“You must forgive me, Marcus, but I believe that circumstances did indeed require us to… open the discussions. Grain shortages continue, there is violence in the streets and the senate seems powerless to suppress it. I need your help, old friend.” Caesar raised his bowl to Crassus, then sipped his water.
“Oh, I have no doubt you felt it was necessary. But it strikes me that all this traipsing about, this wrangling and politicking is for no one’s benefit so much as it is for the boon of Caesar.”
Caesar seemed genuinely nonplussed. “I am hurt to hear you think so. You, Pompeius and I have sworn to take no action without the approval of the other two, and I have lived by this accord. We have just affirmed it this morning.”
“And here I thought our original appointment in Ravenna, by excluding Magnus, would be the beginning of a new, smaller-by-one, coalition. I see that I was mistaken.” A shutter blew open across the room and rain spattered across the stone tiles. The oil lamps hanging from nearby floor stands sputtered and almost went out.
As I rushed with others to set things aright, Caesar said, “I knew we should have dined in the south triclinium.” He wrapped his cloak more tightly about him. “I had seriously considered a duumvirate, yes. But thanks to the feud between Milo and Clodius and their bloody street gangs, I concluded that more than four hands are required to contain the problems now facing the city.”
“That’s odd,” Crassus said, drinking the remainder of his wine. “I was under the impression you felt it could be accomplished with but two.”
Caesar smiled thinly. “We both need Pompeius in Rome. Unless you’ve had a recent change of heart and are more interested in counting grain than gold.”
“No, let’s leave that dull responsibility to his bureaucratic expertise.”
“Well, then…”
“Well, then, of all the men who would cast aspersions on my purported avarice, I’d have thought you would be one of the last. As I recall, you have done quite well from the use of my gold — eight hundred thirty talents’ worth, if memory serves?”
I saw the brief twinge in Caesar’s expression, probably cursing himself inwardly for making such a careless remark. But my master was too far in his cups to notice. “Your generosity is legend, Marcus. I could not have achieved half as much without your patronage. You must be certain how keenly I know this. But is it not true that we have all made gains together we could not have achieved alone?”
“I don’t know, Gaius, is it? Certainly your own fortunes and those of Pompeius have soared in the past four years. Admittedly, I was well situated before our accord, but while you and Magnus have risen to the heights, I seem to be wandering around the same plateau as when we began.”
I could practically read Caesar’s mind by the light of his facial expressions. What more does the old Croesus want, he must be thinking. He was never adept at concealing his feelings, though he would be the first to deny it. “A plateau that rivals Olympus, Marcus. Only opportunity has given Pompeius and me more military achievements. That aside, who in Rome is your rival? There is no finer orator, statesman or politician. Your influence in the courts is matchless. And that is why I need to count on your continued support. Rhetoric and persuasion are no less critical to our success than the legions at my command. We are each generals in our own way.”
“True enough, I suppose. But this commander, Caesar, is ready for retirement. Here lies the crux of it. You and Pompeius are men who ‘want.’ I, on the other hand, am a man who ‘wants not,’ and is getting to that age where he cares little whether or not he acquires more. Therefore, any agreement between such as we must by definition take from me and give to the two of you. I’m beginning to wonder what my support means to you, and what, in the long term, it will garner for me which I do not already possess. You see before you a man satisfied.”
Caesar was clearly becoming exasperated. “Marcus, you well know that the political stool upon which you, Pompeius and I sit cannot stand firm unless all three legs are of equal length and strength. You yourself heard Lucius Domitius say that if he wins the consulate, he’ll make good on his threat to take away my armies. For all our sakes, we cannot allow that to happen. That is why you and Pompeius must win next year’s election, whatever it takes.”
“Oh, I understand full well why you wish it so. And all things being equal, as your friend, your desires are also my wishes. But is there parity, Gaius? Where is the profit? Why should I subject myself to another year of bickering with Magnus over every petty decision. It wasn’t pleasant the first time; it will be no less irritating now.”
“If we do not act now to secure the futures we deserve, we risk losing them.” Caesar sat up, now truly concerned. It was clear he had misjudged my master.
“No, Caesar,” Crassus said. “With respect, my future is secure. It is not I who ran off to Gaul before getting the senate’s approval. It is not I who has pissed into the cups of more optimates than I can count. And it is not I, Gaius, who will stand trial for impeachment when your imperium expires. You may fool the likes of Pompeius into believing our actions are for the good of Rome, but kindly afford me a little more respect. Do not confuse me with the players on the stage of your mime. Like you, I sit behind the curtain as author, producer and director. I understand what is happening here. To continue down this path is to imperil all that I have acquired. Such a singular risk must be minimized… if I am to help place you on your throne.”
Caesar considered my master carefully before speaking. “I did not realize you were unsatisfied, Marcus. Tell me, what result of our deliberations is not to your liking and I will see that it is corrected to your satisfaction.”
“You miss my point, Gaius. Perhaps it would be better, now that you have invited half of Rome to join you in your scheming, if I were left out of it. That way, should your machinations fail, I might at least preserve something in what would surely to be a messy aftermath.”
“Marcus, you know that is impossible. Without you as consul next year, nothing will come to fruition. Pompeius will flounder without you. There must be something else you desire, something that will make your participation more… more palatable. Another province, perhaps?”
“Another? I cannot fathom what to do with the first.”
“I thought you wanted a proconsulate?”
“I would appreciate its novelty, certainly, but what on earth am I going to do with Syria? You’re not suggesting I crawl off to Antioch to retire, as is the fashion these days for well-to-do businessmen?”
“I rather thought you would wring it like a sponge.”
“There’s a coincidence. That is precisely how I feel at this moment — like a wrung sponge. Perhaps it is the hour. Late in the day
… and late in life.” Crassus sighed and put his empty wine bowl down too close to the edge of the table. It fell to the floor. I snapped my fingers and an analecta came running to replace it. The noise elicited a snort from the man on the third lectus. “We depart tomorrow morning,” Crassus said, struggling to rise. “I will consider all that you have said and will send word to you within the month. Will that satisfy you?”
Caesar leaned forward and shook the dozing man. “Marcus Junius, bestir yourself. We still have guests to entertain.” Caesar motioned to the wine pourer to fill Crassus’ bowl yet again.
“Enough,” Crassus protested, “this is not a commisatio.”
“Did I hear someone say drinking bout? Excellent!” The young man sat up, rubbing the crick in his neck. He looked at Caesar, who nodded. Something passed between them that pricked me to pay closer attention.
Caesar rose. “Marcus Licinius Crassus, Marcus Junius Brutus. Brutus’ mother, Servilia Caepionis is a good friend. And Brutus studied philosophy in Athens so I’m sure you’ll have much to discuss. Brutus, Crassus is going to be consul next year, remember? After that he’s off to Syria.”