Caesar (67 page)

“All save Titus Labienus.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” said Curio.“ Why?” pressed Caelius, the least informed and therefore the most prone to ask obvious questions. Caesar shrugged. “I didn't want Labienus.”

“How did your legates know?”

“I visited Gallia Comata and my legates last October.”

“So you knew about this as far back as then.”

“My dear Caelius,” said Caesar patiently, “the Rubicon has always been a possibility. Just one I would have preferred not to use. And, as you well know, have exerted every ounce of myself to avoid using. But it's a foolish man who doesn't thoroughly explore every possibility. Let us simply say that by last October I considered the Rubicon more a probability than a possibility.” Caelius opened his mouth again, but shut it when Curio dug him sharply in the ribs.“ Where to now?” asked Quintus Cassius.“ It's evident that the opposition isn't well organized—also that the common people prefer me to Pompeius and the boni,” said Caesar, popping a piece of bread soaked in oil between his lips. He chewed, swallowed, spoke again. “I'm going to split the Thirteenth. Antonius, you'll take the five junior cohorts and march at once for Arretium to hold the Via Cassia. It's more important that I keep my avenues to Italian Gaul open at this moment than try to hold the Via Flaminia. Curio, you'll stay in Ariminum with three cohorts until I send you word to march for Iguvium, from which town you'll eject Thermus. Once that's done I'll have the Via Flaminia as well as the Via Cassia. As for myself, I'm taking the two senior cohorts and continuing south into Picenum.”

“That's only a thousand men, Caesar,” said Pollio, frowning.“ They should be enough, but the possibility that I may need more is why Curio stays in Ariminum for the time being.”

“You're right, Caesar,” said Hirtius soberly. “What matters isn't the quantity of the troops, but the quality of the men leading them. Perhaps Attius Varus will offer resistance, but Thermus, Hirrus and Lentulus Spinther? They couldn't lead a tethered ewe.”

“Which reminds me, I don't honestly know why,” said Caesar, “that I must write to Aulus Gabinius. Time that doughty warrior was recalled from exile.”

“What about recalling Milo?” asked Caelius, Milo's friend.“ No, not Milo,” said Caesar curtly, and terminated the meal.“ Did you notice,” said Caelius later in private to Pollio, “that Caesar spoke as if it were in his power to recall exiles? Is he really so confident?”

“He's not confident,” said Pollio. “He knows.”

“But it's on the laps of the Gods, Pollio!”

“And who,” asked Pollio, smiling, “is the darling of the Gods? Pompeius? Cato? Rubbish! Never forget, Caelius, that a great man makes his luck. Luck is there for everyone to seize. Most of us miss our chances; we're blind to our luck. He never misses a chance because he's never blind to the opportunity of the moment. Which is why he's the darling of the Gods. They like brilliant men.”

Caesar dawdled after he left Ariminum with his two cohorts, and had not gone very far when he put his men into camp on the evening of the fourteenth day of January; he wanted to be sure that he allowed the Senate every opportunity to come to agreement, nor did he relish killing fellow Romans. But not long after camp was pitched, two envoys from the Senate arrived on blown horses: young Lucius Caesar, son of Caesar's cousin at present in Narbo, and another young senator, Lucius Roscius. Both were boni; a grief to Lucius Caesar concerning his son, a peculiarly rigid and very un-Caesarish sprig on the Julian tree.“ We're sent to ask you your terms for a withdrawal into Italian Gaul,” said young Lucius Caesar stiffly.“ I see,” said his cousin, eyeing him reflectively. “Don't you think it's more important to enquire after your father first?” Young Lucius Caesar flushed. “Since I've not heard from him, Gaius Caesar, I presume he's well.”

“Yes, he is well.”

“And your terms?” Caesar opened his eyes wide. “Lucius, Lucius, patience! It's going to take me some days to work them out. In the meantime, you and Roscius will have to march with me. South.”

“That's treason, cousin.”

“Since I was accused of that when I kept to my own side of the border, Lucius, what difference can it make?”

“I have a letter from Gnaeus Pompeius,” Roscius interrupted.“ For which I thank you,” said Caesar, taking it. After a pause during which nobody moved, he inclined his head very regally. “You may go. Hirtius will look after you.” They didn't like being so dismissed by a traitor, but they went. Caesar sat down and opened Pompey's letter.

What a sorry mess this is, Caesar. I must confess, however, that I never thought you'd do it. With one legion? You'll go down. You can't not. Italia is alive with troops. I'm writing, really, to beg you to put the interests of the Republic ahead of your own. That's what I've done myself from the beginning of this tangle. Frankly, it's more in my interest to side with you, isn't it? Together we could rule the world. But one of us can't, because one of us isn't strong enough. You taught me that back before you were consul, as I remember. And reinforced it at Luca six years ago. No, seven years ago. How time flies! Seven years since I've laid eyes on you. I hope you're not personally insulted by the fact that I've chosen to oppose you. There's nothing personal in it, I do assure you. I made my decision based on what is best for Rome and the Republic. But surely, Caesar, you of all men must realize that leading an armed insurrection is a vain hope. If you believe, as I do, that Sulla was in the right of it and simply returned to Italia to claim what was legally his, then no armed insurrection has succeeded. Look at Lepidus and Brutus. Look at Catilina. Is that what you want for yourself, an ignominious death? Think, Caesar, please. I urge you to put aside your anger and ambitions. For the sake of our beloved Republic! If you do put aside your anger and ambitions, I'm positive an accommodation can be arrived at between you and the Senate. I'll lend such an accommodation my absolute support. I have put aside my anger and ambitions. For the sake of the Republic. Think of Rome first and always, Caesar! Don't harm the Republic! If you remain determined to harm your enemies, you must inevitably also harm the Republic. Your enemies are as much a part of the Republic as you are. Do, please, consider your alternatives. Send us back a reasonable man's answer with young Lucius Caesar and Lucius Roscius. Come to terms with us and withdraw into Italian Gaul. It's prudent. It's patriotic.

His smile a little twisted, Caesar screwed the short missive into a ball and tossed it among the coals on the brazier.“ What a sanctimonious fart you are, Pompeius!” he said as he watched the piece of paper flare up, dwindle. “So I have but one legion, eh? I wonder what you'd have said in that letter if you'd known I'm marching south with no more than two cohorts! A thousand men, Pompeius! If you knew, you'd come chasing after me. But you won't. The only legions with any merit you have are the Sixth and the Fifteenth, who fought for me. And you're not sure how they'd react if you ordered them to draw their swords in full sight of me, their old commander.”

A thousand men were definitely enough. When Pisaurum yielded amid cheers and flowers, Caesar sent back to Ariminum and started Curio off to eject Thermus from Iguvium. Then Fanum Fortunae yielded—more cheers, more flowers. On the sixteenth day of January, with the Senate's two envoys as witnesses, Caesar accepted the surrender of the big seaport of Ancona amid cheers and flowers. He had not so far spilled one drop of Roman blood. Of Lentulus Spinther and his ten cohorts there was no sign; he had withdrawn south to Asculum Picentum. Nor did Caesar's behavior disillusion the towns which had capitulated; he exacted no reprisals of any kind and paid for whatever he requisitioned for his troops.

ROME TO CAMPANIA

On the day before Caesar received Pompey's letter, the thirteenth day of January, a man on a foundering horse had crossed the Mulvian Bridge north of Rome. The guard posted there after the Senatus Consultum Ultimum had been passed informed the man that the Senate was meeting in Pompey's curia on the Campus Martius, and gave him a fresh mount to finish the last few miles of his journey. A client of Pompey's who had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the road between Ravenna and Ariminum, the horseman had chosen to make the ride to Rome himself because he was dying to see how the Senate took the news he was bringing. As anyone would who had a sense of history and a wish to belong to a great moment, he reflected as he spurred his horse with a loud clatter onto the terrazzo floor outside the Curia Pompeia. He slid off the animal, walked to the closed pair of bronze doors and hammered them with his fist. A startled lictor opened one to stick his head around it; Pompey's client yanked the door wide, then strode into the chamber.“ Here, you can't enter the Senate in closed session!” cried the lictor.“ Fathers of the Senate, I have news!” the invader roared. Every head turned; both Marcellus Minor and Lentulus Crus rose from their ivory chairs to stand gaping at him while he looked about for Pompey, whom he located in the front row on the left-hand side.“ What news, Nonius?” asked Pompey, recognizing him.“ Gaius Caesar has crossed the Rubicon and is advancing on Ariminum with one legion!”

In the act of rising, Pompey froze for a moment before he flopped limply back onto his curule chair. All feeling seemed to have gone; he was conscious only of a ghastly numbness, and could not manage to speak.“ It's civil war!” whispered Gaius Marcellus Minor. Lentulus Crus, a more dominant man by far than Marcellus Minor, took a faltering step forward. “When, man?” he asked, face faded to grey.“ He rode his battle horse with the toes across the Rubicon shortly before sunset three days ago, honored consul.”

“Jupiter!” squeaked Metellus Scipio. “He did it!”

These words acted like the opening of a sluice gate upon a dammed-up flood; the senators rushed headlong for the doors, became jammed in the aperture, fought and scrabbled to get out, fled in panic across the peristyle and away toward the city. A moment later, only a handful of boni remained. Sensation returned to Pompey, who managed to get up. “Come with me,” he said curtly, going to the door which permitted entry into his villa. Cornelia Metella took one look at their faces as the band streamed into the atrium and decided to absent herself, which left Pompey to hand his client Nonius to the steward with a request that he be well treated.“ My thanks,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder. Well pleased with his contribution to history, Nonius went off. Pompey led the rest into his study, where everyone clustered around the console table bearing wine and poured it unwatered with shaking hands. Save Pompey, who sat in his chair behind his desk without caring what sort of insult that was to consuls and consulars.“ One legion!” he said when his guests had all found seats and were looking at him as if at the only piece of cork in a tempestuously heaving sea. “One legion!”

“The man must be insane,” muttered Gaius Marcellus Minor, wiping the sweat from his face with the purple border of his toga. But those anguished, bewildered eyes fixed on him seemed to have a more tonic effect than wine would have; Pompey threw his chest out, put his hands on his desk and cleared his throat.“ The sanity of Gaius Caesar is not the issue,” he said. “He's challenged us. He's challenged the Senate and People of Rome. With one legion he's crossed the Rubicon, with one legion he's advancing on Ariminum, with one legion he intends to conquer Italia.” Pompey shrugged. “He can't do it. Mars couldn't do it.”

“I suspect, from all one knows about Mars, that Caesar is a better general,” said Gaius Marcellus Major dryly. Ignoring this, Pompey looked at Cato, who hadn't said one word since Nonius strode into the chamber—and had gulped down a very large quantity of unwatered wine.“ Well, Marcus Cato?” Pompey asked. “What do you suggest?”

“That,” said Cato in his most unmusical tones, “those who create great crises should also be the ones to put an end to them.”

“Meaning you had nothing to do with it, and I everything?”

“My opposition to Caesar is political, not military.” Pompey drew a breath. “Does this mean, then, that I am in command of resistance?” he asked Gaius Marcellus Minor, the senior consul. “Does it?” he asked the junior consul, Lentulus Crus.“ Yes, of course,” said Lentulus Crus when Marcellus Minor stayed mute.” Then,“ said Pompey briskly, ”the first thing we have to do is send two envoys to Caesar at once and at the gallop."

“What for?” asked Cato.“ To discover on what terms he would be prepared to withdraw into Italian Gaul.”

“He won't withdraw,” said Cato flatly.“ One step at a time, Marcus Cato.” Pompey's eyes roved over the ranks of the fifteen men who sat there and alighted upon young Lucius Caesar and his boon companion, Lucius Roscius. “Lucius Caesar, Lucius Roscius, you're elected to do the galloping. Take the Via Flaminia and commandeer fresh horses before the ones you're on fall dead under you. You don't stop, even to take a piss. Just aim backward from the saddle.” He drew paper toward him and picked up a pen. “You are official envoys and you'll speak for the entire Senate, including its magistrates. But you'll also carry a letter from me to Caesar.” He grinned without amusement. “A personal plea to think of the Republic first, not to injure the Republic.”

“All Caesar wants is a monarchy,” said Cato. Pompey didn't reply until the letter was written and sprinkled with sand. Then he said, rolling it up and heating wax to seal it, “We don't know what Caesar wants until he tells us.” He pressed his ring into the blob of wax, handed the letter to Roscius. “You keep it, Roscius, as my envoy. Lucius Caesar will do the talking for the Senate. Now go. Ask my steward for horses—they'll be better than anything you've got. We're already north of the city, so it will save time to start from here.”

“But we can't ride in togas!” said Lucius Caesar.“ My man will give you riding gear, even if it doesn't fit. Now go!” barked the General. They went.“ Spinther's in Ancona with as many men as Caesar has,” said Metellus Scipio, brightening. “He'll deal with it.”