The Catiline Conspiracy (28 page)

Caesar rose and spoke forcefully against any such course of action. He said that it ill-befitted Roman statesmen to act in the heat of passion. These were excellent sentiments, but they caused word to spread that he was involved with the conspiracy, or was at least a sympathizer. He was threatened by the mob as he left the temple.

Cato, naturally enough, called for execution. That was just the sort of action that appealed to him: simple, brutal and direct. Many men, especially Cato himself, believed that because he led an upright life of virtue and austerity, he must be right. In any case he spoke eloquently, and it may have been his speech that swayed the Senate to its final decision. Before sunset on that day, Lentulus, Cethegus and several others were taken to the prison beneath the Capitol and there were strangled by the public executioner. Richly as they deserved this fate, these executions were not constitutional and when the excitement and hysteria were over, people understood that they had set a fearsome precedent. Then men who had called for the blood of the conspirators called as loudly for Cicero's exile.

Other ugly incidents abounded. Men saw a chance to implicate their enemies, and did so forthwith. Luckily, except for his haste to dispose of the high-ranking conspirators, Cicero stayed calm and disposed of most of these spurious accusations with his withering sarcasm. A man named Tarquinius, captured on his way to join Catilina, claimed that he had been given a message of encouragement by Crassus to deliver to Catilina. Cicero refused to countenance the accusation, although he was happy enough that some doubt was cast upon Crassus's loyalty. In later times, Crassus claimed that Cicero had put Tarquinius up to this accusation, but I never believed it.

Catulus and Piso, bitter enemies of Caesar, tried to bribe the Allobroges and others to implicate Caesar in the conspiracy. Caesar's eloquent speech in protest of the death sentence for the conspirators lent credence to this accusation, but once again Cicero refused to recognize mere word-of-mouth accusations.

Was Caesar involved? He was certainly capable of it, but I do not think that his defense of the conspirators was evidence. Throughout his career, Caesar was happy to kill droves of barbarians, but he was always reluctant to execute citizens. His clemency was a byword, sometimes used in derision by enemies who at first thought him to be softhearted. In the end, it was his undoing. When a later conspiracy ended in his assassination, many of the conspirators were men he had spared when they were within his power and he had good reason to execute them. I do not think that Caesar was especially merciful. It was just his way of showing contempt for his enemies and confidence in his own powers. He was always a vain man.

Various of the magistrates with
imperium
were directed to deal with the enemy outside of Rome. Complications were added by the fact that it was the end of the year and some magistrates would be stepping down while others would be assuming office. Cicero's brother Quintus, for instance, was a praetor-elect, and he was sent to deal with the Catilinarians in Bruttium. By the time he got there, he would have his full powers. Caius Antonius Hibrida, waiting near Picenum, still had
imperium
as Consul, and he was alerted to the Catilinarian menace. The
Praetor
Metellus Celer was to march north with an army. Since Antonius was taking Macedonia, and Cicero had refused proconsular command, Celer had been given Cisalpine Gaul. The campaign would be merely part of his march to his province. The
Praetor
Pompeius Rufus was sent to Capua, to watch for Catilinarian subversion among the gladiator's schools there. Ever since Spartacus we have been nervous about a rebellion of gladiators, and in those days most of the schools were in Capua. Campania was the home of the gladiatorial cult. Actually, except when discharging their duties in the amphitheater or when hired as bullies for politicians, gladiators are usually the mildest of men. The fear was constant, though.

The
Praetor-elect
Bibulus was sent to smash the Catilinarians among the Paeligni, which required only a small force of men. The Paeligni had not amounted to much for quite some time, although they made a show of independence up in their mountains.

Much of this, you understand, I heard secondhand or read about later. As a mere
quaestor
, I was not yet a full member of the Senate, and so I did not hear all these speeches nor take part in the debates. I was kept too busy with my city patrols to do more than catch up on proceedings at the bathhouses frequented by Senators.

Even then, I think, I was half-aware that I was seeing the death throes of the old Republic.

I was in at the kill, although I had no desire to be. It was the next year, and the new Consuls were in power. Cicero was already in trouble, with his opponents calling for his impeachment for condemning the Catilinarians to death. Nobody questioned the justice of his action, only its legality.

The tribunes Nepos and Bestia had introduced a law calling for the Senate to summon Pompey from Asia to deal with Catilina, but that was a vain hope. Cicero had laid his groundwork too well. It was obvious to everyone that the various magistrates authorized to deal with the Catilinarians piecemeal would settle the problem long before Pompey could make an appearance.

I was assigned to the army of Metellus Celer. When I was given the assignment, the panic in the city was over. The citizens had redonned the toga, although the red flag still flew atop the Janiculum, in token of the state of war. As I packed to go and join the army, I somehow knew that it would be for a long time. I put my military gear in order and gave my slaves orders to keep my house well, against my return. Then I mounted my horse and rode through the winter drizzle, leading a pack-horse bearing my comforts and personal belongings.

I have never left Rome happily. I always felt a wrench when duty forced me to leave the city, and this time was no exception. There was no one to see me off, and I rode out through the gate as desolate as any stranger leaving Rome.

After a long, cold ride I joined Celer's army near Picenum. Dreams of glory are wonderful, but as
quaestor
my position in the army was paymaster, scarcely the most heroic of ranks. Even so, I was able to throw myself into the supply and logistics apparatus of the army with some energy. As hastily thrown together as the force was, there was much work to be done.

The fortunes of Catilina had ebbed and flowed according to events in Rome. He had started with a fairly large and enthusiastic force of men, raised first by Manlius and then reinforced by the men who followed Catilina from Rome. They had gathered veterans, deserters, runaway slaves and other malcontents in good numbers for a while. Then, when news of the execution of his supporters in Rome reached them, his followers deserted in great numbers. Thus, one might say that the executions, however illegal, were of benefit to Rome.

What we had facing us at the end was a force of two understrength legions. Just north of the Arno, near Pistoia, we brought him to battle. He had been campaigning in the mountains, retreating toward Gaul. From deserters, Celer had determined Catilina's route of march and had made a sweep around him and placed his legions right across it. With Antonius pushing slowly north with a far larger force, Catilina was being squeezed into a trap.

On the final day, I sat in my saddle next to Celer, uncomfortable in my armor. Before us we could see the rebel force: two understrength legions, a pitiful army with which to conquer the world. They were determined soldiers, though, and we were not going to get through the day without a hard fight. Celer signaled, the trumpets sounded, and the armies rushed together.

The Catilinarians fought with desperate courage, even though their cause was plainly lost. It was a painful thing, to see so many Romans and Italians behaving so heroically, without a chance of victory. There were no mounted troops. Catilina had sent his horse with the others to the rear, in order to fight on foot among his supporters. This was the act of a fine general.

The spears flew, the swords flashed and weapon rattled on shield and armor. It was a long, hard, grinding fight for there were no surrenders from the enemy. Not a single prisoner was taken that day, and none of the defeated sought mercy. It was as if they had all caught the disease of insanity and desperation from Catilina, although I am certain that Celer would have readily granted quarter, had it been asked.

In the end, I saw Catilina's last gesture. We had been taking bad casualties, so hard was the fight. With Celer, I had ridden to a position just behind the center. Over the helmets of several ranks of men, I could see Catilina next to his eagle, waving his sword and urging on his men. As he saw his flanks crumple inward and his forward ranks disintegrate, he came charging through his own ranks, stabbing and slashing. He pushed past his own front rank and plunged into ours, apparently trying to carve a path all the way through our ranks and cut down our commander. It was a Homeric act, and one belonging to the realm of legend, not to the real world.

Just before he went down in a welter of blood, cutting down foes right and left, I thought his eyes locked with mine. I thought I saw a look of reproach in them, before he fell for the last time. It was probably just my disordered mind that saw this. I hope so, at any rate.

There was an uncertain lull for a while, then the men realized that the fight was over. A cheer was raised and the soldiers began a chant, hailing Celer as
imperator
. He cut this off instantly, berating them for hailing him thus, after a fight in which only fellow-citizens had died. Shamefacedly, the soldiers set about collecting the loot of the battlefield. A centurion came to us and held up two objects. One was Catilina's head. The other was his sword.

I took the sword while Celer directed that the head be sent back to Rome. When that was done Celer turned to me. I was turning the sword over in my hands. It was a fine one, its ivory hilt carved with a serpent wrapped spirally around it. The eyes were tiny rubies.

"It ends as it began," I said.

"What's that you say?" Celer asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"That's an African sword, isn't it?" Celer commented.

"He must have picked it up when he was
propraetor
there a few years ago."

"He picked up quite a few of them," I muttered.

"Keep it," Celer said. "You ought to have a souvenir out of this miserable business." I kept it. I have it still.

"What now?" I asked after a while.

"Why don't you come with me?" Celer said. "I've spoken with your father. Rome's a bad place for you just now. Pompey will be back in a few months and there's bad blood between you. Crassus has reason to dislike you as well. Be my
proquaestor
in Gaul. You can use the experience and when you get back those two will have forgotten about you."

I thought about it, but not for long. "I'm with you."

Thus perished Lucius Sergius Catilina, a man who could never acknowledge his own lack of greatness, and who was never more than a tool in the hands of greater men.