CCCXLIII (F VIII, 15)
M. CAELIUS RUFUS TO CICERO (AT
FORMIAE)
NORTH ITALY, FEBRUARY (LATE)
DID you ever see a more futile person than
your friend Pompey, for having stirred up all this
dust, without any stuff in him, after all? And, on
the other hand, did you ever read or hear of
anyone prompter in action than our Caesar, and
more moderate in victory? Why! Do you think that
our soldiers, who in the most inclement and frozen
districts, in the severest winter
weather, have successfully finished a war at a
walk, have been fed on the pick of the orchard?
1 "What, then," say you, "is
it all glory with you?" Nay, if you only knew how
anxious I am, you would laugh at this glory of
mine, which, after all, has nothing to do with me.
I can't explain matters to you unless we meet, and
I hope that will soon take place. For as soon as
he has driven Pompey out of Italy, Caesar has
resolved to summon me to Rome: and I look upon
that as good as done, unless Pompey has preferred
being besieged in Brundisium. Upon my life, the
chief motive I have for hurrying there is my
ardent desire to see you and impart all my
thoughts. And what a lot I have! Goodness! I am
afraid that, as usual, I shall forget them all
when I do see you. But what have I done to be
obliged to retrace my steps to the Alps? It is all
because the Intemelli 2 are in arms, and that on some
trumpery excuse. Bellienus, a slave of Demetrius,
who was commanding a garrison there, seized one
Domitius—a man of rank and a friend of
Caesar's—for a bribe, and strangled him.
The tribe rushed to arms: and I have got to go
there with my cohorts over the snow. All over the
world, say you, the Domitii are coming to grief. I
could have wished that our descendant of Venus had
shewn as much resolution in the case of your
Domitius, 3 as the son of Psecas
4 did in this one. Give
my love to your son.
NORTH ITALY, FEBRUARY (LATE)