When Cornelius had bowed himself out Lepidus rang the bell for Eunomus. ‘What’s this about Pompeius?’ he said as soon as the freedman appeared. ‘When he makes a move I generally hear of it before anyone else. Now Cornelius has been complaining that he threatens to blockade the whole of Italy.’
‘And I, my lord, have just opened this dispatch from Caesar, asking you to aid him in the invasion of Sicily. It seems that a first-class war has broken out. We shall have to join one side or the other. We can’t ignore it.’
‘Perhaps we can. What does Caesar ask of me?’
‘Nothing specific, just help in general terms. Any troops you can spare, and especially warships with trained crews.’
‘We haven’t any of those, and without them it isn’t safe to send troops. He can’t expect help from Africa unless he lends me some of his navy as escort. Give me the dispatch. Does he say anything about sending his own ships?’
‘He says Antonius has lent him warships. Look, my lord, he says it twice; once when he’s describing the conference with Antonius, and again when he puts down the list of his forces ready for action. That’s to remind you that two Triumvirs are in agreement, and that the vote of two binds the third.’
‘Antonius won’t really help him. Either the ships will never turn up, or they are ships Antonius doesn’t need. What an enormous dispatch! It must be as long as the Iliad. Leave it with me. When I have read enough of it to find out what it’s about I shall call you again.’
Caesar had indeed written at length, relating all the wrongs Pompeius had ever done to him, describing the comic misadventures of his conference with Antonius at Brundisium, and finally enumerating the forces he was making ready for the campaign. Lepidus read carefully the passages dealing with Antonius, and realized for the first time how near his colleagues had been to civil war. When he read that Antonius had evacuated his camp because the evil omen of a wolf howling outside the gate had dismayed his praetorians, he laughed aloud. What impudence, typical of Antonius! And what a neat way of annoying the cold-blooded young savage who was so busy in public observance of the prohibitions of the ancestral religion!
But outside the barred gates of Brundisium Caesarians and Antonians had very nearly come to open war. That clumsy provocation was also typical of Antonius. It was asking for trouble to march up to a Caesarian garrison in the company of Ahenobarbus the younger, last survivor of the murderers of the Divine Julius. This Ahenobarbus still commanded what had been the Optimate fleet. It was now merely a troublesome squadron of pirates; presumably Antonius wanted to get him into western waters, where he would be a nuisance only to Caesar. If even Antonius was making mistakes, Lepidus must walk carefully.
After further study he came to the conclusion that Antonius genuinely wished Caesar to overcome Pompeius, if it could be done cheaply and easily. There could be no doubt that one hundred and twenty Antonian warships were serving with Agrippa’s fleet. That was too large a force to be detached as a blind, though perhaps Antonius, who could draw on the Egyptian navy, was glad to get an expensive burden off his payroll. He would need no ships to conquer the Parthians.
On the other hand, the naval command was still committed to Caesar’s boy-friend, young Agrippa. Menas was attached to him as naval expert. Even so, Caesar might not be in earnest.
Still undecided, Lepidus consulted Eunomus. ‘I don’t want to fight anybody, anywhere. But if I refuse Caesar’s request he may fight me. Here is the dispatch, in which Caesar tells me everything. But I don’t know what Pompeius is after, and I expect you do. Tell me what he hopes to get out of this unnecessary war, and I shall see my way a little clearer.’
‘He hopes to overthrow Caesar, whose adoptive father destroyed Pompeius Maximus.’
‘Well, that’s straightforward enough. A blood-feud is a very sound reason for war. But it’s absurdly optimistic. Pompeius has no support in the City, and Caesar commands all the legions of the west.’
‘He doesn’t hope to replace Caesar. He wants revenge. That’s not so absurd. The City is growing tired of Caesar. There are always politicians who want a change of government, and if there’s a really severe famine the gangs will begin to riot.’
‘I think I understand. In that case I should prefer to stay neutral. I would like to see Caesar overthrown, for reasons you know very well. But I can’t help a mere tyrant of Sicily against the established government of Rome. Unless he plans one day to rule the world Pompeius is useless to me as an ally.’
‘Pompeius wants only Caesar’s head, my lord. He is a pious son, indifferent to worldly advantage.’
‘Very praiseworthy, but not practical politics. Whoever rules in Rome must eventually conquer Sicily. That reminds me. Who is to buy our grain? If Pompeius wants me to stay neutral he must make me an offer. I know that Sicily does not import grain in normal times, but he could give the excuse that he is building up a war reserve.’
‘Yes, my lord. I shall see that your proposal reaches him. A very pleasant and profitable way out: stay neutral, and sell to both sides. Africa will be grateful to you.’
Junia did not see things in the same light. In her view, the easiest way to stay out of the war was to send Caesar the contingent he asked for. Her husband need not lead his troops in person; he could send three or four legions under a legate. It would be good training for the men, few of whom had seen active service; and if the war went badly for Caesar they could easily be withdrawn.
For some days Lepidus listened to conflicting advice, Eunomus in the office advocating a neutrality friendly to Pompeius, Junia at home begging him to take part in the war. In the end the question of the African grain crop decided him.
Pompeius would not buy it. He was as short of cash as any other leader of greedy mercenaries. He made vague mention of the benefits a victorious Sicily could confer on Africa, and vague threats of what his invincible navy would do to faint-hearted neutrals; but it was easy to read between the lines of his letters that he was in fact desperately hard-pressed.
Caesar was willing to buy the harvest as it lay in the granaries, and himself to transport it from Utica to Rome; though he did not propose to move it until after the conquest of Sicily. He offered a very small price, in postdated drafts on Roman bankers; but it was enough to stave off insolvency. Rather than see his whole province go bankrupt, Lepidus closed with the offer.
The province was safe until next year. But it followed that the army of Africa must promise to intervene in Sicily. The promise need not be fulfilled at once, for until the seas had been cleared of enemies invasion was impossible. Lepidus, as he pointed out in his letters to Rome, had no fleet of his own; the great navy which Agrippa was training for Caesar must open the way. To this Caesar agreed. But he suggested that Africa needed a navy for home defence; he would send a few ships from his Campanian squadrons, with boat-builders and technical experts of every kind. This promised to be a long war. If everyone worked hard in the winter, by the following year there would be a useful African fleet.
So during that summer the province was not only solvent but booming, as in every harbour the shipwrights worked on new war galleys and transports. Ultimately some taxpayer somewhere would have to pay for them; though whether he would be a plundered Sicilian or a starving Roman was still unsettled. In the meantime Punic financiers, elusive men who lived in the hills and were never at home when the tax-gatherer called, advanced money to buy timber and pay wages.
The army was on a war footing. A drive for recruits brought in men enough to make up sixteen weak legions; and if many of these recruits could not show their certificates of citizenship when they enrolled, they had them, suitably backdated and bearing every sign of age, as soon as they had been fitted out with sword and shield. This was a task at which Eunomus and Crastinus could work in harmony, each appreciating the expertise of the other; Crastinus knew what military documents should look like, and Eunomus enjoyed the fabrication.
Auxiliary horse presented no problem. There were alwa
ys more Numidians anxious to enlist than any army could pay. When the time came to sail, Lepidus would take into service as many of them as he could afford.
It soon became clear that he would not be sailing this year. Nothing could be done until Caesar had destroyed the Sicilian fleet, and for the present the Sicilian fleet was getting the best of it. Pompeian squadrons cruised off the shores of Italy, and the Caesarians dared not put out from harbour.
During the hottest part of the summer news of a great battle seeped into Utica, in the uncertain manner of all rumours of war. Lepidus had been down to the dockyard, inspecting a newly completed three-banker. The carpenters could have made it a merchantman, or for that matter a barge or a water-mill, and he would have been none the wiser; he had the vaguest idea of what a three-banker should look like. But it was generally understood that craftsmen worked better when the commanding officer visited them, and he was conscientious in doing his duty. As his litter lurched back up the steep shadeless street he noticed that the dockside crowd was discussing some exciting rumour.
These slaves and lowly workmen talked an African language among themselves; he could not understand what they told one another with such unusual noontide animation. Then he saw Cornelius in the entry of a warehouse, and recalled that the grain-dealer was reputed to understand every tongue spoken on the continent. He beckoned, and asked him the news.
‘I wish I knew myself,’ was the answer. ‘Perhaps, lord Triumvir, you don’t understand how these things get about in a seaport. Men arrive quietly, men who don’t report to the harbour officials. If you spot a stranger he always explains that he’s a shipwrecked mariner, just arrived floating on an oar. These men talk, and their talk is soon all over the town. Unfortunately they are ignorant men, smugglers or pirates or fugitives from justice. They don’t know themselves the import of their news, and it’s impossible to disentangle when you have heard it. At present the whole dockyard is excited because Neptune has manifested himself at Messana in Sicily. Most of these men worship Neptune, naturally. Well, Neptune’s home is the sea, and every so often I sacrifice to him by throwing something overboard from one of my ships. If he wants to visit dry land Messana is a handy place for him. But what it all means I don’t know.’
‘Obviously it means that a great battle has been fought at sea, and that the victor attributes his good fortune to the favour of Neptune,’ said Lepidus angrily, annoyed by the suspicion that Cornelius was trifling with him.
‘Of course it means that, lord Triumvir. I didn’t think that part of it worth mentioning. But we still don’t know which side won. Messana now.… It’s the headquarters of Pompeius. But if Caesar had won it’s where he would land, to complete the conquest of Sicily. So it fits either of them.’
The merchant suddenly darted up a side street; he came back holding a naked waif by the slack of his canvas breechclout. ‘This man was shouting in Berber that five days ago he saw the son of Neptune, clad in sea-green robes, pouring libations from a golden goblet. He must have come straight from Messana. There’s no point in asking him why he left or how he got here. Even under torture he couldn’t tell you the truth, because he has never told anyone the truth in all his evil life. But he himself believes that bit about the libation. He was trying to persuade idlers to buy him drinks and listen to his story. So Pompeius won the battle. I wonder where they fought?’
‘Ah yes, Pompeius won the battle. This is grave news. I must consult with my advisers,’ said Lepidus, completely bewildered, but determined to hold on to his dignity in the presence of this un-Roman Cornelius. He signalled to his bearers to move on, and made them carry him right inside the cool dark hall of the governor’s palace.
It was dinner-time, and Junia was waiting to greet him. While a servant poured water over his hands he told his wife the whole story as he had heard it; and wound up by asking whether he ought to punish Cornelius for making game of his ruler.
‘Oh no,’ Junia answered. ‘It was crystal-clear to Cornelius. Even I see how he got there, as soon as I think it over. Poor Cornelius! He has a very quick mind, and since he never learned rhetoric he just blurts out his conclusion, without knowing himself how it came to him. Let me see, it goes something like this: In Messana there have been celebrations in honour of Neptune. In other words, someone gave thanks for a great victory at sea. But Messana is Pompeius’s headquarters, so either he sailed home in triumph or Caesar arrived to take over Sicily. But then this smuggler actually saw a man who called himself the son of Neptune, who dressed in Neptune’s sea-green robe, who carried on, in short, like one of those silly Greek tyrants who are always pretending to be equal to the gods. Now does that kind of behaviour fit young Caesar? He talks too much about his deified father, who is no more a real god than he was his real father. But Caesar is just as likely to prance naked before the people of Messana as to sacrifice in public in such a get-up. Therefore the man who poured the libation was Pompeius. Therefore Pompeius won the battle. Now do you understand?’
‘When you explain I understand everything. It’s just that these African minds don’t work in the Roman way. So Pompeius has won a great victory. That means no invasion this year. I suppose Caesar will write. When I have his account of the affair I shall know better what I must do.’
Caesar’s account was some time on the way, for the pirates were now supreme in the Sicilian sea. When it arrived it put the whole blame on the weather. After an indecisive engagement a storm had sprung up, to shatter Agrippa’s squadrons. ‘But the storm didn’t sink any Pompeian ships, though they were riding the same waves,’ Eunomus interpolated, as he read the dispatch. ‘All the same, Caesar may be telling the truth. A storm that would be too much for Campanian longshoremen, Agrippa’s sailors, wouldn’t bother the Cilician pirates who serve Pompeius.’
‘Hallo, my lord, just listen to this,’ he continued, still reading the dispatch. ‘One competent observer, with first-hand knowledge of both navies, thinks Caesar can’t win. Menas has deserted all over again, and gone back to his fellow-pirates. Caesar says he did it out of pique, annoyed because he was second-in-command under Agrippa. Certainly that’s enough to annoy any experienced pirate, to be under the orders of a twenty-five-year-old landlubber. Of course he was annoyed. But pirates don’t desert from the winning side just because they are disappointed of promotion. Menas believes Pompeius can’t lose, and he ought to know. That’s really very lucky for us. By next spring our fleet will be ready for action. When it sails to Sicily it can help carry the Pompeians to the invasion of Italy.’
‘Now will you read what my fellow-Triumvir has written, in his own words, without commentary,’ said Lepidus sternly. ‘You are only a Greek, and you have been a slave. This time, therefore, I forgive the slight you have put upon my honour.’ He looked so grim that Eunomus took fright, and read quietly to the end. He found it wearing to keep constantly in mind that this foolish man, with his slow and undecided mind, happened to possess powers of life and death over every inhabitant of Utica.
From his dispatch, it seemed that Caesar was not yet defeated. Nothing more could be done this summer, and of course in winter no ships could put to sea. But next spring a bigger and better fleet would sail from the Campanian coast, and at the first opportunity the Italian legions would invade Sicily. Caesar ended by begging for co-operation from his colleague. Rome, the City herself, was in great straits, blockaded by pirates. Every true Roman must rally to her assistance.
‘And that’s just what I’ll do,’ cried Lepidus, thumping the table. ‘Write to Caesar at once. Tell him the African fleet will be ready by next spring, and that it will be at his orders. Offer him an expeditionary force of sixteen legions. I shall lead it myself, subject to his general direction of the war. Make it clear and definite, but be soldierly and brief.
‘And for your own information, Eunomus,’ he continued, ‘what you write in that letter is the absolute literal truth. I know you have your private contacts with Pompeius. You may write to him once more, to te
ll him that henceforth your patron is his mortal foe. That must be your last communication with the enemy. If I catch you sending him further news I shall have you killed. You are not a citizen. If I choose, I can crucify you.’
That evening he expounded his new policy to Junia.
‘What finally decided me was the news that Menas has gone back to his fellow-pirates. Menas against Pompeius was just a squabble over the blackmail they levy on ships sailing to Ostia; but Menas and Pompeius against Caesar is a war between a foreign foe and our dear City. I don’t care who rules in the Capitol; if the Optimates seize power I shall not change my plans. Greeks are trying to starve the Roman People. All Romans must rally to the fatherland.’
‘You can’t do anything else, I see that,’ his wife answered doubtfully. ‘But I wish you were not taking all your army, and leading it yourself. You are not a general, my dear husband. Utica and all Africa prosper under your government. Couldn’t you send a few legions under a legate? Suppose you are defeated and killed? That would mean the end of all you have built up here.’
‘Yes, my dear, that’s sound and cautious. If I send Caesar only reinforcements I hazard nothing valuable. But what do I stand to gain? After the conquest of Sicily Caesar will still be a lukewarm colleague, and more powerful than before. But if I come myself with all my force, if I prove myself his true friend and ally, our formal collaboration may develop into a genuine partnership. I have never aspired to be sole ruler of the world. I’m not good enough, and I admit it. Marcus Antonius gave me my chance, and I followed where he led; until Lucius and Fulvia turned on me, and I saw that I had no place among the Antonians. Now Marcus himself has run to seed, parading about those oriental cities dressed up as Mars or Bacchus, perhaps as Cupid if the fancy should take him. He has lost standing among respectable Romans, and yet those eastern Greeks will never accept him as one of themselves. In a year or two Caesar will fight him, and then I shall support Caesar. With Antonius out of the way there will be only two of us at the summit, and no reason why we should not remain colleagues. That’s as far as I want to go. But go I must, forward or back. Unless I prove myself Caesar’s ally Caesar will one day take from me even this backwater of a province.’
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