“Yes, this is something of a change for you,” she said suspiciously. “Why this sudden cessation of hostility toward Pompey?”
I laced my fingers behind my head and marshaled my thoughts. This was something that had been stewing in my mind since Gaul. The faint flicker from the tiny night lamp danced over the new frescoes Julia had commissioned for the walls—the fanciful, elongated architectural and vegetation designs that had lately come into fashion.
“Pompey is through,” I said. “I can see that now. For years I worried about him and Crassus. I thought someday it would come to civil war between the two of them. Now Crassus is a senile old fool, headed for his death in Parthia, if he even gets that far. Pompey is getting no younger and neither are his soldiers. They haven’t fought a decent war in years. If he calls, they’ll rally to him; but they’ve grown fat and idle on the farms he wrangled for them in Campania and Tuscia. He’s no longer the threat I once thought him to be. Since his last consulship, he’s overseen the grain supply and accomplished what everyone thought was impossible: rooted out corruption and put the whole business on an efficient basis. He has the right combination of ability, prestige, and popularity to restore order in the City.”
“Somehow,” she said, “I don’t feel that you look forward to a rosy future for Rome and the Empire, with or without Pompey.”
“Caesar is now in command of the largest Roman army since Marius and Sulla fought it out more than thirty years ago. If things go well for him in Gaul, he’ll come back rich, prestigious, and backed by an experienced army fresh from victory. It is a dangerous combination. The people love Caesar, but the Senate is growing alarmed. If they get frightened enough, they’ll back Pompey against Caesar, and they’ll be backing a loser, as they’ve done so often in the past.”
“Caesar will never take up arms against Rome!” she said indignantly.
“Nobody ever takes up arms against Rome,” I pointed out. “Every would-be Alexander claims to be the savior of the Republic. The other man is the one with ambitions to be tyrant; you know that as well as I. Well, we’ll know soon enough.”
“If Pompey takes a firm hand,” she said, “it could be the end for your friend Milo.”
I had thought of that. “Yes, but he’ll have to squash Clodius and the others, too. Milo is my friend, but this gang warfare is tearing Rome to pieces, and it must end. I hope Milo will accept honorable exile and not fight it out to the finish.”
Her voice softened. “You have been undergoing a change of heart, haven’t you? Which way will you go when the time comes?”
“That will depend upon the times,” I told her, “and the times are changing rapidly. There is no way to make a decision just yet, but I won’t let my family determine it. Nepos has gone his own way and done well enough out of it.”
“Right. And just how did Valerius Messala come to be steering the family policy of the Metelli?”
“That has my head spinning just now,” I said. “The Valerians are a great and ancient family, patricians as noble as any Cornelian or Julian, but the man’s a schemer. I think he senses a weakness in my family, and he is moving in.”
“Weakness?” she asked, astonished. “Yours is the most powerful plebeian family in the history of Rome!”
“In sheer numbers, yes. In the Senate and the Assemblies, in officeholders and in clientele, we are powerful. But the leadership is weakening. Celer and Pius are dead, Nepos is Pompey’s man, and Scipio is adopted and seems to prefer his old name to the one Pius gave him. And I’m afraid Father is failing.”
“How is that?”
“Tonight he wasn’t acting like himself. He allowed intrafamily squabbling in there tonight, and we’ve always maintained unity in front of strangers. I think old age has finally caught up with him.”
“It happens to everyone if they live long enough. It’s time for you to take your place in the family councils. Make that the price of accepting a second aedileship.” Julia was nothing if not practical.
“I’ll consider it. Now, what were you talking about with Asklepiodes?”
Caught unawares, she stammered, “I—I—” then, calming, “I asked him about a certain treatment my great-aunt Aurelia recommended: fresh honey and fennel seed mixed with powdered shell of owl’s egg.”
So that was it. I might have known. We had been married less than two years, but Julia was already tormented by an old family fear. It was the famous infertility of the Caesars. Men and women, they had few children; and of these, perhaps one in three lived to see their fifth year. Julia had already miscarried once and was certain that she shared the family curse. She was her father’s only living child. Julius Caesar at that time had only a single daughter from his multiple marriages.