It was then, looking down at that coldly curt letter, that Caesar made up his mind to plan for all eventualities. They will not let me be all that I should be. That I am entitled to be. Yet they will accommodate a quasi-Roman like Pompeius. Bow and scrape to him. Exalt him. Fill him with ideas of his own importance, all the while sniggering at him behind their hands. Well, that's his burden. One day he'll discover what they really think of him. When the circumstances are right their masks will drop, and Pompeius will be genuinely devastated. He's exactly like Cicero when Catilina seemed certain to be consul. The boni espoused the despised bumpkin from Arpinum to keep out a man who had the blood. Now they espouse Pompeius to keep me out. But I will not let that happen. I am no Catilina! They want my hide, for no better reason than that my excellence forces them to see the extent of their own inadequacies. They think they can compel me to cross the pomerium into Rome to declare my candidacy, and, in crossing the pomerium, abandon the imperium which protects me from prosecution. They'll all be there at the electoral booth ready to pounce with a dozen trumped-up suits for treason, for extortion, for bribery, for peculation for murder, if they can find someone to swear I was seen sneaking into the Lautumiae to throttle Vettius. I'll be like Gabinius, like Milo. Condemned in so many different courts for so many different crimes that I will never be able to show my face in Italia again. I will be stripped of my citizenship, my deeds will be erased from the history books, and men like Ahenobarbus and Metellus Scipio will be popped into my provinces to lake the credit, just as Pompeius took the credit for what Lucullus did. That will not happen. I will not let it happen, no matter what I have to do to avert it. In the meantime I will continue to work to be allowed to run in absentia, my imperium intact until I assume the imperium of the senior consul. I do not want to be known as a man who acted unconstitutionally. Never in my life have I acted unconstitutionally. Everything has been done as the mos maiorum says it should be done. That is my greatest ambition: to attain my second consulship within the bounds of the law. Once I become consul, I can deal with all their trumped-up charges by using the law legally. They know that. They fear that. But they cannot bear to lose. For if they lose, they admit that I am better than they are in every conceivable way, from brilliance to blood. For I am one man, and they are many. If I defeat them within the law, they will be as chagrined as the sphinx and have no other recourse than to jump over the nearest cliff. However, I will also plan for the worst. I will begin to do those things which will ensure that I succeed outside the law. Oh, the fools! They always underestimate me. Jupiter Optimus Maximus, if that be the name you would like to hear; Jupiter Optimus Maximus, of whatever sex you prefer; Jupiter Optimus Maximus, who is all the Gods and forces of Rome fused into one; Jupiter Optimus Maximus, contract with me to win! Should you do this, I hereby swear that I will accord you those sacrifices which do you the greatest honor and give you the most satisfaction....
The campaign to reduce the Bituriges had taken forty days. As soon as Caesar had arrived back in the camp just below the mount of Aeduan Bibracte, he assembled the Thirteenth and the Fifteenth and donated to every man in both legions one female Biturigan prisoner whom he could keep as a servant, or sell to the slavers. After which he gave every ranker a cash bonus of two hundred sesterces, and every centurion a cash bonus of two thousand sesterces. Out of his own purse. "This is my thanks for your wonderful support," he said to his soldiers. "What Rome pays you is one thing, but it is time that I, Gaius Julius Caesar, gave you something out of my own private purse as a special thank-you. The past forty days have seen little booty, yet I've taken you out of your well-earned winter rest and asked you to march fifty miles a day for almost every one of those forty days. After a terrible winter, spring and summer in the field against Vercingetorix, you deserved to sit back and do nothing for six months at least. But did you grumble when I said you'd be marching? No! Did you complain when I asked you for Herculean efforts? No! Did you slacken pace, did you ask for more to eat, did you for one moment give me less than your best? No! No, no, no! You're the men of Caesar's legions, and Rome has never seen your like! You're my boys! As long as my life shall last, you're my beloved boys!" They cheered him hysterically, as much for his calling them his beloved boys as for the money and the slave, who also came out of his private purse; the profits from the sale of slaves belonged exclusively to the General. Trebonius looked sideways at Decimus Brutus. "What's he up to, Decimus? It's a wonderful gesture, but they didn't expect it and I can't work out what possessed him to make it." "I had a letter from Curio in the same bag which brought Caesar a letter from the Senate," said Decimus Brutus, speaking too softly for Mark Antony or the tribunes to hear. "They won't let him stand in absentia, and the mood in the House is to strip him of his imperium as soon as possible. They want him disgraced and sent into permanent exile. So does Pompeius Magnus." Trebonius grunted scornfully. "That last doesn't surprise me! Pompeius isn't worth one of Caesar's bootlaces." "Nor are any of the others." "That goes without saying." He turned and left the parade ground, Decimus walking with him. "Do you think he'd do it?" Decimus Brutus didn't blink. "I think ... I think they're insane to provoke him, Gaius. Because yes, if they leave him no alternative he'll march on Rome." "And if he does?" The invisible blond brows rose. "What do you think?" "He'd slaughter them." "I agree." "So we have a choice to make, Decimus." "You may have a choice to make. I don't. I'm Caesar's man through thick and thin." "And I. Yet he's no Sulla." "For which we ought to be thankful, Trebonius." Perhaps because of this conversation, neither Decimus Brutus nor Gaius Trebonius was in a talkative mood over dinner; they lay together on the lectus summus, with Caesar alone on the lectus medius and Mark Antony alone on the lectus imus, opposite them. "You're being mighty generous," said Antony, crunching through an apple in two bites. "I know you have a reputation for open-handedness, but" he wrinkled his brow fiercely, eyes screwed closed "that's a total of one hundred talents you gave away today, or near enough." Caesar's eyes twinkled. Antony amused him intensely, and he liked that good-natured acceptance of his role as butt. "By all that Mercury holds dear, Antonius, your mathematical skills are phenomenal! You did that sum in your head. I think it's time you took over the proper duties of quaestor and let poor Gaius Trebatius do something more suited to his inclinations, if not his talents. Don't you agree?" he asked Trebonius and Decimus Brutus. They nodded, grinning. "I piss on the proper duties of quaestor!" growled Antony, flexing the muscles in his thighs, a sight which would have had most of feminine Rome swooning, but was quite wasted on his present audience. "It's necessary to know something about money, Antonius," said Caesar. "I realize you think it's liquid enough to pour like water, witness your colossal debts, but it's also a substance of great usefulness to a would-be consul and commander of armies." "You're avoiding my point," said Antony shrewdly, tempering insolence with a winning smile. "You've just outlaid one hundred talents to the men of two of your eleven legions, and given every last one of them a slave he could sell for a thousand more sesterces. Not that many of them will this side of high spring, as you made sure they got the juiciest, youngest women." He rolled over on his couch and began flexing the muscles in his massive calves. "What I really want to know is, are you going to limit your sudden generosity to a mere two of your eleven legions?" "That would be imprudent," said Caesar gravely. "I intend to campaign throughout the autumn and winter, taking two legions at a time. But always different legions." "Clever!" Antony reached out to pick up his goblet, and drank deeply. "My dear Antonius, don't oblige me to remove wine from the winter menu," said Caesar. "If you can't drink in moderation, I'll require abstinence. I suggest you water it." "One of the many things I don't understand about you," said Antony, frowning, "is why you have this tic about one of the best gifts the Gods have ever given men. Wine's a panacea." "It is not a panacea. Nor do I deem it a gift," Caesar said. "I'd rather call it a curse. Straight out of Pandora's box. Even taken sparingly, it blunts the sword of one's thoughts just enough to prevent splitt
ing a hair." Antony roared with laughter. "So that's the answer, Caesar! You're nothing but a hairsplitter!"
Eighteen days after his return to Bibracte, Caesar was off again, this time to reduce the Carnutes. Trebonius and Decimus Brutus went with him; Antony, much to his displeasure, was left to mind the shop. Quintus Cicero brought the Seventh from winter quarters in Cabillonum, but Publius Sulpicius sent the Fourteenth from Matisco, as Caesar didn't require his services. "I came myself," said Quintus Cicero, "because my brother has just written to ask me to accompany him to Cilicia in April." "You don't look happy at the prospect, Quintus," said Caesar gently. "I'll miss you." "And I you. I've had the three best years of my life here with you in Gaul." "I like to hear that, because they haven't been easy." "No, never easy. Maybe that's why they've been so good. I I I appreciate your trust in me, Caesar. There have been times when I deserved a roaring-out, like that business with the Sugambri, but you've never roared me out. Or made me feel inadequate." "My dear Quintus," said Caesar with his warmest smile, "why should I have roared you out? You've been a wonderful legate, and I wish you were staying until the end." The smile faded, the eyes looked suddenly into the distance. "Whatever the end may be." Puzzled, Quintus Cicero looked at him, but the face bore no expression whatsoever. Naturally Cicero's letter had recounted events in Rome in great detail, but Quintus didn't have the truly intimate knowledge of Caesar possessed by Trebonius or Decimus Brutus. Nor had he been in Bibracte when the General rewarded the men of the Thirteenth and Fifteenth. Thus when Caesar set out for Cenabum, Quintus Cicero, heavy-hearted, set out for Rome and a legateship he knew perfectly well would be neither as happy nor as profitable as working with Caesar. Under big brother's thumb again! Preached at, deprecated. There were times when families were a painful nuisance. Oh, yes ... It was now the end of February, and winter was approaching. Cenabum was still a blackened ruin, but there were no insurgents in the area to contest Caesar's use of the oppidum. He pitched camp very comfortably against its walls, put some of his soldiers into any houses still standing, and had the rest thatch the roofs and sod the walls of their tents for maximum warmth. His first order of business was to ride to Carnutum and see Cathbad, the Chief Druid. Who looked, thought Caesar, very much older and more careworn than he had those many years ago: the bright golden hair had gone to a drabber shade of grey-and-gold, the blue eyes were exhausted. "It was foolish to oppose me, Cathbad," the conqueror said. Oh, he did look every inch the conqueror! Was there nothing could wipe away that incredible air of confidence, that vigorous and forthright crispness which oozed out of the man? Haloed his head, limned his body? Why did the Tuatha send Caesar to contest with us? Why him, when Rome has so many bumbling incompetents? "I had no choice" was what Cathbad said. He lifted his chin proudly. "I assume you're here to take me captive, that I am to walk with the others in your triumphal parade." Caesar smiled. "Cathbad, Cathbad! Do you take me for a fool? It's one thing to take warrior prisoners of war or end the activities of rebellious kings. But to victimize a country's priests is absolute insanity. You will note, I hope, that no Druid has been apprehended, nor prevented from going about his work of healing or counseling. That's my firm policy, and all my legates know it." "Why did the Tuatha send you?" "I imagine they entered into a pact with Jupiter Optimus Maximus. The world of the Gods has its laws and accommodations, just as our world does. Evidently the Tuatha felt that the forces connecting them to the Gauls were diminishing in some mysterious way. Not from lack of Gallic enthusiasm or want of religious observance. Just that nothing remains the same, Cathbad. The earth shifts, people change, times come and go. As do the Gods of all peoples. Perhaps the Tuatha are sickened by human votive sacrifices, just as other Gods became sickened. I do not believe that Gods remain static either, Cathbad." "It's interesting that a man so welded to the political and practical attitudes of his country can also be so truly religious." "I believe in our Gods with all my mind." "But what about your soul?" "We Romans don't believe in souls as you Druids do. All that outlasts the body is a mindless shade. Death is a sleep," said Caesar. "Then you should fear it more than those who believe we live on after it." "I think we fear it less." The pale blue eyes blazed suddenly with, pain, grief, passion. "Why should any man or woman want more of this?" Caesar demanded. "It is a vale of tears, a terrible trial of strength. For every inch we gain, we fall back a mile. Life is there to be conquered, Cathbad, but the price! The price! No one will ever defeat me. I will not let them. I believe in myself, and I have set a pattern for myself." "Then where is the vale of tears?" asked Cathbad. "In the methods. In human obstinacy. In lack of foresight. In failing to see the best way, the graceful way. For seven long years I have tried to make your people understand that they cannot win. That for the future well-being of this land, they must submit. And what do they do? Fling themselves into my flame like moths into a lamp. Force me to kill more of them, enslave more of them, destroy more houses, villages, towns. I would far rather pursue a softer, more clement policy, but they will not let me." "The answer is easy, Caesar. They won't give in, so you must. You have brought Gaul a consciousness of its identity, of its might and power. And having brought it, nothing can take it away. We Druids will sing of Vercingetorix for ten thousand years." "They must give in, Cathbad! I cannot. That's why I've come to see you, to ask that you tell them to give in. Otherwise you leave me no choice. I'll have to do to every inch of Gaul what I've just done to the Bituriges. But that's not what I want to do. There won't be anyone left save Druids. What kind of fate is that?" "I won't tell them to submit," said Cathbad. "Then I'll start here at Carnutum. In no other place have I left the treasures untouched. Yet here they have been sacrosanct. Defy me, and I'll loot Carnutum. No Druid or his wife or his children will be touched. But Carnutum will lose those great piles of offerings accumulated over the centuries." "Then go ahead. Loot Carnutum." Caesar sighed, and meant the sigh. "The remembrance of cruelty is scant comfort in one's old age, but what I am forced to do, I will do." Cathbad laughed joyously. "Oh, rubbish! Caesar, you must know how much all the Gods love you! Why torment yourself with thoughts you, of all men, understand have no validity? You won't live to be old, the Gods would never permit it. They'll take you in your prime. I have seen it." His breath caught; Caesar laughed too. "For that I thank you! Carnutum is safe." He began to walk away, but said over his shoulder, still laughing, "Gaul, however, is not!"
5. Caesar Page 40
