Julius Caesar (33 page)

The fact that Caesar had been away from Rome for over eleven of the past twelve years had given him a completely different perspective from that of the senators and others who inherited their attitudes from the old days of the republic. To them Rome was still the world, but Caesar’s viewpoint had changed considerably during his absence and his acquaintanceship with the countries that now constituted the empire. From his youth, as has been seen, he had always been careful to keep in touch by constant correspondence with friends and informants in the city. This had now been reinforced by an exchange between himself and his associates all over the empire, especially in Gaul where he had been the undisputed ruler for nearly twelve years.

Caesar’s close associates (his
familiares
Cicero called them) whether senators, knights, practical men of business or soldiers, all had one thing in common—they were Caesar’s men first and foremost. Thus, paralleling or overshadowing the official posts of the state, Caesar had his own administrative machine working within the framework of the empire. It had served him well so far throughout the civil war, but the very fact of its existence inevitably increased his contempt for the Roman constitution, and indeed for everything associated with republican institutions. The
Optimates,
who formed the ruling Party in the senate, had done all that they could to oppose him, and it was they who had Finally forced him into the illegal act of crossing the Rubicon (although he was always at great pains to stress that all his actions had been constitutional). The same men who had opposed him in the senate had formed the hard core of the Pompeians, and he was well aware that those who had never even left Rome hated him no less. The total eclipse of republican institutions during the civil war had demonstrated—to Caesar at least—that they could be dispensed with, except as some kind of decorative façade. But it was not yet time to say it openly, although Suetonius, admittedly quoting a Pompeian witness, has Caesar maintaining “that the republic was nothing—a mere name without form or substance. As for Sulla, he proved himself a fool by resigning the dictatorship.”

There was nothing left for the leaders of the old senatorial party to do but come to terms with Caesar. They must now show him unconditional loyalty and the best way to begin was with thanksgiving festivities that would exceed anything that Rome had ever known. On the first occasion that the City had showed its gratitude Caesar had been accorded ten days, on the second fifteen; now as a thanksgiving for his cumulative victories they voted him forty. He was made dictator for ten years and, as visible evidence of his authority, the number of lictors assigned him (to mark the fact that this was his third dictatorship) was increased to seventy-two. A new office was even invented for him—Prefect of Morals. It was equivalent to the office of censor, but with enlarged powers that give him control over almost every aspect of public or private life for three years. The name of the great Sullan, Catulus, was erased from the Capitoline Temple and Caesar’s replaced it, while inside the temple a triumphal chariot was installed, bearing a statue of Caesar with the globe at his feet. An inscription recalled his descent from Venus and described him as a demigod. The honor of giving the signal to open all the circus games was his. In the senate he had the right to sit between the two consuls in a curule chair and always to speak first during their deliberations. There was little more, it seemed as yet, that they could do for him. But all these honors were tainted with the smell of fear.

32

Imperious Caesar

IN those first weeks, while all the preparations were being made for the celebration of his triumphs in September, Caesar did his best to reassure both the senate and the people that his policy remained one of reconciliation. While accepting the power and the honors that they accorded him, he pointed out that he had pardoned all those who had fought against him at least once and some more. He had no taste for despotism, and did not wish to emulate either Sulla (archenemy of his family) or Marius and Cinna (his uncle and his former father-in-law). He was careful to reassure the rich that he had no designs upon their property or intentions to introduce any new taxes and, as for the immense riches that had been gathered in recent years, he had kept none for himself but all would go to adorn and administer the city. “Although he may have succeeded in calming the general fears,” writes Dio Cassius, with more than an element of understatement, “he was unable to put all minds entirely at rest.” There was a very good reason for this. Although Caesar, whenever there was occasion to mention him, spoke of the dead Pompey only with respect, he had never had any respect for his judgment. When, all those years ago, Pompey had burst upon Italy victorious out of the East, he had immediately disbanded his legions, and Caesar had watched him rapidly dwindle in stature. Caesar had not disbanded his legions. They thronged the city—in theory at least, as Caesar put it to the people, “as the guardians of my authority and of yours.”

All ancient triumphs were a massive act of propaganda, on a scale that is difficult to envisage in a more sophisticated and literate age. Just as the coinage, with the head of the ruler on one side and some object associated with his prowess or his power on the other, conveyed a clear message to hundreds of thousands of illiterates, so a Roman triumph was something of a massive advertising campaign. It was combined with a visual display like a circus, followed by free food and wine, the distribution of money that for some would almost constitute a year’s income, and ended with the favorite Roman spectator-sport—the vivid and violent games. The subjects of Caesar’s four triumphs, which were celebrated between 20 September and 1 October, old calendar (actually 20 to 30 July), were the victories over Gaul, Egypt, Pontus and Africa. Pharsalus must be tactfully forgotten, since it was a victory of Romans over Romans, and on this score Africa too was to prove something of a problem. Each triumph was given its own distinctive characteristic—for example, different woods and inlays associated with the countries concerned were used in the elaborate carpentry and cabinetwork in which representative treasures, jewels and precious metals were transported and housed. Statues depicting the great rivers of the various lands, scenes from the actions, and a huge replica of the famed Pharos of Alexandria—all these had kept painters, sculptors, carpenters, cabinetmakers, and theatrical designers busy for many weeks. Some of the effects must have been prepared months before in anticipation. The first triumph, brilliant with Gallic weapons, enamels, statues and innumerable objects taken from temples or the homes of private citizens, display-cabinets full of gold and silver, was interspersed with great signs proclaiming the names of battles and towns hitherto unknown in the Latin tongue. The Ocean in chains represented, for all those thousands who did not know the truth, the conquest of Britain by Caesar. The living chained figure of Vercingetorix represented the reality of conquered Gaul. As a rebel against Rome, he was destined for death.

Cleopatra herself, together with her eleven-year-old brother Ptolemy XIV, had been summoned to Rome to witness the

Egyptian triumph. It had been deemed impolitic to leave the young Pharaoh behind, in case—in accordance with family tradition—he and his advisers should make a bid for the throne during her absence. Prominent among Cleopatra’s entourage was the child Caesarion, believed to be Caesar’s son. Cleopatra’s sister, the unfortunate Arsinoe, together with Ganymedes and others who had taken part in the rebellion, walked among the prisoners in the triumph. She was later granted her liberty, but Ganymedes disappears from history, so he may have shared the same fate as Vercingetorix. Elephants and exotic animals hitherto unknown to Romans, such as the giraffe, added to the rich curiosity of the Egyptian procession.

Whereas the wealth and grandeur of the defeated had been the main theme of the Gallic and Egyptian triumphs, the third, the Eastern one celebrating the victory over Pharnaces, introduced a satirical note—Pharnaces being depicted in full flight before Caesar’s army. This was untrue, for Pharnaces’ army had fought well at Zela, and the King had not been put to flight but had died later at the hands of his own rebels. The point was taken, however, that the kings of the East (over whom Pompey had secured his triumphs) were slightly comic figures. Before Caesar’s triumphal chariot came a large panel inscribed with the three words: VENI, VIDI, VICI.

Africa presented a rather difficult problem, for the victory had been gained over fellow Roman citizens and soldiers. This fact was obscured, however, by making it seem that the African war had been against King Juba, that the triumph was being celebrated over his defeat, and that the Pompeians who had fought in it were merely serving under him (Romans under an African king—thus further demeaning them). Since Juba was dead his place among the captives was taken by his five-year-old son, whom Caesar had brought back to Rome. (He was brought up in the city, became one of the most famous scholars of his day, was reinstated in Numidia and later married the daughter of Antony and Cleopatra.) The representations of the Pompeians however struck a discordant note. Scipio, Petreius and Cato were depicted in gory detail, committing suicide in different ways but, as Appian records from some contemporary account: “The people, although repressed by fear, could not control their cries of pain and disapproval…”

After the triumphal procession came the animals destined for sacrifice at the Capitol, conspicuous among them the white oxen with their gilded horns. Musicians and men bearing incense-burners accompanied that visible reminder of the dictator’s power: the seventy-two lictors in their red military cloaks, bearing the laurel-crowned fasces from which projected shining axe heads, symbolic of the power over life and death of the old Roman kings. At last came the victorious dictator, Caius Julius Caesar, in the triumphal chariot drawn by four horses. Dressed in purple and gold, with the ornaments of divinity like Capitoline Jupiter to whom he was going to dedicate the symbols of victory, he held a laurel branch in his right hand and in his left an ivory scepter surmounted by an eagle. Above his laurel-bound head a slave held the gold crown of Jupiter, too great for him to bear and a reminder that even in the midst of glory he was a mortal man. Last, in their cohorts and centuries, came the men who had made his victories possible, the legionaries in their parade dress, crowned and wearing their medals of gold and silver. As they marched, refreshed no doubt by countless drinks from the crowd, their songs commemorated their achievements and battles, celebrated their leader and, their verses growing steadily broader, his sexual prowess:

Home we bring the bald adulterer,

Romans, lock your wives away.

Gold he spent on Gallic women,

Which you Romans helped to pay.

Caesar was at home with their simple bawdy; so many of his years had been spent in camp that the sensitive young aristocrat had long been buried under the soldier’s skin—or had he? Certainly he seems to have accepted without any visible concern verses which plainly alluded to his regal aspirations although others, referring to that time more than thirty years ago when the rumor was that he had been King Nicomedes’ catamite, are said to have irritated him profoundly.

Even more disturbing than this old allusion was that, nearing the temple of Fortune (the one goddess whom he respected), the axle of his chariot broke and Caesar was brought to the floor and forced to summon another one. It was an ill omen indeed, and would have caused most Romans of the time to abandon the ceremony. (It is just possible that this had been the intention of some unknown enemy.) Conscious of the need to defer to superstition, instead of mounting the steps of the Capitol like the triumphant conqueror, he ascended them on his knees, making his abasement to Fate.

The historians who recorded Caesar in triumph all wrote with the benefit of hindsight, yet there can be no doubt that the unfortunate impression made by the African triumph, the soldiers’ verses recording an old scandal, and the incident of the breaking axle-tree, all cast a shadow over these days of triumphant festivities. Superficially, it was soon dispelled by the enormous public banquet that followed, with 22,000 tables designed for 200,000 guests, and the distribution of lavish sums of money to the veterans. Private soldiers received 5,000 denarii, centurions twice as much, and senior officers four times as much again. All the poor (those entitled in Rome to free grain) received 100 denarii apiece, as well as a further gift of grain and oil, those staples of the Latin diet.

Yet the distribution of money to the legions did not escape that ever-pervasive shadow of bitterness and discontent. From one account, many of the veterans complained that they would rather have had more money than see so much spent on people who did not deserve it, and on such sumptuous displays. According to Dio Cassius (writing two centuries after the events) on one occasion at a public performance Caesar in person led off one of these vociferous complainants for execution, while two others were formally turned over to the pontiffs and sacrificed to Mars, their heads being displayed outside the basilica of the god. Such sacrifices were rare indeed at that time in Rome’s history, and indicate that only serious trouble could have called for such severe measures. To keep the Roman crowd happy, many thousands of condemned prisoners and prisoners-of-war fought in the gladiatorial contests; theatrical performances were given in various parts of the city; and the whole of Rome was for days turned into a vast amusement park. There were wild-beast hunts featuring animals from Africa, chariot races in which young noblemen drove four-horse and two-horse chariots, athletic contests, a battle between two “armies” of 500 infantry a side together with cavalry and elephants. On an artificial lake, specially constructed for the occasion, a naval battle was fought between biremes, triremes and quadriremes, representing the fleets of Egypt and Tyre. Satiated with food and drink, overindulged with spectacles, some of the populace like the disillusioned legionaries at last began to murmur at such extravagance, but their complaints were in a very low key. So the splendor of the victory celebrations, while they undoubtedly had the desired effect of cementing most veterans and Romans to Caesar, did not pass without their detractors and without arousing some feeling of resentment against such regal munificence. The Etruscans were said to have been the first to hold triumphs and games—and the Etruscans were ruled by kings.