Caesar

not?'

He gulped more wine, steadied himself on his elbow.

'That's better. Send this little brat away. We don't want slaves to hear what we have to say. Bloody gossips, every man jack of them. Fuck off, do you hear, and leave the sodding wine. That's better.'

He poured himself another measure with a trembling hand that made the jug rattle against the goblet.

'D'you understand what I said? Am I celebrating or am I not?'

'You tell me, Antony. You ought to know after all.'

'Ah, crafty… crafty… but that's the point, I don't know.

So I come to you, little Mous e, to find out. And when I say ‘I’, I include you. Are we celebrating, or are we not? Here, you're not drinking. Bloody drink, will you. It's uncivilised to leave a man to drink on his own. Uncivilised and ungenerous. But I'm. generous, so I'm offering you one.'

'Very well. And let me answer your question. You appear to be celebrating, but not perhaps very happily.'

'Got it in one. I knew I was right. Said to myself, bloody Mouse'll see the bloody point. I am celebrating, been celebrating for two, three days, maybe four, but not happy. Good. So next question, next question… Very diffy one. Why? Got everything to be happy about, don't I. Antony starts his consulship in ten days, maybe a fortnight, lost count's a matter of fact. But not happy. Why?'

'I can't answer that. You ought to be happy. You'll make a fine consul.'

(As long as you can contrive to be at least half-sober at the necessary official ceremonies, I thought.)

'Mouse, you've let me down. Little Mouse, let old Antony down. Never would have thought it… Tell you why, give you the answer myself. We won the bloody civil war, didn't we? Yes, can't deny that. But we're losing the peace, that's why. All those buggers on the other side, like your esteemed father-in-law, like that prig of a cousin of yours, Marcus Brutus, are slipping back into power. By Hercules, there was a fucking Augean stable to be cleansed, and nothing has been done. There are plots against Caesar, Antony, loyal old Antony, goes and tells the General, and he laughs, says, go and sleep it off, there's a good chap. So: answer. I'm not celebrating…'

And then he fell asleep.

I am aware that throughout this memoir I have presented Antony in an unfavourable light: as uncouth, boorish, impetuous, wrong-headed. He was all these things. But he was also more, and different, something which many who had not served alongside him failed to realise. His charm was formidable. When he chose to exert it, the radiance of his smile, the eagerness with which he charged at life, lit up the existence of those around him. And he was no fool. He said many foolish things, but he was also capable of flashes of unexpected intelligence. And strangest of all, this man who appeared so heedless of the impression he made, who even at times seemed to delight in presenting himself as disreputably as possible, was also possessed of a rare sensitivity: a sensitivity that quivered, sunbeamlike, in response to the moods of others. This was one reason why his soldiers adored him. There is no general men will follow so eagerly as one who has an intuitive understanding of how they feel at any moment. And Antony had that quality. Even in drunkenness, he was never cut off — as I have seen other drunkards separated — from the way others felt. He was an utterly social being, one who could not be imagined in isolation. And because he was this, he understood far more than those who are wrapped up in their own concerns ever do. Now he opened one eye.

'Fuck the Queen of Egypt, I say. But when I tried, she said, fuck yourself, old boy.'

He closed the eye again and began to snore.

If Antony believed that men like my father-in-law and Marcus Brutus were plotting against Caesar, he was almost certainly correct.

This left me in an alarming position. As Caesar's closest adherent, known to be the favourite among his surviving generals, was I the object of such a plot also? Was it possible to plot against Caesar alone, and leave the Caesarian party unmolested?

The next afternoon I encountered Antony in the Forum. He had just emerged from a barber's shop, spruced, shaved, pomaded and sober.

'Afraid I was a bit of a bore yesterday, old boy. Sorry and all that. Hope I didn't say anything I shouldn't, specially to your lovely wife.'

'Not at all. You indicated you hadn't got far with the Queen of Egypt, that's all.'

'Did I now? Between you and me and the gatepost, old boy, she's a bit more than I'd care to tackle. She may be only a child, but she's a man-eating one, don't you know.'

'Antony,' I said, taking his arm, 'this Parthian campaign. Will he go ahead with it?'

'Oh, I should think so, wouldn't you? The old boy's bored, you know.' 'And after it?'

'After it? Well, I should think it might be the end. First rule of war: don't invade Parthia. I've tried telling him that. Imagine you've done the same in different words. Doesn't do a bit of bloody good, does it. So, it's us for the desert song, and us for… who knows what?'

'That's my opinion. So how do we set about stopping it?'

He lifted his head, like a lion sniffing the breeze.

'Wind's blowing cold from the East. Think you can stop that, old boy?'

I had to admit Antony was right. My fears were intensified when I learned that various members of the old Pompeian party, including some who had affected to be most closely reconciled to Caesar's rule — for that of course is what it was, despite the' punctiliousness with which the traditional posts in the Republic were filled — that some of these, as I say, were urging the Parthian campaign on him. The ignominy of Crassus' defeat was a stain on Rome's reputation, they said, that must be wiped out; and Caesar was the only man capable of doing so. This of course was music to his ears, and he did not reflect that these men urged him to the enterprise in the hope that he would fail.

I confess that the same thought had also occurred to me: that Caesar's death on the Parthian campaign might be the most honourable way out of the difficulties that his continuing and ever-growing ascendancy was now so evidently presenting. But it was not a way of escape that I could honourably dwell on.

Instead, I went to see him at his own house, choosing an hour in the morning when he would not be over- tired as a result of the business he had been transacting, for I had noticed that in recent months, he was more amenable to reason in the first part of the day; and that when he was tired his mind delighted in ever more extravagant flights.

He received me kindly, as was his wont, and dismissed his secretaries when I said I had important matters which I wished to raise.

For a moment we sat in silence. All at once he looked an old man. It was the first time that thought had ever struck me, and I experienced a wave of tenderness and affection.

'Well, Mouse,' he said, 'it must be a grave matter that brings you here at this time of the day when you know I am accustomed to be at work.'

'It is precisely of work that I wish to speak.'

I then explained to him the causes of my anxiety: that it was now nine months since the Battle of Munda; that there could be no question but that the civil wars were at last concluded; but that it seemed to me that we were no nearer a resolution of the problems that had caused the wars.

He frowned when I said that, as if to remind me that in his opinion, and as he had so often asserted, the cause of the wars had been the determination of his enemies to destroy him.

So, to prevent him from raising the point and thus provoking an argument that might divert me from the course on which I had determined, I interpolated an acknowledgment that this had been the immediate cause of the wars. That of course, I admitted, had properly been removed. But I hastened to add that we both realised, as historians and politicians well versed in these matters, that the underlying causes of the wars went beyond personalities and turned on the question of the Constitution. Now Caesar had been granted the title of Perpetual Dictator, which ensured that authority could be maintained in Rome and throughout the Empire. Yet I could not see, I said, with all the respect that I could muster, how a perpetual dictatorship could answer.

'I must warn you,' I said, 'that there are even some who put it about that you wish to be crowned king. It is naturally a rumour which I deny whenever I hear it.'

Again he frowned, then waved a hand to indicate that I was to continue.

Very well, I said; he had made minor reforms. He had enlarged the Senate, and although many of our fellow members of the old nobility complained that those he had admitted were scarcely gentlemen, I was in full