FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
LOSS, 647 AVC
Naturally news of the elections reached the home of the Aurelii Cottae long before Marcus Aurelius Cotta came home from the Forum. Though Cotta had announced that he would come home at an early hour and tell them the news himself, Rutilia had not been able to wait; she'd sent a fleet slave to the Forum with orders to report back to her as soon as the Consuls were elected. The slave had returned and duly reported to his mistress.
Aurelia, who was in the process of beginning a magnificent wedding dress, jumped with fright as her mother Rutilia rounded the corner and shouted "Aurelia!" It was a shout because Rutilia only spoke in two voices; she was either placid and quiet--but not timid, or loud with rare anger. So it was with a sigh of combined relief and resignation that Aurelia put down her work at the loom and turned to look at her mother. Rutilia was frozen at the door with a look of disbelief, not rage, on her face.
"You're father's lost the election," she said simply, so strange after the shout of her daughter's name.
"Oh," said Aurelia who, along with all of Rome, had quite expected it. "Well, he has next year. I doubt any of this year's Praetors will appeal to the electors next year."
"Aurelia, a man who loses election in his proper year is always regarded as less than a man coming home from a successful governorship abroad! Do you think that Lucius Valerius Flaccus won't do stunningly in Sicily, with that fiend Metellus Nepos to help him? And what about Spurius Dellius in Spain, huh? This humiliating trick of Fate that brought your father home before news of the Germans arrived in the Hispaniae will come to the fore again when Spurius Dellius returns more-or-less victorious; don't make that face, Aurelia. You've admitted yourself that the man's very competent."
"At least," admitted Aurelia, still making that face. "He hasn't got the blood, though."
"He came in as Urban Praetor this year, without the blood. Two New Men were Consuls this year, without the blood."
Aurelia rolled her eyes, "This year's crop of magistrates are a freak accident, a symptom of Quintus Lutatius's defeat. It won't happen again."
"The electors are so fickle, of course it will happen again! All it takes is another mistake, and your father will never be Consul. It could have happened this year."
Aurelia sighed. Her mother had changed so much in the past few months. First she had been very supportive of Aurelia's biding her time, and waiting for the right man; likely she'd been afraid of losing her only daughter. But then, when Cotta came back from governing the Hispaniae, she'd begun overnight to pressure Aurelia into marrying some august nobleman. Of course the list of men who qualified was endless: Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica Junior, Macus Livius Drusus Junior, Lucius Cassius Longinus Junior, Gnaeus and Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, Quintus Caecilius Metellus (son of Numidicus), the young Metelli Caprarilli, Quaestor Quintus Marcius Rex, divorced Quintus Mucius Scaevola, bumbling Quaestor Gnaeus Servilius Caepio, and many many others.
Cotta's fortune was large enough that Aurelia's dowry was 200 talents--about twice the usual dowry for the daughter of a respected Senator; coupled with her stunning good looks and intelligence, and it was apparent that Aurelia was the most eligible bachelorette in all of Rome--perhaps in all of Roman history, even.
A marriage with any one of the men above would have brought Cotta political ties and alliances for himself as well as his sons, and would have ensured election, what with the new allies ordering their clients to vote for Cotta. However, Cotta had refused to allow Aurelia to marry for his sake, and so he had lost.
"
Mama," said Aurelia in a strained voice, "you know that the Consulship is not so important to father. There must be another reason for your anger. Is it because I'm leaving? Is it because you want the pain to be over; you want me gone and the anticipation over as soon as possible?"
Typical of Aurelia, she had hit the issue squarely. All angry defiance from Rutilia collapsed and she ended in clutching at her daughter, crying. The two women sat on Aurelia's bed and their positions were reversed; normally a Roman mother would be comforting her daughter at the prospect of marriage, but it was now the daughter who comforted the mother. When Marcus Aurelius Cotta arrived home several hours later it was to find quite a tranquil home.
"Come on, out here girls! We're all going out," shouted Cotta into the house, shattering the silence with his voice and with the tumult and shouts that always accompanied his three sons, who had gone with him to the Forum. When Aurelia and Rutilia emerged from the former's room wondering what was the matter, though they knew of course of his loss at the election, Cotta answered happily, "Uncle Publius has secured election as Censor; we're going to his house to congratulate him."
"Oh that's wonderful!" the women beamed; Rutilia especially was proud that her brother, the son and grandson of men who had gotten no higher than Tribune of the Plebs, had attained the final and crowning title that a plebeian could hold--only a patrician could be Princeps Senatus. Off the Cotta clan went to the Publius Rutilius Rufus house, which already had several well-wishers and revelers inside of it.
"Sister!" cried Rufus to his sister. "Brother!" he cried to his brother-in-law. "Daughter!" he cried to his niece, whom he loved as a daughter. Off Aurelia went to see the other woman he called his daughter, with whom she had always gotten along with well. There she was, Caecilia Metella Sullana, standing with her aunt Metella Calva. So...yes, there was Tribune of the Plebs-elect Lucius Licinius Lucullus, talking with Sulla.
Such a eerily beautiful man--Sulla, that is, thought Aurelia. Nobody would quite think of Lucullus as being
beautiful.
"Caecilia Metella," said Aurelia after she had kissed Metella Calva's cheek; one had to, after all, accord respect to elders first. Then, "Caecilia Sullana," and she kissed the girl's cheek and hugged her with much more vigor; they'd basically grown up together. "How is little Cornelia?" she asked; Aurelia was quite enamored of the baby.
Caecilia Sullana got a bewitched, loving gleam in her eyes. "Oh, she's amazing! The most wonderful little darling, oh she's beautiful!"
Aurelia was beaming; she adored the mite so much, that it was mostly when thinking of her that she certainly wished to get married, if only to have an adorable child of her own. "Is she crawling yet? Or talking?"
"Oh, she's far from talking, Aurelia, but she does have this adorable little crawl! I lay her down on her belly a she wriggles around like the cutest little worm, making the most adorable little sounds of effort."
"You'll have to invite me some day!" cried Aurelia, heart melting. "So I take it you don't avail yourself of nannies?"
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Caecilia Sullana, aghast. "A Roman child shouldn't spend its first few years with a Greek or Gallic nursemaid; it isn't proper. In any case, Lucius Cornelius would never allow it."
"Very sensible," Aurelia nodded, and resolved to be the only one involved in her children's infancy. "Just look what happened to Aulus Manlius Torquatus."
"Poor man," said Sullana, shaking her head. "He doesn't know whether he's a Gaul or a Roman, and all because his parents left him to a Gallic nursemaid until his sixth year; he's practically unelectable. Mind you," said Sullana, making a face, "I still don't think it was fair at all for his parents to crucify that Gallic slave; it wasn't
her fault."
"And you two girls weren't even alive during all that!" exclaimed Metella Calva, jealous enough of this conversation to butt in. "I was about, oh, ten years old during all that; Rome had never seen anything quite like it. The poor boy scarcely knew a word of Latin."
"Well," said Aurelia with finality after a pause of contemplation, "rest assured that I will always be by the side of my children! Their Latin will be impeccable, and their Greek will come from the most Attic of tutors."
"Very good," nodded Sullana, and then broke into a smile. "Oh, Lucius Cornelius's Greek is of the purest Attic dialect; it's as if he was born in Athens. Would you believe it, though, he knows what seems like ten different types of Latin! Our noble Latin, the Latin of the Third Class shopkeepers, and that Latin--if you can even call it Latin, that is--of those in the Subura. That last...what a hodgepodge of Latin, Aramaic, Greek, Hebrew, and the gods know what else that is!"
"It seems as though Lucius Cornelius," said Metella Calva innocently, "has a very talented tongue."
Six days after the elections, Consul Ravilla was in Brundisium awaiting transport to Macedonia, and Quintus Servilius Caepio Senior received a letter from the Consul's destination. He screamed, and his servants came running; when they asked what was wrong, he wrenched away from them and ran out into the street, howling and crying and tearing at his hair. He became entangled in his toga and tripped and fell onto the street, accumulating cuts and scrapes and bruises; he stumbled up clad only in tunic, the center of much noble attention on the Palatine, and became stained with the green grass and brown mud of the open park-like spaces of the Palatine. Slaves ran out to see who was disturbing the peace in this very strict and noble neighborhood, and reported back to their masters that Quintus Servilius Caepio Senior had gone mad. Not that Caepio Senior cared, for he was Caepio Senior no more; he was plain Quintus Servilius Caepio, now that his son was dead.
After Ravilla's departure from Macedonia for Rome, Caepio Junior had wasted no time in making himself hated. He would strut around with an air of superiority, casually insulting rankers for the smallest of offenses and then retreating into the very comfortable governor's house when the heat of Quintilis and Sextilis sun and the hate of thousands of men became too much for him. The rankers, of course, had to drill and build and stand and live and sleep in the very hot and very dry weather; they didn't contemplate mutiny, of course, but they resolved not to follow this idiot on an idiotic venture.
So it was that Gnaeus Gavius, Ravilla's best and more respected centurion and coincidental third cousin of Sulla's late stepmother's late nephew, had no trouble with convincing the legions not to leave camp when the plume of smoke was seen one day. It was shortly after dawn that the smoke rose, and it was accompanied by a wave of dust that inexorably approached the camp wherein resided six Roman legions. Shouts and screams drifted into the camp with the wind, and the men knew that it was the nearby farming village populated by Romanized Dardani that was being attacked.
Caepio Junior had sallied out of his command house and into the sun, there to address the legions and whip them up into battle readiness, only to find them not at all receptive to his emotions. "What are you, cowards? Women? Sheep?" he harangued, not aware that when Ravilla and others insulted them so, it was with a different air and tone of voice.
The men stood quietly, grinding their teeth at these insults from a boy who'd never killed a man, never constructed a palisade, never dug the trenches for a camp, never done anything for himself in his life. Then Gnaeus Gavius had spoken up. "Sir, were you Lucius Cassius Longinus with his Propraetorian command, we would follow you; however, you're here only to hold the fort, and don't know much about command besides. It could be an ambush," he added quickly, trying to appeal to Caepio Junior's sense of self-preservation; though he hated the arrogant shit, it was no part of Gnaeus Gavius's plan to be the cause of a Patrician Servilius's death.
"That is a
grievous insult!" shouted Caepio Junior, unaware of the irony of this statement and of the rage it provoked in the rankers. "My ancestor Publius Servilius Priscus was Consul in the second decade of the Republic's existence! My ancestor Gaius Servilius Ahala killed Spurius Maelius, who tried to make himself king! My ance--"
His high voice was interrupted by the deep roar of one old centurion near the front of the crowd. "We know history too, you patrician shit! Maelius was a wealthy man who sold grain to the plebs for cheap, because you patrician assholes wanted the plebs to starve to death!"
"You liar, he wa--" Caepio Junior's shout was drowned out in boos and cries of "patrician scum" and "little shit". Red-faced and shouting, he left the assembly and marched over to the camp of the Thraco-Illyrian auxiliary cavalry, who were stunned at the noise and venom coming from the center of the Roman camp. "Come on," he said harshly to Lucius Cassius Teres, a man of the Triballi who had been awarded by Ravilla with the citizenship. "We're going out to ride against those raiders; the legions are too slow and incompetent."
Aware that something was wrong, but not wishing to endanger his new citizenship and also angry that someone should raid these lands, which were his ancestral homelands, Lucius Cassius Teres gathered the 5,000 troopers around and sallied out with Caepio Junior in the lead. The Roman legions of Ravilla's piled onto the creaking eastern walls and watched them depart.
Gnaeus Gavius had been quite correct; it was a Dardanian ambush. The sounds of battle lasted only half an hour--it only took half an hour for dozens of thousands of Dardanians to draw Caepio Junior and his auxiliary troopers and slaughter every single man. A lone young man, tall and very strong from the look of him, rode toward the Roman camp and stopped just out of bowshot. Taking a round object out of the bag at his side, he swung it round and round and round, gaining momentum until he let go. It flew up and up, and landed just inside the Roman camp.
It was the head of Quintus Servilius Caepio Junior.