CAESAR VS THE SENATE
Inside the historic fight for the soul of Rome as the mighty Julius Caesar wrestled for control of an empire
We have all had our Rubicons to cross; we have all rolled the dice of fate, metaphorically if not actually. Important as these dilemmas are to us, they are nothing to what Julius Caesar agonised with: he was struggling with one of the most pivotal and challenging gambles in world history. We can of course only speculate, but as sleepless nights go, the night of 9/10 July 49 BCE for Caesar must have been the longest night of his life: to cross or not to cross…
The 51 BCE siege of Uxellodunum was the last major conflict of Caesar’s Gallic Wars. After the
fall of the town and the decisive Roman victory, Gaul was under Roman rule at last. Caesar decided to set an example and dispensed with the usual punishment of execution or selling the survivors into slavery. Instead, he had the hands of all surviving men of military age cut off, dispersing the mutilated prisoners throughout the province as an all too vivid demonstration of what happened to those who rebelled against Rome and how they were unable to take up arms again. Caesar then took two legions and marched into Aquitania. Confident that there would be no further Gallic insurrection, he marched with the Legio XIII for Italy, the Rubicon and Rome in his sights.
To put Caesar’s achievement into perspective, the Transalpine Gaul he subdued and brought into Rome’s orbit was double the size of the whole Italian peninsula and more populous than the province of Hispania. Caesar got the military glory he wanted at a critical juncture in his career, and the prodigious booty he acquired paid off some of his enormous debts, allowing him to buy political favours and alliances on a scale that would not have disappointed a Crassus. Rome also got stability in Gaul, which lasted until the second century CE. Caesar returned to Italy, cast his die, crossed the Rubicon and eventually died amidst a salvo of stabbing daggers in the Forum on the Ides of March 44 BCE.
In 50 BCE, a victorious Julius Caesar returned to Italy to find a Rome in which Pompey was in the ascendant. Caesar, though, was a war hero and ever popular with the people, factors that made the Senate nervous. In a bid to prevent him from being voted consul in absentia on the conclusion of his governorship, the Senate demanded he resign command of his army. In December 50 BCE, Caesar wrote to the Senate agreeing to do this if Pompey did likewise. An outraged Senate repeated its demand to Caesar, saying he must agree or be declared an enemy of the people. This was an illegal move, since Caesar was entitled to retain his command until the expiry of his governorship.
But Caesar too was nervous and anxious. The much-coveted second consulship would bring with it the welcome safety of imperium and immunity against the inevitable prosecutions which awaited him for alleged irregularities during his consulship and in his Gallic campaigns. These prosecutions, if brought and proven, would render Caesar politically impotent and marginalise him. When Caesar’s supporters – the tribunes Mark Antony and Quintus Cassius Longinus – vetoed the bill against Caesar, they were expelled from Rome by the Senate. They joined Caesar, who had by now assembled his army ready for action. Pompey levelled charges of insubordination and treason against Caesar. The agonising decision for Caesar as to whether or not to ford the Rubicon with his troops beckoned, all the time made all the easier.
The rift between the two widened further when Pompey fell ill in Naples in 50 BCE. His recovery was met with public rejoicing and sacrifices of thanksgiving throughout Italy. Nothing could have been more galling for Caesar; indeed, Plutarch records that this was said ‘to have done more than anything else to ignite the subsequent civil war.’ However, the adulation and dancing in the streets that Pompey enjoyed on his journey back to Rome made him arrogant, careless and contemptuous of Caesar. The following year would see the two men fighting each other in a civil war.
On 7 January 49 BCE, the Senate demanded that Caesar, then in Ravenna, surrender his ten legions to a new Cisalpine Gaul governor. Caesar
“The agonising decision for Caesar as to whether or not to ford the rubicon with his troops beckoned”
chose not to, quoting Menander: “the die is cast” (alea iacta est). During the night of 10/11 January, the Legio XIII and Caesar advanced to Rimini.
If the Senate believed that the northern
Italians would oppose Caesar, then they were mistaken. If anything, the Italians were quite blasé, unexcited because the coming conflict was for once not going to destroy their fields and towns. Moreover, the establishment Senate was up against a legion, the XIII, that was highly incentivised and motivated. They were fighting for significant bonuses and for their pensions: no win, no pension payments. All the Senate could depend on was the Legio XV – which was far from dependable as it had fought with Caesar in Gaul. The Legio V, VIII, XII and XVI soon joined Caesar. Aware of Pompey’s seven veteran legions in Spain, Caesar posted three legions to the Pyrenees to block any Republican moves from the west.
Pompey held three legions in Italy, as well as his main army in Spain, with access to thousands of recruits from African and Asian provinces, whose rulers owed their sovereignty to him. Pompey was also at the helm of Rome’s fleet of 500 warships and light galleys, maximising his mobility and enabling him to transfer forces from one theatre to another as events demanded.
When Caesar rolled his metaphorical dice and made his decision on 10 January 49 BCE to cross the Rubicon at the head of Legio XIII Gemina, he was only too aware of the associated aftermath and of its irrevocable consequences. The river was the boundary between Cisalpine Gaul and Italy; crossing it with an army was a legally proscribed action, forbidden to every commander. The prohibition and the proscription were designed as a last-resort protection for the Roman Republic from a coup d’état; Caesar was on the verge of deliberately compromising that.
Caesar then crossed the Rubicon and precipitated years of civil war.
According to Suetonius, Caesar, after some deliberation, grabbed a trumpet from one of his troops who were massed on the banks of the Rubicon, sounded the “Advance!” and plunged across the river, exclaiming: “Let us go where the omens of the gods and the crimes of our enemies take us! Iacta alia est!” – Suetonius,
Divus Julius 32
Appian also describes that morning’s momentous events:
“Caesar got into his chariot and drove in the direction of Ariminum with his cavalry following closely behind. When he reached the river Rubicon, which forms the frontier with Italy, he stopped and stared at the stream, contemplating the outrage that would result if he crossed the river bearing arms. Caesar pulled himself together and proclaimed: ‘My friends, to leave this stream uncrossed will cause me a lot of distress; to cross it, much distress for all mankind’. At that he rushed over as if possessed, saying, ‘The die is cast: bring it on’. He then continued his rapid advance and took Ariminum at the break of day, advanced beyond, posting guards at the strategic positions, and subjugated all whom he encountered, either by force or by generosity.” – Appian, Civil Wars 2, 35
There was no going back: Rome and everything it stood for was in Caesar’s sights.
Fast forward to September 45 BCE. A priority for Caesar on his return to Italy was to finalise and file his will with the Vestal Virgins. In this, he named his adoptive grandnephew, Gaius Octavius (Octavian, later known as Augustus Caesar), as his principal heir, bequeathing his immense estate and property, including his powerful name. If Octavian predeceased Caesar, then Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus – ironically a future assassin – would be next in line. The citizens of Rome also did well out of the will: ‘His gardens were given to the people as a place of recreation, and to every Roman still living in the city he gave 75 Attic drachmas.’
The chaos, lameness and dysfunctionality inherent in the Roman administration were plain for all to see. The machinery of state was no longer fit for purpose, the Senate was enfeebled and the provinces were allowed to act independently of central government in Rome; the army, under their commanders, effectively dictated things. Corruption was rife, as was fear, but the status quo was still welcomed by conservative factions in the Senate.
Caesar resolved to put things right. He came up with a three-point plan to: extirpate all armed resistance in the provinces; restore order and strength to the Republic and simultaneously create a strong central government in Rome; and harness all provinces into a single cohesive political unit. This would prevent any recurrence of the problems which sparked the Social Wars (91-88 BCE), when individuals outside Rome and Italy were not considered ‘Roman’ and were denied full citizenship rights.
When Caesar defeated Pompey and his supporters, he had, in effect, dealt with the first matter. Absolute and unquestioned sway over the government was required to achieve the second and third points, so he set about augmenting his personal power and, simultaneously, eroding the authority of Rome’s other political institutions. He also put in place reforms intended to address several issues that had long been neglected, one of which was his reform of the Roman calendar.
“The chaos, lameness and dysfunctionality inherent in the Roman administration were plain for all to see”
More legislative and constitutional housekeeping followed: Caesar conducted a census, which led to a reduction in the statesubsidised grain dole, imposing a fixed number of recipients, all of whom were entered into a register. Laws decreed that jury service be restricted to the Senate or the equestrian ranks. A sumptuary law restricted the purchase of certain luxuries. A fertility law rewarded families for producing certain numbers of children, to expedite the repopulation of Italy. He banned professional guilds, except those which could claim an ancient foundation – guilds were often hotbeds of anti-government sedition. The length of time governors could hold office in the provinces was restricted, to close down the risk that another general might attempt to challenge him. Debts were restructured, wiping out about a quarter of all outstanding debt.
Caesar then turned his attention to public works. Among his projects he built the Forum of Caesar, with its Temple of Venus Genetrix. Between 47 and 44 BCE, he organised the all-important distribution of land to around 15,000 of his veterans. He set up a police force, appointed officials to officiate on his land reforms and ordered that Carthage and Corinth be rebuilt. The prevailing tax system was abolished, reverting to an earlier version that allowed cities the freedom to collect tribute independently, without involving annoying and often confrontational Roman bureaucrats. Other plans included the construction of a temple to Mars, a large theatre and a library to match the Library of Alexandria – all of these were abandoned after Caesar’s assassination.
Plans were also in place to upgrade Ostia to a major port, and cut a canal through the Isthmus of Corinth. Military campaigns against the Dacians and Parthians, to avenge the catastrophic defeat at Carrhae (53 BCE) in which precious legionary standards were captured by the Parthians, were on the drawing board, resulting in a huge recruitment push. With encouragement from Caesar, the fawning Senate honoured him with the post of censor for life, Father of the Fatherland and imperator.
Some of these actions and honours clearly had about them more than a whiff of monarchism, divinity and despotism, and were later used to justify his assassination. Most blatantly and obviously, the Senate named Caesar dictator perpetuo (‘dictator in perpetuity’). Caesar now could wield real power. As dictator perpetuo, he elected the other magistrates, selected the provincial governors and crucially, in doing so, the army commanders. He enjoyed the support of the many to whom he had shown clemency in the recent past. To add to this, Caesar misused his powers as censor to replenish the membership of the Senate, which had been depleted through proscription and exile. New senators were appointed to bring membership up to 900 – all the novices were, of course, Caesar’s men. While this strengthened Caesar’s arm immeasurably, it also further diluted the democratic nature of the
Senate and compromised its status and prestige.
It was all decidedly counter mos maiorum (‘ancestral custom’), it rode roughshod over tradition, it was devoid of ‘Romanitas’ (the concept and ideology by which Romans defined themselves) and, of course, it had more than just a hint of monarchism about it. Mark Antony, who had been elected co-consul with Caesar, seemed to confirm this when he delivered a speech from the Rostra at the 44 BCE Lupercalia and clumsily tried to place a diadem on Caesar’s head – a botched attempt to confer royalty on Caesar; Caesar laid it aside to use as a sacrifice to Jupiter Optimus Maximus.
Denarius coins were minted bearing his image, the text ‘dictator perpetuo’ and with an image of the goddess Ceres and
Caesar’s title of Augur Pontifex Maximus on the reverse. Dio records how when a senatorial delegation went to inform
Caesar of his new honours in 44 BCE,
Caesar hubristically, tactlessly and arrogantly remained sitting in the
Temple of Venus Genetrix, rather than standing to meet them. A statue of him was placed in the company of those of the old, dreaded kings of
Rome. Caesar was now becoming the not so accidental king.
“New senators were appointed to bring membership up to 900 – all the novices were, of course, Caesar’s men”
Obsequiously, he was granted a golden chair in the Senate, a gesture smacking of regal orientalism, and was allowed to wear triumphal dress whenever he pleased: Caesar was now the constant triumphator; life was becoming one long triumph. He was offered a popular cult, with Mark Antony as his high priest. More toadying came when he was privileged with the right to speak first during senatorial debates.
Back in 48 BCE, permanent tribunician powers had been conferred on Caesar, which rendered him sacrosanct and allowed him power of veto over the Senate. Suetonius tells how when a crowd gathered to greet Caesar on his return to Rome, one of them placed a laurel wreath on the statue of Caesar on the Rostra. Tribunes Gaius Epidius Marullus and Lucius Caesetius Flavus ordered the wreath be removed as it was a symbol of Jupiter and of royalty. Caesar reacted by having the tribunes stripped of their powers and removed from office. Suetonius believes that, from this point on, Caesar was not able to disassociate himself from ‘royalness’. After this, Caesar was never bothered again by annoying members of the Tribunician College.
Suetonius also relates how a crowd on the Alban Hill shouted, hailing him ‘rex’ (‘king’), to which Caesar replied, “I am Caesar, not Rex.” The tribunes arrested a member of the crowd, but the plebeians protested his right to freedom of speech; Caesar had the tribunes removed from office and erased their names from the records. The accidental king was rewriting history.
In 46 BCE Caesar demonstrated that he was getting carried away with all this obsequiousness: he rewarded himself with the title of ‘Prefect of the Morals’ (praefectura morum), a censor by any other name, which allowed him censorial powers but exemption from the checks and balances to which the regular censors were subject. Democracy was walking out the door; totalitarianism was waiting in the wings.
In early 44 BCE, Caesar made plans for that war against the Parthians. This, of course, would involve his lengthy absence from Rome and the seat of power, and would compromise his ability to install his own consuls. Accordingly, he put in place legislation which gave him the right to appoint all magistrates for 43 BCE and all consuls and tribunes in 42 BCE well in advance. The Roman constitution was thus turned on its head: the magistracies were no longer representatives of the people, but were now representatives of a dictator.
The Ides of March dawned. Caesar’s diary had him down to appear at a session of the Senate. Led by Gaius Cassius Longinus, Decimus Junius Brutus and Marcus Junius Brutus, several senators, ‘liberators’, had other plans for Caesar’s day: they had had enough of his despotic behaviour and conspired to assassinate him.
Mark Antony had picked up vague rumblings and rumours of a plot the previous night from a petrified liberator and future assassin, the ‘envious’ Servilius Casca, tribune of the people. Antony went to warn Caesar, but the conspirators had taken such a move into account
and arranged for Gaius Trebonius to intercept him as he approached the portico of the Theatre of Pompey, the temporary home of the Senate where the session was to be held, and detain him outside. As it happened, Antony fled when he heard the murderous din coming from the Senate chamber. Trebonius had been a loyal friend of Caesar, but later defected to the assassins.
More importantly, the omens for the day were, predictably, decidedly bad. Calpurnia, his wife, dreamt of him bleeding to death; Spurinna – a soothsayer – gave him the clearest of advice, telling him in no uncertain terms, ‘beware the Ides of March’. Regal hubris compelled him to ignore her.
Plutarch reports that when Caesar arrived at the Senate, Tillius Cimber presented him with a diversionary and spurious petition to recall his exiled brother. Cimber, like Trebonius, had been a loyal supporter of Caesar, but he too had defected. The other conspirators milled around fussily to feign support. When Caesar motioned Cimber away, Cimber grabbed his shoulders and pulled Caesar’s tunic down. Caesar then indignantly cried to Cimber, “Ista quidem vis est!” (“Truly this is violence!”). Casca drew his dagger and thrust at Caesar’s neck, only to have Caesar spin around and catch him by the arm, protesting, “Casca, you good for nothing, what are you doing?” A frightened Casca could only call for his brother, “Help, brother!” At this the conspirators, as a man, lashed out at the dictator. Caesar attempted to get away, but to no avail: blinded by blood amidst a blizzard of daggers, he fell. The assassins plunged in their daggers time and time again as Julius Caesar lay bleeding, helpless, alone and defenceless, on the steps of the portico. Eutropius records that the killers numbered about 60 men, inflicting between them 23 stab wounds.
If Suetonius is to be believed, a doctor later established there had been only one fatal wound inflicted on Caesar, the second strike, which pierced his aorta. Caesar’s last words, if indeed he uttered any, have been a matter of dispute ever since. Suetonius maintains that he said nothing, but that others believe his dying words to have been “You too, my child?” when he saw Brutus amongst the mob of assassins. Plutarch agrees, adding that Caesar pulled his toga over his head when he caught sight of Brutus among the conspirators. The most famous, unhistorical, version comes down from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: “Et tu, Brute?”(“and you as well, Brutus?”).
The assassins could not have predicted the consequences of their actions. They were to be as far reaching and consequential as Caesar’s Rubicon crossing five years earlier. To them, the murder of Caesar was supposed to be a shortterm expedient, simply ridding Rome of a tyrant. Now that he was gone, they presumably thought that things would revert more or less to as before the civil wars: the mos maiorum would be revoked and resumed and life with the status quo would take over again. All good Romans would be free once more to continue their journeys unhindered along their own personal cursus honorum.
“Casca drew his dagger and thrust at caesar’s neck, only to have caesar spin around and catch him by the arm”