In 53 B.C., Crassus commanded an expedition against the Parthian empire. The Parthians were fierce former nomads who became the dominating force on the Iranian plateau during the third century B.C. From about 190 B.C., they intermittently governed Mesopotamia, the heartland of the old Assyrian and Babylonian empires. They were highly skilled horsemen, famous for the “Parthian shot”: they rode up to the enemy, then suddenly galloped away, turning round in their seat to loose an arrow. The Romans, who depended on infantry, found these highly mobile fighters hard to defeat.
This was problematic, for the Parthian monarchs were aggressive, with a tendency to meddle in Rome’s eastern provinces and in the client kingdoms that acted as a buffer between the two empires and that Rome saw as within its sphere of influence. Both sides aimed to control the strategically important, semi-independent kingdom of Armenia (it looked both eastward and westward, being attached to the plateau of Asia Minor and the Iranian plateau, and it had long been a bone of contention). Luckily, murderous dynastic disputes often distracted the Parthians from foreign adventures.
Rome was itself frequently guilty of interference. A few years previously, the proconsul of Syria had supported a claimant to the Parthian crown, a move which, although unsuccessful, naturally infuriated the sitting monarch.
As a result, relations between the two powers were icy, and each side felt it had good reason to launch a preventive war against the other. Hostilities were hastened by Crassus’ personal ambitions, for he was intent on winning military glory that would rival the achievements of Pompey and Caesar.
Crassus marched an army of about thirty-five thousand men into Mesopotamia. Near a place called Carrhae he came up against a force of about ten thousand mounted archers. The terrain was open downland, ideal for cavalry maneuvers, and the Parthians steadily shot down the helpless legionaries. The Romans sought terms and Crassus was killed during the negotiations. Only ten thousand of his men survived the debacle. Humiliatingly, many legionary standards were captured.
This was a massive blow to Rome’s pride that would demand revenge as soon as the political situation at home permitted it.
Gaius was too young to understand these events when they took place. But he lived in a family that had been engaged in high politics for at least two generations, and the issues of the day must have been regularly discussed at home. Close relatives found themselves on different sides of the fence, and at least one of them, Gaius’ stepfather, Philippus, preferred to sit on it. His full sister Octavia, not his half sister of the same name by their father’s first marriage, was wedded at the age of fifteen or sixteen to Gaius Claudius Marcellus, a middle-aged optimate twenty years or so her senior, who strongly disapproved of Caesar’s constitutional recklessness.
In 56 B.C., when the boy was seven, Philippus became consul. Gaius did not need to master the complexities of his great-uncle’s alliance with Pompey and Crassus to enjoy the glamour and excitement of the consulship. It was the peak of achievement for a Roman and, although the boy mostly lived in the country, we may imagine that he was brought to Rome to witness Philippus in all the splendor of his office.
Roman consuls inherited the ceremonial grandeur of the Etruscan kings whom they replaced when the Republic was founded in 509 B.C. A consul wore a distinctive toga with a broad purple hem, and the high scarlet shoes of royalty. He sat on a special chair of state, the sella curulis, inlaid with ivory, and was always accompanied by an official bodyguard of twelve lictors. Each member of this escort carried the emblem of state authority, an ax bound with rods; this was the fasces, which symbolized the consul’s absolute power, or imperium. When a consul visited a house, the lictors stood guard at the front door and would instantly arrest anyone whom he pointed out.
As Gaius approached his teens, the political situation in Rome deteriorated. Caesar and the Senate hired gangs that fought pitched battles in the Forum. Public life was badly disrupted; elections were postponed and officeholders attacked in the street. No doubt the careful Atia insisted that Gaius stay safely in the country. As an emergency measure, the Senate arranged for Pompey to be appointed sole consul in 52 B.C. and entrusted him with the task of restoring order, which he did with his customary efficiency.
The First Triumvirate proved that men with the support of the people and soldiers of Rome, lots of money, and a fair amount of nerve could disregard the ruling class and, in effect, hijack the Republic.
However, as expected and despite Caesar’s best efforts, the alliance at last broke up. Crassus was gone and, as the fifties drew to a close, Pompey, jealous of Caesar’s military achievements in Gaul, became increasingly friendly with the optimates.
Once his governorship was over, Caesar intended to return to Rome, a conquering hero, and stand for consul for 48 B.C. His term in Gaul was due to end in late 50 or early 49 B.C.; he arranged for an extension, so that there would be no interval before the beginning of his second consulship, and permission to stand in absentia. This was important because, as a private citizen, he would be liable for prosecution for his illegal acts when consul ten years before. Cato and his friends in the Senate wanted a showdown with Caesar: they were set on having their day in court and pressed for Caesar’s early recall.
Naturally, Caesar tried to prevent this from happening, for he would certainly be found guilty of constitutional crimes and his political career would be prematurely aborted. Fruitless maneuvers and debates took place as people began to realize that Caesar would never hand himself over to his enemies. However, the senatorial extremists, increasingly sure of Pompey’s support, refused to compromise. Civil war seemed inevitable.
Gaius was now thirteen years old and well able to understand the seriousness of the situation. He will have been aware that opinion in his family, as in many others, was sharply divided. His brother-in-law, Gaius Claudius Marcellus, was consul for 50 B.C. and, despite his family connection with Caesar, was anxious to bring him to justice. Closer to home, Philippus, never known for strength of conviction, had astutely married his daughter Marcia to his uncle-in-law’s sworn enemy Cato, thus keeping a careful foot in both camps. Philippus was not the only noble Roman to hedge his bets by ensuring that relatives could be found on each side. After all, it was not clear who would emerge the victor.
Caesar bought the services of indigent young tribunes of the people, who vetoed any hostile senatorial decrees on his behalf. One of these was Philippus’ son (yet another insurance policy), but the most important was the thirty-three-year-old Marcus Antonius, or Mark Antony as he is known to us, a distant relative of Caesar through Antony’s mother, a member of the Julian clan.
Mark Antony came from a good but impecunious family. He showed little interest in politics in his youth, sowing wild oats in spectacular manner and running up large debts. At one stage, he was rumored to have become the kept boy of a wealthy young aristocrat.
Sometime in his early twenties, Mark Antony realized that it was time to settle down. Following in the footsteps of many ambitious young Romans, he went on a “grand tour” to finish his education by studying public speaking in Athens or one of the great cities of Asia Minor. He took to what was called the Asiatic style of oratory, florid and boastful and swashbuckling—“in common with Antony’s own mode of life,” as Plutarch sharply remarked.