“I cannot hope to win this campaign on the battlefield. My finest soldiers are not men, but money and influence. Yet though they are great, I doubt even they are sufficient. It would be a mistake to overestimate their power. They cannot match his legions, or his cunning as a general.
“What if my counterstrike were more personal, say the blade of a knife, or poison? This could more easily be arranged. I can think of a hundred senators who would beg for the chance to stick him, and cry tears of elation at his funeral. But no, death is a gift; I will not bestow it upon him. A man can be killed only once, and once, for Caesar, is not nearly enough. I want to see him die a thousand times. The blow must be struck in some other way.
“What does he wish for most, and how can I take it from him? What one assault will bring him low even as it raises me up? He craves power as much as they say I love gold. It is true, he has no regard for the Republic. He would see it die and himself crowned as the new Alexander. Dictator is not enough for Caesar. He will not stop till he is King and the Republic dead at his feet. This is my task, then. I will see him fall, and when his world is as defiled as mine, I will let him know who it was who had ruined him. I will use him a while longer, as he has abused me.”
Then, in an instant, Crassus jerked abruptly and stood unsteadily, reaching behind him for the bed. For a moment I thought he was suffering an attack of the falling sickness from which Caesar himself reputedly suffered. I leapt to him and helped him sit. His mouth was open, a look of wonder upon him, his face all at once alight. He took my hands once more and pulled me down to kneel on the floor before him. “Alexander,” he whispered, his grip almost painful, “I have it! Caesar himself has put the means of his undoing into my hands.”
“What is it, lord?”
“Caesar loves to speak of our league as a three-legged stool which will not stand unless he, Pompeius and I are all of equal strength. He must think me as dimwitted as a Numidian. Gaius wants no stool; he seeks a throne. Let him have his fantasy.
“There is another triangle, Alexander; he who possesses all three of its sides may rule Rome. Money, political power and military might. No one man can hold sway over the aristocracy, the plebs and the government without all three. I have spent my entire life amassing two of the three, with no thought until tonight of what I might do with the third. In spite of my success with Sulla and against Spartacus, Rome has never recognized my military service. Do you know why, Alexander? Do you?”
“No, lord, no.” Crassus was practically aflame with excitement.
“Because my victories could never be seen as more than domestic squabbles compared to a successful campaign on foreign soil. This is the missing third of the triangle, Alexander, and Caesar has unwittingly shown me the way to acquire it.
“In the meeting earlier this morning — can it be such a short time ago — we had drawn lots to see who would be the proconsul of Hispania and who would govern Syria. Look, Alexander. Dawn approaches, and with its light I realize the gods have blessed me with great good fortune — because the eastern province fell to me. Let Pompeius have the west, its wealth pales by comparison. Bordering Syria lies the pearl of my revenge; all I need do is stoop to pick it up. And when I return with it in my pocket, the people will declare it to be a jewel worthy of eclipsing any other pretender to power, even Caesar.”
“ Dominus, you cannot be thinking of…”
“Parthia! She has long been a thorn in Rome’s side.”
“But we are at peace with the Arsacids.”
“No more. Her size and wealth is an insult and an irritation, Alexander. Why has a country so close, so vast remained outside Rome’s embrace? Now, I say let it fall under the sword of Crassus, before Caesar takes it for himself. The timing is perfect. Their monarchy is in such disarray, they know not in which direction to turn the assassin’s blade. They are uncivilized barbarians, disorganized, decentralized, and will surely wither and blow away before the discipline and training of but one Roman legion. Who knows if they even have an army to speak of? One thing is a certainty: their capitals and their temples are over-brimming with riches, gold beyond measure, wealth beyond counting. Alexander, I will bring it all home for the glory of Rome and Caesar’s undoing.”
I took a deep breath. “My lord, forgive me, but consider how much you risk. Is vengeance worth so many lives? Is it worth your own life?”
“It is worth all I have, and all I am.” Crassus’ tone had hardened, and I knew I had reached the limit of my insolence. “I will take the consulate,” he said stonily, “and go to Syria, not with a governor’s stilus, but with an army. And when I return a conqueror the city will open its doors to me. I will feast the citizens for a month, host the most extravagant games ever witnessed, and lay treasure in heaps upon every household. Then I will go to the curia and turn Caesar’s coalition to dust.”
“But even if you succeed, dominus, how can you be sure a conquered Parthia will be enough to dislodge Caesar?”
“In three months I can raise seven legions. Who could stand against such a force? We will squeeze the eastern provinces and sack the treasuries of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, and if enough gold cannot be sifted from those sands, we will march on to India, perhaps even to the eastern sea beyond. It will be the greatest conquest Rome has ever witnessed. I will make Caesar look like a schoolboy playing at soldier.”
“Such an expedition will require many years. Your business interests will suffer without your guidance.”
“My wealth will serve but one purpose now: to finance this war and strip Caesar of everything he values. The people will forget him like day-old news. And after my triumph, with the senate enriched and in my pocket, he would be overthrown, cast out, finished. Deprive him of his one true love — as he has done to me, that is my task. Strip him of power, influence, glory — yes, there is meat in that revenge.”
“I fear for you, my lord. I beg you to think on this.”
“My purpose is fixed, Alexander, as the earth is in the heavens. Fear not. With what agony can death threaten me which Caesar has not already made real? Someone once asked him, if he had the power to choose it, what kind of death he would prefer. He hesitated not a moment before replying “an unexpected one.” Crassus looked out through the doorway into the darkness of the villa. “There are many kinds of death, Gaius Julius, and the one I have in store for you will most certainly grant your wish.”
(Editor’s note: the following two letters, dated respectively June, 56 BCE and August, 56 BCE, are reproduced from the archives of the British Museum's Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities. We have placed them in this location due to their chronological relevance.)
To G. Julius Caesar
Rome, Junius
I trust you and your army are well and enjoying the improving weather in Gaul. I write to tell you of my misgivings about our recent treatment, or rather, dare I say, my part in your treatment of the old man. You have been a most steadfast friend to my mother and myself and my loyalty to you is boundless. This you must know in advance of all else I write here. Crassus seems a likeable, even venerable statesman, a revered conscript father, and I had thought your indispensable ally. Politics is a complicated business of which I understand little, but I regret causing harm to anyone whose enmity toward Pompeius equals my own. In the end, we must all do our part to preserve the Republic, but I confess I do not see how this deed serves our lofty purpose. Here is the crux of my letter: do you think he has any idea what transpired in Luca? What if a confession were forthcoming? Do not underestimate the man, Caesar. He clasped your arm and met your eye well enough when he took his farewell. If he did this aware of what you had done, I would not value his mettle too cheaply. An old war horse like that would know to avoid a frontal assault on a veteran such as yourself. He may try to outflank you! I wish you all success in your campaign against the Veneti. M. Junius Brutus