Augustus (14 page)

When his consulship came to an end in December, he was due to become governor of Macedonia—a little far away if trouble were to threaten him in the capital. So he exchanged the post for a five-year term in Cisalpine Gaul. From that vantage point he could overawe the capital, and if need be intervene directly, as Caesar had done in 49. It did not matter that a governor had been selected who was already in possession of the province. This was Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus, a distant relative of Marcus Brutus. A onetime follower of Julius Caesar, he had lost confidence in the dictator and taken part in the assassination on the Ides of March. Antony planned to transfer the army in Macedonia to Italy and lead it northward. He would make short work of the interloper.

In an attempt to weaken the republican cause, Antony initiated measures to persuade Brutus and Cassius to get out of Italy. To begin with, they were offered insulting proconsular posts: responsibility for the collection of grain in Sicily and Asia. “Could anything be more humiliating?” complained Cicero. The appointments were later upgraded, to the governorships of the politically and militarily harmless provinces of Crete and Cyrenaica. Brutus settled in Athens to wait on events, and in the meantime he pursued philosophical studies. Cassius eventually went to the east, whence little was heard of him for a while.

Now that Antony’s position was secure, Octavian was the odd man out in the great political game. He held no official post and controlled no army. If he was not careful he would be finessed into insignificance. In the first place, he had to keep open his lines of communication with the Senate. He spent a lot of energy flattering Cicero, whose suspicions of him were partially alleviated. The elder statesman wrote to a friend on June 10:

Octavian…does not lack intelligence or spirit, and he gave the impression that his attitude towards our heroes [the freedom fighters] were such as we would wish. But how much faith to put in one of his years and heredity and education—that’s a great question…still he is to be encouraged and, if nothing else, kept apart from Antony.

Octavian staged Caesar’s annual Victory Games in July, the month that had been renamed in the dictator’s honor. Determined to make his presence felt at Rome, he spared no expense, and the festival was a splendid affair.

The skies produced another auspicious omen to match that on Octavian’s arrival in Rome. He recalled the occasion in his autobiography:

On the very day of my games a comet was visible for seven days in the northern part of the sky…. The common people believed that this star signified the soul of Caesarreceived among the spirits of the immortal gods, and for this reason the emblem of a star was fixed to the bust of Caesar that we shortly afterwards dedicated in the Forum.

The records of Chinese astronomers show that this comet was not a later invention but almost certainly a contemporary phenomenon—further evidence of the improvisatory skill of Octavian and his advisers.

After more squabbling between Octavian and Antony, another unconvincing reconciliation ensued. The ceremony was staged on the Capitol under the watchful gaze of Caesar’s veterans, who, in a pointed signal to the consul, accompanied the dictator’s heir to his front door.

Octavian did not restrict his efforts to winning the hearts of Rome’s citizens. He sent agents disguised as tradesmen to mingle with the troops that Antony was bringing over from Macedonia and the veterans’ settlements in Italy. They distributed leaflets and sounded out opinion. While Antony was a well-liked and competent leader, the soldiers were put out that he had come to terms with the Senate, even if he was now changing his stance. They had known Octavian in Apollonia and very much liked what they had seen. Dangerously for Antony, they were inclined to regard the young man as Caesar’s political as well as personal heir.

Antony was soon told about the subversion of his soldiers; he unexpectedly announced that Octavian’s aim was not simply to weaken their loyalty, but to arrange his assassination. He claimed to have uncovered a conspiracy among his bodyguard, some of whom he sent away.

Many people believed the story, and for once the young man lost his habitual self-possession. “Mad with anger,” he ran to Antony’s house and shouted at the front door that Antony was the plotter, who wanted to ruin Octavian’s popularity with the people. He swore all kinds of oaths and challenged Antony to bring him to court. When no one appeared, he said in desperation: “I agree to be judged by your friends.” With this he tried to go inside, but was stopped. He hurled abuse at the men at the door and, before going away, claimed that if anything happened to him, his death would be due to Antony’s treachery.

The assassination plot was almost certainly an invention, Antony’s attempt at a publicity coup. As Appian noted:

A few people, who had the ability to think a problem out, were aware that it was in Octavian’s interest for Antony to survive, even if he did Octavian some harm, because Caesar’s assassins were afraid of him; while if he died the assassins, enjoying strong support from the Senate, would embark with less apprehension on every venture.

Octavian’s panic-stricken reaction won around public opinion, although a few skeptics suspected that the two men were colluding in some kind of contrivance against their mutual enemies.

As summer gave way to autumn 44
B.C.
, matters were coming to a head. It would only be three months before new consuls were in place: Hirtius and Pansa, moderate Caesarians who were profoundly irritated by Antony’s clumsy maneuvering to secure his personal position and were aligning themselves cautiously with republicans. They would be entitled to raise troops; once they had done so, the Senate would be able to defend itself militarily, as it had not been able to do so far.

Out of sight but not out of mind, Brutus and Cassius were playing a waiting game. If possible, they wanted to avoid a new civil war, but, should the Republic be at risk, they, too, would recruit an army, with which to save it from its Caesarian enemies, such as Antony and Octavian.

Since his arrival on the scene, Caesar’s teenaged heir had played his hand with cool skill. Young and inexperienced, he had that most essential of political talents, the ability to take good advice. Ruthless and patient, he would do whatever was necessary to the achievement of his goals. However, he was still without an army and without a role. As Julius Caesar’s adopted son, he was hugely popular with the masses, but had not found a way of translating this into tangible power.

VI

FROM VICTORY, DEFEAT

44–43
B.C.

Beneath Antony’s easygoing, affable manner lay a harsh and unforgiving nature. Furious at the men’s attitude, in his speech he blamed them for not bringing Octavian’s secret agitators to him; if they would not help him, he would find them himself. He ended, nonetheless, by offering each soldier present a small donative, or bonus, of four hundred sesterces.

The soldiers laughed at this cheapskating, and when he lost his temper they became rowdy and began to disperse. This was looking like mutiny, so Antony obtained from his officers the names of those soldiers who were known for being disruptive, and had some of them (chosen by lot) beaten to death in his and Fulvia’s presence. It was said that blood was spattered on his wife’s face. “You will learn to obey orders,” he told the rest.

Meanwhile, in the consul’s absence, Octavian set off to Campania to visit new colonies of Julius Caesar’s veterans (a colony was a settlement specially founded to house demobilized soldiers), as well as two legions, the VII and the VIII. Ostensibly he was going to sell some of his father’s property, but his real purpose (which he kept even from his mother, lest she try to stop him) was to raise a private army from the dead dictator’s loyal legionaries.

The attempt met with success. The legionaries and veterans at colonies near the city of Capua were faced with an offer they could not refuse: an immediate grant of two thousand sesterces to every soldier (more than twice his annual pay), with a promise of additional largesse later. This generosity compared well with Antony’s parsimony. Soon an army of more than three thousand men had been mustered.

But what now to do with it? One senses a mood of unusual overexcitement. Octavian wanted to confront Antony, although his soldiers were much keener on catching and killing Caesar’s assassins. He decided to risk all and march on Rome, hoping for the backing of the Senate and leading personages. He pestered Cicero with a stream of letters asking for advice and practical support. For his part Cicero suspected that the political class would be uncooperative. He said of Octavian: “He is very much a boy.”

He was right to be skeptical. The Senate was conspicuous by its absence when Octavian arrived with his troops and illegally occupied the Forum. Meanwhile, Antony was making his way toward the capital with the Macedonian legions. Octavian’s men had not joined up to fight their comrades, much less a lawfully elected consul, and many of them melted away. The bold throw of the dice had failed; the inexperienced leader led his remaining forces to the comparative safety of the hill town of Arretium. He must have been thoroughly depressed, and anxious for the future.

Fortunately for Octavian, matters went no better for Antony. Back in Rome he called a meeting of the Senate on November 24. His intention was to denounce Octavian, but the session never took place. According to Cicero, not an impartial witness, he attended “a blowout in a public house” and was too drunk to address the Senate. If this is so, Antony may have been drowning his sorrows, for he had just received the appalling news that one of the Macedonian legions, the Martian, had declared for Octavian. He rushed off to talk with them; they not only refused him admittance to the town near Rome where they had billeted themselves, but also shot at him from the walls.

A few days later news came of another defection, this time of the IVth Legion. Despite the failed march on Rome, Octavian was winning the battle for the soldiers’ hearts and minds. He held the great advantage of being Caesar’s heir and carrying his name. His generous bonuses reinforced his legitimacy. Hoping that activity would stanch the hemorrhage of loyalty, Antony immediately marched north to expel the assassin Decimus Brutus from his province of Cisalpine Gaul.

It would be wrong to overinterpret these events. Antony had certainly been humiliated, but he was down, not out. By contrast, Octavian lacked both military experience and
imperium,
constitutional authority; he could see that he was in a corner, and had to devise a way out of it.

The career of Marcus Tullius Cicero had been a brilliant failure. A new man, he had risen to the consulship in 63 solely by virtue of his abilities as an administrator and (above all) as a public speaker. Following his exposure of Catilina’s conspiracy, he had been hailed as “father of the country” (
pater patriae
).

Justifiably proud of his achievement, Cicero could not stop telling everyone about it, even writing a bombastic epic about the rebirth of Rome during his year as consul.

This was not merely vanity. In the aristocratic cockpit that was Roman politics, Cicero could not boast a long line of noble ancestors, as his colleagues and competitors constantly did, and so had little choice but to bore on about his own astonishing career.

Although he could be tedious and long-winded, the orator was also famous as a wit; Julius Caesar made a point of collecting his bons mots. On one occasion, an ambassador from Laodicea in Cilicia (the southeastern coast of modern Turkey) told him that he would be asking Caesar for freedom for his city. Cicero replied: “If you are successful, put in a word for us at Rome too.”

His politics were moderate and conservative. A resolute civilian in a militaristic society where politicians doubled as generals, he promoted the rule of law. In his eyes, the Roman constitution was unimprovable, and he opposed risky radicals like Julius Caesar, though admiring his prose style and enjoying his company. He was dismayed by Caesar’s rise to power. The republican values for which he had campaigned all his life had been overthrown, and he was obliged to retire from active politics.

Cicero was too much of a gossip for the freedom fighters to trust him to hold his tongue, and so he was not let into the conspiracy against Caesar. However, he applauded the event. His only regret was that Mark Antony, whom he had long distrusted and disliked, had not been put to death as well as his master. “The Ides of March was a fine deed, but half done,” he commented ruefully.

Now in his sixty-third year, Cicero watched with dismay the unspooling of events during the spring and summer of 44. When he saw Antony shift position and come out against the Senate, he returned to frontline politics and delivered the first of a series of great oratorical attacks on Antony, which were soon nicknamed the Philippics after the speeches the Athenian orator Demosthenes made against Philip, king of Macedon in the fourth century
B.C.
Cicero soon dominated the Senate and became so influential that he was, in effect, the unofficial ruler of Rome.

At a meeting of the Senate on December 20, Cicero delivered his third Philippic, in which, to universal surprise, he went out of his way to shower Octavian with praise. He told the house:

Gaius Caesar is a young man, or almost a boy, but one of incredible and, so to speak, godlike intelligence and courage…. He recruited a very powerful force of invincible veterans and lavished his inheritance—no, lavished is not the right word, he invested it in the survival of the Republic.

There was no hesitation now to address Octavian as Caesar; even more remarkably, the great constitutionalist was complimenting a private citizen on his creation of a completely unauthorized army.