John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

On that morning, after assigning duties to a number of senators he surprised us by announcing the reception of an envoy. “Conscript Fathers,” he said, stealing one of Cicero’s favorite turns of phrase, “today we receive Archelaus, the envoy of King Phraates of Parthia.”

“But, Caesar,” said a very old senator, “by ancient custom we receive envoys in a temple, not in the Curia.”

“This is Pompey’s theater,” Caesar pointed out. “I can’t think of a better place to receive a representative of a country like Parthia or a king like Phraates. If any of you are too traditional for that, remember that up at the top of the auditorium is the Temple of Venus. That’s close enough. Call him in.”

A lictor went out and returned a minute later with Archelaus, accompanied by a few colleagues. All of them, like Archelaus himself, appeared to be Greeks. I saw not a single one who looked like a Parthian. They stopped before Caesar’s curule chair and bowed low in the eastern fashion.

“Parthia salutes great Caesar,” Archelaus intoned.

“Would that Parthia had come personally,” Caesar said, fiddling with a ring and gazing off at a carving somewhere on the ceiling. It was behavior very unlike Caesar and I wondered what it might signify. “Your king presumes much, sending ambassadors when it is clear that a state of war exists between our nations, as it must until the stain of Carrhae is blotted from history, the death of my friend Marcus Crassus and that of his son avenged, the Roman captives freed, and the Roman dead given the proper rites, which shall be performed by me, their pontifex maximus.”

He spoke this in a very quick, clipped, and rather agitated voice. I looked around and saw many faces that looked bemused, puzzled, or dismayed. The mobile, expressive face of Cicero in particular was a mask of alarm. Brutus looked concerned. Marcus Antonius seemed amused and mildly bored, but then he often looked that way at Senate meetings.

“Great Caesar,” Archelaus began, “there is no cause for such enmity between Rome and Parthia. No cause for war ever existed between our nations. The campaign of Marcus Crassus was the military adventure of a lone man. The Senate of Rome never condoned it. The people of Rome, through their tribunes, expressed their anger at the temerity of Crassus.” This was all quite true, but Caesar was unmoved.

“Marcus Crassus was my friend,” he reiterated. “A Roman army was massacred at Carrhae. Eagles were captured. Those eagles are the tutelary gods of our legions, sacred to every Roman soldier. Until those standards are returned to the Temple of Saturn,” here he pointed in the direction of that temple, “then the hand of every true Roman is raised against every Parthian, sword drawn.”

“Caesar,” Archelaus said, this time omitting the “great” part, “the return of your eagles is a point for negotiation. It need not involve a resumption of hostilities.”

“Rome does not bargain like some merchant for possession of her gods. What was taken from us at sword’s point we will recover with sword in hand. Inform your king of this.”

Now the Senate looked truly appalled. This was high-handed behavior even for a dictator. Ordinarily, war was debated at great length in the Senate and the Assemblies. When it came to war, the Senate usually had the upper hand of all our plethora of public bodies, although the comitia tributa and consilium plebis apportioned the commands. For Caesar to address a foreign ambassador in this way, without even the pretense of consulting the Senate, was more than the act of a tyrant. It was a deep, personal insult to the Senate as a body. Had he simply briefed us on his plans, motives, and goals, we would have stood behind him to a man, even his enemies. We always do that in time of war. He was dictator, but there are limits. I wondered if Caesar was becoming unhinged.

“Mighty Caesar,” now Archelaus’s tone was somewhat less than respectful, “it pains me to remind you that you speak these vaunting words to a king whose army, although smaller than that of Crassus, smashed those legions as utterly as Hannibal ever did.” There was a collective gasp from all around. To speak that name in such a fashion, to the very Senate of Rome, was unprecedented. Then he went on, in a more moderate tone. “But it ill behooves statesmen to harangue one another like schoolboys. We have deliberative bodies,” here he turned and gave the Senate a slight bow, “and exchange ambassadors between nations, so that we may behave as mature men.”

“I do not speak as a statesman,” Caesar said, his hand working on the ivory baton that he usually carried when presiding over the Senate. “I speak as the commander in chief of all Rome’s armies, the dictator, with total imperium.” As if anyone needed reminding of this, Caesar was seated as usual with a golden wreath, dressed in his triumphator ’s purple robe and scarlet boots, his twenty-four lictors arrayed before him.

“Caesar, I am my king’s ambassador, but even I-”

“You are no ambassador,” Caesar interrupted rudely. “You are some sort of diplomatic mercenary in the pay of a sovereign who is not your own. Go and report my words to him. Now get out of my sight.”

This was a rare spectacle even for the Senate of Rome. Archelaus and his entourage left with flaming faces, at which no one could be surprised. I noticed a number of senators giving them looks and gestures of sympathy. I had only the slightest acquaintance with Archelaus, but I felt his humiliation keenly.

Caesar rose from his curule chair and I saw a slight lurch, the faintest loss of balance, when he did so. I had always known him as a man of superb physical address. This slight lapse was as disturbing to me as anything that had happened that day. “Senators!” he said. “I now call a recess of this meeting. Go refresh yourselves. I shall wish to see some of you in one hour.” He called off several names and mine was among them. Then he went out by way of the door to the rear of the dais, just behind the statue of Pompey the Great.

The meeting broke up in confusion, as might be suspected. Little knots of senators formed to talk over the extraordinary events that had just transpired. The pro-Caesar and anti-Caesar factions were well represented, naturally. I went outside and found the group I wanted to join, standing in the shade of the portico. They were gathered around Cicero. Brutus was among them, along with Cassius Longinus, Calpurnius Piso, and other distinguished men. Cicero smiled when he saw me approach. He took my hands courteously. “Well, Decius Caecilius, what do you make of all this?” I was no longer of any great political importance since the destruction of my family, but Cicero acted as if my name still meant something.

“It’s the most remarkable performance I’ve ever seen him put on,” I said. “I saw him receive deputations of German barbarians in Gaul with greater respect.”

“But,” sputtered a conservative old senator, “did you hear how that man threw the name of Hannibal right into our faces?” There were mutters of agreement.

“Personally, I don’t blame the man,” said Brutus, surprising everyone. “He was provoked beyond endurance. So what if he is a Greek professional? Such persons have been employed for centuries when feelings between two nations are too intense for rational discourse. They are always to be accorded the courtesies due to ambassadors just as if they were fellow nationals of the powers that employ them.”

“That is very correct, Marcus Junius,” Cicero said. “What we just saw in there was something unprecedented. As dictator, Caesar has the constitutional right to act according to his own judgment, without having to consult the Senate or anyone else. But we have always chosen dictators who are men of sound principles, dedicated to the welfare of Rome.”