree with Marius on almost everything, you have to know he is correct when he says that the city is extremely dangerous tonight.”
Cotta nodded.
“So you must stay here until daylight,” Aurelia said, looking to her husband.
“Yes, that would be the safest thing,” Julius Caesar Sr. agreed.
“I’ll have some food brought in,” Aurelia said. “All we can do now, with Rome in such tumult, is stick together. I won’t abide any conflict within the heart of the family.”
Another domus in the Suburra, Rome
“No! Damn them! No!” Glaucia wailed as the Senate’s hired assassins dragged him out of the domus where he had taken refuge as soon as he received news of the Senate’s order. His first impulse had been to flee the city, but there were already hundreds of the Senate’s men watching the streets. By the time he learned of the Senate’s ruling, escape was already impossible.
So he hunkered down in the home of a friend, where he thought he’d be safe.
He was wrong.
The friend opened his doors to him and left, taking his family. But unbeknownst to Glaucia, the friend had in fact betrayed him immediately thereafter, revealing his location in an attempt to safeguard himself from the Senate’s vengeance.
A strong pine board barred the thick wooden door, but it did little good against the huge logs used as battering rams by the Senate’s henchmen. The door split open with a loud crack.
“No! Curse you all!” Glaucia screamed.
The men, brandishing sharp daggers, surrounded their victim and looked back, awaiting orders. Lucius Cornelius Sulla entered the atrium, eager to get at his prey. Metellus had divided up the night’s hunt: Sulla was responsible for Glaucia, while Dolabella would see to Saturninus.
Sulla aimed to carry out his orders with lethal efficacy and earn the respect of the leading optimates. He’d proven his abilities on the battlefield; he now wanted to prove himself skilled in Roman politics as well.
“Kill him,” said Sulla in a low voice, almost a whisper.
The execution order, dictated so quietly, sounded all the more sinister in its cold premeditation, devoid of rage or hatred.
“No! Please! No! By all the gods…” Glaucia shouted even as the daggers punctured his flesh.
Dozens of times.
Painstakingly.
Patiently.
With the calm composure of well-paid assassins.
Metellus Jr.’s domus
Quintus Caecilius Metellus Jr.[*1] reluctantly admitted Marius into his home that black and red night in Rome.
“Wh-what do you want? Wh-why do you darken our doorway, enemy of the Metelli?” he snapped.
Metellus Pius stuttered not out of nervousness, but because of a speech impediment he’d had since childhood. It was a weakness he’d never been able to overcome, which kept him from giving public speeches and severely limited his political life. But being the son of Metellus Numidicus, the great leader of the optimates, now forced into exile, afforded him a prestigious position among the conservatives despite his clumsy manner of speaking.
They were standing in an atrium crowded with armed guards. Although Marius had been admitted with six of his own men, Metellus Jr. had so much force on his side that a half-dozen veteran warriors posed no threat.
But Marius had not come to fight, only to negotiate. An impossible negotiation, as Aurelius Cotta had said. Was he correct? He would soon find out.
“Let’s set aside our old differences, Metellus,” Marius said. He and the Metelli had a long-standing rivalry, its origins tracing to the war in Africa. The Metelli had taken that military campaign as something personal, their family’s nontransferable legacy. Marius had not only won lead command over the Roman troops in Africa, but also achieved total victory, bringing the African king Jugurtha back to Rome and parading him through the streets in chains. Marius’s blazing triumph was hard for the Metelli to swallow. They still believed that that victory, that shackled king, that triumph, should’ve belonged to Quintus Caecilius Metellus Numidicus.
“If I h-h-had been thinking of our p-p-past disputes, Consul, I w-wouldn’t have let you through the d-door,” Metellus Jr. replied with an icy glare.
Marius looked around. Dozens of armed men stood in the ring of torchlight and many more loomed in the shadows, beyond the reach of the flickering flames.
“Saturninus and Glaucia have gone too far. Let’s stop before Rome becomes a sea of blood.”
“S-sometimes blood can be p-purifying,” Metellus said, then added a phrase in Greek that Marius didn’t understand: “λως εἰ τό τῶν ἡμέτερων ἐχθρῶν αἷμα ἐστίν.”[*2]
Several of Metellus’s men laughed at their commander’s comment.
It was not the first time that one of the Metelli had ridiculed Marius for his limited understanding of Greek. The family considered the general to be dim-witted, uncultured, and clumsy, although fortunate in combat. But their claims that he was victorious by luck and not by design were absurd: he’d accumulated too many victories against the Africans, Cimbri, and Teutons for anyone to believe it could all be attributed to the favor of the goddess Fortuna. He might not speak Greek, but he knew how to employ the Roman legions on a battlefield. The mockery irritated him, but he ignored the comment and went directly to the point. “I offer you the return of your father from exile in exchange for a pact that will ensure the lives of Saturninus and Glaucia,” Marius said.
The laughter stopped.
The atrium was silent as all looked to Metellus Jr. His father, Quintus Caecilius Metellus Sr., known as Numidicus, had chosen exile over voting in favor of the laws proposed by Saturninus in the Senate. The populares had taken advantage of his departure to strip away many of his lands, formally expulse him from the Senate, and even revoke his Roman citizenship.
“The return of my f-f-father…” Metellus Jr. said. “With the recovery of our l-l-lands, reinstatement in the C-c-curia, and the restoration of his c-citizenship with all its r-r-rights?”
“With all rights restored,” Marius agreed.
Another silence fell over the crowded atrium cast in dim torchlight and deep shadow. Silence in a deserted space may be peaceful, but silence among a large group of tense, armed men is terrifying.
Metellus laughed loudly, forcedly, and then stopped.
“You are not in the p-p-p-position to negotiate anything, C-c-consul. A senatus c-c-consultum ultimum has been issued, and the only thing you can do is ob-bey. Also…”
But Metellus did not finish the sentence.
“Also?” Marius asked, surprised by Metellus Jr.’s unwillingness to reach an agreement. He had been certain that the promise of his father’s return, with the restoration of lost lands, rights, and citizenship, would entice him, and yet…”
“Also, you are too late. Glaucia and Saturninus will be executed. B-b-by your own hand, if you want to save your p-p-position, or by our men, if not. Then we, the optimates, will take control of Rome and the Senate will ap-p-prove the r-r-restoration of my father’s citizenship, his p-p-properties, and his p-place in the Curia. I don’t need anything from you. In f-fact…” he craned his neck to look over Marius’s shoulder. “I believe Glaucia might already be d-dead. Is that right, Lucius?”
Gaius Marius turned around to see Lucius Cornelius Sulla wearing a bloodstained tunic. Sulla had served under Marius in Africa, helping to trap king Jugurtha. But since returning to Rome, all his efforts had gone toward impressing the Metelli and the other optimates. This sight now confirmed for Marius that Sulla, his former ally, had sided fully with his enemies.
“It’s true,” Sulla confirmed, throwing Marius a defiant look. “Glaucia is history.” He tugged at his toga as if trying to shake the bloodstains from it.
“I knew you were involved in all of this,” Marius said scornfully, “but I never imagined you’d do the dirty work yourself.”
“Oh no, by Jupiter,” Sulla protested laughingly. “I’d never tarnish my blade with the blood of someone as lowly as Glaucia. But unfortunately, he resisted. It got messy. A shame about the stains, but the spectacle was worth it.”
Marius was about to reply, but Metellus spoke up again. “And Saturninus? By Hercules, he’s the w-w-worst of the two. What’s the news of him?”
“Dolabella will take care of him,” Sulla said.
Marius knew nothing of Dolabella beyond his ambition. He didn’t consider the man capable of anything relevant, neither good nor bad, in peace or in war. Dolabella may have encouraged Sulla to defect from Marius’s ranks, but he wasn’t capable of much more than poisoned speech. And he would not be able to touch Saturninus, Marius knew. They had made fun of his limited understanding of Greek, his supposed inability to negotiate; decreed that he was no longer worthy of admiration, respect, or fear. But he would have the last laugh.
“Ha! By Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” Marius said. “Yes, Saturninus is the one you most want to see dead. But he is alive and there will be a trial, and in that trial everything will come out: the crimes committed by Saturninus, yes, but also the crimes and excesses of the Senate. We’ll see then if you have enough men to control Rome, with my soldiers and the people against you. Saturninus is under arrest in the Curia, and you wouldn’t dare set fire to the house of the Senate. He is guarded by my top officer, Sertorius, and all my best men. So are you still so certain you don’t wish to negotiate?”
Metellus looked at Sulla, his eyes filled with rage. A public trial, no matter how much they might manipulate it, was not in their best interest. Just as Marius had said, the process would reveal too many of the Senate’s dirty secrets and incite the masses. The situation could easily get out of hand. No, they had to execute Glaucia and Saturninus that night, forcing Marius to take part. Once that triple alliance was destroyed, the populares would be decapitated. There would be no one left to oppose them, and, little by little, the optimates would take back total power. But with Saturninus inside the Senate, guarded by Marius’s men…
Sulla and Marius stood sizing each other up. Marius: fifty-eight years old, six-time consul and triumphant general. Sulla: aged thirty-nine, hardly any recognized merits, defeated in the last elections for praetor thanks to the alliance between Marius, Saturninus, and Glaucia. Sulla sat watching the seasons change as his cursus honorum, the sequence of political offices he aspired to, remained stagnated, blocked by Marius, who detested him. Would the old man once again come out on top? No. Not this time. The consul was making a grave mistake: he underestimated Dolabella’s natural talent for sowing terror. Up to now, Dolabella had only shown flashes of his truly perverse nature. Sulla understood that they had reached a turning point. He, Sulla, would now start to ascend, while the older man, Marius, began his steady decline. He turned away from Marius and looked Metellus in the eye. He spoke confidently, leaving no room for doubt.
“Dolabella will take care of Saturninus. He is”—he searched for the right word—“yes, Dolabella is…motivated.”
Metellus immediately understood Sulla’s meaning: Dolabella’s father had been killed mere months prior in a clash with Saturninus’s men. Without a doubt, Dolabella would be highly motivated to execute the man who had caused his father’s death.
“But he won’t b-b-burn the Senate to the ground, will he?” Metellus asked.
“No,” Sulla answered. “Dolabella will find some other solution.”
Gaius Marius looked down. He understood Dolabella’s personal motivations and knew they would add fuel to his rage. He needed to get to the forum to help Sertorius defend the Curia Hostilia.
Metellus fixed his gaze on the veteran consul. He considered ordering his death then and there, but the Senate had not approved it and many still respected Marius. His legendary victory in Aquae Sextiae against the Teutons, which saved Rome from an invasion perhaps as terrible as Hannibal’s, lived on in the memory of many patres conscripti. It was always better to remain within the law when possible. Marius would soon see his last night. They would erode his prestige a little more each day, and he’d fall from the tree of ambition like overripe fruit, as so many others had done. Glaucia was already dead. Saturninus was not likely to see the dawn. Marius’s time would come…soon.
“I th-th-think it’s time the pro-c-consul take his leave,” Metellus said, and then added: “Arx Tarpeia Capitolii proxima.”[*3]
Gaius Marius understood the threat clearly. “The Tarpeian Rock is near the capitol” alluded to the fact that even at the height of power, represented by the temple of Jupiter at the top of Capitoline Hill, one could easily be thrown from the Tarpeian Rock, the cliff beside the capitol used as an execution site.
The consul did not respond and he did not bid the men farewell. He simply turned and, flanked by his guards, left Metellus’s home. All he could think about was getting to the Senate as quickly as possible. He still had faith in Sertorius’s ability to protect Saturninus, but Sulla’s rabid, feline gaze had held such assuredness over Dolabella’s success. Doubts began to creep into Marius’s mind as he rushed to the forum for the second time that night. He couldn’t shake the feeling that disaster was about to strike.
Skip Notes
*1 Later known in history as Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius.
*2 “Especially if it’s the blood of our enemies.”
*3 Possible origin of the expression “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
V
Stone-Cold Justice
Roman Forum, around the Senate building
99 B.C.
That same night
Gnaeus Cornelius Dolabella, followed by more than a hundred of the optimates’ hired daggermen, marched toward the Curia Hostilia. He was serious and silent. The men watched him. They all knew that Saturninus was behind those bronze doors, that the Senate had ordered his arrest and immediate execution, but that for Dolabella it was more than a simple legal matter—it was also something personal. And they loved a tale of vengeance.
Dolabella reached the Senate building and stopped a few paces from Sertorius, the man in charge. Sulla had spoken often of Marius’s top officer, known for his bravery and efficiency. Gaius Marius had been wise to leave him in charge of securing the forum.
Dolabella didn’t say a word.
For now.
He carefully weighed his options.
He knew that revenge was not something to be rushed but should be carried out with premeditation and patience, ensuring that the single, true blow was delivered in the precise moment. Not a second too soon, not a second too late.
Outside the bronze doors of the Curia Hostilia
Quintus Sertorius watched the men arrive by the dozens. The mob of assassins hired and armed by the Senate rushed like a torrent of water down the old Via Sacra and stopped when they came to the Curia Hostilia. Their leader, the young senator Gnaeus Cornelius Dolabella, stood right in front of him.
Just a few paces.
Dolabella moved closer.
He was five steps away, then four, three, two.
“Enough.” Sertorius moved his right hand to the hilt of his gladius and gestured to unsheathe it.
Dolabella stopped. He smiled.
For a few seconds no one said a word.
Dolabella held Sertorius’s hard stare.
“Leave, you and your men,” Dolabella said. “Spare their blood.”
“I have orders to stay here until Consul Marius returns,” Sertorius replied. “And I always fulfill my orders.”
“Very well,” said Dolabella, still smiling. After a tense pause he rejoined the ranks of his men.
Sertorius had served in several military campaigns under Gaius Marius. No threat, whether silent or verbalized, could intimidate him. He did a quick calculation: there were a hundred of the Senate’s men, all armed. On his side, he had thirty former legionaries, all well-trained veteran warriors, blocking the doors. Enough to put up a good fight and maybe even win, depending on the assassins’ tenacity or how well they’d been paid.
Tucked under his tunic was the old command whistle that he’d used in many a campaign. He’d reached the rank of military tribune and even legatus, with an entire legion under his command, but the whistle reminded him of his times as a centurion. He remembered his youth fondly.
He raised the whistle to his mouth and permitted himself a faint smile. He blew with all his might.
Julia family domus
“I can’t believe you really think it was a mistake for Marius to have addressed Rome’s inequalities.” Aurelia held her son, Caesar, on her lap as she spoke.
