Imperium

worth twice as much as the entirety of most men.”
    “That is flattering, Imperator,” responded Cicero, bridling at the implication. “Thank you. My slave cannot be bought, but I can, is that it? Perhaps you will allow me to think about it.”
    “What is there to think about? Every citizen has two votes for the consulship. Give one to me and one to whomever else you please. Just make sure your friends all follow your example. Tell them Crassus never forgets those who oblige him. Or those who disoblige him, for that matter.”
    “I would still have to think about it, I am afraid.”
    Some shadow moved across Crassus’s friendly face, like a pike in clear water. “And my triumph?”
    “Personally, I absolutely believe you have earned the honor. But, as you know, to qualify for a triumph it is necessary for the military action concerned to have extended the dominion of the state. The Senate has consulted the precedents. Apparently it is not enough merely to regain territory that has been previously lost. For example, when Fulvius won back Capua after its defection to Hannibal, he was not allowed a triumph.” Cicero explained all this with what seemed genuine regret.
    “But this is a technicality, surely? If Pompey can be a consul without meeting any of the necessary requirements, why cannot I at least have a triumph? I know you are unfamiliar with the difficulties of military command, or even,” he added sinuously, “with military service, but surely you would agree that I have met all the other requirements—killed five thousand in battle, fought under the auspices, been saluted imperator by the legions, brought peace to the province, withdrawn my troops? If someone of influence such as yourself were to put down a motion in the Senate, he would find me very generous.”
    There was a long pause, and I wondered how Cicero would escape from his dilemma.
    “ There is your triumph, Imperator!” he said suddenly, pointing in the direction of the Appian Way. “ That is the monument to the kind of man you are! For as long as Romans have tongues to speak, they will remember the name of Crassus as the man who crucified six thousand slaves over three hundred and fifty miles, with one hundred and seventeen paces between the crosses. None of our other great generals would ever have done such a thing. Scipio Africanus, Pompey, Lucullus”—Cicero flicked them away with contempt—“none of them would even have thought of it.”
    Cicero sat back and smiled at Crassus; Crassus smiled in return. Time went on. I felt myself begin to sweat. It became a contest to see whose smile would crack first. Eventually Crassus stood and held out his hand to Cicero. “Thank you so much for coming, my young friend,” he said.

    WHEN THE SENATE MET a few days later to determine honors, Cicero voted with the majority to deny Crassus a triumph. The vanquisher of Spartacus had to settle for an ovation, an altogether second-class award. Rather than entering the city riding on a chariot drawn by four horses, he would have to walk in on foot; the customary fanfare of trumpets would be replaced by the trilling of flutes; and instead of the usual wreath of laurel he would be permitted to wear only myrtle. “If the man has any sense of honor,” said Cicero, “he will turn it down.” I need hardly add that Crassus quickly sent word of his acceptance.
    Once the discussion moved on to honors for Pompey, Afranius pulled a clever trick. He used his praetorian rank to rise early in the debate and declare that Pompey would accept with humble gratitude whatever the house chose to grant him: he would be arriving outside the city with ten thousand men the following day and hoped to thank as many of the senators in person as possible. Ten thousand men? After that, even the aristocrats were unwilling publicly to snub the conqueror of Spain, and the consuls were instructed by a unanimous vote to attend on Pompey at his earliest convenience and offer him a full triumph.
    The next morning Cicero dressed with even more care than usual and consulted with Quintus and Lucius as to what line he should take in his discussions with Pompey. He decided on a bold approach. The following year he would be thirty-six, just eligible to stand for an aedileship of Rome, of which four were elected annually. The functions of the office—the maintenance of public buildings and public order, the celebration of various festivals, and the issuing of trading licenses,