The Grass Crown (41 page)

This agreement was to be drawn up on a tall stone monument Orobazus planned to place at the spot where Sulla’s platform had stood, for it was now dismantled, its precious materials returned from whence they came. The stone was a four-sided obelisk and the terms were inscribed in Latin, Greek, Parthian, and Median, one language upon each side. Two copies were made on Pergamum parchment, for Sulla to take to Rome and Orobazus to take to Seleuceia-on-Tigris, where, Orobazus predicted, King Mithridates of the Parthians would be well pleased.

Tigranes had slunk off with the mien of a whipped cur the moment he could secure leave from his suzerains, returned to where his new city of Tigranocerta was having its streets surveyed. His first logical step was to write to Mithridates of Pontus, but he did not for some time. When he did, it was at least with some private satisfaction emerging from the news he had received from a friend at court in Seleuceia-on-Tigris.

Take heed of this Roman, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, my valued and mighty father-in-law. At Zeugma on the Euphrates he did conclude a treaty of friendship with the satrap Orobazus of Seleuceia-on-Tigris, acting on behalf of my suzerain, King Mithridates of the Parthians.

Between them, they have tied my hands, beloved King of Pontus. Under the terms of the treaty they concluded, I am bound to remain to the east of the Euphrates, and I dare not disobey—not while that merciless old tyrant your namesake sits upon the throne of the Parthians. Seventy valleys my kingdom paid for my return. Did I disobey, seventy more valleys would be taken from me.

Yet we must not despair. As I have heard you say, we are still young men, we have the time to be patient. This treaty of Rome and the Kingdom of the Parthians has made up my mind. I will expand Armenia. You must look to those domains you named—Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Asia Province, Cilicia, Bithynia, and Macedonia. I will look south to Syria, Arabia, and Egypt. Not to mention to the Kingdom of the Parthians. For one day soon old Mithradates the King of the Parthians will die. And I predict that there will then be a war of succession, for he has sat on his sons as he sits on me, and favors none above the others, and torments them with threats of death, and even occasionally does kill one to watch the others hop. So there has been no ascendancy of one son above any of the others, and that is dangerous when an old king dies. This much I do swear to you, honored and esteemed father-in-law—that the moment there is internal war between the sons of the King of the Parthians, I will seize my chance and strike out for Syria, Arabia, Egypt, Mesopotamia. Until then, I will continue my work of building Tigranocerta.

One further thing I must report to you about the meeting between Orobazus and Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Orobazus told the Chaldaean seer, the Nabopolassar, to scan the palm and face of the Roman. Now I know the work of this Nabopolassar, whose brother is seer to the King of Kings himself. And I tell you, great and wise father-in-law, that the Chaldaean is a true seer, never wrong. When he had done with the hand and face of Lucius Cornelius Sulla he fell upon his stomach and humbled himself to the Roman as he humbles himself to the King of Kings and no other. Then he told Orobazus that Lucius Cornelius Sulla was the greatest man in the world! From the River Indus to the River of Ocean, he did say. And I was very afraid. So too was Orobazus. With good reason. When he and the others got back to Seleuceia-on-Tigris they found the King of the Parthians in residence there, so Orobazus reported what had happened immediately. Including details the Roman had given him about our own activity, mighty father-in-law. And including the Roman’s warning that you might look toward the Kingdom of the Parthians to conquer it. King Mithridates took heed. I am strapped with watchers. But—the only news which cheers me—he executed Orobazus and the Nabopolassar for making more of a Roman than their king. Yet he has decided to honor the treaty, and has written to Rome to this effect. It seems the old man is sorry he never set eyes on Lucius Cornelius Sulla. I suspect had he, he would have employed his executioner. A pity then that he was in Ecbatana.

Only the future can show us our fates, my dearest and most admired father-in-law. It may be that Lucius Cornelius Sulla comes no more to the east, that his greatness will be aimed at the west. And it may be too that one day it is I who assume the title, King of Kings. This means nothing to you, I know. But to one brought up at the courts in Ecbatana and Susia and Seleuceia-on-Tigris, it means everything.

My dear wife, your daughter, is very well. Our children are well. Would that I could inform you our plans were going well. That is not to be. For the moment.

Ten days after the parley on the platform, Lucius Cornelius Sulla received his copy of the treaty, and was invited to be present at the unveiling of the monument beside the great milky blue river. He went clad in his toga praetexta, trying to ignore the fact that the summer sun was wreaking havoc upon the skin of his face; this was one occasion upon which he could not wear his hat. All he could do was oil himself and hope the many hours in the sun would not burn him too deeply.

Of course they did, a lesson his son absorbed, vowing he too would always wear his hat. His father’s misery was acute. He blistered, peeled, blistered again, peeled again, oozed precious water from the healing layers, and scratched, and suppurated. But by the time he and his little army reached Tarsus some forty days later, Sulla’s skin was finally beginning to heal and he no longer itched. Morsimus had found some sweet-smelling cream in a market along the Pyramus River; from the time he first anointed himself with it, his skin ceased to plague him. And it healed without a blemish, a fact which pleased Sulla, who was vain.

Like the prediction of the Nabopolassar, he told no one, even his son, about the bags of gold. The one he had been given by the King of Osrhoene had been joined by five others, the gift of the Parthian Orobazus. These coins were emblazoned with the profile of the second King Mithridates of the Parthians, a short-necked old man with a nose suitable for catching fish, carefully curled hair and pointed beard, and on his head the little round brimless hat his ambassadors had worn, except that his boasted the ribbon of the diadem and had ear-flaps and neck-shield.

In Tarsus Sulla changed his golden coins for good Roman denarii, and found to his amazement that he was the richer by ten million denarii—forty million sesterces. He had more than doubled his fortune! Of course he didn’t haul bags and bags of Roman coins away from the Tarsian banking house; he availed himself of permutatio and tucked a little roll of Pergamum parchment into his toga instead.

The year had worn down, autumn was well under way, and it was time to be thinking of going home. His job was done—and done well. Those in the Treasury at Rome who had dowered his war chest would not complain; for there had been ten more bags of gold—two from Tigranes of Armenia, five from the King of the Parthians, one from the King of Commagene, and two from none other than the King of Pontus. This meant Sulla could pay his army out and give Morsimus a generous bonus, then put more than two thirds of it into his war chest, now far richer than it had been when he started out. Yes, a good year! His reputation in Rome would rise, and he now had the money to stand for the consulship.

His trunks were packed and the ship he had hired was riding at anchor on the Cydnus when he had a letter from Publius Rutilius Rufus, dated in September.

I hope, Lucius Cornelius, that this catches you in time. And I hope yours has been a better year than mine. But more of that anon.

I do so love writing to those far away about the goings-on in Rome. How I shall miss it! And who will write to me? But more of that anon.

In April we elected ourselves a new pair of censors. Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus and Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator. An ill-assorted pair, you perceive. The irascible allied to the immutable—Hades and Zeus—the succinct coupling with the verbose—a harpy and a muse. All of Rome is trying to find the perfect description of the world’s most imperfect duo. It should of course have been Crassus Orator and my dear Quintus Mucius Scaevola, but it wasn’t. Scaevola refused to run. He says he’s too busy. Too wary, more like! After the fuss the last censors created—and the lex Licinia Mucia to cap it—I daresay Scaevola thought himself well out of the business.

Of course the special courts provided for by the lex Licinia Mucia are now defunct. Gaius Marius and I succeeded in having them disbanded early in the year, on the grounds that they were a financial burden the returns could not justify. Luckily everyone agreed. The amendment was passed without incident in both Senate and Comitia. But the scars linger, Lucius Cornelius, in truly terrible ways. Two of the more obnoxious judges, Gnaeus Scipio Nasica and Catulus Caesar, have had farmsteads and villas they own burned to the ground; and others have had crops destroyed, vineyards torn apart, water cisterns poisoned. There is a new nocturnal sport up and down the country—find a Roman citizen and beat him half to death. Not, naturally, that anyone—even Catulus Caesar—will admit that the lex Licinia Mucia has anything to do with all these private disasters.

That revolting young man, Quintus Servilius Caepio, actually had the effrontery to charge Scaurus Princeps Senatus in the extortion court, the charge being that he had accepted an enormous bribe from King Mithridates of Pontus. You can imagine what happened. Scaurus turned up at the spot where the court had gathered in the lower Forum, but not to answer any charges! He walked straight up to Caepio and smacked him on the left cheek, then the right cheek—snap, snap! Somehow at such moments I swear Scaurus grows two feet. He seemed to tower over Caepio, whereas in fact they are much the same height.

“How dare you!” he barked. “How dare you, you slimy, miserable little worm! Withdraw this ridiculous charge at once, or you’ll wish you’d never been born! You, a Servilius Caepio, a member of a family famous for its love of gold, dare to accuse me, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, Princeps Senatus, of taking gold? I piss on you, Caepio!”

And off he marched across the Forum, escorted by huge cheers, applause, whistles, all of which he ignored. Caepio was left standing with the marks of Scaurus’s hand on both sides of his face, trying not to look at the panel of knights who had been ordered to appear for jury selection. But after Scaurus’s little scene, Caepio could have produced ironclad evidence to prove his case, and the jury still would have acquitted Scaurus.

“I withdraw my charge,” said Caepio, and scurried home.

Thus perish all who would indict Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, showman without peer, poseur, and prince of good fellows! I admit that I, for one, was delighted. Caepio has been making life miserable for Marcus Livius Drusus for so long now it is a Forum fact. Apparently Caepio felt that my nephew should have taken his side when my niece was discovered in her affair with Cato Salonianus, and when things didn’t turn out that way, Caepio reacted downright viciously. He’s still carrying on about that ring!

But enough of Caepio, grubby subject for a letter that he is. We have another useful little law upon the tablets, thanks to the tribune of the plebs Gnaeus Papirius Carbo. Now there is a family has had no luck since its members decided to forsake their patrician status! Two suicides in the last generation, and now a group of young Papirian men who just itch to make trouble. Anyway, Carbo called a contio in the Plebeian Assembly some months ago—early spring, actually—how time does get away! Crassus Orator and Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus had just declared themselves candidates for the censorship. What Carbo was trying to do was to push an updated version of Saturninus’s grain law through the Plebs. But the meeting got so out of hand that a couple of ex-gladiators were killed, some senators were molested, and a riot suspended the proceedings. Crassus Orator was caught in the midst of it, thanks to his electoral campaigning, got his toga dirty, and was absolutely livid. The result is that he promulgated a decree in the Senate to the effect that the entire responsibility for keeping order during a meeting rests squarely upon the shoulders of the magistrate convoking it. The decree was hailed as a brilliant piece of lawmaking, went to the Assembly of the Whole People, and was passed. Had Carbo’s meeting taken place under the auspices of Crassus Orator’s new law, he could have been charged with inciting violence, and been heavily fined.

Now I come to the most delicious bit of news.

We no longer have censors!

But Publius Rutilius, what happened? I hear you cry. Well, I shall tell you. At first we thought they would manage to deal together fairly well, despite their manifest differences of character. They let the State contracts, perused the rolls of the senators and then the knights, and then followed this up with a decree expelling all save an unimpeachable handful of teachers of rhetoric from Rome. Their chief fury fell upon the teachers of Latin rhetoric, but those teaching in Greek didn’t fare too well either. You know the kind of fellows, Lucius Cornelius. For a few sesterces a day they guarantee to turn the sons of impecunious but social-climbing Third or Fourth Classers into lawyers, who then solicit business tirelessly up and down the Forum, preying upon our gullible but litigious-minded populace. Most don’t bother to teach in Greek, as the due process of the law is conducted in Latin. And—as everyone admits!—these so-called teachers of rhetoric drag the law and lawyers down, prey upon the uninformed and the underprivileged, trick them out of what little money they have, and do not glorify our Forum. Out they all went, bag and baggage! Calling down curses upon the heads of Crassus Orator and Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus, but to no avail. Out they all went. Only those teachers of rhetoric with pristine reputations and a proper clientele have been permitted to stay.

It looked good. Everyone sang the praises of the censors, who might therefore have been thought to get on somewhat better together. Instead, they began to fight. Oh, the arguments! In public! Culminating in an acrimonious exchange of incivilities heard by at least half of Rome, that half (I am a part of it, I admit it freely!) which took to lingering in the vicinity of the censors’ booth to hear what it could hear.