The Senate had begun to honor Rome’s most glorious general even before he had returned: it decreed a public thanksgiving for Pompey’s successes, and legislation was passed permitting the great man to assume the garb of a triumphator at every public game, an unceasing celebration of his victories. Pompey had established Rome’s domination in the east and had imposed his will on its political geography, in consequence of which he had received cult honors on Delos, at Athens, and in other cities, where he was revered as savior, founder, and benefactor; various cities even reckoned time in reference to a Pompeian era. He brought booty to Rome’s treasury in enormous quantities, and by virtue of his conquests Rome’s public revenues had more than doubled. Pompey himself had become surpassingly rich, in addition to his assets in gloria. His return to Italy in 62 was anticipated with excitement - and worry.
But it was far from Pompey’s intentions to seize power. Despite his unconventional career, his ambitions were traditional: by dint of his wealth, his military glory, and his unsurpassed popularity with the People, he expected to be welcomed and revered by the Senate as its unquestioned first citizen. He quickly demonstrated that there was no need for alarm: upon his arrival in Italy, near the end of 62, he disbanded his army; his correspondence with fellow senators made clear his devotion to peace; and he displayed his attitude toward Metellus Nepos by divorcing his wife, thus severing his connection. He even sought to establish a relationship with Cato, by proposing to marry one of his nieces (and by proposing to marry his eldest son to her sister). It was an opportunity for Pompey to return to Roman society peacefully and as its foremost citizen, and an opportunity for Cato and his circle to assimilate the great man. But Cato denied Pompey the connection he sought. Pompey had, by demonstrating his desire to join the optimates, displayed a weakness that his rivals intended to take advantage of.
Although in 61 Pompey celebrated the grandest triumph in the city’s history, the politics of that year were dominated by a scandal and a trial. In December, 62, P. Clodius Pulcher, scion of Rome’s most splendid patrician house, the Claudii Pulchri, and a quaestor-elect, had been caught invading the nocturnal rites of the Bona Dea (Good Goddess), celebrated annually and pro bono publico (for the welfare of the Roman People). These ceremonies were forbidden to men and therefore irresistible to masculine fantasies, hence their invasion and the subsequent scandal (see also Chapter 15). The matter was far from trifling, but it was inflated by religious anxiety and the Roman penchant for melodramatic moralism. The language of the scandal became the language of political contention: a special tribunal to try Clodius was proposed, the debate over which was couched in terms of optimate oppression and popular license. The contest shunted Pompey’s return, and his concerns, away
From the center of things: the great man needed to secure land for his veterans and the ratification of his arrangements in the east, but these matters had to wait. In the end, Clodius was acquitted, but not before Cicero (who was a witness for the prosecution) had become Clodius’ bitter enemy. A frustrated Pompey then devoted himself to the consular elections for 60: it was now clear that he would need executive support for his agenda. Not long after Clodius’ acquittal, Catulus died. The optimates began to look to Cato as their spokesman and leader. His attitude toward Pompey could hardly be in doubt.
World History
