The First Man in Rome by Colleen McCullough Page B

ability to make her men happy. A present from the founder of our house, the goddess Venus—though I never heard that Venus made too many mortal men happy. Or Vulcan either, for that matter. Or Mars! Still, that's what the myth says about the Julian women. But there are other, less salubrious gifts visited upon some of us, including the one poor Sextus inherited. I'm sure you've heard of the malady he suffers from—the wheezes? When he gets one of his attacks, you can hear him wheezing from anywhere in the house, and in his worst attacks he goes black in the face. We've nearly lost him several times."
    So that was what was written upon young Sextus's brow! He wheezed, poor fellow. It would slow his career down, no doubt.
    "Yes," said Marius, "I do know the malady. My father says it's always worst when the air is full of chaff at harvest, or pollen in summer, and that those who suffer from it should stay away from the company of animals, especially horses and hounds. While he's on military service, keep him afoot."
    "He found that out for himself," said Caesar, sighing again.
    "Do finish your story about the family council, Gaius Julius," said Marius, fascinated; this much democracy they didn't have in the smallest isonomia in Greece! What an odd lot they were, these Julius Caesars! To an outsider's cursory gaze—perfectly correct, patrician pillars of the community. But to those on the inside—outrageously unorthodox!
    "Well, young Sextus chose to go regularly to the Fields of Fire because the sulphur fumes seem to help him," saidhis father. "They still do, and he still goes."
    "And your younger son?" asked Marius.
    "Gaius said there was only one thing in the whole world he wanted as a privilege, though it couldn't be called a luxury. He asked to be allowed to choose his own wife."
    Marius's eyebrows, hairily alive, danced up and down. "Ye gods! And did you grant him the privilege?"
    "Oh, yes."
    "But what if he does the usual boy's trick and falls in love with a tart, or an old trull?"
    "Then he marries her, if such is his wish. However, I do not think young Gaius will be so foolish, somehow. His head is very well connected to his shoulders," said the doting father tranquilly.
    "Do you marry in the old patrician way, confarreatio— for life?" pressed Marius, scarcely believing what he heard.
    "Oh, yes."
    "Ye gods!"
    "My older girl, Julia, is also very level-headed," Caesar went on. "She elected membership in the library of Fannius. Now I had intended to ask for the exact same thing, but there didn't seem to be any sense in two of us belonging, so I gave the membership to her. Our baby, Julilla, alas, is not at all wise, but I suppose butterflies have no need of wisdom. They just"—he shrugged, smiled wryly— "brighten up the world. I would hate to see a world without butterflies, and since we were disgracefully improvident in having four children, it's nice that our butterfly didn't come along until last place. And had the grace to be female when she did come along."
    "What did she ask for?" Gaius Marius smiled.
    "Oh, about what we expected. Sweetmeats and clothes."
    "And you, deprived of your library membership?"
    "I chose the finest lamp oil and the best wicks, and struck a bargain with Julia. If I could borrow the books she borrowed, then she could use my lamps to read by."
    Marius finished his smile at leisure, liking the author of this moral little tale enormously. What a simple, unenvious, happy life he enjoyed! Surrounded by a wife and children he actually strove to please, was interested in as individuals. No doubt he was spot-on in his character analyses of his offspring, and young Gaius wouldn't pick a wife out of a Suburan gutter.
    He cleared his throat. "Gaius Julius, it has been an absolutely delightful evening. But now I think it's time you told me why I have had to stay a sober man."
    "If you don't mind, I'll dismiss the servants first," Caesar said. "The wine is right here where we can reach it ourselves,