Caesar's Women (95 page)

Cato's huge nose contracted, his eyes blazed. “They would never dare!” he said.

“Dare what?” asked Metellus Scipio.

“They will dare,” Bibulus insisted.

“Dare what?”

“Bring in a second land bill to use the Ager Campanus and the Capuan public lands. Two hundred and fifty square miles of land parceled up by almost everyone since Tiberius Gracchus, ready for seizure and settlement.”

“It will pass,” said Gaius Piso, lips peeled away from teeth.

“I agree,” said Bibulus, “it will pass.”

“But we have to stop it,” from Ahenobarbus.

“Yes, we have to stop it.”

“How?” asked Metellus Scipio.

“I had hoped,” said the junior consul, “that my ploy to make all comitial days feriae would answer, though I should have known that Caesar would use his authority as Pontifex Maximus. However, there is one religious ploy neither he nor the Colleges can counter. I may have exceeded my authority as a lone augur in the feriae business, but I will not exceed my authority as both augur and consul if I approach the problem in both roles.”

They were all leaning forward eagerly. Perhaps Cato was the most publicly prominent one among them, but there could be no doubt that Bibulus's heroism in choosing to suggest a menial and very belittling proconsulship had given him the edge over Cato in all private meetings of the leaders of the boni. Nor did Cato resent this; Cato had no aspirations to lead.

“I intend to retire to my house to watch the skies until the end of my year as consul.”

No one spoke.

“Did you hear me?'' asked Bibulus, smiling.

“We heard, Marcus Bibulus,” said Cato, “but will it work? How can it work?”

“It's been done before, and it's firmly established as a part of the mos maiorum. Besides which, I organized a secret little search of the Sacred Books, and found a prophecy which could easily be interpreted as meaning that this year the sky is going to produce an omen of extreme significance. Just what the sign is the prophecy didn't say, and that's what makes the whole ploy possible. Now when the consul retires to his house to watch the skies, all public business must be suspended until he emerges to take up his fasces again. Which I have no intention of doing!”

“It won't be popular,” said Gaius Piso, looking worried.

“At first perhaps not, but we're all going to have to work hard to make it look more popular than it actually will be. I intend to use Catullus—he's so good at lampooning, and now that Clodia's finished with him he can't do enough to make her or her little brother unhappy. I just wish I could get Curio again, but he won't oblige. However, we're not going to concentrate on Caesar, he's immune. We're going to set Pompeius Magnus up as our chief target, and for the rest of the year we make absolutely sure that not a day goes by without as many of our adherents in the Forum as we can marshal. Numbers don't actually mean much. Noise and numbers in the Forum are what count. The bulk of city and country want Caesar's laws, but they're hardly ever in the Forum unless there's a vote or a vital contio.”

Bibulus looked at Cato. “You have a special job, Cato. On every possible occasion I want you to make yourself so obnoxious that Caesar loses his temper and orders you off to the Lautumiae. For some reason, he loses it more easily if it's you or Cicero doing the agitating. One must assume both of you have the ability to get under his saddle like burrs. Whenever possible we'll prearrange things so that we can have the Forum packed with people ready to support you and condemn the opposition. Pompeius is the weak link. Whatever we do has to be designed to make him feel vulnerable.”

“When do you intend to retire to your house?” Ahenobarbus asked.

“The second day before the Ides, the only day between the Megalesia and the Ceriala, when Rome will be full of people and the Forum full of sightseers. There's no point in doing it without the biggest possible audience.”

“And do you think that all public business will cease when you retire to your house?” asked Metellus Scipio.

Bibulus raised his brows. “I sincerely hope not! The whole object of the ploy is to force Caesar and Vatinius to legislate in contraindication of the omens. It means that as soon as they're out of office we can invalidate their laws. Not to mention have them prosecuted for maiestas. Doesn't a conviction for treason sound wonderful?”

“What if Clodius becomes a tribune of the plebs?”

“I can't see how that can change anything. Clodius has—why I don't know!—conceived a dislike for Pompeius Magnus. He'll be our ally next year if he's elected, not our enemy.”

“He's after Cicero too.”

“Again, what is that to us? Cicero isn't boni, he's an ulcer. Ye gods, I'd vote for any law which could shut him up when he begins to prate about how he saved his country! Anyone would think Catilina worse than a combination of Hannibal and Mithridates.”

“But if Clodius goes after Cicero he'll also go after you, Cato,” said Gaius Piso.

“How can he?” Cato asked. “I merely gave my opinion in the House. I certainly wasn't the senior consul, I hadn't even gone into office as a tribune of the plebs. Free speech is becoming more perilous, but there's no law on the tablets yet forbidding a man to say what he thinks during a meeting of the Senate.”

It was Ahenobarbus who thought of the major difficulty. “I see how we can invalidate any laws Caesar or Vatinius pass between now and the end of the year,” he said, “but first we have to get the numbers in the House. That means it will have to be our men sitting in the curule chairs next year. But whom can we succeed in getting elected as consuls, not to mention praetor urbanus! I understand Metellus Nepos intends to leave Rome to heal his grief, so he's out. I'll be praetor, and so will Gaius Memmius, who hates Uncle Pompeius Magnus terrifically. But who for consul? Philippus sits in Caesar's lap. So does Gaius Octavius, married to Caesar's niece. Lentulus Niger wouldn't get in. Nor would Cicero's little brother Quintus. And anyone who was praetor earlier than that lot can't succeed either.”

“You're right, Lucius, we have to get our own consuls in,” said Bibulus, frowning. “Aulus Gabinius will run, so will Lucius Piso. Both with a foot in the Popularist camp, and both with much electoral clout. We'll just have to persuade Nepos to stay in Rome, run for augur and then for consul. And our other candidate had better be Messala Rufus. If we don't have sympathetic curule magistrates next year, we won't invalidate Caesar's laws.”

“What about Arrius, who's very annoyed with Caesar, I hear, because Caesar won't back him as a consular candidate?” from Cato.

“Too old and not enough clout” was the scornful reply.

“I heard something else,” said Ahenobarbus, not pleased; no one had mentioned his name in connection with the augural vacancy.

“What?” asked Gaius Piso.

“That Caesar and Magnus are thinking of asking Cicero to take Cosconius's place on the Committee of Five. Convenient that he dropped dead! Cicero would suit them better.”

“Cicero's too big a fool to accept,” said Bibulus, sniffing.

“Not even if his darling Pompeius implores?”

“At the moment I hear Pompeius isn't his darling,” said Gaius Piso, laughing. “He's heard who auspicated at the adoption of Publius Clodius!”

“You'd think that would tell Cicero something about his actual importance in the scheme of things,” sneered Ahenobarbus.

“Well, there's a rumor emanating from Atticus that Cicero says Rome is sick of him!”

“He isn't wrong,” said Bibulus, sighing theatrically.

The meeting broke up with great hilarity; the boni were happy.

Though Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus made his speech announcing that he was retiring to his house to watch the skies publicly from the rostra, and to a large crowd of people mostly gathered in Rome for the spring Games, Caesar chose not to reply publicly. He called the Senate into session and conducted the meeting with doors firmly closed.

“Marcus Bibulus has most correctly sent his fasces to the temple of Venus Libitina, and there they will reside until the Kalends of May, when I will assume them as is my right. However, this cannot be allowed to descend into one of those years wherein all public business founders. It is my duty to Rome's electors to fulfill the mandate they gave me—and Marcus Bibulus!—to govern. Therefore I intend to govern. The prophecy Marcus Bibulus quoted from the rostra is one I know, and I have two arguments as to Marcus Bibulus's interpretation of it: the first, that the actual year is unclear; and the second, that it can be interpreted in at least four ways. So while the quindecimviri sacris faciundis examine the situation and conduct the proper enquiries, I must assume that Marcus Bibulus's action is invalid. Once again he has taken it upon himself to interpret Rome's religious mos maiorum to suit his own political ends. Like the Jews, we conduct our religion as a part of the State, and believe that the State cannot prosper if religious laws and customs are profaned. However, we are unique in having legal contracts with our Gods, with whom we retain bargaining power and dicker for concessions. What is important is that we keep divine forces properly channeled, and the best way to do that is to keep to our end of the bargain by doing what lies in our power to maintain Rome's prosperity and well-being. Marcus Bibulus's action accomplishes the opposite, and the Gods will not thank him. He will die away from Rome and in cold comfort.”

Oh, if only Pompey looked more at ease! After a career as long and glorious as his, you'd think he would know things don't always go smoothly! Yet there's still a lot of the spoiled baby in him. He wants everything to be perfect. He expects to get what he wants and have approval too.

“It is up to this House to decide what course I now adopt,” the senior consul went on. “I will call for a vote. Those who feel that all business must cease forthwith because the junior consul has retired to his house to watch the skies, please form on my left. Those who feel that, at least until the verdict of the Fifteen is in, government should continue as normal, please form on my right. I make no further plea for good sense and love of Rome. Conscript Fathers, divide the House.”

It was a calculated gamble which instinct told Caesar he ought not to postpone; the longer the senatorial sheep pondered Bibulus's action, the more likely they were to become afraid of defying it. Strike now, and there was a chance.

But the results surprised everyone; almost the entire Senate passed to Caesar's right, an indication of the anger men felt at Bibulus's wanton determination to defeat Caesar, even at the cost of ruining Rome. The few boni on the left stood there stunned.

“I lodge a strong protest, Gaius Caesar!” Cato shouted as the senators returned to their places.

Pompey, mood soaring at this resounding victory for good sense and love of Rome, turned on Cato with claws out. “Sit down and shut up, you sanctimonious prig!” he roared. “Who do you think you are, to set yourself up as judge and jury? You're nothing but an ex-tribune of the plebs who'll never even make praetor!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” hollered Cato, staggering like a bad actor pierced by a paper dagger. “Listen to the great Pompeius, who was consul before he so much as qualified to stand as a mere tribune of the plebs! Who do you think you are? What, you don't even know? Then allow me to tell you! An unconstitutional, unprincipled, un-Roman lump of arrogance and fancy, that's what you are! As to who—you're a Gaul who thinks like a Gaul—a butcher who is the son of a butcher—a pander who sucks up to patricians to be let negotiate marriages far above him—a ponce who adores to dress up prettily to hear the crowd goo and gush—an eastern potentate who loves to live in palaces—a king who queens it—an orator who could send a rutting ram to sleep—a politician who has to employ competent politicians—a radical worse than the Brothers Gracchi—a general who hasn't fought a battle in twenty years without at least twice as many troops as the enemy— a general who prances in and picks up the laurels after other and better men have done all the real work—a consul who had to have a book of instructions to know how to act—AND A.MAN WHO EXECUTED ROMAN CITIZENS WITHOUT TRIAL, WITNESS MARCUS JUNIUS BRUTUS!”

The House just couldn't help itself. It erupted into cheers, screeches, whistles, cries of joy; feet pounded the floor until the rafters shook, hands crashed together like drums. Only Caesar knew how hard he had to work to sit impassive, hands down at his sides and feet primly together. Oh, what a glorious diatribe! Oh, masterly! Oh, to have lived to hear it was a privilege!

Then he saw Pompey, and his heart sank. Ye gods, the foolish man was taking the hysterical applause personally! Didn't he yet understand? No one there would have cared who the target was, or what the subject of the tirade was. It was just the best piece of extemporaneous invective in years! The Senate of Rome would applaud a Tingitanian ape excoriating a donkey if it did it half that well! But there sat Pompey looking more crushed than he must have looked after Quintus Sertorius ran rings round him in Spain. Defeated! Conquered by a tongue of brass. Not until that moment did Caesar realize the extent of the insecurity and hunger to be approved of inside Pompey the Great.

Time to act. After he dismissed the meeting he stood on the curule dais as the ecstatic senators rushed away talking together excitedly, most of them clustered about Cato patting him on the back, pouring praise on his head. The worst of it was that Pompey sitting on his chair with his head down meant he, Caesar, couldn't do what he knew was the proper thing to do—congratulate Cato as warmly as if he had been a loyal political ally. Instead he had to look indifferent in case Pompey saw him.

“Did you see Crassus?” Pompey demanded when they were alone. “Did you see him?” His voice had risen to a squeak. “Lauding Cato to the skies! Which side is the man on?”

“Our side, Pompeius. You're too thin-skinned, my friend, if you take the House's reaction to Cato as a personal criticism. The applause was for a terrific little speech, nothing else. He is usually such a crashing bore, filibustering eternally. But that was so good of its kind.”

“It was aimed at me! Me!”