Sulla’s plans to contain the situation in Rome fell apart almost as soon as his back was turned. One of the Consuls for 87, Lucius Cornelius Cinna, a ruthless popularis, promptly proceeded to repeal Sulla’s measures. Marius, deranged and in poor health, staged his own invasion of Rome and let his men run amok during five days of slaughter and looting. The victims included friends of the Cicero family, among them one of his mentors, the orator and elder statesman Marcus Antonius.
Marius did not survive to enjoy his triumph for long. Bad news from abroad brought on an illness, perhaps a stroke, and he died in 86 at the beginning of his seventh Consulship. Cinna was left in charge; he brought the killings to an end and retained the Consulship for two more years, until he was killed in 84 by mutinous troops.
Meanwhile, Sulla won his war with Mithridates despite also having had to cope with a Roman army sent out against him. Anxious to return to Rome, he did not have time to insist on an unconditional surrender. He met the king near the ruins of Troy and signed a peace treaty. Mithridates got off quite lightly, merely agreeing to evacuate Asia and pay a moderate indemnity. In return he was confirmed as King of Pontus and recognized as an Ally—in today’s terms, he was awarded “most favored nation status.”
In 83 Sulla was back at last after an absence of three years. He landed in Brundisium (modern-day Brindisi) and marched inexorably up Italy like an avenging angel. The popularis regime that had been governing the Republic fought back. However, having brushed aside one army in the north, Sulla resoundingly defeated another outside one of the gates of Rome and, in 82, entered the city. He regulated his position by reviving the disused post of Dictator, which gave him supreme authority in the government. He had himself appointed for an indefinite period, instead of the traditional six months, and set himself the task of reforming and restoring the institutions of the Republic.
Another massacre of the ruling class now took place. Under Marius, men of the political right had been struck down. Now it was the turn of the left. After a period of indiscriminate slaughter, a young Senator complained to Sulla, “We are not asking you to pardon those you have decided to kill; all we ask is that you free from suspense those you have decided not to kill.”
The Dictator took the point and agreed to put some order into the mayhem. He posted proscription lists on white tablets in the Forum, which gave the names of those he wanted dead. Anybody was legally entitled to kill a proscribed person and on the presentation of convincing evidence (usually a head) could claim a substantial reward of 1,200 denarii. AS a rule, the heads of those killed were displayed in the Forum.
A cousin of Cicero’s, the Praetor Marcus Marius Gratidianus, was one of those who suffered. He was handed over to Quintus Lutatius Catulus, a leading conservative, because he had been implicated in the forced suicide of Catulus’s father during Marius’s reign of terror. With the help of a young aristocrat named Lucius Sergius Catilina, Catulus flogged Gratidianus through the streets to the tomb of the Catulus clan. There his arms and legs were smashed with rods, his ears cut off, his tongue wrenched from his mouth and his eyes gouged out. He was then beheaded and his corpse was offered as a sacrifice to the spirit of Catulus’s dead father. In a grim postscript, an officer fainted at the horror of what he was seeing and was himself executed for disloyalty. Catilina was then said to have carried Gratidianus’s severed head “still alive and breathing” (according to Cicero in one of his more fanciful flights of rhetoric) into Rome to present to Sulla.
Many of the most senior figures of the day were liquidated. Forty Senators were proscribed at the outset and 1,600 equites, but the final death toll was far higher. According to one estimate there were 9,000 victims in all. The sons of those killed were sent into exile, their descendants barred forever from holding public office. One consequence of these massacres was that the Senate became seriously depleted. There were fewer than 200 survivors, not enough to run an empire.
At the time of the proscriptions, Cicero was twenty-four and his friend Pomponius was three years older. Julius Caesar was only eighteen. The terrible events of the War of the Allies and the bloodlettings of Marius and Sulla had taken place during their formative years. Their reactions to what they saw hardened over the years into mature political positions which, as it happened, covered the whole spectrum of the possible. Defense of Republican traditions, withdrawal from direct political activity, and commitment to radical reform—these were the various ways in which three very different personalities came to terms with the breakdown of the constitution and the decimation of the ruling class.
Of the trio, Caesar was in the greatest personal danger during this period. His family, although highly born, was not well-off and lived in the densely populated working-class district of Subura. He was fiercely proud of his Patrician ancestry, but Romans saw public life very much in personal terms; his aunt Julia’s marriage to Marius placed Caesar in the thick of revolutionary politics and made him an enemy of Sulla.
Caesar was only fourteen in 86 when, under the Consulship of Cinna, he was chosen to be a Priest of Jupiter (flamen dialis), a religious post reserved for Patricians; the previous incumbent had been forced to commit suicide during the troubles. It was not unusual for Priests to be appointed when they were young, fresh enough to learn all they had to about religious rules and procedures. Perhaps, too, Cinna’s government found it hard to find a more prominent Patrician willing to take the job.
In any event, Caesar would not be able to assume office until he reached his majority and, perhaps thanks to the fact that in due course Sulla annulled all Cinna’s acts, it seems he never had to do so. This was a stroke of luck, for, theoretically at least, the appointment would have prevented him from ever leading a political career. The Priest of Jupiter, who held office for life, was forbidden to mount a horse, set eyes on armed soldiers or spend more than two nights in succession outside Rome. But nominated as he was to the post, Caesar was now obliged to marry a Patrician; so he broke off his engagement with the daughter of a rich equestrian family and married Cinna’s daughter, Cornelia.
Caesar did not take part in the civil war that broke out after Sulla’s return from Asia Minor. The victorious Dictator did not harm him, insisting only on one point—that he divorce his wife, perhaps because he had someone more suitable in mind. The young man rejected out of hand this apparent sign of goodwill. Fearful of Sulla’s anger, Caesar slipped out of Rome and, he hoped, out of sight, but he fell seriously ill with malaria and was picked up by a Sullan patrol. He managed to buy his way out of trouble for the sum of 3,000 sesterces and eventually well-connected relatives persuaded a reluctant Sulla to leave him alone. Relieved, Caesar set off for Asia Minor to do some soldiering.
Why was he so steadfast in his resistance? It is hard to be sure, but his actions anticipate what we know of the mature man. He would not be bullied. He was loyal even when it was inconvenient to be so. (He stayed faithful to Cornelia until her death in 69.) He was energetic and cool-headed in a crisis. Caesar’s views were governed by a profound impatience with the aristocracy, not just for its selfishness but for its incompetence. He had been brought up a popularis and would remain one for the rest of his life. While he held his first political position ten years or so later, a Quaestorship, his aunt Julia died. The Sullan constitution was still in place and the Senate very much in charge. Nevertheless, Caesar delivered the funeral oration and, in defiance of the law and with some personal courage, brought out effigies of Julia’s husband, Marius, and his son to display in the procession. No action was taken against him, but he had nailed his radical flag to the mast for all to see.