The October Horse: A Novel of Caesar and Cleopatra by Colleen McCullough
Very angry, Decimus issued a direct order to the six legions, whose representatives told him flatly that they belonged to young Caesar and would prefer to stay with young Caesar. Young Caesar paid decent bonuses. Besides, why should they soldier for a man who had murdered the old boy? They’d stick with a Caesar, wanted no part of assassins.
Thus Decimus was obliged to move westward after Antony with some of his own troops from Mutina and Hirtius’s three legions of Italian recruits, well blooded at Mutina and therefore the best men he had. But oh, for the six legions with Octavian!
Octavian retired to Bononia, and there sat down to hope that Decimus ruined himself. A general Octavian might not be, but a student of politics and power struggles he was. His own options were few and inauspicious if Decimus didn’t ruin himself; Octavian knew that if Antony merged with Ventidius and then succeeded in drawing Plancus and Lepidus on to his side, all Decimus had to do was reach an accommodation with Antony. That done, the whole pack of them would then turn on him, Octavian, and rend him. His one hope was that Decimus would be too proud and too shortsighted to see that refusing to join Antony spelled his ruin.
The moment he received Cicero’s presumptuous letter telling him to mind his own provincial business, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus marshaled his legions and moved all of them to the vicinity of the western bank of the Rhodanus River, the border of his Narbonese province. Whatever was going on in Rome and in Italian Gaul, he intended to be positioned so that he could demonstrate to upstarts like Cicero that provincial governors were quite as large a part of tumultus as anyone else. It was Cicero’s Senate had declared Marcus Antonius inimicus, not Lepidus’s Senate.
Lucius Munatius Plancus in Further Gaul of the Long-hairs was not quite sure whose Senate he supported, but a state of tumultus in Italy was serious enough for him to marshal all his ten legions and start marching down the Rhodanus. When he reached Arausio he halted in a hurry; his scouts reported that Lepidus and his army of six legions were camped a mere forty miles away.
Lepidus sent Plancus a friendly message that said, in effect, “Come on over and visit!”
Though he knew that Antony had been defeated at Mutina, the wary Plancus didn’t know about Ventidius and the three Picentine legions marching to Antony’s aid, or about Octavian’s refusal to co-operate with Decimus Brutus; thus Plancus decided to ignore Lepidus’s friendly overtures. He reversed his direction of march and moved north a little to see what happened next.
In the meantime, Antony had hustled himself to Dertona and there took the Via Aemilia Scauri to the Tuscan Sea coast at Genua, where he met Ventidius and the three Picentine legions. The pair then laid a false scent for the pursuing Decimus Brutus, deluding him into believing that they were on the Via Domitia to Further Gaul rather than down on the coast. The ruse worked. Decimus passed Placentia and took the Via Domitia across the high Alps, far to the north of Antony and Ventidius.
Who followed the coast road and sat down at Forum Julii, one of Caesar’s new veteran colonies. Where Lepidus, moving east from the Rhodanus River, arrived on the opposite bank of the local stream and sat his army down casually. In close contact, the troops of both armies fraternized—with some help from two of Antony’s legates. A new version of the Tenth was with Lepidus, and the Tenth had developed a tradition of liking Antony ever since the days when he had stirred mutiny in Campania. So it was easy for Antony at Forum Julii; Lepidus accepted the inevitable and joined forces with him and Ventidius.
By this time May was wearing down into its second half and even in Forum Julii there were rumors that Gaius Cassius was busy taking over Syria. Interesting, but not of great moment. The movements of Plancus and his huge army up the Rhodanus were more important by far than Cassius in Syria.
Plancus had been edging his legions closer to Antony, but when his scouts reported that Lepidus was also at Forum Julii, Plancus panicked and retreated to Cularo, well north of the Via Domitia, and sent a message to Decimus Brutus, still on the Via Domitia. When Decimus received this letter, he struck off toward Plancus, reaching Cularo early in June.
There the two decided to amalgamate their armies and cleave to the Senate of the moment, Cicero’s. After all, Decimus had its full mandate, and Plancus was a legal governor. When he then heard that Lepidus had also been declared inimicus by Cicero’s Senate, Plancus congratulated himself that he had chosen rightly.
The problem was that Decimus had changed terribly, lost all his old panache, that marvelous military ability he had displayed so consistently during Caesar’s war against the Long-hairs. He wouldn’t hear of their moving from around Cularo, fretted about the unblooded state of the majority of their troops, insisted that they do nothing to provoke a confrontation with Antony. Their fourteen legions were just not enough—not nearly enough!
So everybody played a waiting game, unsure of success if it came to a pitched battle. This was not a clear cut ideological contest between two sides whose soldiers believed ardently in what they were fighting for, and there were no lions anywhere.
At the beginning of Sextilis the scales tipped Antony’s way; Pollio and his two legions arrived from Further Spain to join him and Lepidus. Why not? asked a grinning Pollio. Nothing exciting was going on in his province now that Cicero’s Senate had given command of Our Sea to Sextus Pompey—what a stupid thing to do!
“Truly,” said Pollio, shaking his head in despair, “they go from bad to worse. Anyone with a particle of sense can see that Sextus Pompeius is simply gathering strength to hold Rome to ransom over the grain supply. Still, it has made life extremely boring for an historian like me. There’ll be more to write about if I’m with you, Antonius.” He gazed around in delight. “You do pick good camps! The fish and the swimming are superb, the Maritime Alps a magnificent backdrop—much nicer than Corduba!”
If life was offering Pollio a wonderful time, it was not doing nearly as well by Plancus. For one thing, he couldn’t get away from Decimus Brutus’s eternal complaints. For another, when the listless Decimus wouldn’t, it fell to him to write to the Senate trying to explain why he and Decimus hadn’t moved against Antony and his fellow inimicus, Lepidus. He had to make Octavian his chief butt, blame Octavian for not stopping Ventidius, and condemn him for refusing to give up his troops.
The moment Pollio arrived, the two inimici sent Plancus an invitation to join them; abandoning Decimus Brutus to his fate, Plancus accepted with relief. He marched for Forum Julii and its gala atmosphere, failing to notice as he came down the eastern slopes of the Rhodanus valley that everything was unnaturally dry, that the crops of this fertile region weren’t forming ears.
The terrible panic and depression he had experienced after Caesar’s death had returned to haunt Decimus Brutus; after Plancus deserted, he threw his hands in the air and abdicated his military duty and his imperium. Leaving his bewildered legions where they were in Cularo, he and a small group of friends set off overland to join Marcus Brutus in Macedonia. Not an unfeasible endeavor for Decimus, who was fluent in many Gallic tongues, and envisioned no problems en route. It was high summer, all the alpine passes were open, and the farther east they traveled, the lower and easier the mountains became.
He did well until he entered the lands of the Brenni, who inhabited the heights beyond that pass into Italian Gaul bearing their name. There the party was taken prisoner by the Brenni and brought before their chieftain, Camilus. Thinking that all Gauls must loathe Caesar, their conqueror, and thinking to impress Camilus, one of Decimus’s friends told the chieftain that this was Decimus Brutus, who had killed the great Caesar. The trouble was that among the Gauls Caesar was passing into folklore alongside Vercingetorix, was loved as a supreme martial hero.
Camilus knew what was going on, and sent word to Antony at Forum Julii that he held Decimus Junius Brutus captive—what did the great Marcus Antonius want done with him?
“Kill him” was Antony’s curt message, accompanied by a fat purse of gold coins.
The Brenni
3
On the last day of June the Senate declared Marcus Aemilius Lepidus inimicus for joining Antony, and confiscated his property. The fact that he was Pontifex Maximus created some confusion, as Rome’s highest priest could not be stripped of his high priesthood, nor could the Senate deny him the big emolument he received from the Treasury every year. Hostis would have done it, inimicus didn’t. Though Brutus, writing from Macedonia, deplored his sister Junilla’s descent to pauperdom, the truth was that she continued to live very comfortably in the Domus Publica, and had the use of any villa she fancied between Antium and Surrentum. No one appropriated Junilla’s jewelry, wardrobe or servants, nor would Vatia Isauricus, married to her elder sister, have condoned any financial measures on the part of the state that affected her well-being. All Brutus was doing was playing politics in the proper fashion; some of the donkeys would believe him, and weep.
The Liberators left in Rome were dwindling. Deriving an obscene pleasure from torturing a slave, Lucius Minucius Basilus found himself tortured and killed when his slaves rose up against him en masse. His death was not felt to be a loss, especially by those Liberators remaining, from the brothers Caecilius to the brothers Casca. They still attended the Senate, but privately wondered for how long: Caesar Octavianus lurked, in the person of his agents. Rome seemed filled with them, and all they did was ask people why the Liberators were still unpunished.
Indeed, Antony, Lepidus, Ventidius, Plancus, Pollio and their twenty-three legions worried those in Rome far less than Octavian did. Forum Julii seemed an eternity away compared to Bononia, right on the junction of the Via Aemilia and the Via Annia—two routes to Rome. Even Brutus in Macedonia considered Octavian a far greater threat to peace than he did Mark Antony.
The object of all this apprehension sat placidly in Bononia and did nothing, said nothing. With the result that he became shrouded in mystery; no one could say with any conviction that he knew what Caesar Octavianus was after. Rumor said he wanted the consulship—still vacant—but when applied to, his step-father, Philippus, and his brother-in-law, Marcellus Minor, just looked inscrutable.
By now people knew that Dolabella was dead and Cassius was governing in Syria, but, like Forum Julii, Syria was an eternity away compared to Octavian in Bononia.
Then, much to Cicero’s horror (though secretly he toyed with the idea), another rumor started: that Octavian wanted to be the junior consul to Cicero’s senior consul. The young man sitting at the feet of the wise, venerable older man, there to learn his craft. Romantic. Delicious. But even though exhausted by the great series of speeches against Mark Antony, Cicero retained sufficient good sense to feel that the picture this conjured up was utterly false. Octavian couldn’t be trusted an inch.
Toward the end of Julius, four hundred centurions and hoary veterans arrived in Rome and sought an audience with the full Senate, bearing a mandate from their army and proposals from Gaius Julius Caesar Filius. For themselves, the promised bonuses. For Caesar Filius, the consulship. The Senate said a resounding no to both.
On the last day of the month renamed in his adopted father’s honor, Octavian crossed the Rubicon into Italy with eight legions, then forged ahead with two legions of handpicked troops. The Senate flew into a panic and sent envoys to beg that Octavian halt his march. He would be allowed to stand for the consulship without needing to present himself inside the city, so there was no real reason to continue!
In the meantime, two legions of veterans from Africa Province arrived in Ostia. The Senate snatched at them eagerly and put them in the fortress on the Janiculum, from which they could look down on Caesar’s pleasure gardens and Cleopatra’s vacant palace. The knights of the First Class and the upper end of the Second Class donned armor, and a militia of young knights was raised to man the Servian Walls.
All of it was no more than a clutching at straws; those in nominal control had no idea what to do, and those with a status lower than the Second Class went serenely about their business. When the mighty fell out, the mighty did the bleeding. The only time the common people suffered was when they rioted, and not even the lowliest were in a mood to riot. The grain dole was being issued, commerce went on so jobs were safe, next month would see the ludi Romani, and nobody in his or her right mind ventured into the Forum Romanum, which was where the mighty usually bled.
The mighty went right on clutching at straws. When a rumor arose that two of Octavian’s original legions, the Martia and the Fourth, were about to desert him and help the city, a huge sigh of relief went up—only to turn into a wail of despair when the rumor was found to be baseless.
On the seventeenth day of Sextilis, Caesar’s heir entered Rome unopposed. The troops stationed in the Janiculan fortress reversed swords and pila and went over to the invader amid cheers and flowers. The only blood that was spilled belonged to the urban praetor, Marcus Caecilius Cornutus, who fell on his sword when Octavian walked into the Forum. The common people hailed him with hysterical joy, but of the Senate there was no sign. Very properly, Octavian withdrew to his men on the Campus Martius, there to receive anyone who asked to see him.
The next day the Senate capitulated, humbly asked if Caesar Octavianus would be a candidate for the consular elections, to be held immediately. As the second candidate, the senators timidly suggested Caesar’s nephew, Quintus Pedius. Octavian graciously acceded, and was elected senior consul, with Quintus Pedius as his junior.
Nineteen days into Sextilis and still more than a month off his twentieth birthday, Octavian offered up his sacrificial white bull on the Capitol and was inaugurated. Twelve vultures circled overhead, an omen so portentous and awesome that it had not been seen since the time of Romulus. Though his mother and sister were barred from this all male gathering, Octavian was perfectly happy to count the faces present, from his doubting stepfather to the appalled senators. What the bewildered Quintus Pedius thought, his young cousin didn’t know—or care about.
This Caesar had arrived on the world stage, and was not going to leave it untimely.
XI
The Syndicate
From SEXTILIS (AUGUST) until
DECEMBER of 43 B.C.
1
To Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa had fallen the role of most faithful follower, a role he continued to welcome as much as he relished it. Not for Agrippa the pangs of envy or ambition to be first; his feelings for Octavian remained unalloyed love, total admiration, tender protectiveness. Others might condemn Octavian, or loathe him, or deride him, but Agrippa alone understood exactly who and what Octavian was, thought no worse of him for the extremes in his character. If Caesar’s intellect had lifted him into the aether, Octavian’s very different mentality, Agrippa decided, enabled him to descend into the underworld. No human failing escaped his notice, no weakness was ignored, no chance remark went unweighed. His instincts were reptilian, in that he preserved his immobility while others made the mistake of moving. When he did move, it was so fast that it was a blur, or else so slow that it seemed an illusion.
Agrippa interpreted his job as making sure that Octavian survived to achieve the great destiny he perceived as his right, as the natural outcome of who and what he was. And for Agrippa, the highest reward was to be Octavian’s best friend, the one in whom he confided. He did nothing to deflect his idol’s attention from men like Salvidienus and Maecenas, others like Gaius Statilius Taurus rising to the rank of intimate friend; there was no need, for Octavian’s own instincts kept them at one remove from his innermost thoughts and desires. Those he reserved for Agrippa’s ear, and Agrippa’s alone.
“The first thing I must do,” Octavian said to Agrippa, “is have you, Maecenas, Salvidienus, Lucius Cornificius and Taurus put into the Senate. There’s no time for quaestorian elections, so adlection it will have to be. Philippus can move it. Then we set up a special court to try the assassins. You will indict Cassius, Lucius Cornificius will indic
“You’ll legislate the court personally?” Agrippa asked.
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be wise. Quintus Pedius can do it.”
“It sounds,” said Agrippa, brows meeting, “as if you mean this to happen quickly, but it’s high time that I returned to a certain place for another load of wooden planks.”
“No more wood for the moment, Agrippa. The Senate agreed to pay each of my original legionaries twenty thousand in bonuses, therefore the money will come out of the Treasury.”
“I thought the Treasury was empty, Caesar.”
“Not quite, but it isn’t healthy. Nor do I intend to strip it. By tradition, the gold is never touched. However, the reports of the plebeian aediles are alarming,” said Octavian, revealing that he wasn’t wasting any time wading into the work; this was one consul who intended to be hands-on. “Last year’s harvest was a poor one, but this year’s is disastrous. Not only in our grain provinces, but all the way from the western ocean to the eastern ocean. Nilus isn’t inundating, the Euphrates and the Tigris are low, and there have been no spring rains anywhere. A colossal drought. That’s why my asthma is rather bad.”
“It’s better than it used to be,” soothed Agrippa. “Perhaps you’re growing out of it.”