045 - The End of the War

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, Episode 45, The End of the War. In early 47 BC, after settling the civil war in Egypt and firmly establishing Roman dominance over the Nile, Caesar took a month-long cruise up the Great River with Cleopatra. Though no doubt relaxing, it was not simply an uncharacteristic vacation. Caesar took with him some 400 ships. The slow-moving entourage was meant to display the power of Rome to any Egyptian who may be planning resistance to the new regime. Caesar had a dozen major problems to deal with as he reshaped the political map of the ancient world. He did not need a revolt in newly-pacified Egypt to become one of them.

Of those major problems, his greatest lay near the remains of old Carthage where the senatorial forces that had fled from Pharsalus were regrouping under the command of Metellus Scipio, who was building a massive army with the help of the Numidian king Juba. The problem was in fact so big that Caesar knew he could not face it right away. His men were exhausted, the cash supply was running dangerously low, and the entire eastern half of the empire seemed ready to revolt at a moment's notice. Plus, between the Battle of Pharsalus and the war in Alexandria, he had basically lost contact with Rome itself. The population, who had once received regular, glowing reports from Caesar during the Gallic Wars, had now gone more than six months without any updates at all. Before he could face his enemies in North Africa, Caesar would have to solidify his hold over every other corner of the empire, including the capital city itself.

So rather than marching west, Caesar took the road east out of Alexandria. His plan was to travel up the eastern Mediterranean coast, cross Asia Minor into Greece, and sail back across the Adriatic into Italy. Along the way, he would collect money, allies, soldiers, and support. And he would eliminate anyone who opposed him. For the most part, though, there was no opposition. Kings who had been clients of Pompey readily embraced Caesar as their new patron. Roman garrisons scattered across the east, most previously allied with the Senate, repudiated their old generals, and begged clemency from Caesar, who was more than happy to grant it.

But it was not all easygoing. Pharnaces II, the son of Rome's old enemy Mithridates, had returned to Pontus and thought it right that he should be king. But to stake his claim, he had been forced to battle with the Roman garrison stationed there to keep an eye on Caesar's interests in the region. The Roman garrison, distracted by a desire to make for Egypt to reinforce their embattled general, had not taken the fight seriously, and Pharnaces had beaten them soundly. Now in the great game of power politics, Caesar might have let this go and worked out a deal with Pharnaces to recognize his sovereignty over Pontus in exchange for not making trouble. But upon his ascension to the throne, the new Pontic king had made a point to track down any Roman citizen he could find and castrate them. This was a crime that Caesar could not let go unpunished.

So as he traveled through Asia Minor, Caesar humored the Pontic envoys sent to work out a lasting peace. He replied with kind words and generous promises, but it was all merely a show to buy himself some time as he marched toward Pontus. The speed with which Caesar moved took Pharnaces off guard, and before he knew it, Caesar was at his doorstep. When the Romans arrived, though, Caesar's tone immediately changed. There would be no peace with a man who castrated Roman citizens. Pharnaces, who thought he was on the verge of a deal with Rome, quickly assembled his army as Caesar dug in outside the hill fort of Azela, where the Pontic king was holding court.

The only hope for Pharnaces was a surprise attack before the Romans were firmly entrenched. So at dawn, while the legionaries dug trenches, the Pontic army poured out of the gates of the fort. At first, Caesar could not believe that they were really attacking, but it was soon obvious that this was no bluff. Throwing aside their shovels, the Romans tried to assemble as the enemy army hit. In the din of battle, it took longer than usual for the legions to get their act together, but once some order was imposed on the battle, the Romans quickly gained the upper hand. The Pontic army was destroyed, and Caesar let his men sack the town. Writing to a friend in Rome, Caesar described the campaign in Pontus simply, I came, I saw, I conquered.

Caesar continued west through Greece without incident, and soon enough landed on the shores of Italy. There to greet him in Brundisium was Cicero, who had gone home after the defeat of Pharsalus, and was now ready to face whatever punishment Caesar had in mind for him. But Caesar, who had tried his whole career to win Cicero over to his side, merely embraced the old senator, and asked him to join him on the final leg of his journey, so they could catch up.

Back in Rome, Caesar's first order of business was removing Mark Antony from power. While he had been on campaign in the east, Caesar had been appointed dictator by what was left of the senate, and Antony had been made master of the horse. And legally, when the dictator is absent, the word of a master of the horse becomes law, and Antony had let absolute power corrupt him absolutely. While Caesar had refused to revive the horrifying proscriptions that had marked the reigns of Marius, Cinna, and Sulla, his chief lieutenant showed no such restraint, and terror had gripped the city while Antony lived a lavish life of drunken excess, casually murdering his real or imagined enemies. But the bloody, debauched reign of Antony did have a silver lining. It made Caesar look great by comparison. All he had to do to win the people's affection when he came home was remove Antony from office.

After bringing a measure of peace to the strife-torn city, he set aside the mantle of dictator and was again elected consul. He kept Antony on the political sidelines, though, and instead chose as his colleague an amiable and completely loyal cavalry commander named Marcus Lepidus. Those of you who read ahead to the next chapter know that in a few years, Lepidus will form the third leg of the second triumvirate, along with Antony and Caesar's great nephew and heir, Gaius Octavius, the future Caesar Augustus.

Satisfied that the eastern provinces were pacified and the situation in Rome was under control, Caesar finally turned his attention to the problem in North Africa. But just as he was getting started on the initial planning of an invasion, Caesar dealt with revolt from an unexpected corner, his own troops. The men who had conquered Gaul, secured Italy, sprinted across the continent to Spain and back, crossed the Adriatic in the middle of winter, defeated Pompey, taken Egypt, and then marched back home again, had finally had enough. Their paychecks were chronically late and promises of discharge and land grants were forever just one more campaign away. When word came that Caesar was planning to lead them all in an invasion of North Africa, they mutinied. Marching north from their camps in southern Italy, they planted themselves just outside the gates of Rome with a list of demands.

Against the advice of his friends, Caesar rode out alone to meet them. Standing in front of the assembled legions, the men who had been his family for a decade or more, Caesar calmly asked them what he could do to make them happy. Their tough talk about demanding gold and land melted away and they told Caesar all they desired was to be discharged from service. In response, Caesar dealt them a cruel blow. He granted their request. Telling them he would handle the matters of back pay and land grants when he returned from Africa, he turned to leave the camp, and in bidding goodbye, he addressed them now not as my fellow comrades, but as my fellow citizens.

It was too much to take. The soldiers were utterly shamed. Were they really deserting their general on the eve of his final battle? Were they really going to force Caesar to meet his enemies with only raw recruits to protect him? And if he won, were they really going to let those recruits march back to Rome in triumph and be awarded honors that had been secured by their own hard work and sacrifice? This hit them all in a rush as Caesar left the stage, and immediately calls went out for him to take them back. Caesar paused and let them twist in the wind for a heartbeat before returning to the stage. When we return from Africa, he told them, every man will be granted land and pay and be honorably discharged from service, but first we must go to Africa together. The soldiers exploded in cheers, shouting their thanks and promising him a great victory.

So in early 46 BC, two years after crossing the wintry Adriatic, Caesar readied his legions for a similar winter crossing of the straits between Sicily and North Africa. While Metellus Scipio had gathered somewhere between 10 and 14 legions, Caesar once again charged into the belly of the beast completely outnumbered. Eager to make the crossing and establish a beachhead under Scipio's radar, Caesar set out from Sicily with but one legion. His men, terrified of grounding in the choppy sea, were overjoyed to see land appear on the horizon, but were horrified when they saw Caesar disembark onto the shores of Africa. While climbing from the ship, he became entangled in his cloak and fell face first onto the beach, a terrible omen to the superstitious Romans. But Caesar thought fast and tried to play off the mishap. According to Suetonius, he hugged the sand and cried, I hold you now, Africa.

For the first few months after landing, though, the omen seemed to prove true and things went badly for Caesar. Reinforcements were continually being blown off course or captured by the senatorial forces. His legions already ashore were harassed constantly by detachments of Numidian cavalry who would strike and disappear with impunity. Access to supplies was terrible and his foraging parties came back empty-handed or not at all. Caesar finally decided to move his men to the interior where food was more plentiful, but as soon as he began to march, the entire Numidian cavalry, led by Roman officers, appeared on the horizon. Caesar was forced to slowly retreat after being encircled and mocked by his rival commanders, but the attacking Numidians were unable to break Caesar's lines and he made it to the high ground where horses were more of a hindrance than a help. They staved off attack and the Numidians retreated, but huddled amongst the rocks, bloody, tired, and hungry. It was looking like Caesar should have heeded the omen and just gone back to Italy.

But he managed to hold his army together until spring, by which point the continuously arriving reinforcements finally gave him an army he felt he could go to battle with rather than simply survive with. But of course, what looked to Caesar like a big enough army to go to battle with usually looked to everyone else like an army that would be easily overrun by fourteen legions. It certainly looked that way to Metellus Scipio, right up until the moment his much larger army was completely destroyed.

The decisive battle came at the port city of Thapsus, whose unique geography led both sides to think they were laying a clever trap for the other. The city itself lay on an isthmus, with the sea on one side and heavy marshes on the other, with only two narrow strips of dry land connecting the city to the mainland. When Caesar marched in and overran the garrison station there, Scipio jumped at the opportunity Caesar presented. All he had to do was blockade the narrow exits, and Caesar would be trapped. Unbeknownst to Scipio, however, this was exactly what Caesar wanted. By forcing the battle onto the narrow strips of land, Scipio's greater numbers would be negated and the ferocity of Caesar's veteran legions would be the greatest factor in the fight, which is of course exactly how it happened. With King Juba marching to hold the southern escape route, Caesar massed his own army on the other side to face Scipio, who could not resist attacking. Just as Caesar planned, Scipio was unable to overwhelm Caesar's troops as they were forced to fight in a bottleneck. The battle soon turned into a bloodbath. Caesar's troops, believing that this was the really real last battle of the Civil War, were ferocious, and soon some 10,000 of Scipio's infantry lay dead and his army was shattered.

King Juba, realizing he had backed the wrong horse in the Roman Civil War, committed suicide upon hearing the news of Caesar's victory. Scipio tried to escape with the last remnants of his men, but drowned when his ship sank on its way to Spain. In Utica, the capital of the Roman province of Africa where all of this action was taking place, Cato received the news with characteristic stoicism. He had held the city for the Senate during the majority of the Civil War, despite the fact that its inhabitants were overwhelmingly pro-Caesar. Caesar's most implacable and incorruptible opponent knew that the end had come. He also knew that there was nothing Caesar liked more than pardoning his enemies and leaving them in his debt. Cato had no intention of giving him the pleasure.

After setting his affairs in order, he retired for the evening with a copy of Plato's Phido, the dialogue that ends with Socrates drinking the hemlock tea. Cato had smuggled a knife into the tent with him, despite being searched by his son who feared his father's intentions, and plunged it into his stomach when he was done reading. When his body hit the floor, his friends came running and a doctor patched the old senator back together, but Cato was nothing if not stubborn. When he came to, he ripped out the bandages, causing enough damage that this time he died, one last time.

After making sure he had nothing left to fear in Africa, Caesar returned to Italy in the summer of 46 B.C. and made his triumphal entrance into Rome. For all he had accomplished and all the battles he had won, Caesar had yet to celebrate an official triumph. He had thrown away his one opportunity years before when he chose to run for consul instead – a bold move at the time as triumphs were usually once-in-a-lifetime events for a Roman general. But perhaps to prove that he had been right to forego the opportunity, Caesar planned to celebrate his victories with not one, but four consecutive triumphs, one each to celebrate his victories in Gaul, Greece, Egypt, and North Africa.

Coinciding with these great marches, Caesar threw lavish banquets and gladiatorial games. The wars were finally over. It was time to celebrate. The masses of Rome praised Caesar to the hilt and jumped headlong into his running party. They cheered as he hauled Vercingetorix out of the cell he had been languishing in and had him strangled. They laughed at giant depictions of all the foreign enemies he had beaten and marveled at the exotic creatures he put on display. But in the fourth and final triumph, Caesar finally made a mistake and pushed things too far. While the Romans had no problem cheering his victory over Egyptian eunuchs, when the floats bearing the images of dying Cato and fleeing Metellus Scipio came down the street, the mood of the masses changed. No one actually liked Cato, but should they really be reveling in the suicide of the great statesman? It made them think about who they were celebrating and what they were celebrating. Stability was wonderful and everyone was glad the civil war was over, but what now? With Cato dead, was there anyone left to defend the Republic? Was there even a Republic left to defend?

Caesar was surprised at the reaction. All he had done was dislodge the corrupt oligarchs who had sat parasitically on the top of the Roman political economy. The people ought to be offering toast after toast to the death of Cato, but here they were mourning him. It didn't make any sense. Caesar chose not to dwell on it, he had work to do, but the seeds of disenchantment had been planted.

As I mentioned a few episodes ago, if the governing apparatus of the state was to fall into the hands of a single man, Rome could have done a lot worse than Julius Caesar, and as we will see down the line, Rome eventually does do quite a bit worse than Julius Caesar. While the Mark Antony's of the world see absolute power as a vehicle for personal indulgence, the Julius Caesars of the world see absolute power as a vehicle for total reform. Caesar saw in the old Republican system a laundry list of injustices, irrationalities and inefficiencies that did unnecessary harm to the people and the empire. He brought with him to power an ambitious agenda designed to right the ship of state. But where Sulla had attempted a similar righting of the ship by turning to the past, Caesar's eye was firmly on the future. The Republic was dead and the outmoded ways it did business ought to die with it. If Rome was to rule what it had conquered, it needed a system-wide overhaul.

The first thing on his agenda was a proper census. Since the start of the Civil War three years earlier, there had been massive upheavals in the population and economy. Families had moved, fled, had their property seized, moved back, resettled elsewhere or been consumed by the violence and anarchy. No one had any real idea how many people actually lived in Rome, nor really who owned what anymore. Caesar sent agents from house to house to count every man, woman and child and determine their citizenship status and income. The immediate issue was Caesar's suspicion that the free grain doll was being abused by non-citizen foreign residents and by citizens whose property disqualified them from state charity. When the numbers came back, they showed that while some 320,000 had been receiving grain allotments, only 150,000 actually qualified. So Caesar halved the free grain supply, instantly saving the state a huge quantity of money. And he was just getting started.

Also contained within the census numbers, which showed a total population of some 900,000, Caesar also discovered that Rome had become economically unbalanced. There were a ton of poor laborers and a few rich nobles, but the middle class was badly underrepresented. So he instituted a dual policy to solve the problem. On the one hand, he offered citizenship to any foreign professionals who migrated to the city, while on the other hand, he set up a colonization program offering land to citizens who moved out to the provinces. Over the next few years, some 80,000 members of the urban poor took Caesar up on his offer and moved out of the city, while teachers and doctors from across the empire resettled in the capital. It was a win-win-win for everyone. Skilled professionals received citizenship, poor workers moved out of the slums and onto small farms, and Rome itself became more prosperous.

At the same time, Caesar took care of his loyal soldiers and lived up to his promise to release them and grant them back pay and land. As much as he loved them, though, he made sure to scatter the veteran settlements across the whole of the empire. There is nothing more dangerous than congregating veterans. Eventually, they get ideas. He also followed through on one of the promises he had made to his foreign allies while he traveled the empire during the wars, that if he won, Roman citizenship would be the prize of victory. Caesar had always seen restrictions on citizenship as a great hindrance to the empire, benefiting only the nobles who jealously hoarded power. Having already granted citizenship to the population of his old province of Cisalpine Gaul during the early stages of the war, Caesar liberally granted citizenship to his allies and men he hoped to become his allies across the multinational empire. Not only did it bind the men personally to Caesar, but in the future it would bind their families to Rome. Citizenship in the empire meant that potentially seditious elements in Syria or Spain or Greece would now see their interests aligned with Rome's. Caesar had the vision to see that the empire would not survive if it remained simply a Roman empire. It must embrace its growing multi-ethnic character or it would inevitably fracture. To this end, he also expanded the ranks of the depleted senate to some thousand members and to the horror of old conservatives welcomed into the august body important, read, loyal to Caesar, men from across the empire, regardless of their national origins.

After taking care of all of these human questions, enfranchisement, grain doles, colonization, Caesar turned to the physical infrastructure of the empire. The city had been crumbling and, as in the case of the old senate house, been deliberately destroyed in the chaos of the previous few years. Caesar initiated a slew of public works projects, rebuilding and expanding the neglected city. But he had his eye not just on Rome itself. Caesar personally drew up plans for an expanded and rationalized harbor at the poorly conceived but vitally important port of Ostia. He also initiated a program to drain the swamps around Italy, which he saw as little more than factories for malaria. The modernization program was bold and far-reaching, but perhaps his boldest and farthest-reaching program was to reimagine the nature of time itself.

Since its inception, Rome had operated on a lunar calendar. To handle the lag between the 355-day lunar year and the 365-day solar year, the high priests were forever inserting holy days to keep the months and years aligned. But in the chaos of the war years, the calendar had been neglected and things were completely out of whack. Caesar decided to prevent this from ever happening again by officially moving Rome onto a solar calendar. Using a Greek astronomer's calculations, he declared a twelve-month, 365-day year with a leap day scheduled every four years. Sound familiar? The Julian calendar would remain in effect in the West until the 1500s when it was tweaked by Pope Gregory to reflect the subtle drift of the equinoxes over the centuries. But in substance, we live today in the calendar that Julius Caesar declared unilaterally in 46 BC. The month of July, Julii, should tell us everything we need to know about the impact of Caesar's vision.

There is little doubt that Caesar's reforms had a net positive impact on the empire, and coupled with the subsequent overhauls initiated by Augustus, his policies set the stage for another five centuries of Roman dominance over the Mediterranean basin. But there was still the little matter of how all of these necessary reforms were being executed. It had been 500 years since the Romans had driven out Tarquinius Superbus and founded their republic, believing that never again should one man hold absolute power over his countrymen. On what authority was Caesar really acting? What were his real intentions? When the crowds in the street hailed him as Rex Caesar, and he casually waved them off, was he waving off their attempts to crown him, or waving off their attempts to crown him as simply premature?

Next week, we will get more into the specifics of Caesar's legal authority through this period, but suffice it to say that a growing contingent of the waning nobility did not believe for a second Caesar's claims that he would restore the old order as soon as order itself was restored. When a group of senators called on Caesar one afternoon and he did not rise to greet them as equals, but instead remained seated in lordly fashion, they saw their worst fears confirmed. Caesar was aiming to make himself a king and a god, and he must be stopped. And though Caesar was clearly aiming for immortality, they knew that in fact he was just a man, a man who could, and must, be killed.