Caesar (23 page)

"Did I now? Between you and me and the gatepost, old boy, she's a bit more than I'd care to tackle. She may be only a child, but she's a man-eating one, don't you know."

"Antony," I said, taking his arm, "this Parthian campaign. Will he go ahead with it?"

"Oh, I should think so, wouldn't you? The old boy's bored, you know." "And after it?"

"After it? Well, I should think it might be the end. First rule of war: don't invade Parthia. I've tried telling him that. Imagine you've done the same in different words. Doesn't do a bit of bloody good, does it. So, it's us for the desert song, and us for . . . who knows what?"

"That's my opinion. So how do we set about stopping it?"

He lifted his head, like a lion sniffing the breeze.

"Wind's blowing cold from the East. Think you can stop that, old boy?"

I had to admit Antony was right. My fears were intensified when I learned that various members of the old Pompeian party, including some who had affected to be most closely reconciled to Caesar's rule - for that of course is what it was, despite the" punctiliousness with which the traditional posts in the Republic were filled - that some of these, as I say, were urging the Parthian campaign on him. The ignominy of Crassus' defeat was a stain on Rome's reputation, they said, that must be wiped out; and Caesar was the only man capable of doing so. This of course was music to his ears, and he did not reflect that these men urged him to the enterprise in the hope that he would fail.

I confess that the same thought had also occurred to me: that Caesar's death on the Parthian campaign might be the most honourable way out of the difficulties that his continuing and ever-growing ascendancy was now so evidently presenting. But it was not a way of escape that I could honourably dwell on.

Instead, I went to see him at his own house, choosing an hour in the morning when he would not be over-tired as a result of the business he had been transacting, for I had noticed that in recent months, he was more amenable to reason in the first part of the day; and that when he was tired his mind delighted in ever more extravagant flights.

He received me kindly, as was his wont, and dismissed his secretaries when I said I had important matters which I wished to raise.

For a moment we sat in silence. All at once he looked an old man. It was the first time that thought had ever struck me, and I experienced a wave of tenderness and affection.

"Well, Mouse," he said, "it must be a grave matter that brings you here at this time of the day when you know I am accustomed to be at work."

"It is precisely of work that I wish to speak."

I then explained to him the causes of my anxiety: that it was now nine months since the Battle of Munda; that there could be no question but that the civil wars were at last concluded; but that it seemed to me that we were no nearer a resolution of the problems that had caused the wars.

He frowned when I said that, as if to remind me that in his opinion, and as he had so often asserted, the cause of the wars had been the determination of his enemies to destroy him.

So, to prevent him from raising the point and thus provoking an argument that might divert me from the course on which I had determined, I interpolated an acknowledgment that this had been the immediate cause of the wars. That of course, I admitted, had properly been removed. But I hastened to add that we both realised, as historians and politicians well versed in these matters, that the underlying causes of the wars went beyond personalities and turned on the question of the Constitution. Now Caesar had been granted the title of Perpetual Dictator, which ensured that authority could be maintained in Rome and throughout the Empire. Yet I could not see, I said, with all the respect that I could muster, how a perpetual dictatorship could answer.

"I must warn you," I said, "that there are even some who put it about that you wish to be crowned king. It is naturally a rumour which I deny whenever I hear it."

Again he frowned, then waved a hand to indicate that I was to continue.

Very well, I said; he had made minor reforms. He had enlarged the Senate, and although many of our fellow members of the old nobility complained that those he had admitted were scarcely gentlemen, I was in full agreement with him as to the value of the enlargement. Likewise, I was in favour of his decision to increase the number of praetors and quaestors, not only because it gave more men the rewards of office, but because there was more public business of a greater variety of sorts to be transacted. And yet such reforms could hardly be thought sufficient to tackle fundamental problems.

I hurried on here, for I could see that he was becoming bored, and I did not wish to exhaust his patience.

And now, I said, he was engaged in preparing for war against Parthia. There were good reasons for such an undertaking. Nevertheless it must distract us from other business for two or three years, and in this interval, with Caesar absent from Rome, it could not be imagined that any of the causes of our discontents would be removed. The Parthian expedition, dangerous in itself, was therefore in a sense an act of evasion. I spoke respectfully, of course, but it seemed to me that the most urgent task before him was the repair of our fractured State . . .

I paused, dismayed. He had ceased to listen. His gaze had drifted away. He had withdrawn himself, perhaps into boredom, perhaps into dreams. Then, made aware of my silence, he gave me a smile that had all its old accustomed charm.

"The Queen of Egypt tells me that the title of King would be of great service in the East. I care nothing for the nonsense of titles, but she may be right. Naturally, many in Rome would object, for men grow fond of their old ways and hate innovation. Perhaps anyway, in time, the name Caesar will come to mean more than 'King'. Who can tell? But I have been wondering whether I might not permit myself to be entitled 'King' beyond the boundaries of Italy, while retaining here in Rome simply the style of 'Perpetual Dictator'. It might be a way out of the dilemma. What do you think, Mouse?"

What I thought was that he had been paying no attention to my argument at all. Nevertheless, I replied:

"I do not see how that would solve anything, though of course I understand the Queen's argument comes naturally to her. But the point, Caesar, turns not on titles - and you are quite right in believing that everyone in Rome would resent the assumption of the name of 'King'; it turns on the relationship between you, and the immeasurable power you now wield, on the one hand, and the best means of revivifying the traditional institutions of the Republic on the other."

"You don't understand, Mouse. Perhaps you have been listening to Cicero. I revere Cicero myself, and am delighted to converse with him, so long as we confine the topics of conversation to literature and philosophy. Incidentally, he is doing useful work there, finding Latin equivalents for Greek terms which are necessary to the development of the subject. But when he talks of the Constitution, he is talking of something as mythical as the Minotaur. For all his brilliance, he doesn't understand that history is a living thing. When he speaks of the Constitution in terms of reverence, I admire his sentiments, but I know that he is talking of something which ceased to exist before he was born. What does he really believe in? He seems to think that our armies should be commanded by a noble officer - once it was Pompey, now perforce it is Caesar - while Rome, Italy and the pacified provinces are governed or administered by the Senate under the guidance of honourable, public-spirited conservatives prepared themselves to be guided by his golden oratory. He should know that such an assembly doesn't exist, even if it once did, and he should be modest enough to acknowledge that his own record is littered with gross blunders and misapprehensions."

He rose, and took a turn around the room. He still moved, even in his middle fifties, with that athleticism which his soldiers had so admired.

"You should realise, Mouse, for you have followed Caesar, that for the last two, even three generations, our Republic -that wonderful, resounding, moribund name - has proved itself incapable of performing the simplest and most necessary part of government: the maintenance of law and order here in Rome. During this period more Romans - including members of the nobility - have fallen in civil wars, been killed in street battles, or just assassinated - than in any foreign wars. That is not on account of my ambition, or Pompey's ambition, or my uncle Gaius Marius' ambition, or even the ambition of the loathsome Sulla; it has been because the old institutions are no longer answerable to circumstances . . .

"You call for reforms, Mouse. I have no reform to offer. Once, perhaps, I too thought things might be restored simply by the eradication of abuses. No longer. Such hopes are but an idle dream. You imply that there is resentment because I have appointed consuls, praetors and other magistrates, and made the elections into a merely formal ceremony of confirmation.

But you know, in your heart, that for longer than our lifetime, these elections have been either fraudulent or farcical. They have also been dangerous, for they have provoked the violence which government should restrain, and which the Republic has failed to restrain.

"And so, I say . . . the Republic is dead. You cannot breathe life into a corpse. What is left is a sham, and a dangerous sham.

"Things must change. But they will change gradually, as men grow accustomed to new realities. The first reality is that power now rests with the army and whoever controls it. Well, fortunately for Rome, Caesar controls it. As long as Caesar controls the army, Caesar controls Rome. That is the reality against which Cicero's dreams shatter themselves like a piece of pottery thrown against a wall. Time, that is the watchword. Time and I against any two; that is my faith.

"Yes, I shall go to Parthia, because it is necessary. What I choose to call myself is immaterial. In Rome, I am Caesar, and Caesar rules. In the provinces Caesar may be king, even a god, it is not important. What Rome needs is a period of calm, free from civil strife. Only Caesar can provide it, and Caesar can do so only while he controls and commands the army. That is reality, Mouse, I insist on it.

"So, don't listen to Cicero, there's a good chap. He represents the past. The future is quite different, because it will be based on an understanding of the ultimate reality of power: the sword. Naturally the Senate will survive; has Caesar not refreshed it, even as you admit yourself ? So will the magistracies for there is necessary work for them to do. But remember: the strong govern the world, and Caesar is the strongest, while he commands the strength of the legions.

"Nobody will ever hold power in Rome again unless he commands that support. If he relinquishes command to others, he will perish. Rome is an Empire, not a city-state. Tell me, in your heart, don't you find it absurd that a mob of greasy unwashed plebeians should be entrusted with the choice of their government, when that government has the responsibility for the whole Mediterranean world . . . and after my next campaign for the government of Parthia also . . ."

* * *

I left in despair, for he had sketched a future in which liberty was dead, and in which honour was at the disposal of whoever had seized power
...
It was not for that reason, not to achieve this, that I had fought from the Rubicon to Greece and saved the day at Munda.

A
lthough the year began traditionally on the Kalends of March (a date altered by Caesar's reform of the calendar) my father-in-law, Caius Cassius, was accustomed to throw a party at the January Kalends, for, as he rightly said, "Janus, the guardian spirit of entrances and the god presiding over the beginning of all things and all deeds, deserves our respect." The fact that the party, coming so soon after the debauchery of the Saturnalia, had been known to revive the spirit of that festival and thus degenerate into something which might fairly be described as an orgy, didn't alter my father-in-law's determination to honour the god.

His party in this momentous year took on an unusual significance, for Cassius had pruned his guest-list of all those who were known to be the most devoted to Caesar, even though, as a precaution, he felt it necessary to invite the dictator himself.

Perhaps my presence reassured Caesar that he was not among enemies for he was in genial form throughout his fairly brief stay at Cassius' house. Some say it was the presence of my cousin Marcus Brutus which calmed the agitation he revealed when he first looked round the room, but this is not so: he was on bad terms with Markie on account of rumours that my cousin was ambitious to replace him in the dictatorship.

"Surely Brutus can wait till the breath is out of this frail body," he said.

Besides, any of those present - and alas, some are no longer among us — could confirm that it was to me that the dictator directed most of his conversation that evening. Cassius had asked me to make sure that Caesar was happily engaged, and of course I was delighted to obl
ige. My father-in-law knew very
well that the dictator neither liked nor trusted him; and so, after a brief and ceremonious greeting, he was pleased to see me take him off his hands, as it were.