Book 2
32
On the dismissal of the council he calls a meeting of the soldiers. He reminds them how zealous Caesar had found them at Corfinium, how it was, thanks to them and their powerful aid, he made a great part of Italy his own. All the municipal towns in turn, he said, followed you and your action, and it was not without reason that Caesar formed the friendliest opinion of you, and the enemy the harshest. For Pompeius, though not beaten in any battle, was thrust away by the predetermining effect of your action and quitted Italy; while Caesar entrusted to your loyalty me, whom he held most dear, and the province of Sicily and Africa, without which he cannot protect the capital and Italy. Yet there are people who urge you to fall apart from us. Why, what do our opponents pray for more than at one and the same time to take us in their toils and to entrammel you by a nefarious crime? Or what harsher idea of you can they form in their anger than that you should betray those who judge that they owe everything to you, and pass under the control of those who think that they were ruined by you? Have you really not heard of Caesar’s exploits in Spain—two armies routed, two generals overcome, two provinces recovered—these successes gained within forty days after Caesar came within sight of the enemy? Should those who could not resist when they were unharmed resist now that they are ruined? Again, should you, who followed Caesar when victory was uncertain, now, when the fortune of war is once for all decided, follow the conquered when you ought to be reaping the rewards of your dutiful allegiance? They say in reply that they were deserted and betrayed by you, and they make mention of your former oath. I ask, did you desert L. Domitius, or did Domitius desert you? Did he not cast you off when you were ready to endure the extremity of fortune? Did he not without your knowledge seek safety for himself in flight? When betrayed by him, was it not by Caesar’s kindness that you have been preserved? As for the oath, how could he hold you bound by it when, flinging aside his fasces and laying down his military command, he had himself passed, a private person and a captive, into the control of another? A novel obligation is left you, to disregard the oath by which you are bound and look back to that which has been cancelled by the surrender of the general and his civil degradation. But, I suppose, even if you approve of Caesar, you stumble at me. I am not going to talk of my services towards you; at present they are slighter than I could wish or you expect; but still, soldiers have always sought the rewards of their labour by the issue of the war, and what that will be, you, too, have no doubt. As for my diligence—or, so far as things have gone at present, our fortune—why should I pass them over? Are you dissatisfied with my having transported the army safe and sound without the loss of a single ship? With my having scattered the fleet of the enemy on my arrival at the first onset? At my having twice in two days won in a cavalry engagement? At my having taken off two hundred loaded vessels from the recesses of the enemy’s harbour, and having driven the foe to such straits that they cannot be replenished with provisions either by a land route or by sea? Repudiating such fortune, such leaders, you follow the disgrace of Corfinium, the flight from Italy, the surrender of the Spains, events which forecast the issue of the African war! I, for my part, wished to be called a soldier of Caesar: you have addressed me by the title of Imperator. If you regret this, I give you back your bounty; restore me my proper name, lest you should seem to have given me an honour only as an insult.
