Julius Caesar (31 page)

The battle of Zela somewhat resembled the one against the Nervii at the Sambre, when the enemy had attacked while his troops were still engaged in fortifying their position. Caesar had occupied a hill facing the one on which Pharnaces was encamped. Thinking he had the Romans at a disadvantage, Pharnaces ordered his troops down into the valley that separated the two armies. Their aim was to assault the hill while the Roman legionaries were still busy with their stakes and spades. Amazed at his audacity, and to see war-chariots (which had caused him such concern in Britain) in action once more, Caesar made no immediate response to the threat. He could hardly believe that such an attack, up a hill, could ever succeed. It was far from a one-sided action, however; the front ranks of the legionaries were thrown back in confusion by the chariots, and it was not until the Sixth Legion (from Alexandria) commanded by Caesar himself threw the enemy down the side of the hill that the outcome was certain. The rout was later completed by his left wing and center which drove back the main body of Pharnaces’ army, seizing and sacking his camp. Pharnaces himself escaped, only to be killed later by his own rebels in the Crimea.

To his victories over Pompey in Greece and over Ptolemy in Egypt, Caesar now added a further one that would keep the peace in Asia Minor. He was well aware that, though their arms may have been as good or better, the fighting spirit of these people was not comparable with that of the Gauls, the Belgae or the Germans. He remarked sarcastically that it was little wonder Pompey had been regarded as a great general, if such was the caliber of his enemies. Writing to a friend in Rome, he coined the neat phrase: “Veni, Vidi, Vici: I came, I saw, I conquered.”

After dealing with some outstanding administrative matters, and leaving his officers to supervise and his soldiers to enjoy the fruits of this recent victory, Caesar sailed for Athens and then made his way to Tarentum (Taranto). It was September, nearly a year and a half since he had set out in pursuit of Pompey, and in that time the affairs of Italy had lapsed into anarchical confusion. The hand of Antony, his Master of the Horse, had not been the right, steady one to administer affairs in his absence. Hastening to Rome, Caesar met Cicero on the road to Brundisium—who was hurrying to meet him. Cicero was another who considered that the civil war should have ended at Pharsalus, and he had done everything he could during the subsequent months to disassociate himself from the Pompeians. Caesar was not surprised to see him, for he had received offers of support from him while still in Asia; but Cicero’s goodwill, his oratorical abilities and his consular prestige were no longer of the value to him that they might formerly have been. But he was tactful enough to spare this former Pompeian from any further humiliation, gave him leave to go to Rome if he wished (something forbidden by Antony), and no doubt learned from him some more about the state of affairs there. Cicero, for his part, however he might dissemble, could never bring himself to like Caesar. He would never write after his death as he had after Pompey’s: “I cannot help being sorry about his fate: in my experience, he was an honest, clean and upright man…”

Antony was a fine soldier but no administrator, and during Caesar’s absence he had thoroughly mishandled the affairs of Rome. A womanizer, a heavy drinker and a spendthrift, Antony had not failed to profit from Caesar’s instruction to liquidate the affairs of the Pompeian party. This meant the confiscation and sale of the houses and estates of Pompey’s supporters, and of similar property of those Pompeians who had remained in Italy or who attempted to return from the wreckage of Pharsalus. Antony was foremost among those to bid for the properties of dispossessed
Optimates
as they became available for sale by auction, and property speculation was rife among the rich. One notable speculator was Dolabella, a spendthrift crooked son-in-law of Cicero who bore a certain resemblance to Clodius. He sought to gain favor with the masses by such wild proposals for the cancellation of debts and rents that even Antony had to curtail his gangster-like operations by bringing in troops against a Dolabella-inspired mob—an operation which cost the lives of 800 Roman citizens. This overreaction brought Antony, and therefore Caesar, into grave discredit. Among the people themselves there was general dissatisfaction, for Caesar’s decree during his first dictatorship to reduce debts by one quarter had not gone far enough. The vast army of debtors was clamoring for a moratorium, a cancellation of debts on unpaid rents and reductions in the future. For the moment Caesar rejected all these demands, but he also showed his displeasure toward not only Dolabella but Antony, compelling both to pay the proper price to the treasury for properties for which they had bid thinking that they would never have to produce the full amount. Antony, whose dissolute way of life was offensive even by the standards of Rome (and would ultimately lead to the decline that would end in his suicide in Alexandria), fell from favor and was removed from any public position for two years.

Caesar’s worst trouble was with the army. There was mutiny among the legions stationed in the Campagna, men who had served him faithfully in the past demanding their release from military service and the payment, both in land and money, of the rewards long promised them. He had known how to deal with the previous mutiny at Placentia but that was small compared with this, which involved even such units as his favorite Tenth Legion. There can be little doubt that there were some concealed Pompeians among the officers, and among them was the military tribune of the Tenth, who had formerly been a close associate of Labienus. Although all the legions had had their pay doubled, it was only those who had served in Gaul who had really profited in Caesar’s campaigns; Greece and the East had yielded relatively little in terms of slaves and plunder. The news that the veterans were to be transferred to Sicily—which meant Africa, with a further war against other Roman legionaries—produced an explosion. Sallust, the future historian and one of Caesar’s most reliable men, was sent to talk to the mutineers with a promise of a further 1,000 denarii per head over and above the money already owed to them. He was forced to flee for his life. The legionaries shouted that they were tired of promises and wanted ready money. They began a march on the city, looting and pillaging as they went, and Caesar debated whether to send the one legion that he had in Rome against them, but decided against it on considering that these men might also join the rebels.

When the veterans reached Rome, messengers were sent asking what they wanted, to which they replied that they would tell Caesar, and they then assembled in the Campus Martius. Rough from barracks and foreign campaigns, awed by the city, they were thoroughly taken aback when Caesar himself, accompanied by only a few of his intimates, suddenly appeared and addressed them. He seized the initiative and asked them bluntly what they wanted. Their spokesmen labored their complaints, their long service and their long-expected rewards, and then (their trump card, as they thought) demanded to be released from military service. Caesar had expected this, for, short of mindless violence, they could only threaten him by refusing to accompany him on the next campaign in Africa.

He opened his reply by addressing them as “Citizens,” not “Fellow Soldiers” as was his custom—thus automatically demoting them to the ranks of despised civilians. Then to their stupefaction he granted them their discharge, saying that he would give them everything else that had been promised when he returned in triumph
with other soldiers.
They could hardly believe that in a flash their roles had been reversed, and it was now they who were begging him to keep them in his service. Caesar pretended to a grave reluctance, made as if to leave, hesitated, and then said that no one would be punished, but that the Tenth Legion would be disbanded—since he was so outraged to find them guilty of insubordination. At this the Tenth even asked that they should be decimated rather than disbanded. Caesar finally extended his pardon to all, and told them his plans for their settlement in accordance with his previously expressed ideas on agrarian grants. The mutiny was over, but he had taken careful note of the ringleaders: they could be expended in the future.

The year was already drawing to a close, but before he could attend to Africa Caesar made appointments to ensure that some stability was restored to the constitution while he was away. Two of his followers were rewarded with the consulships for the rest of the year, while he and his close colleague Marcus Lepidus were to be the consuls for the year 46. (Election for the consulship had already become a mere formality.) The numbers of praetors and priesthoods were now increased, the appointments—like those to the senate—being filled by Caesarians. Centurions were elevated to the rank of knights, as were reliable followers from Spain and even Gaul. Having ensured that the instruments of government would be faithful to him, he resigned the dictatorship, thus leaving the impression that when this war was finally concluded a free constitution might well be restored.

Pompey’s sons, Cnaeus and Sextus, had now gathered round them in North Africa those other Roman leaders who had determined to resist Caesar to the end. They included his former colleague Labienus, Pompey’s lieutenants Afranius and Petreius, Metellus Scipio, Pompey’s father-in-law, and inevitably Cato. Allied with Juba, the Numidian King, they could field an army of about fourteen legions, 15,000 cavalry, and over 100 elephants, and presented a most serious challenge to Caesar. When he sailed from Sicily in December he had only six legions and 2,000 cavalry, five of the legions being composed of recruits, while four legions of veterans from Campania had not yet arrived. Caesar was determined as usual not to delay but to strike as soon as possible, believing that postponement was something that always benefited the waiting enemy and reduced the morale of the attacking force. However, as he was soon to find out, the conditions in Africa were such that delay was inevitable, and circumstances were against him from the start.

The galleys set out from Lilybaeum (Marsala) in Sicily “under sealed orders,” none of the ships’ captains knowing their destination—their only instructions being to follow Caesar’s galley. His destination in fact was Hadrumetum on the east coast of the Cape Bon peninsula, in the south of the province and far removed from the main body of the Pompeians at Utica. Hadrumetum itself, however, turned out to be heavily garrisoned and he was forced to move farther south. Capturing the township of Leptis Minor, he then took up his position on a nearby coastal plateau. The omens had been unfavorable before they left Sicily; during the crossing a number of his ships had lost contact and for the time being were lost, while, on landing in Africa, he stumbled and fell. This was something that he managed to make the most of by calling out, as he grasped the earth, “I hold you, Africa!” As Pontifex Maximus, High Priest of the state religion of Rome, he had shown throughout his life that he held little if any regard for auguries and omens, save—as now—when they could be turned to his own advantage. He believed in Luck. In Africa he was certainly to need all the help from his chosen Goddess that he could find.

In the first days of January 46 the missing ships of the convoy arrived, and when, in due course, the troops had all assembled, Caesar moved out on a requisitioning expedition through the surrounding country. The unknown author of the
African War,
probably one of Caesar’s officers to judge by his detailed and careful military account, shows how Caesar, at first at a grave disadvantage, gradually adapted his strategy to a campaign in a large territory unfamiliar to him, defeating an enemy whose advantages should have enabled him to crush Caesar in the first stages. On this first occasion Caesar’s scouting and foraging party met with a strong force of Labienus’ men, consisting mainly of Numidian cavalry, archers and slingers. Outnumbered, Caesar’s troops were quickly surrounded and it was more by luck than by design that he managed to cut his way clear of the knot of horsemen. He had come near to reversing the situation by cutting off one section of Labienus’ troops from the other, when the arrival of a second force under Petreius put him in peril once more. The battle was turning into a rout and Caesar himself, as Appian tells it, at one moment was forced to seize a fleeing standard bearer, catching him by the shoulder and turning him round as he cried out: “That is where the enemy are!” Caesar and his troops managed to escape under cover of darkness, but there could be no doubt that this first encounter on African soil had been a defeat—the first since Dyrrhachium. Pompey might be dead, but the spirit and the enmity of the
Optimates
lived on.

“This defeat,” wrote Dio Cassius, “was a savage blow to Caesar. The realization that he had been beaten by comparatively small forces, coupled with the knowledge that Juba and Scipio must soon be expected with all their troops, threw him into confusion and he hardly knew what to do.” The historian errs, for what Caesar did was—contrary to his usual tactics—to play for time. As he had done before on occasion during the wars in Gaul, he allowed the internal dissensions and rivalries among his enemies to work to his advantage. For his part he could not in any case move far from the sea, since he was still waiting for his veteran legions (the more so since his young recruits had shown themselves unreliable) as well as being dependent on the water for his supplies.

Politics and propaganda now prepared the way for the final contest. Bo’cchus, King of Mauretania, who had been recognized as such by Caesar at the same time that he had declared Juba an enemy of the Roman people, took advantage of Juba’s involvement with the Pompeian Romans to open an attack on his kingdom of Numidia, in which he was aided and abetted by Sittius, a Roman adventurer who had become a captain in his army. The result was that Juba had to concentrate on the defense of his own kingdom, abandoning the Pompeians and taking away from them the cavalry which had given them such an advantage. The native chiefs to the south of Juba’s kingdom of Numidia were also drawn into the conflict, being reminded that Caesar was the nephew of Marius, their former benefactor, and that the Pompeians had done nothing for them. Among the Roman soldiers who served under Scipio much scandal was made of their leader’s dependence upon, and even subservience to, a “barbarian” such as Juba, while Caesar for his part promised them honor and fortune and equal treatment with his own soldiers. If they joined him they would then be Romans among Romans, and not Romans serving under an African king. In the weeks that followed, while Caesar waited for his forces from Sicily, the effects of his propaganda were seen in the thousands of native tribesmen, as well as legionaries from the Pompeians, and even whole cities, that came over to Caesar’s cause.