A Sullan meeting.
"A truly splendid speech," Mamercus Aemilius said as he surveyed the ancient city bustling with life, even in the late afternoon. The son-in-law of Sulla had announced his visit as soon as reliable sources confirmed what rumours carried to the city at the Tiber. Now they sat on the balcony of the Domus Mucia overseeing the greatest city in the world, the sun still high in the sky and hot as ever.
He had even brought a copy of young Atellus's speech at Aquilonia as a gift.
"At first I thought it madmen's talk, some fantasy spun by bored wash women, but to think that the Pentri of all the stubborn tribes in Samnium would bend the knee to a boy barely a man because of carefully chosen words and a few promises," he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile, "a capable student met a masterful teacher, that must be this mystery's resolution."
Scaevola Pontifex, the voice of the gods and highest ranking priest in the Republic, reclined and studied his guest's face, before bringing his golden cup to his lips.
"Please spare me the flattery, my friend, I had to endure Cinna's lapdogs, those hypocrites and rats, tell me much the same since the senate ended the session."
Not Cinna himself, of course, who had spun the news as a great victory for Sertorius and the Marians. As if no one knew by now that Sertorius was sieging Nola and had not seen Bovianum in his life.
"Still, you know I'm not two faced like Janus, saying flattering words from one mouth, while my other plots in the dark," Mamercus said, contemplating. Then he turned to the Pontifex Maximus, a grave face now sitting where before there had been a small smile.
"With Samnium nearly pacified Sertorius and his legion will have to find new places to bring the 'glory of Rome' to, and I fear that that will be at the side of Marius," the name of their shared hated foe dripped with venom.
The older man snorted however, before turning his eyes to Rome and in the direction of the Campus Martius. A frown grew in his features.
"Cinna is too much a coward to send more men, and especially Sertorius, to the east. He would leave Italia open to invasion from Africa and Hispania, and he would be at the mercy of that butcher's boy," the thought of Pompeius made him huff in exasperation, "No, he will not send Sertorius to aid Marius and have them hatch plans against him, if he even survives alone without any men and capable generals to call upon."
Scaevola's guest said nothing at first, before grabbing grapes and slowly consuming them, one after another. In silence they sat, Scaevola mustering the other man, before Mamercus raised his voice again.
"Hispania then. Cinna is not corrupting every ear resceptive to his refuse against Sertorius to let him in Italy with a legion to command. And Sertorius knows the lay of the land in the west better than in the south", now it was the younger man's time to snort, "those three, they are like starving rabbid dogs. They'll bark in unison at any man approaching them, but left on their own they circle each other, each afraid to be the first to attack and leave himself open. When one dies..."
Mamercus trailed off, but Scaevola knew what his guest was speaking off. How could he not, when Marius' near death had driven his rabble into a frenzy, burning, killing and looting before he stopped them, this time of his own volition. Oh, what had become of Rome.
And Marius was but a man, and time conquered even one such as him. Scaevola knew of the heat in Asia from his youth, knew of the soldier's life on campaign. The thought was preposterous and even Marius, bred for war, would not withstand it for years.
"We will have to make preparations for when Cinna hears the news. He'll unleash his snakes and murderers to take control of the city fully when the time comes."
Sulla's son-in-law nodded, before letting out a long suffering sigh.
"Trapped with lowlives, fools and flatterers. We can't leave Rome and abandon her to him, and yet we are waiting in this city for the spark from the east which will set it ablaze, the inferno which will be coming for us first, I'm afraid."
"Speaking of being trapped in an impossible situation," now Mamercus' eyes grew sharper as he faced his host," will you speak against the Sixth marching off to war under Sertorius when the time comes?"
Ah, the Pontifex Maximus had waited for this question. His patronage of young Atellus had raised more than a few eyebrows, both of the hated Marians and his allies alike. Atellus' due dilligence in the matter of that fool Pompeius' plan had quieted the voices among Sulla's partisans, his accomplishments and services even granting Scaevola some measure of popular support back.
For now of course, as all things, especially plebeian support, were fleeting in this city of Romulus.
Still, reports of his closeness to Sertorius had brought back old voices of doubt, and had prompted Scaevola to write his student in hopes he would distance himself from the legate.
It could mean that even Scaevola's considerable influence could not save him from Sulla's wrath. For reasons still a mystery to the old priest Sertorius and Sulla shared a burning hatred for each other. Only the gods knew of the reason.
Mayhaps there was none and they were simply like cat and dog, unable to suffer each other's presence in this world.
"I might."
"Your protoge's choice in teachers has been questionable as of late."
Scaevola carefully measured his words as he knew that despite the veneer of moderation surrounding the man, there were many good reasons to distrust Sertorius' influence on the boy.
"A bright mind like him takes up knowledge and experience as if he was a sponge," Scaevola replied, his mind flickering back to teaching the young man of oratory, the sacred Roman law and even talking about the proper administration of a people, lessons he had put to good use with the Pentri, "He is bred for war, Lucius Cingulattus saw to impart of what he knew," a hint of regret coloured the priest's voice," believe me when I say that I wish to see him flourish under the tutelage of Sulla, but he is in Greece and Cinna did not see fit to put men of our ranks in command of the new legions."
"Yes, however the boy is Lucius's son, a personal friend to Sertorius. As you said."
"And an outspoken enemy of Cinna, before he retired," Scaevola added, remembering old arguments.
"Lucius was a people's soldier, fighting to take away rights belonging to the senate, that is true. He was a man of ideals, however, one who would not turn Roman swords on this city and butcher indiscriminitaly as this so called 'Third Founder', and he would not rouse the rabble and send them with daggers to kill his enemies," Scaevola said, speaking of his opinion on his old enemy, "He was not one of us, but he was not one of these monstrous Marians, either."
There was much to be said of the difference between a man fighting for the rights of the downtrodden, even if he was in the wrong, and powerhungry and glory seeking pests, trampling the ancient and sacred laws and traditions as they saw fit, hacking away at the constitution in pursuit of power.
"Of course, a Marian ally would also not have come to us when Pompeius thought of killing us all and he would have sought out Marian patrons."
Mamercus let out another sigh, weary of the argument. What had been said just now, had been said before. He turned back to the city, drinking in the view from the Palatine Hill.
"You are right of course, my friend. Still I hope that a talented boy such as your Atellus won't find his end when Sulla returns."
Scaevola turned to Rome as well, pondering. Was he truly right? Scaevola knew of Atellus' youthful ideals, which were much the same as his father's before him. A man such as him would be a powerful opponent in public life, but that would not be Scaevola's fight. A new generation was waiting for old titans to fight their last war, as they planned to form the Republic in their image as the Olympians did when the reign of the Titans ended.
He would not see Atellus' vision of Rome, one birthed from his ideals and the experiences he would make. The boy, so revulsed by the chaos of Marius' near death, would however surely be a populares of a different breed. One that would be fought, but could be respected.
---------
Eh, what the hell. It fought me at least for a week, so whatever.
]
