The agreement at Luca—especially the five-year commands—was to be kept a deep secret, at least for the time being, but it soon became clear that the alliance had hardened and that Pompey was back in Caesar’s camp.
When Pompey eventually arrived in Sardinia, he looked up Quintus and warned him to rein in his brother’s behavior, especially his attack on Caesar’s land legislation. Quintus repeated the exchange that followed to Cicero: “Ah, just the man I want,” “Very lucky our bumping into each other. Unless you have a serious talk with Marcus, you’re going to have to pay up on that guarantee you gave me on his behalf.” Beneath the joviality there was a new and unexpected steeliness. Pompey also sent Cicero a direct message, telling him not to take any action on the Campanian land.
Understanding at once that everything had changed, Cicero obeyed without demur and stayed away from the Senate in May when Caesar’s legislation was scheduled to be discussed. AS he told his brother: “On this question I am muzzled.” It soon became clear that more would be asked of him than silence: the First Triumvirate was going to demand his active support. To the general amazement, Cicero showed almost instantly that he was willing to provide it.
How was this volte-face to be explained? The simplest answer was that, after his brief rebellion, Cicero realized once and for all the futility of trying to maintain a freestanding political role. It was humiliating, but in the absence of effective political support from any other quarter he could see no alternative to capitulation to the First Triumvirate. But it was also true that indebtedness for a favor was a serious matter in ancient Rome; Cicero was under a heavy obligation to Caesar and Pompey for approving his return from exile, and acceding to their wishes was a way of repaying it. Finally, he remained bitter about his fellow Senators. If they would not let him into their circle, he would have to look elsewhere to maintain his position. Their flirtation with Clodius added insult to injury and made it all the more imperative that he did not remain isolated. By the end of May Cicero was helping to push through Senate proposals from Caesar which as recently as March he had called monstrous things. These engaged the Treasury to pay for four legions which Caesar had recruited without permission and on his own initiative and gave him leave to recruit ten subordinate commanders.
At the beginning of June the Senate discussed, as it was legally obliged to do, the allocation of provinces for 54. Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus was a candidate for the Consulship of 55, and if he won the election he would be ready for a post-Consular foreign posting in January 54. He had a large client list in Transalpine Gaul, currently under Caesar’s control, and wanted to take over as its governor, for by then Caesar’s five-year term would have ended. This was a serious threat: if Ahenobarbus was not halted in his tracks, Caesar would be unable to have his Gallic command extended, as had been agreed at Luca.
So Cicero was enlisted to give a major address on this subject. He spoke in extravagant praise of Caesar, who (he argued) should be allowed to complete the good work he had started. He would probably need an extension of only two years and, as it was what he wanted, it should not be ruled out by allowing his provinces to be allocated at this stage. The conquest of Long-haired Gaul was vital to Italy’s security and, as Caesar was in winning form, there was no doubt that it would be accomplished expeditiously. When Atticus inquired why he had not as usual received an advance copy of the speech, Cicero wrote back contritely:
Come on! Do you really think there is anyone I would sooner have read and approve my compositions than you? So why did I send this one to anybody else first? Because the person [probably Pompey] to whom I did send it was pressing me for it and I did not have two copies. There was also the fact (I might as well stop nibbling at what has to be swallowed) that I was not exactly proud of my recantation hymn. But good night to principle, sincerity and honor!
Cicero’s frame of mind shifted uneasily from one mood to another, but at heart he was depressed. He could not help despising himself for doing Caesar’s bidding. Now fifty years old, he felt that his political career was over. He confided to his brother: “These years of my life which ought to be passing in the plenitude of Senatorial dignity are spent in the hurly-burly of forensic practice or rendered tolerable by my studies at home.”
Over the next few years Caesar’s gang of three made extensive use of Cicero’s legal services as a number of friends trooped through the law courts under his care. One of them was Balbus, the rich Spaniard who had become Caesar’s confidential agent and who was accused of having illegally acquired his Roman citizenship. Cicero’s defense rested on the plausible proposition that the case was really intended as an indirect attack on the First Triumvirate. This was a fruitless exercise, he argued cogently, and the prosecution would be well advised to think again and let the matter drop. Cicero won the case and Balbus was acquitted.
After defending one of Pompey’s supporters, Cicero complained to a friend that he was becoming disillusioned with the law. “I was weary of it even in the days when youth and ambition spurred me forward, and when moreover I was at liberty to refuse a case I did not care for. But now life is simply not worth living.” His correspondence reveals his continuing uncertainty, even feelings of guilt, about his conduct. “After all, what could be more humiliating than our lives today, and especially mine?” he confided to Atticus. “For you, though you are a political animal by nature, have not actually lost your freedom.… But so far as I am concerned, people think I have left my senses if I speak on politics as I ought, and a powerless prisoner if I say nothing. So how am I expected to feel?”
The judgment of history has been as harsh on Cicero as he was on himself. On the face of it, his decision to go along with the wishes of the First Triumvirate was weakly self-interested. It was certainly interpreted as being so. He was much criticized and all the old charges were exhumed—the laughable epic on his Consulship, the self-important letter to Pompey in 63 and the unmanly behavior during his exile.
But it is hard to see what else Cicero could have done if he was not to retire into silence and country living. This was not his most glorious hour, but he was taking the only action likely to keep him in the game. His own view that he was uniquely placed to mediate among the conflicting forces on the political scene was not entirely unreasonable. Although the First Triumvirate had reasserted its authority in no uncertain terms, he remained convinced that the alliance would not last forever. Caesar’s military successes made it increasingly clear that he and Pompey were competitors. In the long run one of them would have to give ground and yield first place. Circumstances had compelled Cicero to execute a strategic retreat and, although he has been accused through the centuries of inconsistency, his tactical maneuvers did reflect a firm underlying position.
Two years later he wrote a long, reflective letter to an aristocratic friend, designed as a public rebuttal to his critics, in which he set out a comprehensive justification of his actions. He pointed out that in politics the means can vary from time to time while the end remains the same. “I believe in moving with the times,” he noted.