Caesar

by Allan Massie

  Nevertheless one good thing came out of my marriage: I learned to know my new father-in-law, Cassius. Cassius had always been an object of some suspicion to us Caesarians. We respected his military record, of course; it was Cassius who, as praetor, had extracted the remnant of Crassus' army from the disaster of Carrhae. That was no mean achievement. We knew too that, if Pompey had followed his advice, our campaign in Greece would have been even more perilous and difficult than was the case. But few trusted him; his sardonic tongue wounded easily, and, it seemed, with pleasure. Even Caesar was not comfortable in his presence, complaining of his "lean and hungry look". He tried to laugh off the unease Cassius occasioned. "Let me have men about me that are fat."

  Now Cassius said to me:

  "Has it occurred to you that the State is out of balance? I yield to none in my admiration for Caesar's genius, and I know that you, Decimus, are his most loyal adherent. But... I belong to the Epicurean persuasion, you know, and we believe that there must be a measure in all things; nothing to excess. Isn't Caesar's preponderance in the State somewhat excessive? His glory outshines all others. The splendour of his sun casts all others into the shadows. How long do you suppose Roman noblemen, reared, as we all are, in a tradition which lays such great stress on virtue and personal achievement, will be content to lie in obscurity as a result of the light that is concentrated on Caesar?"

  "These are dangerous thoughts."

  "But they are only thoughts, words taking the air, philosophical speculations, no more than that." He poured wine.

  "Cicero," I said, "has been talking of the dangers of what he terms 'individualism'. Are you saying the same thing?"

  "Cicero, let us agree, is an old windbag. We have always striven to excel, and what is that strife but the individualism he has now discovered? But formerly, the contest was one in which any man of noble birth might hope to triumph. It was agreed that that triumph should not be enduring; that others must have their turn in the limelight, while men of outstanding merit rested in the background ready to resume their labours if the State required their service. But now? Things are different, aren't they? Caesar's pre-eminence is such that we find ourselves asking whether we serve Rome or Caesar."

  "Young Octavius" - to my annoyance I felt myself blushing as I pronounced his name - "suggested to me that our ancestors found a means of harnessing the desire to excel to the public good, which we, in our generation, have lost."

  "That young man would be wise not to let his uncle hear him speak in that vein. But he is right. The question is: what should be done? Do you think, Decimus, that it might be possible to persuade Caesar to retire from public life? There is, after all, the example of Sulla."

  "Sulla is not a name to mention to Caesar, especially not as a pattern he might follow."

  "I understand that. I am not speaking idly, Decimus, as Cicero now speaks. Caesar is heading for trouble. The more he separates himself from his natural peers, the more he stands alone in his glory, the more surely he breeds discontent. The last public service Caesar could do would be to withdraw, to devote his talents to the practice of literature perhaps. After all, he often says that that is his chief joy in life. I don't believe him, of course; everyone knows he prefers women and war. But that is no reason why he shouldn't be taken at his word. I was never worried by Pompey's pre-eminence because I always knew that Pompey was more show than substance. But Caesar is a different matter. His pre-eminence is real. That is why it is dangerous: for him and for Rome."

  "What do you mean, Cassius?"

  "He will return victorious from Africa. He will then go to Spain and extirpate the last remnants of armed opposition. What will he do then? There are those who say he wishes to call himself King."

  Dusk was falling. We were in Cassius' villa in the Alban Hills. A fierce winter wind threw red-tinted clouds across the sky. The tops of the pine trees bent before it. Far below one could see the wind troubling the waters of the lake. Cassius threw another log of beech-wood on the fire. It spat and crackled; sparks of light danced and died away.

  "A new year," Cassius said. "What will it bring?"

  "Caesar would never accept a crown," I said.

  "No? You think not? I wish I could be as certain. Cicero says that Caesar will throw off the mask of clemency when he has finally disposed of all his enemies in arms. Do you believe that?"

  "No," I said, "I don't. Caesar's clemency is not assumed as a disguise or as a necessary policy. Say what you will against Caesar, censure his pride; nevertheless recognise that his impulse to clemency is innate. He is clement by nature."

  "He is clement," Cassius said, "because he feels so great a sense of his own superiority. It is a means of registering that superiority. To revenge himself on his enemies would be, in his eyes, to lower himself to their level. Yes, I understand that."

  "That may be so. But I also know that this impulse was-fortified by his own youthful experiences in the days of Sulla's proscriptions. I have often heard him say that history proves that by practising cruelty, you earn nothing but hatred. 'Nobody,' he says, 'ever achieved an enduring victory by such means except Sulla, and Sulla is a man I do not propose to imitate.'"

  (If I read this passage to Artixes, he will certainly answer that Caesar practised abominable cruelties in Gaul.)

  "All right," Cassius said, "I accept that. But do you know what Cicero is also saying: that it is a disgrace to live under Caesar's rule. He has even been heard to mutter that he wished Caesar would persecute him, so that he might regain his self-respect."

  "In my opinion, Cicero would in the last resort abandon his self-respect more readily than his comfort and security."

  "You are right there, Decimus. Indeed he has already done so, which accounts for his grumpiness. Well, we shall not settle these matters this afternoon, but remember: I do not think things can continue as they are. I fear we are to be confronted with the choice between tyranny and anarchy, and I do not know which is the more to be feared. I have heard Caesar quote Euripides: 'Is crime consonant with nobility? Then noblest is the crime of tyranny.' It is a temptation which I fear he will find irresistible. And then where shall we be? Meanwhile, let's to supper. I trust my daughter is conducting herself to your satisfaction. She needs a husband's discipline, having been spared a father's on account of my long absences. And, Decimus, keep a tight hold of young Octavius. That friendship you have established may serve us well."

  If only he knew, I thought. Perhaps he did, and did not care.

  Word came the next month that Caesar had destroyed his enemies in Africa. Even those who were hostile to Caesar rejoiced, since Cato and the other commanders had allied themselves to King Juba of Numidia and even gone so far as to propose to surrender an imperial province to the barbarian King. Cato, either fearing Caesar's vengeance or disdaining the clemency which he would have received as an insult, fell on his sword. I could not regard this as other than a satisfactory conclusion to a foolish life. Ironically, many received it rather as proof of Cato's superior and antique virtue. For my part, I have never admired suicides, though I know this is an unfashionable opinion. It pleased me, however, that Octavius was of my mind.

  "I can't see why people praise suicides. It's living that takes courage. Not to give up. I shall never never give up."

  I believed him. I still do, now when the temptation of suicide is powerful. So easy, I think, to despise and resist that temptation, to condemn the act, from a position of security and comfort. But now ... to choose my own way, rather than to expose myself to the humiliation of whatever death is determined for me? And yet ... I see Octavius touch his upper lip with his tongue in that perhaps nervous gesture of his, and hear his cold, clear voice: ". . . not to give up. I shall never never give up." We discussed it further, I recall. He suggested that it was time we put away what he called "the dramatic affectations of the old Republic. A man is but a man," he said. "He should not see himself as a tragic figure. Keep such gestures for the stage. Life is not a play or dra
ma."

  Can he really, so young, pretty and untried, have said all that, brooded on such matters?

  Are his words a comfort to me now or a reproach?

  CHAPTER 7

  Caesar returned from Africa and celebrated four Triumphs in a single month to commemorate his victories in Gaul, Egypt, Pontus and Africa. This was a statement of his unprecedented glory. Of course, the first three should have been celebrated long before, if the exigencies of civil war had not prevented it. But he was pleased to group them together in this way. The month of holiday delighted the people and confirmed them in their belief that Caesar was like no other man who had ever lived. After all, Triumphs are rare. A single Triumph has conventionally been regarded as the apogee of the most illustrious career. This concatenation of Triumphs emphasised, as nothing else could - not even the dictatorship for life which he was soon to be voted — his extraordinary pre-eminence.

  Naturally, as one of his chief and trusted lieutenants, my own part was conspicuous. Caesar was too wise and cautious to deny his generals their share in his glory. I rode immediately behind him in the first Triumph, which celebrated his conquest of Gaul. Indeed, I played my part in mitigating the effects of an unfortunate accident, which, had I not been at hand, might have turned into the sort of catastrophe which would have set the superstitious muttering about evil omens.

  It happened like this. As Caesar rode through the Velabrum, serene amidst the cheering crowd, the axle of his triumphal chariot broke. The cart lurched to the left. Caesar was thrown sideways and would have toppled to the ground had I not spurred my horse forward and seized his shoulder, arresting his fall. The horses were reined in, and carpenters or wheelwrights (I am vague about tradesmen) hurried forward to repair the damage. The procession was halted for perhaps half an hour, to the consternation of those behind. Naturally Caesar thanked me for my help, but there was a note in his voice which I interpreted as resentful. It was as if my intervention had somehow detracted from his glory on this day of days, even though a moment's calm reflection should have told him that his glory would have been considerably more tarnished if he had taken a toss.

  Nevertheless, that evening Casca remarked:

  "Poor Mouse, haven't you yet understood that Caesar finds it easier to forgive his enemies than to thank his friends? But don't take it too seriously. I hear you have a charming little affair in train. Dangerous of course, but that adds to the charm."

  After that unfortunate incident, which at least gave Caesar a good chance to hear some of the bawdy songs his legionaries were singing in his honour, he ascended to the Capitol between two lines of elephants, forty in number, which served as torch-bearers. The populace is always delighted by the sight of elephants, and there was certainly on this occasion something agreeably grotesque in seeing these great beasts lining the ascent with flaming flambeaux rising above their mighty shoulders. Generally, I am bored by elephants, partly perhaps because I know how ridiculously useless they are in war, when they are more likely to disrupt their own side than the enemy. But I have a theory that the populace's attachment to them is connected with the terror which the Carthaginian elephants reputedly inspired in our legions when first encountered; it satisfies the people to see a force which so alarmed their ancestors now tame and domesticated. I suppose that is fair enough; it is, you might say, a symbol of Rome's mastery of the world.

  As I have already mentioned, the Gallic Triumph saw the end of Vercingetorix. I was sorry about that, and had indeed urged Caesar to consider breaking with tradition in order to spare his defeated but never dishonoured foe.

  "It will do us credit in Gaul," I said, "and reconcile many to our rule. Moreover, Vercingetorix is a man of such courage and character that I really believe we could find a use for him. I know that you have been considering broadening the Senate to include provincials, even Gauls, among its members. Don't you think there is a case for making Vercingetorix one of them? He has, after all, now been held for several years here in the city, and though I haven't had conversation with him myself, I am told by those who have that he has divested himself of his barbarian habits of thought and behaviour, and come to appreciate something of the majesty of Rome. You have shown notable clemency to those Romans who viciously and without good reason set themselves against you. Mightn't it be a good idea to show the same generosity towards one who has claims to be regarded as the most formidable enemy you have defeated? After all, our concept of Empire is going to have to change, you've suggested as much yourself. Sooner or later, we shall find it necessary - and indeed desirable - to regard the conquered peoples as partners rather than subjected enemies."

  I may say that I had got this idea from young Octavius, but I saw no reason to attribute it to him at that moment. If Caesar assented, then I would remark that my suggestion was the fruit of conversations I had had with his nephew; if he declined my proposal, then it would have been unfair to lay the responsibility at Octavius' door. Besides, I didn't want Caesar to suppose that I was capable of being influenced by one whom he thought of as a mere boy. He might have started to enquire more closely into the relations between us, and I had no fancy that he should do so.

  "I had never thought of you as a political theorist, Mouse," he said. "Perhaps there is something in what you say, and it is certainly true that I intend to reform the Senate, though I don't remember discussing the matter with you. But your immediate proposition is absurd. Vercingetorix conducted a vicious and unprincipled war against us. Thousands of my soldiers lost friends and comrades as a result of his obduracy and treachery. I will not cheat them of the death they have a right to expect. Nor will I put other Roman lives at risk by doing anything which may encourage barbarian chieftains to think they can oppose our arms, and not suffer as a consequence. To spare Vercingetorix would be a terrible precedent, which would let loose a tide of bloodshed throughout the Empire. Do you not realise, you fool" - yes, that is how he addressed me, and it was at that moment that I understood the cold anger I had provoked - "do you not realise what holds the Empire together? I will tell you in one word, and that word is 'fear'. Perhaps a time may come when moods will have changed, and when the subject peoples will look on Rome as a Father. But not yet; now the most we can hope is that they will respect and fear us as their master. And even if that moment of which I speak arrives, is it not true that there is always something of fear even in the love which a son may feel for his father? Mouse, Mouse, two emotions rule the world and govern the ordinary man: fear and greed."

  "What of love of virtue and glory? You cannot discount them."

  "I spoke of ordinary men, not of the exceptional man. Yes, I myself . . ." he paused, drummed his fingers on the table and looked, for a long silence, into the distance as if great armies ranged themselves before him and he gazed on twilight battlefields disturbed only by the cries of the wounded and the circling of those birds of prey that feed on the dead. "Yes, Caesar may be driven by the loves you speak of, the desire for fame and glory, for that supreme virtue that stands aloof from the common run of curs, but they, snarling and cringing in the mire, what can they know of such things? No, fear and greed are the passions that make men what they are . . . There are moments also, at owl-light, when it seems to me that even Caesar's search for glory is but another, more rarefied expression of greed. It may be a form of fear also; for what would Caesar be without such glory — something which even he dare not contemplate? No, Mouse, Vercingetorix must die the death prepared and ordained for him. Besides," his voice lightened and he bestowed on me that smile which of all smiles could most surely charm men, "the mob might turn against me if I spared him. They like death and executions, haven't you noticed?"

  He stood up, took my arm and led me to the window whence we could gaze down on the Forum, busy in preparation for tomorrow's Triumph. He pinched my ear.

  "Mouse, there have been moments when I have hoped that you at least understood me. But it seems not. So let me speak plainly. You compare my determination that Vercin
getorix should die with my clemency towards those senators and others who have opposed me in our terrible civil wars, and you confess yourself baffled. But consider that clemency: does it abate the fear I arouse in such men? Not at all. Almost the reverse. A Roman nobleman who owes his life to my clemency feels himself forever my inferior. He knows my greatness, because he can never forget that for one terrible long hour I held his life, his neck, between my thumb and forefinger. He has faced extinction at my hands. And he is made conscious of his inferiority by the action of my grace. But a barbarian cannot think like that. He is incapable of it, because his sense of honour is quite different from ours. He would merely think I had in some way gone soft, that Rome could therefore be opposed with impunity. The Roman senator, whom I spare, feels on the other hand in Caesar's clemency Caesar's strength. He stands rebuked by Caesar's refusal to punish him. Besides, Mouse, you must think of this. It is against the law to put Roman citizens to death without trial, and Cicero has never been forgiven for his decision to do so in the case of those who joined with Catiline. But it is different with barbarians, and so Vercingetorix must die."

  They say he did so with great courage.

  Was it further to mark out his pre-eminence that, in the Pontic Triumph which followed, Caesar ordered that one of the decorated wagons should bear, instead of the customary stage-set representing scenes from the war, merely the legend: