Authors: Anthony Everitt
Cleopatra was not, it seems, particularly good-looking, but she had a bewitching personality. “Her own beauty, so we are told, was not of that incomparable kind which instantly captivates the beholder,”
Plutarch avers. “But the charm of her presence was irresistible: and there was an attractiveness in her person and talk, together with a peculiar force of character which pervaded her every word and action, and laid all who associated with her under its spell. It was delight merely to hear the sound of her voice.”
At the time of her first meeting with Caesar, Cleopatra and a younger half-brother were joint Pharaohs (and, according to Egyptian custom for royal families, were probably married). She had no intention of sharing
her authority with her brother for a minute longer than was necessary. The arrival of Rome's leading general was an opportunity for her, if only she could win him over to her cause.
The Queen had herself smuggled into Caesar's presence wrapped in a carpet or bedroll and they soon began an affair. She quickly persuaded him to take her side in the struggle for power with her brother. Caesar defeated the Egyptian army at the end of March 47 and Cleopatra's annoying little brother was drowned while trying to escape by boat from the battlefield. She wasted no time in marrying yet another boy sibling. Unaccountably, Caesar did not leave the country until June. He seems to have spent some of this time on a lavish and leisurely excursion up the Nile.
This was risky, if not irresponsible behavior, for it undermined the apparently decisive result of Pharsalus. What remained of Pompey's fleet was scoring successes in the Adriatic and the
optimates
in Africa were raising substantial forces. Antony was not doing well at governing Italy and failed to calm the mutinous soldiery. Caesar, cut off from the rest of the world, did not learn of these developments until later, but he could have foreseen that his absence would lead to problems. It was no time for him to quit the helm.
While Rome was distracted with its internal quarrels and Caesar was indulging in his Egyptian interlude, Mithridates' son Pharnaces seized his chance, recovering his kingdom of Pontus and defeating a Roman army. Asia Minor was on the point of disintegration. It looked as if the chain of eastern provinces along the Mediterranean seaboard and the protective buffer zone of client kingdoms inland could be lostâa high price to pay for the luxury of a civil war.
It is hard to find a convincing political explanation for Caesar's behavior. He may have thought that securing Egypt, with the kingdom's vast wealth and inexhaustible corn supplies, was of high importance. Ensuring that the young and inexperienced queen was firmly established on the throne took time. In addition, he could have simply felt he needed a holiday in the company of his charming new mistress. This is posterity's favorite explanation, and there may be truth in it.
In any event, he finally left Egypt a few weeks before the birth of Cleopatra's son, named Caesarion and almost certainly the product of their affair. His first task, which he accomplished with remarkable rapidity, was to deal with Pharnaces. In a lightning five-day campaign, he annihilated
the king's army at Zela in Cappadocia. “Came, saw, conquered,”
he remarked. He added acidly that Pompey was lucky to have been considered a great general if this was the kind of opposition he had had to face.
Meanwhile Cicero remained isolated in Brundisium, unable to move until Caesar reappeared and ruled on his case. Quintus, badgered by Atticus, sent his brother a grudging letter of apology, which as far as Cicero was concerned only made matters worse. Young Quintus also wrote to him “most offensively.” In the summer Cicero learned that his nephew had been given an interview with Caesar and that he and his father had been forgiven. He was pleased, with the reservation that concessions of this sort, “from a master to slaves,” could be revoked at will. Except for the occasional explosion, his anger with both Quintuses gradually subsided.
Then, as if he didn't have enough domestic problems, relations with Terentia came under increasing strain. The details are clouded, but she was “doing some wicked things” regarding her will. Cicero remained very worried about the financial prospects of Marcus and Tullia and he must have believed that his wife was in some way imperiling their interests. But he still depended on her for advice and trusted her judgment on how to handle relations with Dolabella. Tullia's marriage was turning out to be an unhappy one. Dolabella was rumored to have had a number of sexual escapades and was conducting an affair with a respectable married woman from the Metellus clan. To add insult to injury, he was proposing to erect a statue of Clodius, of all people. Divorce was being considered, but the timing was important. Was Dolabella too powerful to offend just at the moment?
In June 47 Tullia took the long and uncomfortable journey south to visit her father. He was touched and delighted, even if her presence made him feel guilty. “Her own courage, thoughtfulness and affection,” he wrote to Atticus, “far from giving me the pleasure I ought to take in such a paragon of daughters, grieve me beyond measure when I consider the unhappy lot in which so admirable a nature is cast, not through any misconduct of hers but by grave fault on my part.” In the absence of cash, Cicero begged Atticus to gather up his movablesâplate, furniture, fabricsâand hide them away somewhere; they could be sold later as minimal provision for his children.
By now Cicero was desperate to leave Brundisium. He wrote to Antony, to Balbus and to Oppius, and finally he appealed to Atticus: “I must ask
you
to get me out of here. Any punishment is better than staying on in this place.”
At long last, in August he received a letter directly from Caesar, who had emerged from his Egyptian imbroglio. It was “quite a handsome one,” he conceded to Terentia. We may assume that it indicated a pardon for Cicero, or at least the prospect of one, and Caesar seems to have proposed a meeting on his return to Italy. Athough welcome, this created yet another dilemma. Should he go to meet the returning victor halfway or wait where he was? He took the latter option, perhaps because it seemed less like a decision.
Caesar was in a hurry, for his first, urgent priority on regaining Italy was to meet his soldiers and quash the still simmering mutiny. In early October 47 he landed at Tarentum and made a detour to Brundisium, where Cicero was nervously waiting on the road outside the town, ashamed to be testing his personal status in front of so many witnesses. He stood alone ahead of other dignitaries. A
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soon as he saw him Caesar dismounted from his horse and embraced him. Then, in signal evidence of favor, he walked along with him and they talked in private for a considerable distance. The content of their conversation is not known, but from what happened next it can be surmised that Cicero received permission to live or go wherever he wanted. He was probably also allowed to dismiss his lictors, much to his relief, for they had become an embarrassingly visible reminder of a time when Cicero counted for something in the world.
Cicero set out for home at once, after dashing off a note to Terentia. It was curt to the point of rudeness. “Kindly see that everything is ready. I may have a number of people with me and shall probably make a fairly long stay there [Tusculum]. If there is no tub in the bathroom, get one put in; likewise whatever else is necessary for health and subsistence. Good-bye.” If she detected a decisive coolness between the lines, she was not wrong. Soon after his return, Cicero divorced her. The marriage, which ended in 46, had lasted more than thirty years.
His complaints, as itemized by Plutarch, were chiefly thoughtlessness and financial mismanagement. Also, she did not trouble to go to meet him at Brundisium in all the months of his exile there, and, when Tullia did, she failed to provide her daughter with a proper escort and enough money for her expenses. Finally, she had stripped Cicero's house of its
contents and incurred a large number of debts. These faults do not quite justify Cicero's sudden determination to get rid of Terentia. A
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a rule, his emotions were changeable and he had forgiven Quintus and his nephew for seemingly far greater crimes. However, for whatever reason, he was now implacable.
Terentia's defense against the charges, if she had one, cannot now be reconstructed. But it is clear that Cicero was not good at handling money, or at least that his finances were insecure: as his affairs went from bad to worse during the civil war, she might well have tried to protect what she could of the family's or of her own fortune. She was a strong-minded woman and perhaps felt she had to take decisive action if something were to be saved from the wreckage.
Even if Cicero was entirely in the right, the episode leaves an unpleasant aftertaste, suggesting a surprising emotional coldness at the heart of his domestic life. One is left wondering what Tullia and Marcus made of their mother's being sent away. A
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for Terentia, she was tough enough to rebuild her life. She later remarried: she is reported to have chosen Caius Sallustius Crispusâthe historian Sallust, whose books include, ironically, a study of the Catilinarian conspiracy, the occasion of her first husband's greatest triumph. For his part, Cicero did not intend to remain single and discussed possible new wives with Atticus, though he made no immediate choice.
Caesar's successes had not in fact decided the outcome of the war. The Italy to which he returned after an absence of a year and a half was in crisis. Antony, armed with a Final Act, had put down Dolabella's insurrectionary debt campaign by storming the Forum with troops, an operation that led to a bloodbath with 800 citizens dead. He lost all political credibility and Caesar dropped him for the next two years. Curiously, though, Caesar retained his confidence in Dolabella and on his arrival in Rome further tightened the constraints on creditors.
The veterans waiting in Campania presented a much more serious challenge. They had had their fill of fighting and were agitating to be demobilized with their arrears paid up in full. The state was approaching bankruptcy and Caesar did not have the money to settle the account. In any case, he needed every sesterce he could lay his hands on to continue the war against the Republicans in Africa. A succession of senior figures
had made the pilgrimage from Rome to parley with the veterans and been chased out of the camp. Finally Caesar promised a hefty bonus, but to no avail. The soldiers began to move on Rome. Their general had no choice but to confront them in person. He put on a bravura performance and called their bluff. He addressed them icily as “civilians,” as if they had already discharged themselves by their actions. Of course, he would let them go, he said. He would pay them later, once he had won the African campaignâwith
other
soldiers.
The veterans' defiance collapsed. It had not occurred to them that they would simply be dismissed. A
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Caesar well knew, most of them loved and trusted him and for all their grievances could not bear the thought that he no longer needed them and would turn them away. The mood of the meeting was transformed. Men crowded up to the speaker's dais, begging Caesar to change his mind and take them to Africa after all. With simulated reluctance he allowed himself to be won over.
After making some essential administrative arrangements in Rome, Caesar left the city for Africa in December 47. Once more he would be fighting a winter campaign against superior forces, for Cato and the Republicans had mustered ten legions. Also, despite the fact that it was a scandalous thing to encourage foreigners to fight against Romans, they had allied themselves with King Juba of Mauritania, who brought four legions with him. Rome was left on tenterhooks again. For once, Cicero reacted calmly to uncertainty. While waiting for news, he stayed in Rome to be near his friends. He wrote to a correspondent: “I think the victory of either will amount to pretty much the same thing.”
In April 46 Caesar won a decisive victory at Thapsus, despite the fact that at the outset of the battle he suffered from what sounds like an epileptic fit. The author of the history of the campaign, who was probably an officer on Caesar's staff, referred to it as “his usual malady.” Caesar's hectic and energetic life was catching up with him, and these attacks increased in frequency in his remaining years. He then marched on the North African port of Utica, where Cato and the few remaining Republican forces were based. It would be a great propaganda coup if he could extend his clemency to this obdurate upholder of Republican values. Cato understood this too and was determined to prevent him.
The Republican armies had been defeated and the war appeared to be over. All who wanted to leave by ship were allowed to do so, but Cato refused
to let a delegation be sent to sue for peace. “I decline to be under an obligation to the tyrant for his illegal acts,”
he said. “He is acting against the law when he pardons people over whom he has no authority, as if he owned them.”
A few nights later, after a bath and supper, there was some pleasant conversation over wine. Among the topics discussed was a paradox from Stoic philosophy: whatever his circumstances, the good man is free and only the bad man is a slave. Cato spoke so vehemently in favor of this proposition that his listeners guessed his intention. He then retired to bed and read Plato's
Phaedo
, the famous dialogue on the nature of death and the immortality of the soul. His son had removed his sword from his room, much to Cato's anger. He was so upset when he noticed its absence that he hit a slave on the mouth and hurt his hand. When the weapon was brought back, he said: “Now I am my own master.” He took up his book again, which he read through twice before falling into an unusually deep sleep. In the morning he asked for news and dozed.
Then, when he was alone, he stabbed himself in the stomach, but, owing to his now inflamed hand, failed to strike home. He fell off his bed and knocked over a geometrical abacus standing nearby, which clattered to the floor, making a loud noise. His son and the servants ran in and found Cato unconscious, covered with blood and with his bowels protruding from his stomach. A doctor tried to replace them and sew up the wound. Cato came to and realized what was happening. He pushed the doctor away, tore open the incision and pulled his bowels out again, after which he soon died. He was 48 years old.