CHAPTER FIVE

The family was well settled in the Roman house before the first snow appeared on the hills. Helvia was pleased with the house, especially when she discovered that it had indeed been a bargain. She liked the Caesares, whom her parents knew well. Of noble birth, she did not care that the neighborhood was rapidly becoming less fashionable month by month. Even Tullius became reconciled. In the city no one urged him to take long brisk walks for his health, and he could huddle undisturbed around the biggest and hottest brazier without encountering arguments. It was understood that the city was dangerous and the traffic a curse, and as the family did not pamper itself with effete litters Tullius was left in peace in his library and among his books and in his conversations with Archias.

Marcus went to the school of Pilo, the Greek freedman, and was tutored by Archias after his return. It was decided that Quintus should be tutored completely by Archias for at least a year. This pleased Tullius, and he thought of little Julius Caesar next door whom he was disliking more and more as time passed. He never could bring himself to like any of the Caesares, especially the overweening Aurelia. The father, Gaius Julius, was a taciturn man who had business in the city, and had a sour face and was evidently no scholar. He and Tullius encountered each other rarely, for which Tullius was grateful. But little Julius invaded the house freely and the good-tempered Helvia did not care, for she was not afraid of children. She would slap Julius as readily as she slapped her favorite, Quintus, and the boy would laugh heartily. The grandfather found cronies, old veterans like himself who had gathering spots in the city, the Tonsoria for one, and he would drive the one chariot himself to the Forum, or walk hardily down in good weather, to mingle with his peers and exchange stories of dead old campaigns. Everyone, then, was satisfied, though Tullius longed for the spring and the island, and quiet. His life, in spite of his original resolutions, had become almost a replica of his secluded existence in his beloved Arpinum.

Young Marcus found the city exciting and full of wonders, and lingered to look at it on his way to school and on the way home. There was a smell about the city which invigorated him and which lay under the welter of stenches. He loved the shops, the fora, the sound of life and bustle, the teeming people, the façades of temples, the lofty single pillars bearing upon their tops the statues of heroes or the figures of winged deities driving chariots, the mighty fanned steps rising everywhere from street to upper street, the odors of frying fish and baking pastries and roasting meats and wines that gushed from the doors of inns, the crowded porticoes, the sudden brief clamor of music coming from small theatres as the musicians practiced, the air of might and business, the government buildings swarming with avid bureaucrats, the circuses always surrounded by mobs holding tickets aloft no matter the hour of the day, the clangor of traffic daily growing more dangerous, the whinny of horses, the clatter of wheels, the shouts, the rushing of women from doorway to doorway, the sight of the sun on red brick, the well-paved streets on which children played at all hours, and the general vociferous and roaring voice of power.

It was the city of his fathers. He knew what it was to be a Roman, living in Rome. He longed for Arpinum, which seemed far away and beloved, but he also loved Rome and felt himself at home here in the bustle and the sleepless noise. He was lulled to sleep by the sound of traffic and restless feet and alert voices on the street below his house. He waked with excitement to each new day. But he did not like his school, though he did not worry his father with complaints.

Pilo was an austere and dogmatic man with many airs, for he had once been a slave and now felt his importance, and was unbending and had a slavish respect for those with great names. His attitude was compounded of authority and servility toward the boys of noted family if depleted purse. To those of more plebeian origin and better purses he was condescending. They were upstarts and should not be permitted to forget the fact. He and Archias had had an encounter which had left the proud and stiff-necked Pilo shaken. “I have never been a slave,” said Archias who had brought Marcus to school on the first day, “so,” he added pleasantly, “I am democratic. The fee paid you for the teaching of this boy—who is sent here not because I am inadequate but because he needs the company of his mates—is more than customary. I have made enquiries. Therefore, in order that I not inform my employer of this fact you will divide the fee with me. I do not need it, but you need a lesson. Remember that Marcus is the son of the Helvii as well as the Tullii, who claim ancient ancestry also. Do not teach Marcus affectations and improper attitudes toward superiors and inferiors. Do not despise him because he comes from the country. After all, Cincinnatus, the father of his country, was also a farmer. He has an excellent mind; see that you do not corrupt it.”

He rubbed a delicate finger around his lips and smiled at Pilo, who was tall and thin and withered. “We are Greeks,” he said, in conciliation. “We are captives of barbarians. I am training Marcus to respect what we represent, though our glory is long passed even if our memory is like a golden glow on the horizon. Remember you are a Greek. I have heard you have forgotten it in the presence of these Romans.”

He both frightened and pleased Pilo, who at first was determined to be kind to Marcus. He did not find it too arduous. The boy’s calm, firm, and pleasant temper caused him no trouble, and his appearance was ingratiating, with all that fine and curling brown hair and the strangely colored and shining eyes. Too, Marcus had an air of gentle authority, and his profile, Pilo conceded, was definitely aristocratic.

As he was far advanced over boys his age Marcus was placed with older boys. Pilo’s schoolroom was large and airy, and he had two tiny rooms behind it for his own quarters and a slave to prepare his meals and do the cleaning. Marcus liked the school, itself, but not some of his classmates. He came to hate with a lifelong hatred the great friend of Julius Caesar, Lucius Sergius Catilina. Lucius was a favorite of Pilo’s, for his family was both ancient and aristocratic and led almost all other names in Rome, though the family was now impoverished.

Lucius was above all an extremely handsome boy, not in a pretty, effeminate fashion but with intense and delicate virility. He had enormous personal magnetism which most people found irresistible, even his enemies, of whom, considering his character, he amazingly had few. He was a natural leader, and even those wary of him and disliking him followed him. Marcus learned for the first time that virtue and good manners did not necessarily draw friends to one, nor did greatness of heart and mind. In fact, he discovered, these very qualities often had a repellent effect, most men being what they are by nature. An evil man was more bearable to the majority of men than a good man, who was a constant reproach and therefore to be despised.

He was never to understand the motives, in entirety, of those such as Lucius Sergius Catilina. Like everyone else he was fascinated by the appearance of this patrician boy who was two years his senior. Lucius was taller than the average and had a graceful figure. He looked like an accomplished dancer, which indeed he was. He was accomplished in everything, including sports. He was eloquent and had an exquisitely beguiling voice which enchanted friend and foe alike, for it was full of nuances and murmurs and extraordinary humor, and very musical. For the rest, he had a smooth dark face, finely molded and beautiful with a noble brow, thick silky black eyebrows and lashes framing extraordinary blue eyes which were large and brilliant, a nose with sharp nostrils, a mobile mouth as red as a berry and dimpled in the right corner, glittering white teeth perfect as pearls, and a rounded chin like a Greek. He carried himself perfectly, as if aware of his unusual beauty and evil charm, which he was. His manners were fastidious, his smile seductive, his taste impeccable. He learned easily and quickly, and engaged Pilo in subtle arguments. His intelligence was far above the ordinary, and in fact, at eleven, he could have bested many of the minor philosophers.

Marcus conceded his fascinating gifts and his beauty. He could not endure what he innocently guessed lay under all that enchantment: that Lucius was corrupt.

Hatred was unknown to Marcus; he had never encountered it before either in himself or in his family. Therefore, he was stunned when he early discovered that Lucius’ baiting of him was not mere schoolboy taunting founded on good-nature, but was inspired by a baffling rejection extended to the stranger and especially to the virtuous. All that Marcus was, generous, calm of temper, patient, kind and studious, persistent if a little plodding, aroused Lucius’ enmity and contempt and laughter.

There were adolescent boys in the school, older than Lucius, and many younger. He was unchallenged leader of them all. He borrowed money and never repaid it, and the donor felt himself honored. He had no rings, no golden armlets, no fine shoes, and his tunics and cloaks were of the simplest material. Yet the richest boy felt himself singled out for favors if Lucius noticed his existence. He insulted Pilo with lazy grace, and Pilo smiled sheepishly and goggled at the boy as a silly father would goggle at his only, long-awaited son. The slave served him the best tidbits and wine.

It was inevitable that such as Lucius Sergius Catilina should persecute such a one as Marcus Tullius Cicero. Their eyes had only to meet for them to understand at once that enmity stood between them, that their natures were antipathetic and in violent opposition. Even so Marcus could have tolerated and endured Lucius and even admired him at a distance had Lucius not always sought him out to heap detestation and ridicule on him. Years later Lucius was to say to Marcus, “I hated you, Chick-pea, the moment I saw you, and why that was so I do not know. You made me writhe in my bowels.”

Being surrounded by boys of the same age or just a little older or younger was a new experience for Marcus, whom Lucius early called “the bumpkin.” He discovered shyness. The boys stared at him with open appraisal. It was immediately evident to them that here was no sophisticated city boy, but perhaps even a simpleton. His gentle appearance amused them. His quietness, his earnest devotion to study, his way of effacing himself, his respect for his teacher, vexed them. He had no news of the city, no scandal to report, no gossip. He had not learned to dice, to play adult games; he knew no lewd stories. He did not laugh at the pain of others. He did not like to throw stones at birds or a sick horse drinking in the gutter. In consequence the boys made him the target of their jokes. Why, they said, little Julius Caesar was more of a man than this milk-fed scion of the far countryside. Pilo found no fault with him, which was the worst fault of all.

For the first time in his life Marcus came face to face with the evil that was man, and it sickened him. When he said to himself, Evil, too, must be endured, he entered manhood long before adolescence. His young lips became less soft and their outlines stiffened.

Helvia said, “He needs a tonic,” and as she had brought many bags of her herbs with her from the country she set herself to brewing concoctions that made the boy retch. He did not complain; the bitter taste in his mouth was no bitterer than his new knowledge of his fellowman.

There must be something wrong with me, he told himself. I am not like the others. He had always had the assurance of a child dearly loved by family, but now his assurance became less certain, especially at school.

He and little Julius Caesar went to school together, swinging their books. When away from his idol, Lucius, Julius was a good companion and full of his own charm, and inclined to a great wit. He was much older than his years; he found Quintus, of his own age, tedious. In his precocious way he liked Marcus, whom he considered a little foolish. But Marcus was always kind; he could always be coaxed out of a few coppers at recess when the vendor came to the door of the school with sweetmeats and hot small pastries full of spiced meat and sugary dates and rich nuts and golden fruit.

At first Marcus could not believe that the eleven-year-old Lucius could really be a close friend of the five-year-old Julius, for all Julius’ precocity of mind and speech. But it was quite true. Julius adored Lucius and plagued him, and Lucius would cuff him with an appearance of fondness. They had many things in common, such as lack of money to spend freely, and their parents were old and affectionate friends, and they were both sophisticated and without scruple. Julius was never driven from a gossiping group of older boys, because Lucius was his protector in spite of his frequent blows. There was much that was evil in Julius Caesar, for he always wanted to be foremost and was sometimes unbearably domineering, but there was much that was good, such as humor and sudden surges of generosity.

Julius laughed the loudest when Lucius baited Marcus, but away from his idol he showed Marcus considerable affection and kindly took it upon himself to enlighten Marcus about the ways of city life. He was very ambitious, even at five. His family had little money; he would become rich, he confided to Marcus. He would also be famous, he asserted. Marcus would smile down at him with the superiority of years, and Julius would scowl up at him and shake his head fiercely, his fine black hair flying. “You must study harder,” said Marcus.

“The boy is too wise for his years,” said Archias. “It is not the kind of wisdom which is reassuring, however. It is rather a shrewdness, an ability to use others, a cunning understanding of the weaknesses of those about him. He will exploit his fellows when he is a man.”

But Julius was already gayly exploiting his fellows, and most particularly Marcus.

When the boys walked to school together and Marcus remarked on an aspect of the city or on a passing face, Julius had a witticism at once.

One day the child said to Marcus while they were halting to watch a flight of doves around a statue, “You should not be so afraid of Lucius.”

“I am not afraid of him,” said Marcus with vexation. “I am just afraid of what he is.”

“What is he?” Julius asked, intrigued.

But Marcus could not explain. “Look at those doves circling the statue’s head. It is Pollux, is it not? Why are they congregating there?”

“It is their latrine,” said Julius, and made an obscene sound and Marcus found himself laughing. “That is irreverent, Julius,” he said.

“It is true, however,” said Julius. “Is truth always irreverent?”

Marcus thought and then said with wryness, “Very often, it seems.”

Julius skipped ahead of him for a moment, then paused to make the captivating obscene sound again, to the amusement of some hurrying men. It was late December now, and the time of the Saturnalia, and the weather was cold. Waiting for Marcus, Julius performed a dexterous dance on the pavement, and more men stopped to watch. Marcus was embarrassed. He thought that Julius’ merry face was old in appearance for all the childish features. It had a certain cunning sharpness such as street boys have, a certain satyrism and wildness which made Marcus think of Pan. Then as Marcus came abreast of him, Julius suddenly changed and took his hand like a little boy.

“I like you,” he said, and smiled up at the older boy with an artless glance. “I think,” said Julius, kicking at a slinking street dog, “that you are not quite such a fool as Lucius thinks you are.”

“I do not care what Lucius thinks,” said Marcus, coldly. He stopped to fasten Julius’ cloak with brotherly hands. The wind was bright and strong.

“Yes, you do,” said Julius, lifting his chin to facilitate Marcus’ efforts. “You do not know what he thinks and that makes you afraid. But I know what he thinks!”

“What does he think?”

Julius laughed. “He hates you because he knows what you are.”

“And what am I, Julius?”

“I like you,” said Julius, evasively. “How much money do you have in your purse today?”

Once in school Julius forgot Marcus until recess, when the vendor arrived. He had especially fine treats in honor of the coming holiday, such as cakes in the shapes of fauns and centaurs with raisins for eyes. There were also little hot meat pies cut in phallic forms which were supposed to be amusing. Marcus bought some of the dainties for himself and Julius. All the boys were standing before the school on the pavement, which was not crowded at this hour, and Lucius was at a distance with his particular cronies. His beautiful face was illuminated by the strong winter sun. He turned his head and saw Marcus putting an extra pastry into Julius’ voracious hands. He sauntered toward the two.

“How now, Julius,” he said in his charming and lazy voice, “are you so stricken by poverty that you can bear to receive gifts from an inferior?”

Julius was afraid that Marcus would snatch away the treasure, and so he said impudently, “What is an inferior? One who has no money.”

Lucius’ blue eyes flashed dangerously, but laughing he struck down Julius’ hand so that the dainty fell to the rushing gutter, and then he hit Julius’ dark little face with a casual viciousness. Julius did not mind the blow but he did mind the loss of his pie. Losing his quick temper he did the incredible. He kicked Lucius in the shin.

Amazed, the other boys gathered around. No one had ever objected to Lucius’ easy cruelty before, and certainly not the besotted Julius. Lucius could not believe it for a moment. He stood while his dark curls, touched with ruddy shadows, were ruffled by the wind. Then, without visible effort, he snatched Julius in his hands and threw the little boy on the pavement and kicked him in the side. Julius, considerably hurt, howled in pain. Lucius, laughing now, lifted his foot again.

“Stop,” said Marcus. His face had turned very white and he involuntarily clenched his hands.

Lucius looked at him disbelievingly. “You will stop me?” he said with contempt.

“Yes,” said Marcus, and put himself between Lucius and his victim.

Lucius actually stepped back, but it was with astonishment. He was older and taller and heavier than the seemingly frail Marcus, and he was an expert boxer.

“You?” he exclaimed.

“I,” said Marcus. He could feel his heart beating with outrage and a sudden loathing for this handsome boy with the wicked and beautiful face. Never before had he wanted to strike anyone. All the weeks of frustration and pain and humiliation gathered like a knot of iron in his chest, hotly pulsing.

Lucius looked about at his fellows and raised his eyebrows. “This baseborn dog dares to defy me,” he said, and then moving like the flash of a sword he was upon Marcus without the preliminary and honorable challenge. He struck one foul blow and Marcus bent over suddenly and gasped for air and felt the exploding anguish in his bowels. Lucius cried out with pleasure, and was on the other boy before he could recover.

Forgetting honorable fighting because of his pain and his sudden hatred and detestation, Marcus grasped Lucius to him and bit his neck deeply. Lucius reared back. Then Marcus seized his ears in his hands and pulled hard and fiercely. Instinctively he brought up his knee and gouged Lucius in the groin. Lucius staggered. Again, Marcus gouged him, then as Lucius fell back he kicked him surely and with all his strength in the delicate spot. Lucius collapsed on the ground. The boys raised a great shout. “Foul fighting!” they cried.

“You did not think it foul when he attacked me foully!” Marcus cried back. He stood over the writhing Lucius and so incited was he that no boy approached him. But he made no sound. Pilo, hearing the commotion, hurried outside, and when he saw Lucius and Marcus above him he stopped short in stupefaction. Julius ran to him.

“Lucius hit me and kicked me when I was lying down!” he said. “And I am only a little boy!”

“Foul,” said the other boys. “Marcus gouged Lucius foully. It was not Roman.”

Pilo seized Marcus by the arm and dragged him inside the school. The other boys followed, two supporting the silent Lucius. Pilo thrust Marcus before him and addressed the boys in a shaking voice.

“The honor of the school has been violated,” he began.

“Lucius kicked me foully,” said Julius from the throng.

“Silence,” Pilo commanded.

“He kicked me!” shouted Julius, prancing forward and holding his side pathetically. “As if I were a dog.”

Pilo breathed heavily, his hand grasping Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus was trembling, but again it was with loathing that he looked at Lucius. “You must have provoked your friend,” said Pilo to Julius, “beyond endurance. Besides, you are lying, my child.”

“I never lie!” protested Julius, who usually lied.

Pilo ignored him. He looked at the other boys, who were crowding eagerly toward him. “What is the truth?” he said.

One of Lucius’ most devoted friends, and an older boy, took it upon himself to enlighten the teacher. “Julius was impudent to Lucius, and Lucius punished him with a slap. Julius fell. Lucius did not kick him. And then—”

Julius screamed, beating his breast with his small fists in his rage, “Lucius kicked me! And then he hit Marcus without challenge and foully, because Marcus told him to stop doing it. And then Marcus protected himself!”

“Is that the truth?” asked Pilo of the others.

It was Lucius who spoke, in a sick voice. “No, it is a lie.”

The boys closed their mouths and could not look at each other. They let their heads drop, and their faces reddened. Before honor, they loved Lucius who loved no one.

Pilo understood instantly. He was in a quandary. He loved the popular Lucius with his beautiful face and voice and Apollonian charm. He dared not question Marcus because Marcus would tell the truth. He shook the boy helplessly while he considered. If he punished Marcus there would be no reprisals. Marcus was no tale-bearer.

It did not make Pilo very happy to do as he did in all expediency. He thrashed Marcus before the class with utmost severity, and the boy took the lashing of the whip in utter silence, staring before him. Lucius watched with delight, laughing silently so that all his fine teeth were visible.

The boys were ashamed. When Marcus returned to his bench they could not raise their eyes to his face. But they loved Lucius. They hastily opened their books and engrossed themselves in study.

Marcus and Julius walked home together as usual, and each step caused Marcus to wince. Julius held his champion’s hand like a trusting little brother. “I hate Lucius now,” he said with vehemence. “I will never like him again.”

“Do not be too sure,” said Marcus, who had learned even more painful lessons during those weeks.

Julius stamped angrily. “I will never like him again.”

“You will not speak of this at home,” said Marcus, sternly. “You will forget it.”

Of course, Julius told his mother at once, and Aurelia went immediately to Helvia. “Lucius’ mother is my best friend,” said the stout little lady in outrage, “but Lucius never entranced me as he entrances others.”

Helvia sent for Marcus to come to the women’s quarters, and the boy entered and saw Aurelia and colored angrily. “Remove your tunic,” said Helvia. Marcus, looking at Aurelia with fresh anger, removed his tunic and Helvia inspected the welts on his young body. She called to a slave for hot water and ointments. With no comment she rubbed the pungent oils into the welts, after bathing them until they were fiery. Then she said, “You will not return to that school.”

Marcus was greatly disturbed. “Mother,” he pleaded, “that will be shameful of me. The other boys will laugh at me for a coward, believing I came whining to you like a pampered infant.”

Helvia considered, her teeth worrying her ripe under lip. She looked at her friend, Aurelia. Aurelia was nodding with approval. “He speaks as a Roman,” she said. “You can be proud of him, Helvia.”

“I was always proud of him,” said Helvia, to Marcus’ surprise. She smiled at her son and pushed his shoulder fondly. “I am glad that you fought Lucius and overcame him, and I am proud even of your welts which you received in silence and in honor and in the defense of one younger and weaker.”

“Lucius is larger and older,” said Aurelia. “It is not foul to defend yourself foully against a foul man, if only foulness is the answer and the only possible way.”

“Lucius is not truly a Roman in spirit,” said Helvia.

“But you will not speak of it to anyone?” Marcus said to his mother as he carefully resumed his tunic.

“To no one,” Helvia promised. She smiled again at her son, and her handsome face shone.

“And I will thrash Julius if he utters another word,” said Aurelia. She had thought Helvia unfortunate in her older son, who was so quiet. She had believed him girlish. Yet he had not only defended her petted Julius, who was her delight and pride, but he had vanquished the haughty Lucius whom she disliked. She fished at a golden chain about her short and rosy neck and pulled up a medal engraved with the likeness of Pallas Athene from her warm bosom.

“The goddess of wisdom and law,” she said. “This medal represents her as she appears in the Parthenon in Athens. You are worthy of it, Marcus.” And she put it in his hand.

“It is a marvelous gift,” said Helvia.

“It is from a grateful mother,” said Aurelia.

Marcus could never remember when his mother had kissed him, but now she pulled down his head and kissed his cheek, then patted it. “I am proud,” she repeated. She sat there beaming at him pridefully, the pleated ruffle of her stola falling over her plump feet.

The enmity between Marcus Tullius Cicero and Lucius Sergius Catilina grew prodigiously. But never again did Lucius ridicule Marcus before their classmates.

Marcus wore Aurelia’s gift all his life, and years later he showed it to Julius.