Imperium

“That’s it,” said Cicero to me as the voting clerks sprang to their stations. “It’s done. Run up to Pompey’s house and tell them to send a message to the general immediately. Write this down: ‘The bill is passed. The command is yours. You must set out for Rome at once. Be sure to arrive tonight. Your presence is required to secure the situation. Signed, Cicero.’” I checked I had his words correctly, then hurried off on my errand, while Cicero plunged back into the crowded Forum to practice his art-cajoling, flattering, sympathizing, even occasionally threatening-for there was nothing, according to his philosophy, that could not be made or undone or repaired by words.

THUS WAS PASSED, by a unanimous vote of all the tribes, the lex Gabinia, a measure which was to have immense consequences-for all those personally concerned, for Rome, and for the world.

As night fell, the Forum emptied and the combatants retired to their respective headquarters-the aristocratic die-hards to the home of Catulus, on the brow of the Palatine; the adherents of Crassus to his own, more modest dwelling, lower down the same hill; and the victorious Pompeians to the mansion of their chief, on the Esquiline. Success had worked its usual fecund magic, and I should think that at least twenty senators crammed themselves into Pompey’s tablinum to drink his wine and await his victorious return. The room was brilliantly illuminated by candelabra, and there was that thick atmosphere of drink and sweat and the noisy racket of masculine conversation which often follows the release of tension. Caesar, Afranius, Palicanus, Varro, Gabinius, and Cornelius were all present, but the newcomers outnumbered them. I ca

Shortly before midnight, a messenger arrived to say that Pompey was approaching the city along the Via Latina. A score of his veterans had been stationed at the Capena Gate to escort him home by torchlight, in case his enemies resorted to desperate tactics, but Quintus-who had spent much of the night touring the city with the precinct bosses-reported to his brother that the streets were quiet. Eventually, cheering outside a

Whenever I picture the word imperium it is always Pompey who comes into my mind-Pompey that night, hovering over his map of the Mediterranean, distributing dominion over land and sea as casually as he dispensed his wine (“Marcellinus, you can have the Libyan sea, while you, Torquatus, shall have eastern Spain…”), and Pompey the following morning, when he went down into the Forum to claim his prize. The a