Three's Company

by Alfred Duggan

  Lepidus felt better after he had delivered this little homily. For a moment the freedman had punctured his self-esteem; but the fellow, though bright and well-educated, was only a foreigner who could not understand the dignity and moral worth of the Roman constitution. All the same, he must be careful in his dealings with these soldiers. Nowadays their opinion mattered, though they seldom bothered to vote in the Forum. An Aemilius could not be expected to drink with them in taverns, or to cap their bawdy anecdotes; the Antonius brothers did, and it made them popular with their men; but they were Antonii.

  Lepidus sometimes feared that his troops lacked respect for their commander. He had no experience of leadership in the field, and he could not tell in advance whether he would be good at it when the time came. His men ought to be content with their present service. They were Caesarian veterans, who had earned all the glory a reasonable man should need while following Caesar in Gaul. In this Spanish garrison they were punctually and lavishly paid, well fed and well supplied; he had never harried them with forced marches or compelled them to bivouac under the sky. He was a good man of affairs, whose accounts were always in balance; and with the wealth of the Lepidi behind him he was not tempted to accept bribes from army contractors. Perhaps these men would not respect him as they respected Caesar, until he had led them to a bloody victory. But if they knew when they were well off they must be pleased to be in his army. The unpleasant fear which had come to him a few days ago, that his legions might desert to Cassius if they were offered the plunder of Spain, was only a silly nightmare.

  Three days later, riding back from Corduba to his camp, Lepidus decided to get into friendly conversation with his orderly. He wanted to find out what the legionaries were really thinking. The orderly was only a common soldier; but he was an experienced veteran, one of the best type of professional legionary. Quintus Crastinus was a nephew of the famous centurion who had met a hero’s death at Pharsalus, but he was without ambition; after ten years’service he was glad to get the comfortable post of orderly to the proconsul. He would sleep in his blankets every night and never go foraging for firewood. His work was responsible, though it could not lead to promotion; in action it was his duty to stand beside his commander and protect him with his shield, since senior officers did not themselves carry shields. With some commanders that might be a very hazardous duty, but Crastinus suspected that the shield-bearer to Marcus Lepidus would probably die of old age.

  ‘Well, my man, do you think the troops will feel cheated of their battle?’ began Lepidus, swallowing the slight awkwardness he always felt when conversing with a social inferior. ‘If the propraetor had defied us they might have plundered his camp.’

  ‘No, sir, we are all very glad to know it’s peace. We are paid to fight, and if there’s fighting to be done we’ll do it. But we don’t like fighting against Romans, even when there is something to fight about. It’s dangerous to fence with swordsmen who learned the same parries and thrusts on the same parade ground; not like facing barbarians, when all you have to do is keep in line. And to plunder their camp would feel like stealing from a comrade.’

  ‘Then they won’t mind when they see Cassius and his men march away unmolested?’ Lepidus persisted. ‘There may even be rude gestures as they defile past our camp. If you look at it correctly they have submitted to the lawful authority of the Senate and People of Rome; but this afternoon they were rejoicing as though they had won a victory.’

  ‘That’s because they saw themselves trapped, and now they’ve found a way out. Of course there will be some fingers pointed, in twos I shouldn’t wonder. They will be in column of route, free to thumb their noses; we shall be standing at attention. All the same, they will be showing their backs to us, and the men know that. I suppose you knew all along, sir, that if the propraetor had been sticky his men would have deserted to us? What had they to fight for? Their plunder, certainly. But they could have brought it with them when they changed sides. You spoke in Caesar’s name, and Caesar’s legions won’t fight against Caesar. The propraetor must have known that. It’s a wonder they followed him against Marcellus, but the quaestor made the mistake of bringing in those Spanish rebels. Then the propraetor’s men could kid themselves they were fighting for Rome.’

  ‘So however the interview might go, there would have been no battle after?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. No battle. We were quite easy in our minds.’

  Lepidus rode on in silence. He had risked his life in a dangerous interview with an armed rebel, and all the time every legionary in Spain had known there was no danger of war. It was disappointing. However, in Rome it would not be known.

  His negotiation had been valuable, all the same, Lepidus knew it. Quintus Cassius had been desperate, fearing he might be declared a public enemy, if his army as a whole would not have followed him, he could at least have led into the mountains a very troublesome band of brigands.

  Lepidus had talked him over. It was strange that Lepidus could seldom talk to soldiers, or to the citizens assembled in the Forum, without his shyness setting the crowd’s nerves on edge and putting public opinion against him; yet when he spoke to an individual, to another nobleman of good position, he could usually carry his point. He was honest enough to recognize that it was a help to be Aemilius Lepidus, for Aemilius Lepidus must carry weight with any nobleman who revered the ways of the ancestors. He did not realize that his manner and his outlook were the very quintessence of the respectable point of view, so that his adversary heard the embodied voice of all the Senate past and present, the images and the ancestors and the rather sententious and sanctimonious heroes of old, speaking through this dignified, brave, stupid aristocrat; but in truth that was a powerful reinforcement.

  Cassius had agreed to go quietly, on condition he might take back to Rome the enormous sum of money he had wrung from his misgoverned province. Marcellus, after another awkward interview, had agreed to recognize the authority of Trebonius. Marcellus was not a zealous servant of the state. He refused to crucify the rebels who had entered Corduba to join his forces, and instead gave them safe conduct to return to their mountains. That was putting his private honour before the welfare of Rome. Lepidus must in duty report this mistaken clemency to Caesar, and that would be the end of Marcellus’s official career. Then Lepidus corrected himself; Marcellus was a Claudius, and there was no keeping down an ambitious and clever member of the gens Claudia. They could survive misdemeanours that would wreck the reputation even of an Aemilius.

  Now he was nearing the camp, where the tribunes had called out his legions on parade. He must ride down the line to inspect them, and it would be only humane to tell them that they need not fight after all. Tomorrow they would begin the toilsome march back to the Hither province. Wasn’t there a verse about some mythical commander who had marched his men up a hill and then marched them down again? If the troops felt sulky someone in the rear rank would murmur it, and then there would be sniggers. He was not cut out to be a general; the sooner he got back to the Senate and the Forum the better for everyone. Oh well. No use putting it off. Here goes.

  ‘Soldiers! I bring you good news.…’

  Merciful gods, they were cheering him! The tribunes set the example, and the legate commanding the second legion had thrown his helmet into the air! Now they were shouting his name, all together. ‘I told you, sir, that we don’t like fighting Romans,’ the orderly whispered in his, ear. But this was quite unexpected.

  It was not his name they were shouting, exactly. They were shouting something much more splendid: ‘Marcus Aemilius Lepidus – Imperator,’ with a great bellow on the final word.

  Dizzy with surprise and delight, Lepidus slid off his horse and stumbled into his hut.

  Eunomus ran to greet him. ‘I’ve told your steward to begin giving out the wine, my lord,’ he said eagerly. ‘They tell me it ought to be your gift, from your private store, not the regulation vinegar they get with their rations. There won’t be a skin of it left by midn
ight, but tomorrow we can get the local stuff, which is said to be drinkable. Will you seal a message to the lady Junia as soon as I have scribbled it? She must be informed at once; I can just catch the evening courier. Or would it be better to send the good news by special messenger?’

  ‘What good news?’ Lepidus asked vacantly, ‘and what’s all this about my wine?’

  Then the officer of the day stood saluting in the entry.

  ‘Imperator, will you give out the password for tonight?’ he asked in the expressionless tone of the soldier on duty.

  ‘I think “Good Fortune” seems appropriate.’ Lepidus replied in a weak voice. Now he understood what had befallen him, but he still could not see why it had happened. He had been granted the supreme distinction which could come to a Roman commander; his soldiers, armed and ready for battle, had hailed him Imperator. There had been no collusion, no underhand bribery or distribution of wine in advance; the men had done it of their own free will, in a spontaneous outburst of devotion. He told himself that this was the proudest moment of his life – because it must be. But he could not forget that on this campaign no one had drawn a sword, except to repel the petty raids of brigands.

  Eunomus was speaking quietly. ‘My lord, I know this was unexpected, and I know also that a general should be hailed as Imperator after bloody battle, while he inspects the heaps of his slain enemies. But the soldiers mean it. They admire you. They know that if once they begin fighting fellow-Caesarians they must pass their lives in unending warfare, and they know also that either Cassius or Marcellus could have cut your throat when in one day you entered two hostile camps to parley. You stopped a war at the risk of your life. They feel for you as though you had held a bridge single-handed to cover their retreat. This great honour has been earned.’

  ‘You need say no more,’ answered Lepidus, recovering his gravity. ‘Caesar fought the Optimates to put an end to civil war. If Caesar has brought lasting peace there can be no more great victories. Someone must be the first bloodless Imperator, and it happens to be me. Unborn generations of Lepidi will remember it as they honour my image.’

  By September of the next year Caesar was back in Rome; and not before he was needed. In the absence of the Dictator no one was willing to take responsibility, and public security declined as the more scoundrelly Caesarians experimented to see how far Marcus Antonius would let them go. Since January there had not even been any true magistrates; Caesar should have endorsed his chosen candidates, but he had been too busy in Egypt and Asia to indicate his wishes. No elections were held, and last year’s magistrates continued in office.

  Lepidus was still in law proconsul of Hither Spain; but the province was peaceful and his mission had been accomplished. Trebonius ruled undisturbed in Further Spain. Luck had eliminated the disreputable Quintus Cassius. He had withdrawn peacefully, with a free pardon, according to the terms agreed with Lepidus; but the ship bearing his ill-gotten treasure was wrecked, and he had been drowned with his stolen gold. During the summer, while Caesar was conquering the Pontic insurgents, Lepidus turned over his province to a competent legate and returned to Italy.

  He did not re-enter Rome, for he knew the law; he had left the City as a proconsul, and if he came within the pomoerilim his powers must automatically lapse. He waited quietly in a villa in Picenum, while the private armies of Dolabella and Marcus Antonius fought one another in the Forum, while in Campania Caesarian legions mutinied, while Milo, the veteran mob-leader of the Optimates, launched his aimless insurrection and was killed in a petty skirmish. Rome in those days was no place for a respectable Caesarian, a Lepidus who upheld the liberties of the people but also upheld the right even of the rich to own property.

  Then Caesar came. The mutinous troops returned to duty, Dolabella was packed off to comfortable exile, the Antonius brothers stayed within bounds, and magistrates were duly elected. Still Lepidus lingered in Picenum; he was hoping for a Triumph.

  If anyone were ill-mannered enough to ask for a Triumph the Senate would vote it down without hesitation; the honour must come unsought. But a magistrate who tarried outside the City, feeding soldiers and lictors at his private expense, reminded the Senators that his claim merited consideration. Lepidus knew that the affair would speedily be brought to Caesar’s attention; he would not be kept hanging about, like poor old Cicero.

  The matter was quickly settled. Caesar called in person at the villa. Outside Rome the Dictator kept no great state, though of course a man with so many enemies must always have a bodyguard; but it was the businesslike bodyguard of a soldier, not the ceremonial escort of an absolute ruler. Lepidus deplored its necessity, but he could not accuse Caesar of unconstitutional pomp.

  They talked in a shady portico; just the Dictator and his secretary, Lepidus and Eunomus, and Junia with a confidential maid. It was almost like the old days ten years ago, when Caesar had been a gay and rising Senator. But in those days Junia would not have been so free with her endearments. Now anything was permitted to Caesar.

  After some gossip about Servilia and Tertulla, a discussion which Lepidus found embarrassing, for it made him feel he was intruding on a family reunion, Caesar came to business. Lepidus was delighted to learn that he was very highly regarded by the government of the republic; all his desires would be gratified even before he had voiced them.

  ‘Of course the new Imperator must enter Rome in Triumph,’ Caesar began. ‘Have you any trophies or prisoners, my dear Lepidus? It won’t be much of a procession without them, you know, even if you did no fighting.’

  ‘I caught some Spanish brigands, and kept them alive in case they might be needed. Trophies are more difficult, but I suppose I could show pictures of my interviews with Cassius and Marcellus.’

  ‘My dear fellow, you can show a model of the walls of Corduba. Didn’t the city yield to your arms? There could be another model of the camp of Cassius. Even if you took no valuable plunder, you must have a few Spanish weapons and curios; if necessary I’ll lend you some of my Asiatic spoil. I’m glad you kept some prisoners. I don’t like to see harmless slaves strangled as the Triumphator enters the temple of Jupiter; but there must be men killed at that time, to make the gods pay attention to what’s going on. Well then, you have everything needful. Tomorrow I shall tell the Senate that they must vote you a Triumph before the end of the month. Now what about the future? I suppose you would like to be Consul, as your ancestors were?’

  ‘Of course I want to be Consul, just as I want a Triumph. I deserve these honours, and they prove me worthy of my family. But, if you will forgive me for saying so, I should like to be honoured by the Senate and People of Rome, not by a decree of the Dictator. If you propose, from your place in the Senate, that the fathers should grant me a Triumph, of course they will follow your advice. So that when you said just now that I might have a Triumph, as though it were in your gift, that was just a handy way of saying you would so advise the Senate. The Consulship is different; that is granted by the people. You can speak for the Senate; but I don’t like to hear a single man, however great, promising curule magistracies as though they were his private property.’

  ‘Nobly spoken, my gallant husband,’ said Junia with a smile. ‘But Caesar speaks for the people more truly than he speaks for the Senate. Think how many Senators he had to kill on the battlefield before he was acknowledged as leader of the fathers. The people have backed him ever since he crossed the Rubicon.’

  ‘Junia puts it very well, you know, Lepidus. I am not a tyrant. I hold no office foreign to the constitution; there have been Dictators before me and others will come after. All I propose is that one day you should offer yourself as candidate for the Consulship, and that I should support you. Perhaps it is my vanity that leads me to expect you would then be elected.’

  ‘I want to be Consul one day, and as a loyal Popular I would not stand against a candidate who enjoyed your support. I suppose that comes to much the same thing. Thank you, Caesar.’

  ‘Let’s get this
settled, now we have started the subject. Next year’s Consuls have not been chosen. We postponed the elections because of the disturbed condition of the City.’

  ‘Disturbed conditions is one way of putting it, Caesar my love,’ said Junia. ‘The streets were more dangerous than in the heyday of Clodius. Your rapscallions of followers were raping respectable matrons in their own bedrooms.’

  ‘Tut tut, I didn’t know things were so bad. The boys must have their fun, and now I’m back I shall keep them in order. Did dear Servilia meet with any exciting adventures?’

  ‘Mother would tell you before she told me, and you know it. But what about this Consulship? Since my husband is too noble to protect his own interests, his faithful wife must look after them.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Consulship. I was thinking of standing once more myself. I have a good following among the people, and a fair hope of success. But I shall be even stronger if I stand in partnership with another strong candidate. The combination of Julius Caesar and Aemilius Lepidus seems to me invincible.’

  ‘Do you mean that next year you will take me as your colleague? That is a greater honour than I deserve,’ said Lepidus, forgetful that curule magistracies should not be in the gift of a single man.

  ‘Yes, that is what I mean. Now let’s talk seriously. Of course I can be Consul as often as I please. My soldiers will see to it, and if they don’t the mob would lynch any opposing candidate. But I want to be the chosen ruler of the whole City, not just a faction-leader whose faction happens to hold power. I want to reassure the respectable nobles, and the law-abiding merchants. I’m a patrician myself, descended from the goddess Venus. I don’t like feeling that only freedmen and sausage-sellers support me, and that every man of honour and education dreads to see me in power. I could have chosen Marcus Antonius as my colleague, or even that scoundrel Dolabella. They are both faithful Caesarians. But then Cicero and the middle classes would take fright, seeing Cinna and Catalina come again. You are my guarantee of respectability. If Aemilius Lepidus is Consul, standing where his ancestors have stood for three hundred years, that proves that Rome has not broken with the past. I am doing you a favour, certainly; but I do it because I need your help.’