‘Some plebeian houses are as good as any patrician’s. Junians have been magistrates for centuries; my son Marcus will be a plebeian. But that quarrel was settled three hundred years ago. Let’s get back to the point. I want Caesar to win. I gather you want the Populars to win one day, but under another leader, after Caesar has been executed as a public enemy.’
‘You are going too fast, my dear. I haven’t yet made up my mind. It would be best of all if neither side could overcome the other, so that the war ends in a compromise. But if the time comes when I must declare myself – then I must remember my father. I am bound to the Populars by filial piety and the blood-feud.’
‘Very well, then. Now consider what you can do tomorrow. We can go to Capua with Pompeius and the other magistrates. You will be quite safe for the rest of the war. The Optimates also will remember your father; they will not trust you to lead troops against Caesar. When the fighting is finished you will be an ex-praetor, with a seat in the Senate and perhaps a small province to govern for one year. You will never rise higher, you will never be elected Consul. If the constitution survives the war there will be the usual dog-fight, eight ex-praetors scrambling for the two Consulships; but your colleagues will have been commanding armies while you tried civil actions in the praetor’s court. You won’t have the impudence to stand for election against them. It’s more likely that the war will end in a tyranny. Then, whether the tyrant is Pompeius or Caesar, he will have no reason to reward you. Go to Capua, and then retire into private life. You will be rich, and a Senator, and head of the Aemilii Lepidi. But if you want to be Consul you must risk your head, you must join Caesar while his side is still the weaker.’
‘I never thought of that, but now you say it I see it is true. The Optimates allowed me to be praetor, I suppose because of my distinguished ancestors. They will never allow my father’s son to rise any higher. Yet brother Paullus has just laid down his Consulship, at the end of last month. How do you explain that?’
‘Your brother Paullus indeed,’ said Junia with a sniff. ‘He’s no example for an honest gentleman to follow. I’ve heard you say he only took over the images of the Paulli because they are richer than the Lepidi. A fine Aemilius, to desert his family so. As for his Consulship, no one thinks any the more of him for it. He was elected by the Optimates, because they thought they had him in their pocket. He wasn’t even honest enough to stay bought, but took a bigger bribe to act for Caesar. Everyone knows it. Now there’s a man who will be very lucky to survive the civil war. Both sides would be happy to proscribe him, as a public nuisance if not a public enemy.’
‘“A public nuisance if not a public enemy.” A striking phrase, my dear. I shall use it myself, in company where it is bound to be repeated. That will show brother Paullus what we think of him, lording it as Consul while the head of his true family, his father’s heir, is no more than praetor-elect. Did I tell you how he snubbed me in the Senate, three months ago? I should like to surpass brother Paullus. To equal him I must one day be Consul. So eventually, when the time is ripe, I shall join Caesar. He will be glad to have me. Look at the gang of cut-throats who support him at present! He ought to make me his second in command.’
Marcus sprang from his chair to stride about the room. ‘Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, the champion of the Populars! That’s what they used to call my father, one day I shall be even more famous. I would join Caesar today if I could manage it safely. But if I defy Pompeius to his face he will send soldiers to cut off my head, and if I hide in the City everyone will notice at once that the urban praetor has disappeared. The Consuls will confiscate our property, and send lictors to look for me. How can I hide, anyway? Everyone in Rome knows me by sight.’
‘Not quite everyone, Marcus dear; though they will when you have done great deeds for Caesar. But I agree that you can’t stay behind openly, or ride out towards Ariminum inquiring for Caesar’s vanguard. All the same, it will not be too difficult. We shall leave Rome with the other noble fugitives, on the day after tomorrow; we can take our money with us quite openly, for everyone will be doing the same. We start south, with the others. But in the evening we turn aside to visit one of your villas well off the road; then we make the litter-bearers travel all night, first east and then north-east, until we reach Caesar’s lines.’
‘That’s what we’ll do. We must take little Marcus with us. That means three big litters at least, probably a fourth for the baggage. They must have strong and trustworthy bearers. I’ll tell the steward to parade all the able-bodied servants this evening, and pick out the best of them; even a valuable cook or accountant will carry a litter if he’s strong enough.’
‘That’s splendid, and I’m proud of you. Shall we have dinner soon? It’s nearly sunset, and I’m hungry.’
Junia spoke placidly. She had guided her husband into making the bold and sensible decision, which he would never have reached without her prodding; but he would certainly choose the best litter-bearers. He could sum up the capacities of a slave or a workman; his acute though limited brain was at its best in dealing with the practical details of daily life.
The lady Clodia sat at her dressing-table, chatting with the handsome young man who had called to tell her the news.
‘Do you mean to tell me there isn’t a magistrate left in Rome? What a bore! If there are no laws, we can’t disobey them. But oughtn’t you to be frightened, Lucius darling? My poor brother’s gang will look after me. But now any ruffian can knock you down and kill you, just to steal that amusing golden hair-net.’
‘One magistrate has returned, my sweet: Marcus Aemilius Lepidus the praetor. He left with the rest of them, and then doubled back. He may call himself King of Rome if he wants to, for he is the only lawful magistrate left in the City.’
‘You are making this up. Marcus Aemilius Lepidus was Consul thirty years ago. He rebelled against the Senate, was defeated in the Campus Martius, and died soon after. Even I know that. It’s in all the books.’
‘This is his son, who took office as praetor at the beginning of this month.’
‘I’ve never heard of him, and I know everybody. If you must make up fairy-tales, think of something more amusing.’
2. Caesar and the Caesarians
49 BC
Six legions roared through the City; a very shameful sight within the sacred pomoerium, the hallowed boundary of Rome within which no loyal citizen should bear arms. The soldiers appeared to be drunk and out of control, and they were singing very rude songs. The Thirteenth of course led the parade, the amazing legion which had invaded Italy alone and unsupported; the men in the ranks had been on active service for eight years, without a chance of visiting their homes; now they were masters of the City, and looked forward to the reward of conquest, wealth and ease for the rest of their lives. Their songs were really hair-raising, they did not seem to be in any particular formation, they staggered and brandished empty wine-flasks. But when they reached the Capitol detachments ran forward to seize each entry, and in a twinkling the wall was manned. These men were veterans who had captured many cities.
Behind the Thirteenth Legion rode their commander, Gaius Julius Caesar, Pontifex Maximus and public enemy of Rome. That was undoubtedly his position in constitutional law, as a wit among his bodyguard repeatedly shouted at the full stretch of his drill-master’s lungs. Like any other conqueror, when he reached the Capitol he made straight for the treasury, ignoring the great Temple of Jupiter where generals returning in peace gave thanks for victory. The City lay nakedly at the mercy of an invading horde from Gaul, as in the old legends of two hundred and fifty years ago.
On the barred door of the Aemilian mansion idlers had scrawled the catchwords of the Popular party: ‘Preserve our Tribunes’, ‘To the dungheap with the Senate and its Ultimate Decree’. A large white placard, executed under the direction of the master of the house, bore more careful lettering: ‘Twenty-nine years ago, from these doors set out the Consul Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, to wage war on the tyranny est
ablished by Sulla. Romans, respect the dwelling of a hero who died in the struggle for Freedom.’ In the hall, below the shelf of ancestral images, sat in his ivory chair the son of the martyred Consul, the present Aemilius Lepidus. He wore the official toga of a praetor, and behind him two freedmen nursed awkwardly home-made bundles of rods; for the genuine professional lictors had of course accompanied the flight of the government.
The roaring of the crowd outside the house was enough to frighten any man of property; but it had been going on since dawn, and so far nothing very terrible had happened. As time passed the praetor recovered his usual self-control. In particular his ivory chair gave him comfort. He knew that it was the only curule chair in Rome occupied by its lawful magistrate. The whole of Rome’s Luck, normally dispersed between the two Consuls and the eight praetors, must be concentrated in this throne. As he caressed the carving he felt his hands tingle. Once before he had felt the same thrill, during the terrible riots of three years ago. The street-fighting had made it impossible to hold the annual elections, and when Clodius was killed in a scrimmage there had been no lawfully appointed magistrates to restore order. The Senate, following the procedure devised by the ancestors for such an emergency, had chosen an Interrex to hold supreme power for five days, before he transmitted it to a successor of his own choice. Marcus had been the first Interrex.
His position was not so important as it might have seemed to an outsider, for by ancient custom the first Interrex did nothing at all except transmit his emergency power when his five days’were ended; thus Freedom was more secure. But for five days, even though he did nothing with it, the whole of the Luck and Power and Authority of the Senate and People of Rome had been embodied in Marcus. As it happened, to do nothing at all had required great fortitude; for the bereaved Clodians rioted round his house, commanding him to break with precedent and nominate Popular Consuls on his first day of power. The mob looked so dangerous that he sent his wife and child to the country; but he had not given way.
Now he was once more the supreme authority in Rome, and once more a dangerous mob was seeking its prey. But this time the mob was not after his blood in particular; perhaps when these adventures came a second time they were always a little easier.
People were continually banging on the outer door, straggling soldiers looking for an unguarded house to loot, or excited corner-boys who just wanted something to smash. Several times Marcus composed his features and straightened his shoulders, thinking this must be an official summons from the conquering army. But when at last it came it was unmistakable; first the steady tramp of disciplined infantry, then shouted orders and the snap of smart arms-drill. At the first knock the porter opened, and with a sinking of his stomach Marcus saw a dozen tall praetorians march in with swords drawn. Perhaps they were coming to take his head. On the other hand, Caesar needed a bodyguard today, of all days; it was shocking bad manners to bring an armed guard when he came calling on the praetor, but all the same it was more gracious than if he had sent a messenger to summon him.
Yes, there was Caesar himself, darting forward with a grin from behind his hedge of soldiers; there could be no forgetting that smile, even after ten years. It was said that Caesar’s smile could charm a bird from a bush, and it had been proved by experiment that no girl could resist it. He was wearing a very curious costume. Merciful gods! The mountebank had come calling in the official robes of the Pontifex Maximus!
Marcus signalled to his amateur lictors to hold their fasces upright, and himself extended his hand in the ritual gesture which signified that the praetor’s court was in session. But his wife upset the gravity of this historic interview by dashing out of the drawing-room to hurl herself into Caesar’s arms.
Caesar kissed her casually on the forehead, and then picked her up to hold her at arm’s-length, as though she were a little girl. ‘Hallo, Junia,’ he said calmly, ‘you look ten years younger than when I saw you last. I hope to have supper with your mother this evening. Where’s Tertulla, in Rome or in Capua – and brother Brutus?’
‘Cassius took Tertulla to Capua, but I expect she will come back when she knows you are in Rome. Brother Brutus was as stuffy as usual, and said it was his duty to follow the Consuls. You know what he can be like. Oh, it is fun to see you again. By the way, do you know Marcus?’
‘Of course I know Marcus. I came to your wedding, though I suppose you were too excited to notice the guests. Besides that, we met often enough in the Senate, and at parties; though it was all often years ago. Well, Marcus Lepidus, how does it feel to be sole ruler of Rome? I have a very good reason for asking, you know. By the way, if you really want to introduce ceremony into a reunion of old friends there happens to be a formula of welcome, which should be employed to greet the Pontifex Maximus when he calls uninvited on a fellow-pontiff who is also a patrician and head of his family. It’s a very old invocation in the Sabine tongue, with a few Etruscan expressions to make it more difficult. Perhaps it has slipped your memory. I’ll let you off this time, though we patricians should foster the ancient customs of our ancestors.’
The worst of it was that Caesar might be telling the truth. He was as famous for accurate knowledge of ancient ritual as for atheism. Marcus felt himself overwhelmed by the unexpected friendliness of this dread conqueror, by his wife’s familiarity with the companion of her childhood, by the frivolous chaff of an expert who could beat him in his chosen field of study. The ivory chair was now just a piece of furniture, all its magical comfort gone.
‘Now then, Junia darling,’ Caesar continued, ‘it’s splendid to meet old friends, but I really came to talk business. My orderly has a wallet stuffed with papers. Will you show me a handsome table where he can spread them? The table will look even more handsome if you embellish it with a big bowl of good wine. Then, with the praetor’s permission, we can dismiss our lictors and bodyguards and lady’s maids, and make our plans in private.’
Since Caesar took it for granted that Junia should join in the discussion Marcus did not ask her to go to the drawing-room. There was just room for the three of them in the tiny private office, at the inner end of the hall; and a rank of stolid praetorians kept the household servants out of hearing.
The handsome well-preserved man-about-town seemed to loom larger as he looked Marcus full in the face, his finger tapping a map of Italy. There were lines of anxiety round his mouth, and his voice was deadly serious.
‘Pompeius is preparing to fall back on Brundisium,’ he began. ‘He knows how to handle a rearguard; there’s no question of catching him and ending the war at a blow. Once inside the port he might in theory sail west to join his forces in Spain; but his fleet is gathering in the Adriatic and the noble statesmen who impede his staff-officers are mad to get their hands on the moneybags of Asia. We’ll assume that when he embarks he sails for Greece. We shall also assume that he’s out of Italy within a month at the longest. Once he is safely overseas I must make arrangements for the proper government of Rome, before I march north to deal with his army in Spain. For that I shall need helpers here in the City.’
He broke off to stare once more at his host. ‘We shall also assume that you are on my side, Marcus. I know your political beliefs. You are a Popular by family tradition, willing to put up with me because I am leader of the Populars. Now Junia is a Caesarian; willing to put up with the Populars because they follow Caesar.’
‘And which are you, Caesar?’ asked Marcus, greatly daring.
‘Oh, a Caesarian, of course. But the Populars won’t lose by my leadership. You yourself have broken with Pompeius, merely by coming back to Rome. If you fall into his hands he will chop off your head. So if I lose you also are ruined. But if you take my orders, for in this desperate war I haven’t time to advise and persuade, if you take my orders and I win, there is a splendid future for you.’
Marcus did not approve of the tone of this speech, from a public enemy to the urban praetor. But he had known for some days that Caesar must soon occupy the City, a
nd that sooner or later there would be an interview on these lines. He could compose a dignified and appropriate speech on any subject, if he had plenty of time to think it out beforehand. His answer was ready.
‘Within a mile of this room fell my eldest brother, fighting for the liberties of the people. My father died for the same cause. If every Roman must choose a side, then I am a Popular. But is there no middle ground, anywhere in the world? Must we all submit to the tyranny of Pompeius, or else draw our swords against him? My brother Paullus left for Capua with the Consuls; so did Junia’s half-brother, Marcus Brutus. That shows there are honest men on both sides. Can’t you even now negotiate with Pompeius?’
‘Not with Pompeius. The old boy has too much sense. He’s a very fine soldier, but whenever he negotiates with anyone he gets the worst of the bargain. Do you remember what the Senate did to him when he came back from Asia? He knows that if he negotiates I shall make rings round him; but if he fights he has a chance of winning. I must destroy Pompeius in battle. But that doesn’t mean that every Roman must fight in his army or mine. There is room for neutrals. For example, you haven’t heard the latest news about your brother Paullus. He left for Capua, certainly; but he never got there. He is hiding somewhere in Campania, waiting to make his peace with the victors. You can do the same, if you like.’
Three's Company Page 3
