The alliance between the new consuls Gnaeus Octavius Ruso and Lucius Cornelius Cinna was at best uneasy, at worst a series of public arguments which took place in Senate and Forum both, and had the whole of Rome wondering who would win. That early rush to impeach Sulla had come to a sudden halt when Pompey Strabo sent a curt private letter to Cinna informing him that if he wanted to remain consul—and his tame tribunes of the plebs wanted to continue living—Lucius Cornelius Sulla must be left in peace to depart for the East. Aware that Octavius was Pompey Strabo’s man and that the only other legions under arms in Italy belonged to two of Sulla’s staunchest supporters, Cinna had angry words with his tribunes of the plebs Vergilius and Magius, who were unwilling to abandon their quarry; Cinna finally had to inform them that unless they did, he would change sides, ally himself with Octavius and eject them from the Forum and Rome.
During their first eight months in office, there were more than enough problems within Rome and Italy to occupy Octavius and Cinna; not only was the Treasury still empty and money still shy in coming into the open, but Sicily and Africa were enduring a second year of drought. Their governors, Norbanus and Sextilius, had been sent out while still praetors to do what they could to increase grain shipments to the capital, even if they had to buy in wheat with promissory notes enforced by their soldiers. Not for any consideration or any wheat growers’ lobby would the consuls and the Senate see a repetition of the events which had led to that brief hour of glory Saturninus had enjoyed because the Head Count of Rome was hungry; the Head Count must be fed. Discovering some of the hideous difficulties Sulla had known during his year as consul, Cinna seized upon every source of revenue he could find, and sent letters to the two governors in the Spains instructing them to squeeze their provinces dry. The governor of the Gauls, Publius Servilius Vatia, was instructed to get what he could by walking the Gaul-across-the-Alps barbarian tightrope, while simultaneously balancing the creditors of Italian Gaul on the end of his nose. When the outraged replies came in, Cinna burned them after he read the opening columns, wishing for two inaccessible things; one, that Octavius would concern himself more with the hard parts of governing, and the other, that Rome still had the incomes from Asia Province.
Rome was also under duress from the newly enfranchised Italians, who resented their tribal status bitterly, even though under the leges Corneliae their tribal votes were nonexistent. The laws of Publius Sulpicius had whetted their appetite, they resented the invalidation of those laws. Even after more than two years of war there were still important men left among the Allies; they now inundated the Senate with letters of complaint on behalf of themselves and their less privileged Italian brothers. Cinna would gladly have obliged them by legislating to distribute all the new citizens equally across the thirty-five tribes, but neither the Senate nor the faction led by the senior consul Octavius would cooperate. And the Sullan constitution handicapped Cinna severely.
However, in Sextilis he saw his first ray of hope; word had come that Sulla was fully occupied in Greece, could not possibly contemplate a sudden return to Rome to shore up his constitution or pander to his supporters. Time, thought Cinna, to sort out his differences with Pompey Strabo, still lurking in Umbria and Picenum with four legions. Without telling anyone where he was going—including his wife—Cinna journeyed to see what Pompey Strabo had to say now that Sulla was totally committed to the war with Mithridates.
“I’m prepared to make the same bargain with you that I made with the other Lucius Cornelius,” said the cross-eyed lord of Picenum, who had not been warm in his welcome, but had not indicated unwillingness to listen either. “You leave me and mine alone in my corner of our great big Roman world, and I won’t bother you in the mighty city.”
“So that was it!” exclaimed Cinna.
“That was it.”
“I need to rectify many of the alterations the other Lucius Cornelius made to our systems of government,” said Cinna, keeping his voice dispassionate. “I also want to distribute the new citizens equally across the whole thirty-five tribes, and I like the idea of distributing the Roman freedmen across the tribes.” He smothered his outrage at needing to obtain permission from this Picentine butcher to do what had to be done, and continued smoothly. “How do you feel about all this, Gnaeus Pompeius?”
“Do whatever you like,” said Pompey Strabo indifferently, “as long as you leave me alone.”
“I give you my word I’ll leave you alone.”
“Is your word as valuable as your oaths, Lucius Cinna?”
Cinna blushed deep red. “I did not swear that oath,” he said with great dignity. “I held a stone in my hand throughout, which invalidated it.”
Pompey Strabo threw back his head and demonstrated that when he laughed, he neighed. “Oh, a proper little Forum lawyer, aren’t we?” he asked when he was able.
“The oath did not bind me!” Cinna insisted, face still red.
“Then you are a far greater fool than the other Lucius Cornelius. Once he comes back, you won’t last longer than a snowflake in a fire.”
“If you believe that, why let me do what I want to do?”
“The other Lucius Cornelius and I understand each other, that’s why,” said Pompey Strabo. “He won’t blame me for whatever happens—he’ll blame you.”
“Perhaps the other Lucius Cornelius won’t come back.”
That provoked another whinny of amusement. “Don’t count on it, Lucius Cinna! The other Lucius Cornelius is definitely Fortune’s prime favorite. He leads a charmed life.”
Cinna journeyed back to Rome without staying in Pompey Strabo’s fief a moment longer than their brief interview; he preferred to sleep in a house where his host was less unnerving. Consequently he had to listen to his host in Assisium recount the tale of how the mice ate the socks of Quintus Pompeius Rufus and thus foretold his death. All in all, thought Cinna when he finally got back to Rome, I do not like those northern people! They’re too basic, too close to the old gods.
*
Early in September the greatest games of the year, the ludi Romani, were held in Rome. For three years they had been as small and inexpensive as possible, thanks to the war in Italy and the lack of those huge sums the curule aediles normally felt it worthwhile to dig out of their own purses. Great things had been hoped of last year’s aedile, Metellus Celer, yet nothing had come of that. But this year’s pair were both fabulously rich, and by Sextilis there was concrete evidence that they would honor their word and give great games. So the rumor went up and down the peninsula—the games were going to be spectacular! As a result, everyone who could afford to make the trip suddenly decided that the best cure for wartime woes and malaise was a holiday to Rome to see the ludi Romani. Thousands of Italians, newly enfranchised and smarting about the shabby way in which they had been treated, began to arrive in Rome toward the end of Sextilis. Theater lovers, chariot-racing lovers, wild-beast-hunt lovers, spectacle lovers—everyone who could come, came. The theater lovers especially knew themselves in for a treat; old Accius had been persuaded to leave his home in Umbria to produce his new play personally.
And Cinna decided he would act at last. His ally the tribune of the plebs Marcus Vergilius convened an “unofficial” meeting of the Plebeian Assembly, and announced to the crowd (among whom were many of the Italian visitors) that he intended to press the Senate to distribute the new citizens properly. This meeting was held purely to attract the attention of those interested to the subject, for Marcus Vergilius could not promulgate legislation in a body no longer permitted to legislate.
Vergilius then brought his proposition to the Senate, and was firmly told that the Conscript Fathers would not debate the issue now any more than they had done in January. Vergilius shrugged and sat down on the tribunician bench alongside Sertorius and the others. He had done what Cinna had required of him; find out how the House felt. The rest was up to Cinna.
“All right,” said Cinna to his confederates, “we go to work. We promise the whole world that if our laws to remake the constitution in its old form and deal with the new citizens are passed in the Centuriate Assembly, we will legislate for a general cancellation of debts. Sulpicius’s promises were suspect because he legislated in favor of creditors in the matter of the Senate, but we have no such handicap. We’ll be believed.”
The activity which followed was not secret, though it was not aired in the hearing of those bound to be against a general cancellation of debts. And so desperate was the position of the majority—even in the First Class—that opinion and support suddenly veered very much Cinna’s way; for every knight and senator who didn’t owe money or was involved in the lending of it, there were six or seven knights and senators who were in debt, many deeply.
“We’re in trouble,” said the senior consul Gnaeus Octavius Ruso to his colleagues Antonius Orator and the Brothers Caesar. “Waving a bait like a general cancellation of debts under so many greedy or needy noses will get Cinna what he wants, even from the First Class and the Centuries.’’
“Give him his due, he’s clever enough not to try to convene the Plebs or the Whole People and force his measures through there,” said Lucius Caesar fretfully. “If he passes his laws in the Centuries, they’re legal under Lucius Cornelius’s present constitution. And with the fiscus the way it is and private money in even worse case, the Centuries from their top to as far down as is necessary will vote to please Lucius Cinna.”
“And the Head Count will run riot,” said Antonius Orator.
But Octavius shook his head; he was by far the acutest business man among them. “No, not the capite censi, Marcus Antonius!” he said impatiently, as he was an impatient man. “The lowly are never in debt—they just don’t have any money. It’s those in the middle and upper Classes who borrow. Mostly they have to borrow in order to keep moving upward—or quite often to stay where they presently are. No moneylender obliges those with no real collateral. So the higher up you go, the better your chances of finding men who have borrowed.”
“I take it you are convinced that the Centuries will vote to pass all this unacceptable rubbish, then?” asked Catulus Caesar.
“Aren’t you, Quintus Lutatius?”
“Yes, I very much fear that I am.”
“Then what can we do?” asked Lucius Caesar.
“Oh, I know what to do,” said Octavius, scowling. “However, I shall do it without telling anyone, including you.”
“What do you think he intends to do?” asked Antonius Orator after Octavius had gone off toward the Argiletum.
Catulus Caesar shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He frowned. “Oh, I wish he had one-tenth the brains and ability of Lucius Sulla! But he doesn’t. He’s a Pompey Strabo man.”
Brother Lucius Caesar shivered suddenly. “I have a nasty feeling,” he said. “Whatever he means to do won’t be what ought to be done. Oh, dear!”
Antonius Orator looked brisk. “I think I shall spend the next ten days out of Rome,” he said.
In the end they all decided this was the wisest thing to do.
*
Sure of himself, Cinna now eagerly set the date for his contio in the Centuriate Assembly; the sixth day before the Ides of September, which was two days after the ludi Romani commenced. How prevalent was debt, how eager the debtors were to be relieved of their burdens was patent at dawn on that day, when some twenty thousand men turned up on the Campus Martius to hear Cinna’s contio. Every one of them wished he could vote that day, which Cinna had explained firmly was impossible—that would mean his first law would have had to set aside the lex Caedlia Didia prima (as Sulla had done) to hustle the measures through.
No, said Cinna, adamant, the customary waiting period of three nundinae would have to be observed. However, he did promise that he would introduce more laws at other contiones well before the voting time for this first law came round. That statement calmed everyone down, gave everyone a strong feeling that the general cancellation of debts would go through long before Cinna stepped down from his office.
There were actually two laws Cinna intended to discuss on this first day; the distribution of the new citizens across the tribes, and the pardon and recall of the nineteen fugitives. All of them, from Gaius Marius to the humblest of the knights, retained their property; Sulla had made no move to confiscate it during the last days of his consulship, and the new tribunes of the plebs—who could still exercise their vetos within the Senate—made it clear that anyone who tried to move for confiscation would be vetoed.
So when the twenty thousand members of the Classes gathered on the open grassy space of the Campus Martius, they looked forward to hearing about one law they could approve of, the recall of the fugitives; no one looked forward to distributing the new citizens across the tribes because it would dilute his own power in the tribal assemblies, and everyone knew this law was but a prelude to giving legislative powers back to the tribal assemblies. Cinna and his tribunes of the plebs were there before the crowds, moving among the growing throng answering questions and placating those who still had very grave doubts about the Italians. Most soothing of all, of course, was the promise of a general cancellation of debts.
So busy was the vast assembly talking among itself, yawning, listlessly getting ready to listen to Cinna because he and his tame tribunes of the plebs had ascended the speaker’s platform, that no one found anything odd about a sudden large influx of new arrivals. They were togate, they were quiet, they looked like members of the Third and Fourth Classes.
Gnaeus Octavius Ruso had not served as a senior legate to Pompey Strabo for nothing; his remedy for the ills assailing the State was superbly organized and properly instructed. The thousand army veterans he had hired (with money provided by Pompey Strabo and Antonius Orator) had surrounded the crowd and actually had dropped their togas to stand in full armor before a single man in that huge number noticed anything amiss. A shrill whistling began, then the hirelings waded into the mass of men from all sides, swinging their swords. Hundreds and then thousands were cut down, but many more fell under the trampling feet of panicked electors. Driven in on themselves by the encircling wall of assailants, it was some time before any man in the crowd collected himself enough to attempt to run the gauntlet of swords and flee the field.
Cinna and his six tribunes of the plebs were not trapped as was the gathering; they came down off the speaker’s platform and ran for their lives. Only some two thirds of those below were so fortunate. When Octavius came to view his handiwork, several thousand members of the upper Classes of the Centuriate Assembly lay dead on the Field of Mars. Octavius was angry, as he had wanted Cinna and his tribunes of the plebs killed first; but even men who hired themselves out to murder defenseless victims had a code, and deemed it too perilous to assassinate magistrates in office.
*
Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar and his brother Lucius Julius Caesar were staying together at Lanuvium. They heard of the massacre all Rome was calling Octavius’s Day scant hours after it happened, and came hurrying back to Rome to confront Octavius.
“How could you?” asked Lucius Caesar, weeping.
“Appalling! Disgusting!” said Catulus Caesar.
“Don’t give me that sanctimonious claptrap! You knew what I was going to do,” said Gnaeus Octavius scornfully. “You even agreed it was necessary. And—provided you didn’t have to be an actual part of it!—you gave your tacit consent. So don’t come whining to me! I procured you what you wanted—tame Centuries. The survivors won’t vote for Cinna’s laws now, no matter what inducements he tries to hold out to them.”
Shaken to the core, Catulus Caesar glared at Octavius. “Never in my life have I condoned violence as a political technique, Gnaeus Octavius! Nor do I admit I gave any kind of consent for this, tacit or otherwise! If you construed consent out of anything my brother or I said, you were mistaken. Violence is bad enough—but this! A massacre! Absolute anathema!”
“My brother is right,” said Lucius Caesar, wiping away his tears. “We are branded, Gnaeus Octavius. The most conservative of men are now no better than Saturninus or Sulpicius.”
Seeing that nothing he could say would convince this disciple of Pompey Strabo that he had acted wrongly, Catulus Caesar drew himself together with what dignity he could muster. “I hear the Campus Martius has been a field of horror for two days, senior consul. Relatives trying to identify bodies and take them for last rites, your minions scooping bodies up before any relatives have had a chance to see them, throwing them into a vast lime pit between the leeks and lettuces of the Via Recta—tchah! You have turned us into a breed of men worse than mere barbarians, for we know better than barbarians! I find myself becoming more and more unwilling to live.”
Octavius sneered. “Then I suggest you go and open your veins, Quintus Lutatius! This isn’t the Rome of your august ancestors, you know. It’s the Rome of the Brothers Gracchi, Gaius Marius, Saturninus, Sulpicius, Lucius Sulla and Lucius Cinna! We’ve got ourselves into such a chaotic mess that nothing works anymore—if it did, there would be no need for massacres like Octavius’s Day.”
Stunned, the Brothers Caesar understood that Gnaeus Octavius Ruso was actually proud of that name.
“Who gave you the money to hire your assassins, Gnaeus Octavius? Was it Marcus Antonius?” Lucius Caesar asked.
“He contributed heavily, yes. He has no regrets.”
“He wouldn’t! He’s an Antonius when all is said and done!” snapped Catulus Caesar. He got to his feet, slapping his hands against his thighs. “Well, it’s over, and we’ll never live it down. But I want no part of it, Gnaeus Octavius. I feel too much like Pandora after she opened her box.”
Lucius Caesar asked a question. “What’s happened to Lucius Cinna and the tribunes of the plebs?”
“Gone,” said Octavius laconically. “They’ll be proscribed, of course. Hopefully very soon.”
Catulus Caesar stopped at the door of Octavius’s study to look back sternly. “You cannot deprive a consul in office of his consular imperium, Gnaeus Octavius. This whole thing started in the first place because the opposition tried to remove Lucius Sulla’s consular right to command Rome’s armies from him. That cannot be done! But no one tried to deprive him of his office as consul. It can’t be done. There is nothing in Roman law, constitution, or precedent that can give any magistrate—or governing body—or comitia—the authority to prosecute or discharge a curule magistrate ahead of the end of his term. You can sack a tribune of the plebs if you go about it in the right way, you can sack a quaestor if he’s delinquent in his duty, you can expel them from the Senate or deprive them of their census. But you cannot sack a consul or any other curule magistrate during his term of office, Gnaeus Octavius.”
Gnaeus Octavius looked smug. “Now I’ve found the secret of success, Quintus Lutatius, I can do anything I want.” As Lucius Caesar followed his brother to the door, Octavius called after them, “There’s a meeting of the Senate tomorrow. I suggest you be there.”
*
No Jerusalem or Antioch, Rome had little patience or truck with prophets and soothsayers; the augurs conducted the rites of auspication in the true Roman spirit, knowing full well that they possessed no insight for the future course of events—strictly according to the books and charts.
There was, however, one genuinely Roman specimen of the prophet, a patrician of the gens Cornelia, and named Publius Cornelius Culleolus. Quite how he had earned his unfortunate nickname nobody remembered, as Culleolus was an ancient who had always seemed an ancient. He lived precariously on a small income derived from his Scipionic family, and was commonly to be seen in the Forum sitting on top of the two steps which led up into the tiny round temple of Venus Cloacina, older than the Basilica Aemilia, and incorporated into it when it was built. Neither a Cassandra nor a religious zealot, Culleolus confined his forecasts to the outcome of important political and State events; he never predicted the end of the world, nor the coming of some new and infinitely more powerful god. But he had predicted the war against Jugurtha, the coming of the Germans, Saturninus, the Italian war, and the war in the East against Mithridates—which last, he asserted, would go on for a full generation. Because of these successes, he now enjoyed a reputation which was almost great enough to offset the ridiculousness of his cognomen; Culleolus meant Little Ball-sack.
At dawn on the morning after the Brothers Caesar returned to Rome, the Senate met for the first time since the massacre of Octavius’s Day, its members dreading this session more than any in living memory. Until now, the worst outrages perpetrated in the name of Rome had been the work of individuals or the Forum crowd; but the massacre of Octavius’s Day came uncomfortably close to being labeled as the work of the Senate.
Sitting on the top step of the temple of Venus Cloacina, Publius Cornelius Culleolus was such a fixture that none of the Conscript Fathers hurrying by noticed him—though he noticed them, and rubbed his hands gleefully together. If he did what Gnaeus Octavius Ruso had paid him lavishly to do—and did it successfully—he would never have to sit on those hard steps again, he could retire at last from the prophesying business.
The senators lingered in the Curia Hostilia portico, a collection of small groups all talking about Octavius’s Day and audibly wondering how it could possibly be dealt with in debate. A shrill screech brought all heads around; all eyes became riveted upon Culleolus, who had risen onto his toes, spine arched, arms outstretched, fingers knotted, foam bubbling from between his contorted lips. As Culleolus did not prophesy in a frenzy, everyone assumed he was having a fit. Some of the senators and most of the Forum frequenters continued to watch, fascinated, while a few went to the seer’s aid and tried to lower him to the ground. He fought them blindly with teeth and nails, mouth opening ever wider, and then he cried out a second time. Not a noise. Words.
“China! Cinna! Cinna! Cinna! Cinna!” he howled.
Suddenly Culleolus had a very intent audience.
“Unless Cinna and his six tribunes of the plebs are sent into exile, Rome will fall!” he shrieked, twisting and tottering, then shrieked it again, and again, and again, until he collapsed to the ground and was carried away, inanimate.
The startled senators then discovered that the consul Octavius had been trying for some time to convene his meeting, and hurried into the Curia Hostilia.
However the senior consul might have been going to explain the hideous events on the Campus Martius would never now be known; Gnaeus Octavius Ruso chose instead to focus his attention (and the attention of the House) upon the extraordinary possession of Culleolus—and upon what Culleolus had cried out for all the Forum to hear.
“Unless the junior consul and six of the tribunes of the plebs are banished, Rome will fall,” said Octavius thoughtfully. “Pontifex Maximus, flamen Dialis, what do you have to say about this amazing business of Culleolus?”
Scaevola Pontifex Maximus shook his head. “I think that I must decline to comment, Gnaeus Octavius.”
Mouth open to insist, Octavius saw something in Scaevola’s eyes that caused him to change his mind; this was a man whose innate conservatism led him to condone much, but also a man not easily intimidated or hoodwinked. On more than one occasion in the House he had roundly condemned the conviction of Gaius Marius, Publius Sulpicius and the rest, and asked for their pardon and recall. No, best not antagonize the Pontifex Maximus; Octavius knew he had a far more gullible witness in the flamen Dialis, and had besides provided that innocent worthy with a fearful omen.
“Flamen Dialis?” asked Octavius solemnly.
Looking extremely perturbed, Lucius Cornelius Merula the flamen Dialis rose to his feet. “Lucius Valerius Flaccus Princeps Senatus, Gnaeus Octavius, curule magistrates, consulars, Conscript Fathers. Before I comment upon the words of the seer Culleolus, I must first tell you of a happening in the temple of the Great God yesterday. I was ritually cleansing his cella when I found a tiny pool of blood upon the floor behind the plinth of the Great God’s statue. Beside it was the head of a bird—a merula, a blackbird! My own namesake! And I, who am forbidden under our most ancient and reverenced laws to be in the presence of death, was looking upon—I don’t know! My own death? The Great God’s death? I did not know how to interpret the omen, so I consulted the Pontifex Maximus. He did not know either. We therefore summoned the decemviri sacris faciundis and asked them to consult the Sibylline Books, which had nothing to say of any help.”
Wrapped as he was in the double-layered circular cape of his calling, it was perhaps not illogical that Merula should visibly be sweating, except that he did not normally do so; his round smooth face beneath the spiked ivory helmet he wore shone with sweat. He swallowed, went on. “But I have got ahead of myself. When I first found the head of the blackbird I looked for the rest of its body, and discovered that the creature had made a nest for itself in a crevice beneath the golden robe of the Great God’s statue. And there in the nest were six baby blackbirds, all dead. As far as I can tell, a cat must have got in, caught the mother bird and eaten it—all save the head, that is. But the cat could not reach the baby birds, which died of starvation.”
The flamen Dialis shivered. “I am polluted. After this session of the House I must continue the ceremonies which will resanctify my own person and the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. That I am here is as a result of my cogitations upon the omen—not so much the death of the merula as the entire phenomenon. It was not, however, until I heard Publius Cornelius Culleolus say what he said in the midst of his truly extraordinary prophetic frenzy that I understood the proper meaning.”
The House was absolutely hushed, every face turned to see the priest of Jupiter, so well known as an honest— almost naive—man, that what he said had to be taken very seriously.
“Now Cinna,” the flamen Dialis went on, “does not mean blackbird. But it does mean ashes, and that is what I reduced the dead bird’s head and the bodies of its six children to—ashes. I burned them in accordance with the ritual of purification. Amateur interpreter though I am, to me at this moment the omen uncannily resembles a personification of Lucius Cornelius Cinna and his six tribunes of the plebs. They have defiled the Great God of Rome, who stands in much danger because of them. The blood means that more strife and public turmoil will ensue because of the consul Lucius Cinna and those six tribunes of the plebs. I am in no doubt of it.”
The House began to buzz, thinking Merula was finished, but quietened when he began to speak again.
“One more thing, Conscript Fathers. While I stood in the temple waiting for the Pontifex Maximus, I looked up for consolation into the smiling face of the Great God’s statue. And it was frowning!” He shuddered, white-faced.
“I fled into the open air, I could not bring myself to continue to wait within.”
Everyone shuddered. The buzzing began again.
Gnaeus Octavius Ruso rose to his feet, looking to the Brothers Caesar and Scaevola Pontifex Maximus much as the cat must have looked after it devoured the merula in the temple. “I think, members of this House, that we must repair outside to the Forum, and from the rostra tell everyone what has happened. And ask for opinions. After which, the House will sit again.”
So the tale of Merula’s phenomenon in the temple and Culleolus’s prophecy were told from the rostra; those who had gathered to hear looked awed and afraid, especially after Merula gave his interpretation and Octavius announced that he would seek the dismissal of Cinna and the six tribunes of the plebs. Not one man present objected.
In the House again shortly afterward, Gnaeus Octavius Ruso repeated his opinion that Cinna and the tribunes of the plebs must go.
Then Scaevola Pontifex Maximus rose to speak. “Princeps Senatus, Gnaeus Octavius, Conscript Fathers. As all of you are aware, I am one of the greatest ever exponents of the Roman constitution and the laws which compose it. In my opinion, there is no legal way to dismiss a consul from office before his term is ended. However, it may be that approximately the same effect can be achieved religiously. We cannot doubt that Jupiter Optimus Maximus has indicated his concern in two separate ways—through the medium of his own flamen, and through the medium of an old man whom we all know to be a worthy seer. In consideration of these two almost concurrent events, I suggest that the consul Lucius Cornelius Cinna be pronounced nefas. This does not strip him of his office as consul, but— as it renders him religiously odious—it disbars him from carrying out his duties as consul. The same is true of the tribunes of the plebs.”
Octavius was scowling now, but knew better than to interrupt; it seemed Scaevola was going to work something out. Something, however, which made it impossible to secure a death sentence for Cinna—this being Octavius’s aim. Cinna must be put out of action!
“It was the flamen Dialis who witnessed the events in the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. He is also the Great God’s personal priest, and his office is so old it pre-dates the Kings. He can conduct no wars, nor come into the presence of death, nor touch the substance from which weapons of war are made. Therefore I suggest that we appoint Lucius Cornelius Merula the flamen Dialis a suffect consul—not to take Lucius Cinna’s place, but rather to caretake that place. In this way, the senior consul Gnaeus Octavius will not be governing as a consul without a colleague. Except during the war against the Italians, when circumstances prevented proper consular practices, no man can be allowed to be consul without a colleague.”
Deciding to put a good face on it, Octavius nodded. “I agree to that, Quintus Mucius. Let the flamen Dialis sit in the curule chair of Lucius Cinna as its custodian! I will now see the House divide upon two intimately connected issues. Those in favor of recommending to the Centuriate Assembly that—number one, the consul Lucius Cinna and the six tribunes of the plebs be declared nefas and banished from Rome and all Roman lands—and, number two, that the flamen Dialis be appointed consul in custody, please stand to my right. Those opposed, please stand to my left. Now divide, please.”
The House passed its dual recommendation without a single negative vote, and a Centuriate Assembly consisting almost solely of senators met on the Aventine outside the pomerium but inside the walls—no one could bear to meet on the blood-soaked ground of the saepta. The measures were passed into law.
The senior consul Octavius pronounced himself satisfied, and the business of governing Rome proceeded without Cinna. But Gnaeus Octavius did nothing to shore up his position, nor to protect Rome from the officially sacrilegious fugitives. He gathered no legions, he did not write to his master, Pompey Strabo. The truth of the matter was that Octavius blindly assumed Cinna and his six tribunes of the plebs would flee as quickly as possible to join Gaius Marius and eighteen other fugitives on the African island of Cercina.