Dictator

Pompey summoned a meeting of the Senate-in-exile late in the afternoon to decide what should be done next. Cicero asked me to accompany him and Quintus so that he could have a record of what was decided. The sentries guarding Pompey’s tent nodded me through without question and I took up a discreet position, standing at the side, along with the other secretaries and aides-de-camp. There must have been almost a hundred senators present, seated on benches. Pompey, who had been out all day inspecting Caesar’s positions, arrived after everyone else, and was given a standing ovation, which he acknowledged with a touch of his marshal’s baton to the side of his famous quiff.

He reported on the situation of the two armies after the battle. The enemy had lost about a thousand men killed and three hundred taken prisoner. Immediately Labienus proposed that the prisoners should all be executed. ‘I worry they will infect our own men who guard them with their treasonous thoughts. Besides, they have forfeited the right to life.’

Cicero, with a look of distaste, rose to object. ‘We have achieved a mighty victory. The end of the war is in sight. Isn’t now the time to be magnanimous?’

‘No,’ replied Labienus. ‘An example must be made.’

‘An example that can only cause Caesar’s men to fight with even more determination once they learn the fate that awaits them if they surrender.’

‘So be it. This tactic of Caesar’s of offering clemency is a danger to our fighting spirit.’ He glanced pointedly at Afranius, who lowered his head. ‘If we take no prisoners, Caesar will be forced do the same.’

Pompey spoke with a firmness that was designed to settle the matter. ‘I agree with Labienus. Besides, Caesar’s soldiers are traitors who have taken up arms illegally against their own countrymen. That puts them in a different category to our troops. Let’s move on.’

But Cicero wouldn’t let the matter drop. ‘Wait a moment. Are we fighting for civilised values or are we wild beasts? These men are Romans just like us. I would like it to be recorded that in my view this is a mistake.’

‘And I would like it to be recorded,’ said Ahenobarbus, ‘that it isn’t only those who have fought openly on Caesar’s side who should be treated as traitors, but all those who have tried to be neutral, or have argued for peace, or had contact with the enemy.’

Ahenobarbus was warmly applauded. Cicero’s face flushed and he fell silent.

Pompey said, ‘Well then, that’s settled. Now it is my proposal that the entire army, bar let’s say fifteen cohorts which I’ll leave behind to defend Dyrrachium, should set off in pursuit of Caesar with a view to offering him battle at the first opportunity.’

This fateful pronouncement met with loud grunts of approval.

Cicero hesitated, glanced around and then stood up again. ‘I seem to find myself playing the role of perennial contrarian. Forgive me – but is there not a case for seizing this opportunity and instead of chasing Caesar eastwards, sailing west instead to Italy and regaining control of Rome? That is after all supposed to be the point of this war.’

Pompey shook his head. ‘No, that would be a strategic error. If we return to Italy, there will be nothing to stop Caesar conquering Macedonia and Greece.’

‘Let him – I’d trade Macedonia and Greece for Italy and Rome any day. Besides, we have an army there under Scipio.’

‘Scipio can’t beat Caesar,’ retorted Pompey. ‘Only I can beat Caesar. And this war won’t end merely because we’re back in Rome. This war will end only when Caesar is dead.’

At the end of the conference, Cicero approached Pompey and asked for permission to remain behind in Dyrrachium rather than join the army on the campaign. Pompey, plainly irritated by his criticism, looked him up and down with something like contempt, then nodded. ‘I think that’s a good idea.’ He turned from Cicero as if dismissing him, and began discussing with one of his officers the order in which the legions should depart the next day. Cicero waited for their conversation to end, presumably intending to wish Pompey good fortune. But Pompey was too engrossed in the logistics of the march, or at any rate he pretended to be, and eventually Cicero gave up and left the tent.

As we walked away, Quintus asked him why he didn’t want to go with the army.

Cicero said, ‘This global strategy of Pompey’s means we could be stuck out here for years. I can’t support it any longer. Nor to be frank can I face another journey through those damned mountains.’

‘People will say it’s because you’re afraid.’

‘Brother, I am afraid. So should you be. If we win, there’ll be a massacre of good Roman blood – you heard Labienus. And if we lose …’ He left it at that.

When we got back to his tent, he made a half-hearted attempt to persuade his son not to go either, even though he knew it was hopeless: Marcus had shown much bravery at Dyrrachium and despite his youth had been rewarded with the command of his own cavalry squadron. He was eager for battle. Quintus’s son was also determined to fight.