10
FROM the moment that these three men had decided to pool their resources—military power and fame, monetary power, and political genius—the end of the republic was in sight. Cicero, who disliked or envied them almost equally, although reserving his deepest dislike and, indeed, fear for Caesar, recognized that such an autocracy could nullify the Senate’s power. Yet it cannot be overemphasized that Cicero’s dream republic had never existed in his own lifetime, if indeed ever. As a “new man,” one who was born neither noble nor rich, Cicero often seems like any middle-class man of great ability who has made his way to the top and is then captured by the glamour of his new associates—the old aristocrats who were born into positions of power as were their ancestors before them. On the one hand he saw the old order, men descended from the great days of the Republic, and on the other cynical self-seekers determined on personal power to the detriment of everything fine and noble. But, as Michael Grant has pointed out, things were not so simple:
The “free” republic that was now being superseded was not a democracy, and never had been. It had long been run by tough, unprogressive and dishonest cliques, whose incompetence to govern the large empire was now painfully clear. These cliques were now replaced by a board of three, who were exceptionally able men, and for the time being were united in their aims. In the end, they were destined to fail, because their unity could not be maintained. Yet their noble enemies would have failed as well—and for the same reason, because they would inevitably have become divided among themselves.
At the beginning of 59 Caesar and Bibulus assumed office, and it was not long before the antagonism between these two irreconcilable men became evident for all to see. At first, however, Caesar made it appear as if there had never been any differences of opinion between them and spoke blandly of the need to act only for the general good and in agreement with the senate. If, as one must presume, this was designed to reassure Bibulus and, on the surface at any rate, to make it look as if the two consuls were reconciled then he seems at first to have succeeded. Each consul was normally required to take precedence over the other for alternate months (since they were equal), and Caesar was meticulous in conforming to this ritual and to the formal technicalities that went with it. Similarly he pleased the senate by having an official record made of their daily transactions—something which had only been done before on special occasions. This naturally gratified their vanity and reassured Bibulus and the Optimates whom he represented that Caesar, now that he was consul, would conform. But the leopard does not change his spots and, as Appian remarks, “Caesar was very well versed in the art of hypocrisy.”
He needed to lull the suspicions of his opponents, for he knew that his first major action was certain to go completely against the grain of the old aristocrats. This was the land-bill for the resettlement of Pompey’s veterans, one of the things that he had promised his fellow triumvir, as well as the ratification of the settlements that Pompey had made in the East. A new agrarian law was badly needed, in any case, for great areas of Italy were uncultivated while a city like Rome was full of idle hands living, as it were, on the dole. A commission was to be put in charge of the distribution of the land and the cost would be defrayed by Pompey’s wealth from the East, as well as by the revenues from the new provinces that he had won. Realizing that such important an act as the redistribution of the state lands of Italy would cause a shudder to run through the ranks of the conservatives, Caesar wisely made a very necessary concession—that the rich southern lands of Campania should be excluded. Furthermore, not only would Pompey’s veterans be satisfied, but the poor from the city would also be entitled to land-grants. All in all, it was a judicious piece of legislation and Caesar was very careful to treat the senate with formal deference, inviting every senator to make criticisms of or suggestions for the draft, even to the extent of canceling anything that did not seem right. Most of the senators, who had been expecting Caesar to treat them in a high-handed, authoritarian way, were embarrassed by the scrupulosity with which the bill was presented.
They hated it of course, because it was contrary to their interests, but they had difficulty in finding arguments against something which was clearly to the benefit of the country (and all the time they must have been aware of the threat posed by Pompey’s disbanded soldiers). Cato had the courage of his convictions, however, and stood out against the whole bill, maintaining that people should be content with the constitution of the republic as it was. He attempted to talk out the bill, but Caesar, using his consular powers, had him placed under arrest. This high-handed action, though it was quite legitimate, caused those senators who would have liked to speak against the redistribution of land to walk out of the senate, one of them shouting at Caesar: “I would rather be in jail with Cato than here with you.” The consul realized that he had overstepped the mark and had Cato released; he did not want to create a martyr.
The upshot was that—as there was no senatorial decree—Caesar took the whole matter to the popular assembly. The senators who opposed him had offered no constructive proposals on land reform, and therefore the people must decide. But he was clever enough to give the old guard one last chance to define their objections to the bill as it stood and invited Bibulus, as his fellow consul, to the popular assembly to say what he had against it, entreating him to give his objections to the bill, or to state any changes he would like made. Everything depended on Bibulus, he told the people, to which the unwise consul replied: “You are not going to get it—not even if you all want it!”
Caesar had trapped him into betraying the real position of the Optimates: total conservatism in their own interest, and the devil take the people! Having thus exposed his enemies in the senate, Caesar had yet a further trick up his sleeve. Both Crassus and Pompey addressed the popular assembly in the Forum and declared their complete assent to the land-bill as it stood. This was the moment of truth—especially for the senators. They were faced by an alliance of the three most powerful men in Rome. The point was emphasized when Caesar asked for Pompey’s support against those who opposed the bill, and the latter replied: “If anyone dares to draw a sword, I shall take up my shield as well.” (He emphasized that he meant what he said by summoning his veterans to Rome.) The velvet glove which Caesar had earlier displayed had been discarded. When it was suggested to Bibulus by the other Optimates that he should exercise his veto against his consular colleague he and Cato were attacked outside the temple of Castor by a crowd of people with armed men among them and forced to retreat to the safety of their homes. It was this open violence toward the senate which made it clear to all that the old days were indeed over. The rule of the three men—the First Triumvirate—had been established.
After this display of violence, Caesar put the bill to the people and it was immediately carried. A special clause laid down that within a given period all the senators had to take an oath to abide by it—thus preventing any further delaying tactics. All opposition was silenced and, although Cato and one or two others were still prepared to protest, it was pointed out to them by their friends and relatives that it would be not only political, but actual suicide to do so. Cicero indeed, who had prudently withdrawn to the country during this time of upheaval, wrote to Cato that “it would be foolish and indeed mad, to refuse to accept the accomplished fact.”
The hatred against Caesar was now manifest among all his opponents, for they had no doubt that it was his hand that lay behind not only the agrarian bill but also the violence with which leading members of the senate had been openly threatened. From this moment date nearly all the scurrilous attacks upon his private life and—if one doubts that he ever passed through a homosexual phase in his youth—it is clear that this was the worst that his enemies could impute against him. Bibulus, who now hated Caesar as much as anyone, after only four months of his term of office, now withdrew into his house for the rest of his consulship and became responsible for the widely-circulated and bitter jibe: “Pompey is king of Rome, and Caesar is his queen.”
It mattered little what was said. The fact remained that the senate had been powerless in the face of the triumvirate. Caesar’s dextrous handling of the situation—however sordid—was politically brilliant. He had right on his side, for the agrarian laws had long needed changing, and he had the people’s support for his actions. Pompey was satisfied, as were his veterans, and Pompey’s disposition of affairs in the East was now also ratified.
It remained to secure the concessions for the tax-farmers that Crassus had wanted and—despite fierce opposition from Cato—this was again achieved by taking the matter to the people. In the first six months of his consulship Caesar had succeeded in welding the triumvirate into an unbreakable chain against which the senate was powerless. He had also very naturally promoted his own interests, for he had endeared himself to the soldiers by his agrarian bill and, by his concessions to the tax-farmers, secured the approval of the knightly order (as well as almost certainly making money for himself). He now proceeded to extend the alliance by marrying Calpurnia, the daughter of a certain Piso. He was a friend of Clodius, had been involved in the Catiline conspiracy, and has been described as “an unprincipled debauchee and a cruel and corrupt magistrate.” Certainly he had considerable wealth and was to amass even more during a governship of Macedonia in which he plundered the province even beyond the limits that were normally considered tolerable in Rome.
Calpurnia was to be Caesar’s last wife and, although he continued as openly unfaithful to her as to his previous wives, she seems to have genuinely cared for him: he remained irresistible to women. At almost the same time another marriage also took place—one that again was of the greatest advantage to Caesar. The forty-seven-year-old Pompey married Caesar’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Julia, thus binding these two members of the triumvirate even closer together. Despite the considerable age difference, this too seems to have been a happy marriage. Indeed from now on the influence of Crassus, although only very slowly, seems to decline. Pompey had the money and power, Caesar’s finances had improved through his own manipulations and by marriage, while Crassus could in no way match Caesar in political ability.
Further violence ensued when the agrarian law was extended to include Campania, but yet again there was little or nothing that those opposed to the triumvirate could do since Caesar had the backing of the people while the other consul, Bibulus, had more or less abandoned his duties. Meanwhile the triumvirs had their eyes on Egypt, particularly Caesar because of his previous interest and Pompey because he regarded the whole East as very much his concern. Earlier, the annexation of the kingdom had been urged on the grounds of the reported will of the late Ptolemy. The reigning king, Ptolemy Auletes, father of the famous Cleopatra, was eager enough to retain control of his wealthy kingdom but he found that the Romans demanded an enormous price for their support. Yet he needed official recognition and support from Rome to shore up his very shaky hold upon the throne. Caesar, as consul, was the man to secure this, and he spoke on the King’s behalf before both senate and people urging an official confirmation of the royal title as well as an alliance of the republic with Egypt. The confirmation of Ptolemy’s title meant little to the Romans, but all could see that to guarantee the King’s position by an alliance was halfway to laying their hands on his country. The innocent (and one sometimes wonders how many there can have been in that city) might even see Caesar and Pompey as benefactors of Rome—as indeed they were. But they had not done it for nothing, and the sum they received from the King in return for their help was so vast that even the wealthy Ptolemy had to borrow from Roman financiers to meet it. Caesar was now certainly tasting the fruits of office, but still he needed to look ahead and make plans for the proconsulship that would follow next year.
The only way to effect a change from the ignominious appointments was to secure one of the tribunes as an ally (well-compensated, of course) to introduce a motion before the people’s assembly appointing Caesar to a real command for the following year in a province that was worthy of his attention. He found his man in a certain Publius Vatinius, a tribune who was prepared to take up the matter without consulting the senate. Now Caesar knew well that, with the East settled by Pompey, the major areas of the Roman world where there was plenty of money to be made, as well as fame and reputation, were to the north and west. The areas in which he was interested, he indicated to Vatinius, were Cisalpine Gaul (northern Italy) and Illyricum (the Adriatic coast of what is now Yugoslavia). The reasons for his choice of Cisalpine Gaul were relatively simple. He had long shown an interest in its people and had tried to secure Roman citizenship for them, while the region was rich and its large population would make a good recruiting ground. Caesar would need troops, for in troops lay power. Illyricum, on the other hand, was Romanized only along the coast and Caesar no doubt had plans for campaigns which would extend far inland: an opportunity to gain fame, extend the empire, and loot without fear of consequences. Vatinius secured both of these provinces for him, and something more. The governorship of the two areas was to be extended from the usual one or two years to five, starting from the expiry of his consulship on 1 January 58.