Augustus

CHAPTER TWO

I. Letter: Atta and Marcius Philippus to Octavius (April, 44 B. c.)

By the time you receive this letter, my son, you will have arrived at Brindisi and heard the news. It is as I feared: the will is now public, and you have been named Caesar's son and heir. I know that your first impulse will be to accept both the name and the fortune; but your mother implores you to wait, to consider, and to judge the world into which this will of your uncle invites you. It is not the simple country world of Velletri, where you spent your childhood; nor is it the household world of tutors and nurses where you spent your boyhood; nor is it the world of books and philosophy where you spent your youth, nor even the simple world of the battlefield to which Caesar (against my will) introduced you. It is the world of Rome, where no man knows his enemy or his friend, where license is more admired than virtue, and where principle has become servant to self.

Your mother begs you to renounce the terms of the will; you may do so without traducing the name of your uncle, and no one will think the worse of you. For if you accept the name and the fortune, you accept the enmity of both those who killed Caesar and those who now support his memory. You will have only the love of the rabble, as did Caesar; and that was not enough to protect him from his fate.

I pray that you receive this before you have acted rashly. We have removed ourselves from the danger in Rome, and will stay here at your stepfather's place in Puteoli until the chaos has settled into some kind of order. If you do not accept the will, you may travel safely across the country and join us here. It still is possible to lead a decent life in the privacy of one's own heart and mind. Your stepfather wishes to add some words to this.

Your mother speaks to you from the love that is in her heart; I speak to you from my affection, too, but also from my practical knowledge of the world and of the events of the past days.

You know my politics, and you know that there have been occasions in the past when I could not approve of the course that your late uncle pursued. Indeed, I have from time to time found it necessary, as has our friend Cicero, to assert this disapproval on the floor of the Senate. I mention this only to assure you that it is not from political considerations that I urge you upon the course that your mother has advised, but from practical ones.

I do not approve of the assassination, and had I been consulted about it I would most certainly have recoiled with such aversion that I myself might have been in danger. But you must understand that among the tyrannicides (as they call themselves) are some of the most responsible and respected citizens of Rome. They have the support of most of the Senate, and they are in danger only from the rabble; some of them are my friends, and however ill-advised were their actions, they are good men and patriots. Even Marcus Antonius, who has roused the rabble, does not move against them, and will not; for he, too, is a practical man.

Whatever his virtues, your uncle left Rome in a state from which it is not likely soon to recover. All is in doubt: his enemies are powerful but confused in their resolve, and his friends are corrupt and to be trusted by no one. If you accept the name and the inheritance, you will be abandoned by those who matter; you will have a name that is an empty honor, and a fortune that you do not need; and you will be alone.

Come to us at Puteoli. Do not involve yourself in issues whose resolution cannot improve your interest. Keep yourself aloof from all. You will be safe in our affections.

II The Memoirs of Marcus Agrippa: Fragments (13 B. c.)

…and at that news and in our grief we acted. We made haste to sail and had a stormy crossing to Otranto, where we landed in the dark of night and did not let our persons be known to any. We slept at a common inn and made our servants absent themselves, so that no one might suspect us; and before dawn we set out on foot toward Brindisi, as if we were country folk. At Lecce we were halted by two soldiers who watched the approach to Brindisi; and though we did not give our names, we were recognized by one who had been in the Spanish campaign. From him we learned that the garrison at Brindisi would welcome us, and that we might go there without danger. One walked with us while the other went ahead to tell of our coming, and we came to Brindisi with the full honor of a guard and the soldiers ranked on either side of us as we came into the city.

There we were shown a copy of Caesar's will which named Octavius his son and legatee, and gave his gardens to the people for their recreation and to every citizen of Rome three hundred pieces of silver from his fortune.

We had what news there was of Rome, which writhed in disorder; we had the names of those who murdered Caesar, and knew the lawlessness of the Senate that sanctioned the murder and set the murderers free; and we knew the grief and rage of the people under that lawless rule.

A messenger from the household of Octavius awaited us, and gave him letters from his mother and her husband which, out of their affection and regard, urged upon him that renunciation of the legacy which he could not make. The uncertainty of the world and the difficulty of his task strengthened his resolve, and we called him Caesar then and gave him our allegiance.

Out of their veneration for his murdered father and their love for his son, the legion at Brindisi and veterans from miles around thronged about him, urging him to lead them in vengeance against the murderers; but he put them off with many words of gratitude, and we went quietly in our mourning across the land, from Brindisi along the Appian Way to Puteoli, whence we purposed to enter Rome at a propitious time.

III. Quintus Salvidienus Rufus: Notes for a Journal, at Brindisi (44 B.C.)

We have learned much; we understand little. It is said that there were more than sixty conspirators. Chief among them were Marcus Junius Brutus, Gaius Cassius Longinus, Decimus Brutus Albinus, Gaius Trebonius-all supposed friends of Julius Caesar, some of whose names we have known since childhood. And there are others whom we do not yet know. Marcus Antonius speaks against the murderers, and then entertains them at dinner; Dolabella, who approved the assassination, is made consul for the year by that same Antonius who has denounced the enemies of Julius Caesar.

What game does Antonius play? Where do we go?

IV. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcius Philippus (44 B. c.)

I have just learned that your stepson, with three of his young friends, is even now on his way from Brindisi, where he landed only a few days ago; I am hastening this letter to you, so that you might have it before his arrival.

It is rumored that despite your letter of advice (a copy of which you were most kind to send to me, and which I acknowledge with much gratitude) he intends now to accept the terms of Caesar's will. I hope that this is not true, but I fear the rashness of youth. I entreat you to use what influence you have to dissuade him from this course, or, if the step has been taken, to persuade him to renounce it. To this end, I shall be glad to lend whatever assistance I can; I shall make preparations to leave my lodge here at Astura in the next few days, so that I may be with you at Puteoli when he arrives. I have been kind to him in the past, and I believe that he admires me.

I know that you bear some affection for the boy, but you must understand that he is, however remotely, a Caesar, and that the enemies of our cause may make use of him if he is allowed to go his own way. In rimes such as these, loyalty to our Party must take precedence over our natural inclinations; and none of us wants harm to come to the boy. You must speak to your wife about this (I remember that she has great power over her son) as persuasively as you can.

I have had news from Rome. The situation is not good, but neither is it hopeless. Our friends still do not dare show their faces there, and even my dear Brutus must do what he can in the countryside, rather than remain in Rome and repair the Republic. I had hoped that the assassination would at once restore our freedom, return us to the glory of our past, and rid us of the upstarts that now presume to disturb the order that we both love. But the Republic is not repaired; those who should act with fortitude seem incapable of resolution, and Antonius prowls like a beast from one spoil to another, pillaging the treasury and gathering power wherever he can. Had we to endure Antonius, I could almost regret the death of Caesar. But we will not have to endure him long-of that I am convinced. He moves so recklessly that he must destroy himself.

I am too much the idealist, I know-even my dearest friends do not deny that. Yet I most reasonably have faith in the eventual justice of our cause. The wound will heal, the thrashing will cease, the Senate will find that ancient purpose and dignity which Caesar almost extinguished-and you and I, my dear Marcius, will live to see that old virtue of which we have so often spoken once again settle like a wreath upon the brow of Rome.

The events of the past few weeks press upon me. These matters have taken so much of my time that my own affairs suffer. One of the managers of my property, Chrysippus, came to me yesterday and remonstrated seriously with me; two of my shops have fallen down and others are deteriorating so badly that not only the tenants, but even the mice have threatened to migrate! How fortunate I am to have followed Socrates-others would call this a calamity, but I do not even count it a nuisance. How insignificant are such things! In any event, as a result of a long discussion with Chrysippus, I have come up with a plan whereby I can sell a few buildings and repair others, so that I will make my loss a profit.

V. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcus Junius Brutus (44 B. c.)

I have seen Octavius. He is at his stepfather's villa at Puteoli, which is just next to mine; and since Marcius Philippus and I are friends, I have free access to see him when I wish. And I must tell you at once that he has, indeed, accepted the inheritance and the name of our dead enemy.

But before you despair, let me hasten to assure you that this acceptance is of less moment than either of us might have dreamed. The boy is nothing, and we need have no fear.

With him are three of his young friends: one Marcus Agrippa, a huge bumpkin who would appear more at ease tramping a furrow, either before or after the plough, than walking in a drawing room; one Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, a harsh -featured but oddly effeminate youth who flounces rather than walks, and who flutters his eyelashes in a most repulsive way; and one Salvidienus Rufus, a thin intense boy who laughs a bit too much, but who seems the most tolerable of the lot. So far as I can gather, they are nobodies, with neither families of any import nor fortunes of any account. (If it comes to that, of course, neither is young Octavius's pedigree immaculate; his grandfather, on his father's side, was a mere country moneylender, and beyond that only the gods know where he comes from.)

In any event, the four of them wander about the house as if they had nothing to do, talking to visitors and generally making nuisances of themselves. They seem to know nothing, for you can hardly get an intelligent response from any of them; they ask stupid questions, and then seem not to understand the answers, for they nod vacantly and look somewhere else.

But I do not let either my contempt or my elation become apparent. I put on a grave show with the boy. When he first came, I clucked with sympathy and uttered platitudes about the loss of close relatives. From his response, I became persuaded that his grief was personal rather than political. Then I equivocated a bit, and suggested that however unfortunate the assassination (you will forgive me that hypocrisy, dear Brutus), there were many who thought that the act sprang from unselfish and patriotic motives. At no time did I detect in him any sign that he was distressed by these advances. I believe that he is in some awe of me, and that he may be persuaded to come to our side, if I handle this with sufficient delicacy.

He is a boy, and a rather foolish boy at that; he has no idea of politics, nor is he likely to have. He is activated neither by honor nor ambition but by a rather gentle affection for the memory of one he would had been his father. And his friends look only for the advantage that they can have in his favor. Thus he does not, I believe, constitute a danger for us.

On the other hand, we may be able to put this circumstance to our benefit. For he does have claim to the name of Caesar, and (if he can collect it) the inheritance. There are certain to be some who will follow him merely because of the name he has assumed; others, the veterans and retainers, will follow him because of their memory of the man who gave him that name; and still others will follow out of confusion and whim. But the important thing to remember is that we shall have lost none of our own, for those who might follow him are those who otherwise would have followed Antonius! If we can persuade him to our cause, we shall have doubled our victory; for at the worst, we shall have weakened Antonius's side, and that alone would have been victory enough. We shall use the boy, and then we will cast him aside; and the tyrant's line shall have come to an end.

As you can easily understand, I cannot speak freely of these matters with Marcius Philippus; though he is our friend, he is in an awkward position. After all, he is married to the boy's mother; and no man is wholly free of the weakness that marital obligations occasionally raise. Besides, he is not of sufficient importance to entrust with everything.

You may keep this letter for less perilous times, but please do not send a copy to our friend Atticus. Out of admiration for me and out of pride in our friendship, he shows my letters to everyone, even if he does not publish them. And the information here should not be known at large, until the future has proved my observations to be true.

A postscript: Caesar's Egyptian whore, Cleopatra, has fled Rome, whether in fear of her life or in despair at the outcome of her ambitions, I do not know; we are well rid of her. Octavius goes to Rome to claim his inheritance, and he goes in utter safety. I could hardly hide my anger and sorrow when I heard this from him; for this stripling and his loutish friends can go there without risk to their persons, while you, my hero of the Ides of March, and our Cassius, must lurk like hunted animals beyond the precincts of the city you freed.

VI. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcus Junius Brutus (44 B. c.)

The briefest of notes. He is ours-I am sure of it. He has gone to Rome, and he has spoken to the people, but only to claim his inheritance. I am told that he does not speak ill of you, or of Cassius, or of any of the others. He praises Caesar in the gentlest of terms, and lets it be known that he takes the inheritance out of duty and the name out of reverence, and that he intends to retire to private life once he has done with the matter at hand. Can we believe him? We must, we must! I shall court him when I return to Rome; for his name may still have value to us.

VII. Letter: Marcus Antonius to Gaius Sentius Tavus,

Military Commander of Macedonia (44 B. c.)

Sentius, you gamesome old cock, Antonius sends you greetings, and a report upon the latest triviality-an example of the kind ofthing I am daily faced with, now that the burden of administration is upon me. I don't know how Caesar could endure it, day after day; he was a strange man.

That whey-faced little bastard, Octavius, came around to see me yesterday morning. He has been in Rome for the past week or so, acting like a bereaved widow, calling himself Caesar, all manner of nonsense. It seems that Gnaeus and Lucius, my idiot brothers, without consulting me, gave him permission to address the crowd in the Forum, if he would assure them that the speech would not be political. Did you ever hear of a speech that was not political? Well, at least he didn't try to stir them up; so he's not altogether a fool. He got some sympathy from the crowd, I'm sure, but that's about all.

But if not altogether, he certainly is something oi a fool; for he gives himself airs that are damned presumptuous in a boy, especially in a boy whose grandfather was a thief and whose only name of any account is a borrowed one. He came to my house late in the morning, without an appointment, while half-a-dozen other people were waiting, and he had three of his retinue with him, as if he were a bloody magistrate and they were his lictors. I guess he supposed I would drop everything and come running out to him, which of course I did not do. I told my secretary to inform him that he had to await his turn; I half-expected and half-wanted him to walk out on me. But he didn't, so I kept him waiting for most of the rest of the morning, and finally let him come in.

I must confess that, despite the game I played with him, I was a little curious. I had only seen him a couple of times before-once, six or seven years ago, when he was about twelve, and Caesar let him give the panegyric at his grandmother Julia's funeral; and again, two years ago, at Caesar's Triumphal March after Africa, when I rode in the carriage with Caesar and the boy rode behind us. At one time, Caesar had talked to me a great deal about him; and I wondered if I had missed something.

Well, I hadn't. I shall never understand how the "great" Caesar could have made this boy the inheritor of his name, his power, and his fortune. I swear to the gods, if the will hadn't first been received and recorded in the Temple of the Vestal Virgins, I would have taken a chance on altering it myself.

I don't think I would have been so annoyed if he had left his airs in the reception room and had come into my office like anybody else. But he didn't. He came in flanked by his three friends, whom he presented to me as if I gave a damn about any of them. He addressed me with the proper amount of civility, and then waited for me to say something. I looked at him for a long time and didn't speak. I'll say this for him: he's a cool one. He didn't break and didn't say anything, and I couldn't even tell whether or not he was angry at having been made to wait. So finally I said:

"Well? What do you want?"

And even then he didn't blink. He said: "I have come to pay my respects to you, who were my father's friend, and to inquire about the steps that may be taken to settle his will. "Your uncle,"I said, "left his affairs in a mess. I would advise you not to wait around in Rome until they're straightened out."

He didn't say anything. I tell you, Sentius, there's something about that boy that rubs me the wrong way. I can't keep my temper around him. I said: "I would also advise you not to use his name quite so freely, as if it were your own. It's not your own, as you well know, and it won't be until the adoption is confirmed by the Senate."

He nodded. "I am grateful for the advice. I use the name as a sign of my reverence, not my ambition. But leaving the question of my name aside, and even my share of the inheritance, there is the matter of the bequest that Caesar made to the citizens. I judge that their temper is such that-"

I laughed at him. "Boy," I said, "this is the last bit of advice I'll give you this morning. Why don't you go back to Apollonia and read your books? It's much safer there. I'll take care of your uncle's affairs in my own way and in my own time."

You can't insult the fellow. He smiled that cold little smile at me and said, "I am pleased to know that my uncle's affairs are in such hands."

I got up from my table and patted him on the shoulder. "That's the boy," I said. "Now you fellows had better get running. I have a busy afternoon ahead of me."

And that was the end of that. I think he knows where he stands, and I don't think he's going to make any very large plans. He's a pompous, unimpressive little fellow, and he would be of no account at all-if only he didn't have some right to the use of that name. That alone won't get him very far, but it has proved annoying.

Enough ofthat. Come to Rome, Sentius, and I promise you that I'll not give you a word of politics. We'll see a mime at Aemelia's house (where, by special permission of a consul who will not be named here, the actresses are allowed to perform without the encumbrance of clothing), and we'll drink as much wine as we can, and contest among the girls which is the better man.

But I do wish the little bastard would leave Rome and take his friends with him.

VIII. Quintus Salvidienus Rufus: Notes for ajournai (44 B. c.)

We have seen Antonius. Apprehensive; enormity of our task. He's against us, clearly; will use whatever means he has to stop us. Clever. Made us feel our youth.

But a most impressive man. Vain, yet boldly so. Cloud-white toga (heavy-muscled brown arms gleaming against it) with bright purple band delicately edged with gold; as big as Agrippa but moves like a cat rather than a bull; big-boned, dark handsome face, tiny white slashes of scars here and there; thin southern nose broken at one time; full lips turned up at corners; large, soft brown eyes that can flash in anger; booming voice that would overwhelm one with affection or force.

Maecenas and Agrippa, each in his way, furious. Maecenas deadly, cold (when he is serious, drops all mannerisms and even his body seems to harden); sees no possibility of conciliation, wants none. Agrippa, usually so stolid, trembles with rage, face flushed, huge fists clenched. But Octavius (we must now call him Caesar in public) seems oddly cheerful, not angry at all. He smiles, talks animatedly, even laughs. (It is the first time he has laughed since Caesar's death.) In his most difficult moment, he seems to have no cares at all. Was his uncle like this in danger? We have heard stories.

Octavius will not talk about our morning. We usually take our baths at one of the public places, but today we go to Octavius's home on the hill; he does not want to talk to strangers about our morning until we have discussed it, he says. We toss a ball among us for a while (note: Agrippa and Maecenas so angry they play badly, dropping the ball, throwing it carelessly, etc. Octavius plays coolly, laughing, with great skill and grace; I catch his mood; we dance around the other two, until they do not know whether they are angry at Antonius or us.) Maecenas flings the ball away and shouts at Octavius: "Fool! Don't you know what we have to face?" Octavius stops dancing about, tries to look contrite, laughs again, goes to him and Agrippa, puts his arms around their shoulders. He says: "I'm sorry; but I can't stop thinking ofthat game we played this morning with Antonius."

Agrippa says: "It was no game. The man was deadly serious."

Octavius, still smiling: "Of course he was serious; but don't you see? He was afraid of us. He was more afraid of us than we are of him, and he doesn't know it. He doesn't even know it. That's the joke."

I start to shake my head, but Agrippa and Maecenas are looking strangely at Octavius. Long silence. Maecenas nods, face softens; shrugs with his old affectation, says negligently, pretending to be cross: "Oh, well, if you're going to be priestly about it, divining the hearts of men-" He shrugs again.

We go to bathe. We shall have dinner and talk later.

We are in accord; no precipitate action. We speak of Antonius, knowing that he is our obstacle. Agrippa sees him as the source of power. But how to get at it? We have no force of our own to wrest it from him, even if we dared to do so. We must somehow make him recognize us; that will be the first tiny advantage we have. Too dangerous to raise an army now, even to avenge the murder; Antonius's position in the matter too ambiguous. Does he want to avenge the murder as we do? Does he want only power? It is even possible that he was one of the conspirators. In the Senate, he supported an act that forgave the murderers, and gave Brutus a province.

Maecenas sees him as man of great force and action but unable to conceive the end to which action is directed. "He plots; he doesn't plan," Maecenas says. Unless he has discernible enemy, he will not move. But he must be made to move, otherwise we are at stalemate. Problem: How to make him move without his discovering his own fear of us.

I speak with some hesitation. Will they think me too timid? I say that I see Antonius as committed to same ends as ourselves. Powerful, support of legions, etc. Friend of Caesar. Brusqueness toward us not forgivable but understandable. Wait. Convince him of our loyalty. Offer our services. Work with him, persuade him to use his power to ends we have discussed.

Octavius says slowly: "I do not trust him, because there is a part of him that does not trust himself. Going to him would fix us too firmly in his course, and neither Antonius nor we know surely enough where that course leads him. If we are to be free to do what we must do, he must be made to come to us."

There is more talk; a plan emerges. Octavius is to speak to the people-here and there, small groups, nothing official. Octavius says: "Antonius has persuaded himself that we are innocents, and it is to our advantage that he continue that self-deception." So we will say nothing inflammatory-but we will wonder aloud why murderers have not been punished, why Caesar's bequest to the people has not been made, why Rome has forgotten so quickly.

And then an official speech to the populace in which Octavius announces that Antonius is unable (unwilling?) to release the monies to pay them, and that Octavius himself, out of his own pocket, will give them that which Caesar promised.

More discussion. Agrippa says that Octavius will have depleted his own fortune if Antonius does not release the funds then, and that if an army is needed we shall be helpless. Octavius replies that without the good will of the people, an army will be useless in any event; that we will buy power without seeming to want power; and that Antonius will be forced to move, one way or another.

It is settled. Maecenas will draft the speech, Octavius will finish it, we begin tomorrow. Octavius says to Maecenas: "And remember, my friend, that this is to be a simple speech, not a poem. In any event, I'm sure I'll have to untangle your inimitably labyrinthine prose."

They are wrong. Marcus Antonius has no fear of us or anyone.

IX. Letter: Gains Cilnius Maecenas to Titus Livius (13 B. c.)

Some years ago my friend Horace described to me the way he made a poem. We had had some wine and were talking seriously, and I believe that his description then was a more accurate one than that contained more recently in the so-called Letter to the Pisos-a poem upon the art of poetry of which, I must confess, I am not particularly fond. He said: "I decide to make a poem when I am compelled by some strong feeling to do so-but I wait until the feeling hardens into a resolve; then I conceive an end, as simple as I can make it, toward which that feeling might progress, though often I cannot see how it will do so. And then I compose my poem, using whatever means are at my command. I borrow from others if I have to-no matter. I invent if I have to-no matter. I use the language that I know, and I work within its limits. But the point is this: the end that I discover at last is not the end that I conceived at first. For every solution entails new choices, and every choice made poses new problems to which solutions must be found, and so on and on. Deep in his heart, the poet is always surprised at where his poem has gone."

I thought ofthat conversation this morning when I sat down to write you once again of those early days; and it occurred to me that Horace's description of the making of a poem had certain striking parallels to our own working out of our destinies in the world itself (though if Horace heard this, and recalled what he said, he would no doubt scowl dourly and say that it was all nonsense, that you made a poem by discovering a topic, disposing the topic properly, by playing this figure against that, by this disposition of the meter against that sense of the language, and so forth and so on).

For our feeling-or, rather, Octavius's feeling, in which we were caught up as the reader is caught in a poem-was occasioned by the incredible murder of Julius Caesar, an event which seemed more and more to have simply destroyed the world; and the end that we conceived was to have revenge upon the murderers, for the sake of our honor and the state's. It was as simple as that, or it appeared to be. But the gods of the world and the gods of poetry are wise, indeed; for how often they save us from the ends toward which we think we strive!

My dear Livy, I do not wish to play the father with you; but you did not even come to Rome until our Emperor had fulfilled his destiny and was master of the world. Let me tell you a little of those days, so that you might reconstruct, these many years later, the chaos that we confronted in Rome.

Caesar was dead-by the "will of the people," the murderers said; yet the murderers had to barricade themselves in the Capitol against those very people who had "commanded" the act. Two days later, the Senate gave its thanks to the assassins; and in the next breath approved and made law those very acts of Caesar for the proposal of which he had been killed. However terrible the deed, the conspirators had acted with bravery and force; and then they scattered like frightened women after they had taken their first step. Antonius, as Caesar's friend, roused the people against the assassins; yet the night before the Ides of March he had entertained the murderers at dinner, was seen speaking intimately with one of them (Trebonius) at the instant of the murder, and dined again with those same men two nights later! He aroused the populace again to burn and loot in protest against the murder; and then approved their arrest and execution for that lawlessness. He made Caesar's will to be read publicly; and then opposed its enactment with all his power.

Above all, we knew that we could not trust Antonius, and we knew him to be a formidable foe-not because of his shrewdness and skill, but because of his thoughtlessness and reckless force. For despite the sentimental regard in which some of the young now hold him, he was not a very intelligent man; he had no real purpose beyond the moment of his will; and he was not exceptionally brave. He did not even perform his own suicide well, and he did it long after his situation was hopeless, so that it was too late for it to be done with dignity.

How do you oppose a foe who is wholly irrational and unpredictable-and yet who, out of animal energy and the accident of circumstance, has attained a most frightening power? (Looking back on it, it is odd to remember that at once we construed Antonius to be our foe rather than the Senate, though our most obvious enemies were there; I suppose instinctively we felt that if such a bungler as Antonius could manage them, we should not have that much trouble with him either, when the time came.) I do not know how you oppose him; I only know what we did. Let me tell you ofthat.

We had seen Antonius and had been brusquely dismissed by him. He was the most powerful personage in Rome; we had nothing except a name. We determined that our first necessity was to get recognition from him. We had not been able to get that by overtures of friendship; thus we had to try the overtures of enmity.

First, we talked-among Antonius's enemies and among his friends. Or, rather, we questioned, innocently, as if we were trying to understand the events of the day. When did they suppose Antonius would give attention to Caesar's will? Where were the tyrannicides-Brutus, Cassius, the others? Had Antonius gone over to the Republicans, or was he still faithful to Caesar's Party of the People? That sort ofthing. And we were careful to insure that reports of these conversations got back to Antonius.

At first there was no response from "him. We persisted. And then at last we heard descriptions of his annoyance; retellings of insults he gave to Octavius began making the rounds; rumors and accusations against Octavius passed from lip to lip. And then we made the move that had to bring him into the open.

Octavius had, with some small assistance from me, composed a speech (I may have a copy of it somewhere among my papers; if my secretary can discover it, I will send it on to you), in which he sorrowfully announced to the people that despite the will, Antonius would not release Caesar's fortune to him, but that he (Octavius), having taken Caesar's name, would fulfill Caesar's obligations-that the bequest would be paid them out of his own pocket. The speech was made. There was nothing really inflammatory in it; the tone was one of sorrow, regret, and innocent bewilderment.

But Antonius acted precipitately, as we had hoped he would. He at once introduced legislation into the Senate which would prevent the legal adoption of Octavius; he allied himself with Dolabella, who at that time was co-consul with him and who had been close to the conspirators; he enlisted the support of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, who immediately after the assassination had fled Rome and gone to his legion in Gaul; and he made open threats against Octavius's life.

Now you must understand that the position of many of the soldiers and citizens was extremely difficult-or at least so it seemed to them. The rich and powerful were almost without exception against Julius Caesar, and thus against Octavius; the soldiers and the middle citizenry almost without exception loved Julius Caesar, and hence favored Octavius; yet they knew that Marcus Antonius had been Caesar's friend. And now they were witnessing what they took to be a destructive battle between the only two persons who might take their part against the rich and aristocratic.

Thus it happened that Agrippa, who better than any of us knew the soldiers’ life and language and habits of thought, went among those minor officers and centurions and common soldiers whom we knew to be veterans of the campaigns and friends to Caesar, and supplicated them to use their offices and common loyalty to quiet the dispute that had grown needlessly between Marcus Antonius and Octavius (whom he called Caesar to them). Assured of Octavius's love and convinced that Antonius could not look upon their efforts as rebellion or disloyalty, they acted.

They were persuaded (there were several hundred of them, I believe) to march first to Octavius's house on the hill. It was important that they go there first, you will understand. Octavius pretended surprise, listened to their pleas for friendship with Antonius, and made a brief speech to them in which he forgave Antonius the insults and agreed to repair the breach that had grown between them. You may be certain that we made sure Antonius was informed of this deputation; if they had marched upon his house without warning, he might easily have mistaken their intention and thought they were led against him in retaliation for his threats upon Octavius's life.

But he knew of their coming; and I have often tried to imagine his anger as he awaited them alone in that huge mansion where Pompeius once lived and that Antonius had appropriated after Caesar's murder. For Antonius knew that he had no choice but to wait, and he might have had an intimation then of the course his life was to run.

At Agrippa's prompting, the veterans insisted that Octavius come with them-which he did, though he would not walk in a position of honor, but was escorted at the rear of the line of march. I must say that Antonius behaved reasonably well when we marched into his courtyard. One of the veterans hailed him, he came out and saluted them, and listened to the speech that had already been given to Octavius-though he was a little curt and sullen when he agreed to the conciliation. Then Octavius was brought forward; he greeted Antonius, the salutation was returned, and the veterans cheered. We did not linger; but I was standing very near the two of them when they came together, and I shall always believe that there was a small, grudging, but appreciative smile on Antonius's face when they clasped hands.

That, then, was the first small power we had. And it was that upon which we built.

I tire, my dear Livy. I shall write again soon, when my health permits it. For there is more that may be said.

Postscript: I trust that you will be discreet in the use of what I tell you.

X. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcus Junius Brutus (September, 44 B. c.)

The events of the past few months have put me in despair. Octavius quarrels with Antonius; I have hope. Their differences are reconciled, they are seen together; I am fearful. They quarrel again, rumors of plots are in the air; I am puzzled. Once again they mend their disputes; and I am without joy. What does it all mean? Does either of them know where he is going? Meanwhile, their disputes and reconciliations keep all of Rome in a turmoil, and keep the assassination of the tyrant alive in the minds of everyone; and through it all, Octavius's strength and popularity steadily increase. I sometimes almost believe that we may have misjudged the boy-and then I am persuaded that it is the accident of event which makes him appear more capable than he is. I do not know. It is too dark.

I have found it necessary to speak against Antonius in the Senate, though it may have put me in some danger. Octavius gives me his support in private conversation, but he does not speak in public. In any event, Antonius now knows that I am his implacable enemy. He threatened such harm that I dared not give my second address to the Senate; but it will be published, and the world will know it.

XI. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcus Junius Brutus (October, 44 B.C.)

Recklessness, recklessness! Antonius has mobilized the Macedonian legions and goes to meet them at Brindisi; Octavius is enlisting the discharged veterans of Caesar's legions in Campania. Antonius intends to march to Gaul against our friend Decimus, ostensibly to avenge the assassination but in fact to augment his power by gaining the Gallic legions. It is rumored that he will march through Rome, showing his strength against Octavius. Shall we have war again in Italy? Can we trust so young a boy and with such a name as Caesar (as he calls himself) with our cause? Oh, Brutus! Where are you now, when Rome has need of you?

XII. Consular Order to Gaius Sentius Tavus, Military Commander of Macedonia at Apollonia, with Letter (August, 44 B. c.)

By authority of Marcus Antonius, Consul to the Senate of Rome, Governor of Macedonia, Pontifex of the Lupercalian College, and Commander in Chief of the Macedonian Legions, Gaius Sentius Tavus is hereby ordered to command the chief officers of the Macedonian Legions to mobilize their forces in preparation for a crossing to Brindisi, to make this crossing at the earliest moment in his power, and to hold the legions in that place against the arrival of their supreme commander.

Sentius: this is important. He spent part of last year at Apollonia. He may have made friends with some of the officers. Investigate this most carefully. If there are those who seem inclined toward him, transfer them out of the legion at once, or get rid of them in some other way. But get rid of them.

XIII. A libel: Distributed to the Macedonian legions, at Brindisi (44 B.C.)

To the followers of the murdered Caesar:

Do you march against Decimus Brutus Albinus in Gaul, or against the son of Caesar in Rome?

Ask Marcus Antonius.

Are you mobilized to destroy the enemies of your dead leader, or to protect his assassins?

Ask Marcus Antonius.

Where is the will of the dead Caesar which bequeathed to every citizen of Rome three hundred pieces of silver coin?

Ask Marcus Antonius.

The murderers and conspirators against Caesar are free by an act of the Senate sanctioned by Marcus Antonius.

The murderer Gaius Cassius Longinus has been given the governorship of Syria by Marcus Antonius.

The murderer Marcus Junius Brutus has been given the governorship of Crete by Marcus Antonius.

Where are the friends of the murdered Caesar among his enemies?

The son of Caesar calls to you.

XIV. Order of Execution, at Brindisi (44 B. c.)

To: Gaius Sentius Ta vus, Military Commander of Macedonia From: Marcus Antonius, Commander in Chief of the Legions Subject: Treasonable actions in the Legions IV and Martian

The following officers will be presented at the headquarters of the Commander in Chief of the Legions, at the hour of dawn on the twelfth day of November.

P. Lucius

Cn. Servius

Sex. Portius

M. Flavius

C. Titius

A. Marius

At that hour on that day, these men shall suffer execution by beheading. In addition, there will be selected by lot fifteen soldiers from each of the twenty cohorts of the IV and Martian, who shall be executed with their officers in the same manner.

All the officers and men of all the Macedonian Legions are commanded to be present and witness this execution.

XV. The Acts of Caesar Augustus (A.D. 14)

At the age of nineteen, on my own initiative and at my own expense, I raised an army by means of which I restored liberty to the Republic, which had been oppressed by the tyranny of a faction.