IV

CONSUL

Caesar had a very kind nature and was not easily angered, but he nevertheless struck back at many of his enemies…His vengeance pursued most of his opponents without them even knowing it.

—DIO CASSIUS

Caesar was unusually tall for a Roman man and had a fair complexion in spite of so much time spent under the Mediterranean sun. He also had piercing dark eyes and was fastidious to an extreme, regularly having his body hair plucked out. He could be quite vain, especially regarding his baldness. Like many men through the ages, he attempted to hide his shiny crown by combing his hair over from the sides of his head, though like every man through the ages, he fooled no one. He also wore a laurel wreath in later years not so much out of pride in military victories, but simply to cover up his thinning hair. However, the women of Rome seem not to have minded. He was a notorious ladies’ man who carried on many affairs with the leading beauties, most especially Cato’s stepsister Servilia. Since Servilia was the mother of Brutus, some historians have wondered whether Caesar could in fact have been the father of his own murderer. This is unlikely, however, as he was only fifteen years old when Brutus was born.

Caesar struggled with poor health, regularly suffering crippling headaches and recurring bouts of epilepsy. The ancients knew this latter condition as the falling sickness or sacred disease, because victims would collapse to the ground in seizures that seemed to onlookers like divine or even demonic possession. Epilepsy was well known and widely discussed in the ancient world, especially in Greek medical texts. Even in the gospels, Jesus heals a severely afflicted epileptic boy who is believed to be possessed by an evil spirit. Caesar’s epilepsy did not strike him until adulthood, and then it seemed to have been particularly frequent during military campaigns. But as Plutarch says:

He never allowed his weakened health to slow him down, but instead used the life of a soldier as therapy. He marched endlessly, ate simple food, slept outside, and endured every hardship. In this way, he strengthened his body against illness.

Caesar did not let any health problems interfere as he prepared to take up the consulship for 59 B.C. Aside from his alliance with Pompey and Crassus—a closely guarded secret as yet—Caesar sought out other senators and magistrates who might help him counter the impending assault from the optimates. More than anything he needed a cooperative and fearless tribune of the plebs who would be willing to use his veto to block his enemies and help him pass legislation through the popular assembly. Caesar was determined to follow tradition and present his reforms first to the Senate, but he knew this was unlikely to succeed. If he were going to force his reform bills into law, he would almost certainly need to bypass the Senate and instead appeal directly to the people. One bold tribune for sale was Publius Vatinius, but even Caesar (no stranger to doling out lavish bribes) was shocked at how much Vatinius was going to cost him. As Cicero later said, “Vatinius the tribune did nothing for free.”

On the morning of January 1, 59 B.C., Caesar became senior consul of Rome, the most important magistrate in the greatest empire Europe had ever known. He had exactly one year to stage a peaceful revolution that would bring desperately needed changes to the Roman world. Beside him stood the junior consul Bibulus, who made it abundantly clear that he was going to stop Caesar at all costs.

Caesar borrowed a trick that Cicero had used during the Catilinian debates and ordered that all Senate and assembly proceedings were to be recorded and published each day. Now neither populists nor optimates could hide behind the veil of secrecy and deniability, but were forced to speak and act as if all of Rome were watching. He then offered an olive branch to Bibulus by reviving an ancient custom. Roman consuls alternated as chief executive each month, so that Caesar bore the symbol of power, the fasces, in January, then Bibulus in February and every other month thereafter. But even in the months when Bibulus held prominence, Caesar, as senior consul, would normally have had his own lictors march before him as an intimidating sign of power. Caesar, however, ordered his lictors to march behind him when Bibulus reigned as a show of respect to the junior consul. In a world of ritual and symbolism, it was the kind of small but significant gesture that Romans appreciated, but Caesar soon discovered that such concessions were wasted on the optimates.

Caesar’s first significant action as consul was to propose a land distribution bill—a volatile type of legislation that had destroyed many reformist politicians before him. But none of Caesar’s predecessors had ever introduced such a thoroughly detailed, impeccably reasonable, and skillfully crafted law. More than ever, the city of Rome was bursting at the seams with landless farmers and discharged soldiers, including Pompey’s veterans, who were draining the public coffers and adding to the riotous instability of the capital. Caesar calmly explained to the Senate that Rome would be much better served if these urban dwellers and their families were relocated to plots of state-owned agricultural land throughout Italy. As a concession to the nobility, the rich public lands of Campania around the Bay of Naples would not be touched since they provided important income for the treasury as well as many wealthy senators. A land commission—made up of a wide cross section of Romans—would be formed to handle all the details (Caesar exempted himself from serving to avoid a conflict of interest). No one would be removed from his land involuntarily. All current land ownership would be recognized without need of tedious documentation. Any extra land the commission required would be bought at assessed value, but only if the owners wished to sell. This money for purchase would come from the taxes and tribute of Pompey’s conquests in the eastern Mediterranean. The entire land bill would cost the Roman treasury not a single denarius.

When he was finished, Caesar urged all the senators present to voice any objections they might have to the bill. If anyone found fault with any article of the legislation, he promised to alter or delete it. One by one, Caesar called on the respected members of the Senate for their opinion. No one—not even Cato—could find a single criticism to make concerning this model of clear and necessary legislation. In spite of this, the optimates were not about to let Caesar pass his bill. They knew perfectly well the dire situation of Rome’s urban poor, but they also knew that the legislation would make Caesar even more popular with the people. Regardless of the enormous benefits to Roman citizens, they were determined to block Caesar. Several senators, while still having no criticisms of the bill, recommended that the vote be delayed. Cato then began to speak at length until it was obvious his plan was to continue until sunset when the Senate would have to adjourn. At this point Caesar lost his patience. He had introduced the best land reform bill in Roman history, only to find that the nobility preferred an untenable status quo to the slightest innovation. Caesar ordered one of his lictors to seize Cato and haul him off to jail. As a consul, he was within his legal rights to do this, but it was a foolish move on Caesar’s part. The optimates, in a show of solidarity, immediately followed Cato to prison. Even some of the more moderate members of the Senate were shocked at Caesar’s breach of Senate protocol and rose to leave. When Caesar angrily demanded of one of them, Marcus Petreius, why he was leaving, the senator shot back: “I would rather be in jail with Cato than here with you.” These words brought Caesar to his senses and he ordered Cato’s release, since the last thing he needed was a optimate martyr. As he dismissed the meeting he gave the Senate notice—he had tried to work with them to gain their approval as custom required, but from now on he would go directly to the Roman people.

When Caesar presented his new land proposal to the popular assembly, he invited Bibulus to address the people and again present any arguments against the law. Caesar’s colleague obstinately refused to say anything except to mutter that he was not going to allow any innovations that year. Caesar then implored the huge crowd, calling on them to beseech Bibulus to support the land bill. “The law will pass,” Caesar cried, “but only if he supports it.” Then Bibulus lost his composure and shouted at the crowd in outrage as he left the assembly, “You will not have your law this year—not even if all of you want it!”

Caesar could now claim—with all of Rome as a witness—that he had tried his best to work with the stubborn optimates and had gone the extra mile to be fair with his fellow consul. But Caesar’s political theater for the day was not finished. He next asked Pompey and Crassus to come forward and give their opinion of the legislation. Pompey was especially vehement in support of the bill and promised he would take up his own sword to defend Caesar against the obstructionist senators. The mob roared its approval, led by hundreds of Pompey’s veterans, who had packed the Forum that morning. As wave after wave of cheers swept over the platform where the three men stood, Cato watching from afar suddenly realized what Caesar had done. The populist consul had formed an unprecedented alliance right under his nose with the two most powerful men in Rome. Aside from the support of thousands of clients and the enormous wealth Pompey and Crassus had to offer Caesar, their backing would nullify any optimate attempt to paint Caesar as a dangerous revolutionary bent on destroying Roman tradition. The man on the street, already sympathetic to Caesar, would now see him not as a lone voice of radical reform but as the leader of a powerful political team with broad support.

Bibulus, meanwhile, although not the equal of Caesar by any measure, was nevertheless a tenacious adversary. When he and the optimates realized Caesar’s triumvirate was likely to win any legislative battles during the year, they set about laying the groundwork to nullify the laws Caesar would surely pass. Bibulus found three like-minded tribunes and decided on a clever strategy. Since one of the duties of the consuls was to determine which days of their year would be dedicated to the gods as sacred, Bibulus simply declared that every remaining day until the end of Caesar’s consulate was now holy. As no meetings could legally be held on holy days, no assembly could pass any binding laws. It was clear to everyone that Bibulus was blatantly abusing his consular power, but he had thrown a wrench into Caesar’s plans that could technically negate all his achievements for the year if and when the optimates could regain the upper hand. In public Caesar laughed at Bibulus and his foolhardy schemes, but among his allies and friends he confessed they posed a serious threat in the long term.

Caesar fixed a day for the assembly to vote on the land bill, filling the Forum with triumvirate supporters the night before to assure an enthusiastic crowd. Caesar was addressing the assembly the next day from the steps of the temple of Castor and Pollux when he saw a resolute Bibulus, accompanied by Cato and others, marching toward him. The crowd made way for the junior consul and his companions, partly from respect for his office and partly because they couldn’t imagine he would be foolish enough to oppose Caesar among a multitude of his own partisans. Bibulus, however, showed his mettle by pushing his way to the platform and rebuking Caesar. In moments the crowd erupted and began assaulting Bibulus and the optimates. Someone quickly found a basket of animal droppings and dumped it on Bibulus’s head. Beaten, bruised, and covered in manure, his fasces torn apart by the crowd, Bibulus fled the Forum with Cato at his heels. Caesar then had no problem passing his land distribution act into law—with Pompey and Crassus appointed as leading members of the land commission.

Bibulus was incensed by his treatment at the hands of Caesar’s mob and appealed to the Senate the next day to stand up to his fellow consul. But the senators were hesitant to act against the triumvirate backed by an angry mob. In bitter frustration and embarrassment, Bibulus withdrew to his own house and was not seen in public for the rest of the year. His conspicuous absence as junior consul became a joke to all of Rome—documents normally dated according to the names of both consuls for the year were wittily amended to read, “Done in the consulship of Julius and Caesar.” Then a comical tune arose on the streets:

There was a deed just now done by Caesar, not by Bibulus.

For I remember nothing done in the year of Bibulus.

The worst fears of the senators came to pass after this first agrarian bill was approved. Caesar soon realized that the restrictions of his land legislation meant that there would not be enough farmland available for the neediest citizens of Rome. As a result, he introduced a new bill to the people that opened up the previously sacrosanct public land in Campania for distribution. Cato objected, of course, but Roman families with three or more children would now be granted a parcel of this prized land on which to raise cabbage and offspring. It was painful for the ruling classes to see what they regarded as their own private preserve being given away to the rabble of Rome, but the settlement of landless families was immensely beneficial for the state as a whole. To make sure the senators did not tamper with the land settlement once he was out of office, Caesar inserted a curse clause that all future candidates for office had to swear before the gods they would not introduce any legislation contrary to his own.

With Bibulus out of the way and most of the optimates intimidated for the moment, Caesar and his partners began to pursue their agenda in earnest. Some of their proposals were shamefully self-serving, but much of the legislation was badly overdue. Pompey had returned from the eastern Mediterranean two years earlier yet his settlement still had not been ratified by the Senate. The importance of this landmark agreement for Roman political interests can hardly be overstated since to the east lay the mighty Parthian empire. Stretching from the deserts of Mesopotamia to the mountainous borderlands of China, Parthia was an aggressive military kingdom fully capable of taking on the legions of Rome. These fearless warriors had already made forays into Armenia and were perilously close to Roman territory. It was not lost on thoughtful Romans that four centuries earlier, another Persian empire had rapidly conquered all of Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt before invading Greece. The last thing Rome needed was an eastern Mediterranean that was weak and disorganized, practically inviting the Parthians to intrude.

Pompey had brought peace to Asia Minor and made important treaties with Tigranes of Armenia, a land that could serve as a crucial buffer state between Rome and Parthia. The Roman general had also removed the ever-quarrelsome Seleucid princes from Syria and established the rich land as a full Roman province. With the addition of the Maccabees of Judea as a client kingdom, the Romans now had a strong eastern frontier stretching from the Black Sea to the deserts of Arabia—but only if the Senate would ratify the settlement of Pompey. If not, it was likely that the Parthians would soon take advantage of the resulting instability and intervene.

Most of the Senate saw that there was little point in resisting the triumvirate on the eastern settlement, but the aged Lucullus—a notorious hedonist who had looted much of Asia before being replaced by Pompey—stood to speak against the bill. Caesar quickly cut him off and began to list all the crimes he had committed in the East, with the none-too-subtle implication that he would be brought up on charges unless he kept quiet. At this, the old man fell to his knees before Caesar, weeping and begging forgiveness. It was a shameful display that shocked Caesar; he had simply wanted Lucullus to cease his opposition, not grovel before him like a slave. It was a disturbing sight as well for optimates and populists alike to see the respected ex-consul lying at Caesar’s feet. Lucullus was quietly removed and the bill passed into law, but the scene long endured in the minds of the senators.

When the Greek historian Herodotus called Egypt the gift of the Nile he meant that the longest of the world’s rivers brought a fertility to the barren desert that other civilizations could only dream of. The rich soil carried down annually from central Africa by the flooding Nile had nourished Egypt’s fields and yielded fabulous wealth for its rulers while the ancestors of the Romans were still living in mud huts beside the Tiber. The Romans could have marched into Egypt and taken over decades earlier, but the fact that they did not must have been due at least in part to the vast amounts of money the Ptolemaic kings spent bribing the various factions of Rome. It may also be that Egypt was a country unlike anything the Romans had ever known. Spain, Sicily, and even Greece were lands similar to the climate and culture of Italy in many ways. But to walk beneath the towering pyramids and gaze at ruins that were more ancient to the Romans than the Romans are to us today must have struck the sons of Romulus with awe.

Caesar and Crassus had managed to overcome any sense of wonder they may have felt when they proposed annexing Egypt as part of their money-raising scheme six years earlier. That move had been defeated by the Senate, but now Caesar the consul was ready to press the Egyptian question. Rome had a tenuous legal title to the desert kingdom through the will of Ptolemy XI, but the current unpopular ruler, Ptolemy XII “the Flute Player,” had managed to hang on to power for twenty years through extravagant bribes and close commercial ties to Rome. Caesar now pushed through legislation ratifying Ptolemy’s rule of Egypt and alliance with Rome after two decades of neglect by the Senate. This quick settlement was partially due to Caesar not wanting to take on the complex incorporation of a huge kingdom at this busy moment in his political career, but the major factor seems to have been an enormous bribe he and Pompey received from Ptolemy.

Caesar completed his eastern legislation with a clever move to clean up the tax-collecting mess in the Roman province of Asia. Several years earlier, the Roman tax collection agencies had carelessly overbid the amount of revenue they hoped to collect from the province. When they discovered it was impossible to pay the treasury as much as they had promised, they asked the Senate to reduce the amount they owed by a generous one-third. Crassus naturally backed this proposal as he was heavily invested in tax-farming companies, but the opposition led by Cato killed the proposal and left the tax collectors owing the full amount. A year later, the owners of the collection firms were still up to their necks in debt they could not pay the state. This impasse was broken by Caesar when he brought forward a bill before the popular assembly granting the tax collectors their reduction of debt. Just as he had done two years earlier in Spain, Caesar managed to smooth out the financial troubles of a distant province with a quick deal. This legislation didn’t particularly benefit the natives of Asia since they had already been squeezed out of every coin the agents could find, but it left the Roman tax collectors and their financial investors in a much more solvent position. Not by coincidence, Caesar was one of these investors. But the real advantage to Caesar came not from the profits he made on the bill but in the goodwill and increased support it garnered among the knights. All the legislative successes of Caesar, in spite of their practical benefit for Rome, sent a shiver down the spine of Cicero. “We should all be very afraid,” said the orator in a contemporary letter to his friend Atticus. “He is surely making himself into a tyrant.”

By the late spring of 59 B.C., Pompey had secured most of the laws he wanted. His monumental settlement of the eastern Mediterranean had been ratified while his veterans were provided with land as a reward for their loyal service. Caesar recognized that this was a moment of crisis for the triumvirate because Pompey might well decide he no longer needed to throw his considerable political weight behind the remaining goals of Caesar and Crassus. To counter this possibility, Caesar came up with a plan to bind Pompey to him that strikes modern readers as more at home in the courts of medieval Europe than the Roman Forum. Caesar offered his daughter, Julia, now about twenty years old, to Pompey as his bride, even though the general was almost thirty years her senior. This came as something of a shock to Caesar’s loyal supporter Servilius Caepio, who was engaged to Julia and preparing for their wedding in only a few days’ time. But as much as Caesar appreciated Caepio, he needed Pompey more. Still, Pompey appeased Caepio’s fury somewhat by promising him his own daughter, Pompeia. Though the marriage was hastily arranged by her father, Julia soon came to love Pompey just as he became a devoted husband to Julia. Caesar could now rest assured that as long as Julia and Pompey were together, he could count on his colleague’s indispensable support. Caesar himself now married Calpurnia, daughter of Lucius Piso, who would be consul the next year. Surveying this dizzying web of family alliances, Cato proclaimed that it was disgusting that Roman power should now be based on the trading of women.

Caesar’s next crisis came not from Pompey’s camp but from Cicero. During the spring the ex-consul Gaius Antonius was put on trial for misconduct during his administration of Macedonia a few years earlier. Since Antonius had been Cicero’s fellow consul in 63B.C., the orator felt obligated to defend his former colleague in court. Even though the triumvirate supported the persecution of Antonius, they were not at all offended that Cicero would support him—that was only proper—but Cicero could not resist this opportunity to stray beyond the facts of the case to criticize Caesar and his partners in an open setting. The words of his scathing speech do not survive, but they were sharp enough to strike Caesar to his very core. He had worked diligently to accommodate and mollify Cicero, offering him a share of power and always treating him with the honor the prickly statesman felt he deserved. However, when Cicero spoke viciously against him to the delight of the optimates, Caesar felt betrayed and decided he had had enough of Rome’s most famous lawyer. Everyone acknowledged that Caesar had a mild and forgiving nature, but he could be pushed too far—when he was, he could strike out in fearful and ingenious ways against his foes.

Publius Clodius, who had scandalized all of Rome by violating the Bona Dea celebrations three years earlier, was a bitter enemy of Cicero. Clodius may have been an undisciplined radical who believed in nothing but jeering at the establishment and furthering his own ambitions, but he could hold a grudge like no one else. Cicero had led the charge, unsuccessfully, in trying to punish Clodius for his previous sacrilege. In turn, Clodius had made it his mission in life to annoy, aggravate, and denigrate Cicero at every opportunity. The previous year he had also taken the almost unprecedented step of attempting to abandon his patrician standing so that he could be elected as a tribune of the plebs. The pride that most patricians felt in their ancient blood meant nothing to the iconoclastic Clodius if, by abandoning his heritage, he could advance his political career and private vengeance. But his attempt to join the plebeians in 60 B.C. through traditional means was thwarted by his many opponents.

Now, thanks to Caesar’s anger with Cicero, Clodius was about to see his dream come true. Although his goal of becoming a plebeian was almost impossible to achieve through normal avenues, there was another option open to Clodius. If he could be adopted as the son of a plebeian, he would then be rid of his patrician standing forever. But even this was a difficult process as it required an examination before the college of pontiffs and final approval by the ancient comitia curiata assembly. Caesar cut through the religious red tape in his authority as pontifex maximus, then called his thirty lictors together at an ad hoc meeting of the comitia curiata to approve Clodius’s adoption. Pompey even acted as augur for the transferral ceremony. Clodius, now about forty years old, was adopted by a young plebeian man only twenty years of age named Publius Fontius. The whole affair was a scandal that would collapse under examination in any Roman court, but Caesar had managed to discard tradition and install an enthusiastic Clodius in his new role as a plebeian in a matter of only a few hours. The ex-patrician began his campaign for tribune of the plebs almost immediately.

In spite of Caesar’s smug satisfaction at granting Clodius his wish in defiance of convention, he had made a serious mistake in acting so quickly out of anger against Cicero. Caesar wanted to teach Cicero a sharp lesson and mute his criticism, but he had no desire to harm or even seriously trouble a man whom he genuinely respected. Pompey as well pointedly warned Clodius not to use any tribunate powers to attack his old friend Cicero. Clodius, however, was the original loose cannon who could not and would not yield to anyone, even Caesar or Pompey. The triumvirate also hoped that in preparing his way to be a tribune, Clodius might be grateful and prove useful to them in the future against the optimates—but the only voice Clodius ever listened to was his own.

The administration of the Roman provinces had reached a low point by the time of Caesar’s consulship through criminal mismanagement, exploitation, and crushing taxation. As many far-thinking Romans had realized since the time of Hannibal, no empire spanning thousands of miles and containing millions of people could be safe and prosperous if it were run for the exclusive benefit of a few wealthy citizens. Caesar determined to change this once and for all—not because of any altruistic love for the oppressed natives, but because Rome would fail miserably to live up to its tremendous potential as a world power unless it revolutionized how it controlled the lands beyond Italy. Caesar’s monumental lex Julia de repetundis—the Julian law of extortion—contained over one hundred chapters of incredibly detailed rules for administering provinces, prosecuting crooked governors, preventing bribes, and generally keeping the senatorial class in line when they were abroad running the empire. The full text of the legislation is lost, but Cicero called it justissima atque optima (“most just and best”) and even Cato could find nothing to complain about. This infuriated Cato so much that in coming years whenever he referred to what everyone else praised as the Julian law, he could never bring himself to attach Caesar’s name to it. This law was so carefully crafted and effective that it was used as the foundation of provincial governance throughout Roman history and even into the Byzantine era.

Caesar might have given Rome the legal framework to rule its empire responsibly for centuries to come, but it was not going to do him much good personally if the optimates had their way. Once Caesar had completed his year as consul and was again a private citizen he would lose the immunity from prosecution he enjoyed as a magistrate. At the start of the new year, Cato and his allies would pounce. He would be brought before tribunals and charged with every crime they could think of to punish him for his impudence and destroy his political career. He would be accused of acting against established tradition and trampling the hallowed Roman constitution to push through his radical agenda. Bibulus would testify that every law passed by Caesar was invalid since he had declared most of 59 B.C. to be a sacred holiday. No one really believed the gods had made the days of Caesar’s consulship unpropitious, but Bibulus was technically correct—if the courts followed the letter of the law, everything Caesar had accomplished would vanish like smoke.

Without a doubt Caesar had made a mockery of the constitution by violating sacred customs, bypassing the Senate, and even using force to achieve his revolutionary goals. His supporters would argue that Caesar had no choice since the alternative was to let the empire slip further into chaos all in the name of preserving tradition. The Rome of Cincinnatus and Scipio, they would argue, was long gone, and the sooner the Senate realized this, the better. The ancient republic founded by Romulus had ceased to exist when the little village on the Tiber took control of a vast domain stretching across the Mediterranean. The Senate was still trying to govern this realm as a private fiefdom based on archaic rules, ignoring the fact that the most powerful force in Rome was now generals with professional armies behind them. Future leaders in the mold of Marius, Sulla, and Pompey would soon make the Senate irrelevant unless it opened its eyes and agreed to a reformed and responsible governance of the empire. Caesar had tried to effect some of the changes to bring about this new order—painful changes, yes, but they were absolutely necessary and only the beginning. Much more needed to be done to establish a new form of constitutional rule or Rome would inevitably collapse into a tyranny led by ruthless generals.

Caesar’s immediate concern, however, was how to avoid prosecution after his consulship and at the same time further his career. The obvious answer was to obtain a proconsular governorship of a promising frontier province, not a year overseeing the woods and pastures of Italy as the Senate had intended. As a governor, he would be immune from court action until his term was completed. It was crucial that his province would allow him to expand the territory of the empire as a conquering general since this would earn him both military glory and riches to finance his continued political goals. As Caesar’s younger contemporary Sallust said of him: “He desperately wanted great power, an army, and a new war so that his talents could shine forth.” The problem was finding the right war. Pompey had already brought peace to the eastern Mediterranean and would not appreciate his junior partner trying to steal his glory in that region. Even if he allowed Caesar to campaign there, the only viable option was an invasion of the Parthian empire. Caesar was smart enough to know such a war could quickly be his last. Egypt had enormous potential, but Caesar had just sealed a treaty of friendship with King Ptolemy. The rest of Africa was also at peace unless he wanted to strike out across the endless Sahara or sail up the Nile to attack distant Nubia or Ethiopia. Spain was wealthy, but already controlled by the Romans aside from a few poverty-stricken mountain tribes. Caesar knew therefore that Europe beyond the Alps was the best choice for fortune and glory.

Rome’s northern frontier in the days of Caesar ran from the Pyrenees Mountains of Spain eastward across southern Gaul to the deep, blue waters of Lake Geneva. From there it followed the crest of the snowy Alps along the northern Balkans and across Macedonia and Thrace to the Black Sea. Beyond these borders lay the restive kingdom of Dacia above the Danube River, the vast dark forests of Germany, the rich lands of the fearless Gaulish tribes, and even the fabled island of Britain. But Caesar could not simply declare war against some northern land and march forth from the gates of Rome. He needed to gain the governorship of a frontier province bordering on the Gauls, Germans, or Dacians, then wait for one of the inevitable raids these tribes were always launching against Roman territory. As governor, it would then be his duty to strike back against the barbarians and teach them a lesson. If he went a little deeper into enemy territory than was really necessary and if the natives responded by attacking his troops prompting further actions by the legions, well, such were the fortunes of war.

Caesar began his plans for a northern campaign by first seeking the governorship of Cisalpine Gaul. This populous land in the Po Valley of northern Italy was ideally located as a gateway either west to Gaul proper, north to Germany, or east to the Danube. Not to be ignored was the fact that it also lay just a quick journey over the Apennine mountains from Rome itself. The governor of Cisalpine Gaul, significantly, commanded the legions closest to Rome. Whoever controlled this province could use it as a base for war beyond the Alps while still keeping a close eye on events in Rome. It was a region Caesar knew well and had championed in the past. He had many friends among the Romanized Celts along the Po and numerous clients among the Roman colonists in cities such as Milan and Verona. But what made Cisalpine most attractive of all to Caesar was the enormous wealth of manpower the province held. Whoever ruled this fertile land could draw on an almost endless supply of brave and capable young men for his legions.

In the late spring of 59 B.C., Caesar’s well-paid tribune Vatinius laid a proposal before the plebs to grant Caesar governorship of not only Cisalpine Gaul but the mountainous province of Illyricum along the eastern Adriatic coast facing northeast toward Dacia. The command would last for five full years, until 54 B.C. Pompey backed the legislation and the bill was approved, completely bypassing the furious Senate. Soon after, Pompey pushed through legislation of incalculable importance granting Caesar, in addition, the province of Transalpine Gaul along the Mediterranean coast. This rich land was known simply as the Province (in Latin, Provincia), thus the modern name for the region, Provence. Lying north of the Province was the unconquered land of Long-Haired Gaul (as the Romans often called it) and it was there Caesar decided to stage his war.

The vast tribal lands of Gaul stretching north from the Roman Mediterranean province to the Atlantic and the English Channel were immensely wealthy and deeply troubled. The Aedui, longtime Roman allies and a major power in Gaul, were battling the Sequani and their German allies just to the north of the Roman province. The Sequani had called in the German warlord Ariovistus to help them fight their fellow Gauls, but as with similar invitations throughout history, the Sequani got more than they bargained for. Ariovistus attacked the Aedui, but he also took over vast swaths of land from the Sequani on which to build his own kingdom in Gaul. This move had upset the fragile balance of power in the region and prompted the Aedui to send a prince and trained druid named Diviciacus to Rome to lobby Cicero and others for help. But the agents of Ariovistus reached the senators first and, with the support of Caesar, won the title of friend of the Roman people. This left eastern Gaul in a shambles with Germans pouring over the Rhine, threatening the Aedui and every other Gaulish tribe in the region. The Gaulish Helvetii north of Lake Geneva even began plans to move into Roman territory to escape the German threat. To the delight of Caesar, the Senate suddenly faced an invasion of the Roman province by Gauls with Germans on their heels. Caesar realized this was his opportunity to show the Roman people that he could win glorious victories just as his uncle Marius had done. The ancient stories of the Gaulish sack of Rome in 390 B.C.and the invasion of the Germanic Cimbri and Teutones less than fifty years before now seemed frighteningly real to everyone in Italy. Ambassadors were hastily dispatched to Gaul and armies were recruited to fight the teeming hordes pressing on the border, while Caesar did his best to keep the threatening image alive in the minds of the public. Nevertheless, the danger to Rome was quite real.

With Caesar’s postconsular plans now settled, he could focus on preparation for his upcoming campaign, while settling affairs at Rome before his departure. Caesar was not above boasting to the optimates that he had now gained his heart’s desire in spite of their opposition and would use his newfound powers as governor and general to “jump on their heads.” A murder plot against Pompey was soon uncovered in which Caesar was incriminated by some, though it is highly unlikely that he would stoop to such base behavior, especially against a man he still very much needed. Still, the optimates and even Cicero made as much of the matter as possible to cast lingering suspicions on Caesar. Clodius finally began his long-awaited term as tribune in December of 59 B.C. and proceeded to pander to the mob in an unprecedented fashion with guarantees of free grain at state expense. This helped him gain support for a private vendetta against Cicero that would last into the next year, when he forced the orator into exile. Caesar had no love for Clodius, but he must have been secretly delighted when on December 31, after making his farewell speech as consul to the assembled crowd, Bibulus rose to deliver his own address only to be silenced by Clodius’ veto. Soon, however, Caesar was to be far away from the petty squabbles of Roman politics—news had reached Rome that the Helvetii were about to move into the Roman province of Gaul. Caesar quickly packed his gear, bade farewell to his family, and set out to face the greatest challenge of his life.