Cornelia Metella tightened her lips, reached out and grabbed the arm holding the five pointed lamp and pulled it closer to the parchment in her hands. It was damp, and the ink had run in a few places, so she needed more light than the gray morning provided. Fortunately she was a good reader; almost as fast as Julius Ceasar, had she ever had an opportunity to compare herself to him, so it did not take her long.

Te moneo manere. Habeas istius…..

Yes, she did have it, and she wasn’t about to let anyone take it. But that didn’t change the tight rope status of her life, and the ramifications should her husband, Pompey Magnus die. She looked up at the two soaking mud spattered men in front of her. Loyal to her to the core, her slaves, they had seen fit to tell her of Pompey’s terrible condition, when the sons had neglected to send a word. Nor had an official dispatch yet arrived. Yes, the rain had been appalling, things would go hard for the smaller farmers and less affluent in Picenum this winter, but not that impossible. She would comment to Ceasar about that, when she returned to Rome. She would manage to do it from the sitting room with whomever his new wife turned out to be..did the man never tire of divorcing decent women?…because she would undoubtedly be in the class that filled Cornelia’s circles. The embarrassment alone would give her a tiny hook in him, she knew, because she had been raised every bit as strenuously in protocol as he and understood the tweak it would give his dignitas. Cornelia continued to look at her two men, the riot of her emotions and mind working out on her lower lip until it bled.

“ Domina?” One of the dripping servants queried politely, aware that his mistress was in the throws of some dilemma that went beyond the simple worry of a husband’s serious health condition. Her gray eyes gone silver in the gloom came back in focus.

“Eo confero,” she responded quietly.

“Domina, no. You cannot!” stated the younger of the two.” All of Picenum is flooded. Even the Via Saleria is half underwater, and the Toventius and Tinna are well over their banks. He could well be dead by the time you arrive. If you do not drown trying.”

She knew that it was only their loyalty that made him so bold, and that he really said it for her welfare. Strong willed she had always been, but being married to Pompey had released something within her that allowed her to adventure into areas most woman didn’t, had they choice. She gave the long time retainer a cool but not unkind gaze, and he lowered his eyes.

“Eat. Bath. The steward will leave your well earned rewards in your quarters.” And she stood up and walked out of her sitting room into the very long colonnades around a massive peristyle garden running over with small rivers in the current deluge. Fortunately, she had spent a large amount of money two years ago finishing off the last bit of Romanization the Gaulish fortress needed, and the drains and channels kept the colonnade paths themselves from flooding. She watched leaves and small sticks and bits flow in the miniature torrents, comparing it to Rome’s current circumstances. The survival of the entire Republic was poised on the actions of two titans, both possessed of massive egos coupled with ability, each one forced by smaller men and yapping clients towards a conflict which she suspected neither really wanted. Unlike Porcius Cato, Bibilus, and her father Metellus Scipio Nasica, she could understand why Ceasar reacted to certain things the way he did. She didn’t have the antipathy for him that they had, nor was she moved like so many other women were by his charms. Oddly enough, that had come from being married to the other “Great Man,” Pompey. She had a better insight into their mindset and motivations, and so recognized them for what they were. Knowing what they were meant Cornelia knew something else; Rome needed both men, and both men needed each other, for the scales must be balanced.

Privately, Cornelia believed that ultimately Pompey was the weaker of the two. Perhaps not so ten years ago, but the death of Julia had broken something in him. It had taken her some months of marriage to him to recognize that, and it had softened her towards her fate with the uncultured bumpkin from Picenum, Lord of Umbria. For she was a highly cultured, literate, and intelligent woman, and had gone to her marriage as a martyr to the cause. However, she was also fair, and appreciated rather than disdained a man who was human enough to be so hurt by the death of his wife. So, instead of her bringing so much culture into Pompey’s life, she had gleaned on more to his life, and of her own volition spent time on his estates with him or not. She had learned to ride quite well and had enjoyed cantering about with him on the exquisite animals he bought or bred for her. He had willingly allowed her to finish off the villas that had not seen Julia’s touch, and did not allow his staff to mistreat or complain about her. Not that she did not have her own very affective style of management, as she was a woman of sinew and not above hard punishment when necessary, but the support of the Domine made it easier.

Therefore Pompey Magnus had ended in earning the loyalty of Cornelia Metella, which was no mean feat, nor something to be taken lightly. Spend time in the countryside she might, but like Pompey, she had developed her own network of informants, and solid adherents. As with her husband’s shipwreck, she generally found out first what was going on in Rome’s important circles before she would have otherwise been told. She would do whatever was possible to keep her husband in the game, for his sake, and for Rome’s.