Tarsus, Ides of September 47 BC
‘Pharnaces could still cause further trouble, of course,’ Hirtius noted, drumming his fingers on his folded arms.
Caesar shook his head. ‘Pharnaces may have fled with a force of a thousand cavalry, but he lost control of near twenty thousand men at Zela. Most of those were allies or clients who had thrown the dice and joined him. Having lost the game, they will be unwilling to take part again and risk worse. Pharnaces no longer has sufficient military power to launch any kind of campaign, and Calvinus will pursue him now until the last power he has is destroyed. If he lives beyond the winter it will be as a petty king back in his Bosporian land, and even there his time is coming.’
The others nodded their agreement. Calvinus may have lost to Pharnaces once, but he would not let that happen again. After the astounding victory at Zela, Calvinus had been given command of all the forces barring the Sixth, with the veteran legate Caelius Vinicianus as his aide, and sent off to chase down the fleeing king. The last intelligence received suggested that the beleaguered Pharnaces had been trapped by Calvinus at Sinope on the north coast. There, he could not hold out for long. The would-be King of Pontus was done.
‘This land is settled, I think, thanks in no small part to our courageous allies.’
Caesar gestured to the two men standing to his left, each surrounded by slaves and attendants.
‘Deiotarus, friend of Rome and King of Galatia, will administer Pontus, and also Cappadocia until the senate agrees the appointment of client kings there in due course. New ties between Galatia and the republic should see trade flourish in the region.’
The king bowed his head. For his troubles, he had been given a transitory control of lands, but the benefits Galatia could reap in that time would be great. The king was more than satisfied.
‘Mithridates, victor of the Nilus, I charge you with seizing control of Bosporus, leaving Pharnaces nowhere to flee.’
The prince of Pergamon nodded solemnly. He had been told to declare war, but the benefits of control of the Bosporus would grant him similar benefits to Deiotarus in Cappadocia. With Rome’s backing, he would double his territory and more. He would be pleased.
‘Thus,’ Caesar smiled, ‘is the region settled. Friends of Rome in control of every land. And between these two great kings and Calvinus in Syria, there will be nowhere for Pharnaces to run.’
‘Then the east truly is at peace,’ Nero said with an air of satisfaction.
‘I believe so. The Sixth should by now be closing on Italia to recover and rest through the winter.’
Fronto smiled for a moment, remembering Carfulenus’ face at the news. After three major campaigns in a row, in Greece, Aegyptus and Cappadocia, every man in the Sixth dreamt of warm food, a warm bed and a warm girl. And having been given, along with the other victorious legions, the pick of the loot from Pharnaces’ camp, every last man had gone home with a stuffed purse to see him through the winter and beyond.
Fronto winced at that, though, and the smile slid from his face. It seemed like grand largesse to give the soldiers such loot, but he worried about the other legions back home. The knowledge that they had already had their noses put out of joint by Caesar’s lavish triumph on the Nilus without them made him nervous. What would those legions say when the Sixth joined them with purses overflowing with gold from the latest campaign?
Caesar had deftly sidestepped his troubles with the senate, largely because of his ongoing popularity with both the people and the army. If the army started to take offence at him, though, then things could change.
‘And, of course, Aegyptus is secure,’ Brutus put in, earning a bitter look from Cassius.
‘With the queen now in full control,’ Caesar agreed, ‘the land remains a bastion of strength in the east. Indeed, the legions there could now safely be withdrawn, I think. And that leads me to tidings that I feel I should share with you all before they become public and reach Rome.’
The officers gathered a touch closer. News was almost uniformly unpleasant these days, but Caesar’s face was calm, suggesting good tidings for a change.
‘Caesar?’ Hirtius prompted.
The general leaned back, arms folded. ‘A missive from the palace in Alexandria reached me this morning, sealed with the royal seal. The queen of Aegyptus has given birth to an heir.’
Fronto felt his teeth clench. The room underwent an odd change in atmosphere at this news. Some of the gathered dignitaries, in particular the two kings and Brutus, broke into smiles of genuine pleasure. Many officers seemed to struggle with how to accept the news, though, and Fronto watched smiles riveted over uncertainty. The tidings seemed, in particular, to sit badly with Cassius, whose face slipped into an expression of discontent.
‘It will, I am sure, come as no surprise to any present to learn that the boy is a scion of our great line. The house of Ptolemy and the house of the Julii are joined by blood. The boy is to be named Ptolemy Philopator Philometor Caesar.’
Cassius could not prevent the disgusted curl of a lip. Caesar glanced in his direction and pretended not to notice, refusing to allow the sour expression to ruin his moment of triumph. Fronto plastered a smile across his face with the rest, while his mind raced. What Caesar saw as a boon could well turn into a millstone around his neck. The Roman people might not take well to their consul fathering a child with a foreign queen, tying himself to a royal house outside the republic. Moreover, the man had been slowly and steadily bringing his great nephew Octavian under his wing, treating the precocious young man as something of an heir and son. Fronto wondered what the extremely clever, and almost certainly ambitious, Octavian would make of being ousted in favour of a half-Aegyptian child.
And then there was Caesar’s wife, of course. Calpurnia was unlikely to be thrilled by the news, despite her clear acceptance that the consul would always be a man for the ladies.
He shivered. The civil wars of the past few years, and the political turmoil that had underpinned them, might seem like children squabbling compared with what could begin to brew in the coming days.
‘Tell me that you intend to return to Rome, Caesar.’
All eyes shifted from the consul to Cassius, who stood like some defiant stormcrow in the corner of the room. The shadow of a column fell in such a disconcerting way that it cast the man in gloom in an otherwise bright room, and that simple effect made Fronto shudder all over again.
‘Cassius?’ the consul said, an edge to his tone.
‘Tell me, Caesar, that you do not intend to return to Aegyptus for the winter. That you will make for Rome with all haste and attempt to right the problems of the republic.’
Caesar frowned. ‘Of course. This is not the season for war, but…’
Cassius shook his head and cut the general off. ‘I am not talking about war, Caesar. The republic has had enough of war. Our enemies are crushed, and those men who remain opposed to you are Romans. Cato and his companions can be reasoned with. I mean that you need to return to Rome. Calm the legions. Restore the senate to order. Make overtures of peace and begin the healing process. You were made dictator in order to save the republic, not go to war with it, or to marry it to foreign queens.’
This last was dangerously close to the knife edge, and Fronto saw Caesar tense.
‘You walk near to insult, Cassius.’
‘I speak the plain truth, Caesar, without dissembling. Will you return to Rome and save the republic?’
The consul nodded. ‘Rome is my priority, Cassius, but I will say without hesitation that no overture of peace to Africa will heal that rift. I will make an attempt, but I can guarantee that the coming year will see war with Cato’s army.’
Cassius shook his head. ‘Then that is not a war in which I will fight, Caesar. I will return to Rome with you and help in any way I can to heal the state, but I will no longer lead citizen against citizen.’
‘That is your prerogative,’ Caesar said, coldly, all traces of the good mood his tidings had brought now gone. The room felt suddenly awkward and cold.
‘To Rome, then,’ Fronto said with enforced brightness, trying to dispel the new icy aura of the meeting.
Aulus Hirtius cleared his throat, nodding at Fronto and picking up the thread, trying to lighten the mood once more. ‘I have almost completed my chronicle of the campaign to be published back home, Consul, but Amantius begs for news already; for tidings he can give the senate and the people. Word of Zela and Pharnaces’ defeat have not yet been announced at home, after all.’
Caesar turned slowly, having to tear his cold gaze from Cassius, and straightened to address Hirtius.
‘Send Amantius a dispatch, then, ahead of our own arrival.’ He reached down, drawing his pugio from his belt and slammed it into the map on the table, the point driving down through the campaign map there, pinning the location of his great victory as it stuck in the wood, reverberating as the consul let go.
They all stared at the knife vibrating over Zela.
‘Tell him I came, I saw, and I conquered,’ Caesar said.
The end.