Caesar's Women (92 page)

While contiones on the land bill progressed, Caesar decided to broach the matter of Pompey's settlement of the East. By a neat bit of maneuvering he summoned the Senate to meet on a comitial day toward the end of January, perfectly legal unless an Assembly was meeting. When the four tribunes of the plebs belonging to the boni rushed to summon the Plebeian Assembly to foil Caesar's ploy, they found themselves detained by members of the Clodius Club; Clodius was happy to oblige the man who had the power to plebeianize him.

“It is imperative that we ratify the settlements and agreements entered into by Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus in the East,” Caesar said. “If tribute is to flow, it has to be sanctioned by the Roman Senate or one of the Roman Assemblies. Foreign affairs have never been the province of the Assemblies, which understand neither them nor how they are conducted. The Treasury has been severely inconvenienced by the two years of Senate inertia that I am now determined to end. Provincial tributes were set too high by the publicani, who contributed nothing in protest against having to contribute too much. That is now over and done with, but these revenues are by no means the only ones in question. There are kings and potentates all over Rome's new territories or client states who have agreed to pay large sums to Rome in return for her protection. Take the tetrarch Deiotarus of Galatia, who concluded a treaty with Gnaeus Pompeius that when ratified will bring five hundred talents a year into the Treasury. In other words, by neglecting to ratify this agreement, Rome has so far lost a thousand talents of tribute money from Galatia alone. Then we have others: Sampsiceramus, Abgarus, Hyrcanus, Pharnaces, Tigranes, Ariobarzanes Philopator, plus a host of minor princelings up and down the Euphrates. All committed to large tributes as yet un-collected because the treaties concluded with them have not been ratified. Rome is very rich, but Rome ought to be much richer! In order to pacify and settle Italia alone, Rome needs more than Rome has. I have called you together to ask that we sit on this subject until all the treaties have been examined and the objections thrashed out.”

He drew a breath and looked straight at Cato. “A word of warning. If this House refuses to deal with the ratification of the East, I will see that the Plebs does so immediately. Nor will I, a patrician, interfere or offer any guidance to the Plebs! This is your only chance, Conscript Fathers. Either do the job now or watch the Plebs reduce it to a shambles. I don't care either way, for one of these two ways will be implemented!”

“No!” shouted Lucullus from among the consulars. “No, no, no! “What about my arrangements in the East? Pompeius didn't do the conquering, I did! All the vile Pompeius did was collect the glory! It was I who subjugated the East, and I had my own settlement ready to implement! I tell you plain, Gaius Caesar, that I will not allow this House to ratify any kind of treaty concluded in the name of Rome by an ancestorless bumpkin from Picenum! Lording it over us like a king! Prancing round Rome in fancy dress! No, no, no!”

The temper snapped. “Lucius Licinius Lucullus, come here!” Caesar roared. “Stand before this dais!”

They had never liked each other, though they ought: both great aristocrats, both committed to Sulla. And perhaps that had been the cause of it, jealousy on the part of Lucullus for the younger man, who was Sulla's nephew by marriage. It was Lucullus who had first implied that Caesar was the catamite of old King Nicomedes, Lucullus who had broadcast it for toads like Bibulus to pick up.

In those days Lucullus had been a spare, trim, extremely capable and efficient governor and general, but time and a passion for ecstatic and soporific substances— not to mention wine and exotic foods—had wreaked a terrible havoc which showed in the paunchy slack body, the bloated face, the almost blind-looking grey eyes. The old Lucullus would never have responded to that bellowed command; this Lucullus tottered across the tessellated floor to stand looking up at Caesar, mouth agape.

“Lucius Licinius Lucullus,” said Caesar in a softer voice, though not a kinder, “I give you fair warning. Retract your words or I will have the Plebs do to you what the Plebs did to Servilius Caepio! I will have you arraigned on charges of failing in your commission from the Senate and People of Rome to subjugate the East and see an end of the two kings. I will have you arraigned, and I will see you sent into permanent exile on the meanest and most desolate dropping of land Our Sea possesses, without the wherewithal to so much as put a new tunic on your back! Is that clear? Do you understand? Don't try me, Lucullus, because I mean what I say!”

The House was absolutely still. Neither Bibulus nor Cato moved. Somehow when Caesar looked like that it didn't seem worth the risk. Though this Caesar pointed the way to what Caesar might become if he wasn't stopped. More than an autocrat. A king. But a king needed armies. Therefore Caesar must never be given the opportunity to have armies. Neither Bibulus nor Cato was quite old enough to have participated in political life under Sulla, though Bibulus remembered him; it was easy these days to see him in Caesar, or what they believed he had been. Pompey was a nothing, he didn't have the blood. Ye gods, but Caesar did!

Lucullus crumpled to the ground and wept, dribbling and drooling, begging forgiveness as a vassal might have begged King Mithridates or King Tigranes, while the Senate of Rome looked on the drama, appalled. It wasn't appropriate; it was a humiliation for every senator present.

“Lictors, take him home,” said Caesar.

Still no one spoke; two of the senior consul's lictors took Lucullus gently by the arms, lifted him to his feet, and assisted him, weeping and moaning, from the chamber.

“Very well,” said Caesar then, “what is it to be? Does this body wish to ratify the eastern settlement, or do I take it to the Plebs as leges Vatiniae?”

“Take it to the Plebs!” cried Bibulus.

“Take it to the Plebs!” howled Cato.

When Caesar called for a division, hardly anyone passed to the right; the Senate had decided that any alternative was preferable to giving Caesar his way. Let it go to the Plebs, where it would be shown up for what it was: one piece of arrogance authored by Pompey and another piece of arrogance to be laid at Caesar's door. No one liked being ruled, and Caesar's attitude that day smacked of sovereignty. Better to die than live under another dictator.

“They didn't like that, and Pompeius is extremely unhappy,” said Crassus after what turned out to be a very short meeting.

“What choice do they give me, Marcus? What ought I to do? Nothing?” Caesar demanded, exasperated.

“Actually, yes,” said the good friend, in no expectation that his words would be heeded. “They know you love to work, they know you love to get things done. Your year is going to degenerate into a duel of wills. They hate being pushed. They hate being told they're a lot of dithering old women. They hate any kind of strength that smacks of excessive authority. It's not your fault you're a born autocrat, Gaius, but what's gradually happening is similar to two rams in a field butting head to head. The boni are your natural enemies. But somehow you're turning the entire House into enemies. I was watching the faces while Lucullus groveled at your feet. He didn't mean to set an example, he's too far gone to be so cunning, but an example he was nevertheless. They were all seeing themselves down there begging your forgiveness, while you stood like a monarch.”

“That's absolute rubbish!”

“To you, yes. To them, no. If you want my advice, Caesar, then do nothing for the rest of the year. Drop the ratification of the East, and drop the land bill. Sit back and smile, agree with them and lick their arses. Then they might forgive you.”

“I would rather,” said Caesar, teeth clenched, “join Lucullus on that dropping in Our Sea than lick their arses!”

Crassus sighed. “That's what I thought you'd say. In which case, Caesar, be it on your own head.”

“Do you mean to desert me?”

“No, I'm too good a businessman for that. You mean profits for the business world, which is why you'll get whatever you want from the Assemblies. But you'd better keep an eye on Pompeius, he's more insecure than I am. He wants so badly to belong.”

Thus it was that Publius Vatinius took the ratification of the East to the Plebeian Assembly in a series of laws emerging from an initial general one which consented to Pompey's settlement. The trouble was that the Plebs found this endless legislation very boring after the excitement wore off, and forced Vatinius to be quick. Nor, lacking direction from Caesar (as good as his word—he refused to offer any kind of guidance to Vatinius), did the son of a new Roman citizen from Alba Fucentia understand anything about setting tributes or defining the boundaries of kingdoms. So the Plebs blundered through act after act, consistently setting the tributes too low and defining the boundaries too cloudily. And for their part the boni allowed it all to happen by failing to veto one single aspect of Vatinius's month-long activity. What they wanted was to complain loud and long after it was finished, and use it as an example of what happened when senatorial prerogatives were usurped by the legislating bodies.

But “Don't come crying to me!” was what Caesar said. “You had your chance, you refused to take it. Complain to the Plebs. Or better still, having resigned from your proper duties, teach the Plebs how to frame treaties and set tributes. It seems they'll be doing it from now on. The precedent has been set.”

All of which paled before the prospect of the vote in the Popular Assembly about Caesar's land bill. Sufficient time and contiones having elapsed, Caesar convoked the voting meeting of the Popular Assembly on the eighteenth day of February, despite the fact that this meant Bibulus held the fasces.

By now Pompey's hand-picked veterans had all arrived to vote, giving the lex Mia agraria the support it would need to pass. So great was the crowd which assembled that Caesar made no attempt to hold the vote in the Well of the Comitia; he set himself up on the platform attached to the temple of Castor and Pollux, and wasted no time on the preliminaries. With Pompey acting as augur and himself conducting the prayers, he called for the casting of lots to see the order in which the tribes would vote not long after the sun had risen above the Esquiline.

The moment the men of Cornelia were called to vote first, the boni struck. His fasces-bearing lictors preceding him, Bibulus forced his way through the mass of men around the platform with Cato, Ahenobarbus, Gaius Piso, Favonius and the four tribunes of the plebs he controlled surrounding him, Metellus Scipio in the lead. At the foot of the steps on Pollux's side his lictors stopped; Bibulus pushed past them and stood on the bottom step.

“Gaius Julius Caesar, you do not possess the fasces!” he screamed. “This meeting is invalid because I, the officiating consul this month, did not consent to its being held! Disband it or I will have you prosecuted!”

The last word had scarcely left his mouth when the crowd bellowed and surged forward, too quickly for any of the four tribunes of the plebs to interpose a veto, or perhaps too loudly for a veto to be heard. A perfect target, Bibulus was pelted with filth, and when his lictors moved to protect him their sacred persons were seized; bruised and beaten, they had to watch as their fasces were smashed to pieces by a hundred pairs of bare and brawny hands. The same hands then turned to rend Bibulus, slapping rather than punching, with Cato coming in for the same treatment, and the rest retreating. After which someone emptied a huge basket of ordure on top of Bibulus's head, though some was spared for Cato. While the mob howled with laughter, Bibulus, Cato and the lictors withdrew.

The lex Iulia agraria passed into law so positively that the first eighteen tribes all voted their assent, and the meeting then turned its attention to voting for the men Pompey suggested should fill the commission and the committee. An impeccable collection: among the commissioners were Varro, Caesar's brother-in-law Marcus Atius Balbus, and that great authority on pig breeding Gnaeus Tremellius Scrofa; the five consular committeemen were Pompey, Crassus, Messala Niger, Lucius Caesar and Gaius Cosconius (who was not a consular, but needed to be thanked for his services).

Convinced they could win after this shocking demonstration of public violence during an illegally convoked meeting, the boni tried the following day to bring Caesar down. Bibulus called the Senate into a closed session and displayed his injuries to the House, together with the bruises and bandages his lictors and Cato sported as they walked slowly up and down the floor to let everyone see what had happened to them.

“I make no attempt to have Gaius Julius Caesar charged in the Violence Court for conducting a lawless assemblage!” cried Bibulus to the packed gathering. “To do so would be pointless, no one would convict him. What I ask is better and stronger! I want a Senatus Consultum Ultimum! But not in the form invented to deal with Gaius Gracchus! I want a state of emergency declared immediately, with myself appointed Dictator until public violence has been driven from our beloved Forum Romanum, and this mad dog Caesar driven out of Italia forever! I'll have none of a half measure like the one we endured while Catilina occupied Etruria! I want it done the right way, the proper way! Myself as legally elected Dictator, with Marcus Porcius Cato as my master of the horse! Whatever steps are taken then fall to me—no one in this House can be accused of treason, nor can the Dictator be made to answer for what he does or his master of the horse deems necessary. I will see a division!”

“No doubt you will, Marcus Bibulus,” said Caesar, “though I wish you wouldn't. Why embarrass yourself? The House won't give you that kind of mandate unless you manage to grow a few inches. You wouldn't be able to see over the heads of your military escort, though I suppose you could draft dwarves. The only violence which erupted you caused. Nor did a riot develop. The moment the People showed you what they thought of your trying to disrupt their legally convened proceedings, the meeting returned to normal and the vote was taken. You were manhandled, but not maimed. The chief insult was a basket of ordure, and that was treatment you richly deserved. The Senate is not sovereign, Marcus Bibulus. The People are sovereign. You tried to destroy that sovereignty in the name of less than five hundred men, most of whom are sitting here today. Most of whom I hope have the sense to deny you your request because it is an unreasonable and baseless request. Rome stands in no danger of civil unrest. Revolution isn't even above the edge of the farthest horizon one can see from the top of the Capitol. You're a spoiled and vindictive little man who wants your own way and can't bear to be gainsaid. As for Marcus Cato, he's a bigger fool than he is a prig. I noted that your other adherents didn't linger yesterday to give you more excuse than this slender pretext on which you demand to be created Dictator. Dictator Bibulus! Ye gods, what a joke! I remember you from Mitylene far too well to blanch at the thought of Dictator Bibulus. You couldn't organize an orgy in Venus Erucina's or a brawl in a tavern. You're an incompetent, vainglorious little maggot! Go ahead, take your division! In fact, I'll move it for you!”