Cicero

14

THE HEIR

Enter Octavian: March–December 44 BC

The two years that followed Caesar’s assassination are the best documented in Roman history. Even so, the actors in the story do not always betray their motives. The press of events was so confusing that even when they were sure of what they wanted they often had no idea how best to achieve it. It was difficult to sense where advantage lay. Interpretation has also been hindered by the fact that the eventual winner in the struggles that lay ahead imposed his own interpretation on the past. The losers lost more than their lives, they lost their stories.

Brutus, Cassius and the other conspirators were much criticized at the time—and have been in the two millennia that have followed—for laying no plans for the aftermath of the assassination. For them, the act of killing, echoing Rome’s deep past, was less a political event than a sacred ritual. Just as soldiers traditionally purified their weapons in March, so the Republic had cleansed itself. The man who dressed in a king’s robes had suffered a king’s death. Tactical details could wait for later.

The Dictator had maintained, if only in form, the constitutional proprieties and Brutus and his friends judged that, once he had been removed, nobody would seriously try to prevent the Republic from slipping back into gear. Their assumption was that the constitution would simply and automatically resume its functions. The Senate would have little difficulty in taking over the reins of power. This was not an unreasonable analysis and was confirmed in the event—for the time being.

A great deal hung on how Antony behaved. It was a question of character and here opinions varied. Cicero’s assessment was much the same as it had been when he had had to prise the teenage rebel out of Curio’s life: he was an unscrupulous and immoral rascal. Although he did not say so at once, Cicero took the view in April that “the Ides of March was a fine deed, but half done.” That is, Antony should have been killed along with his master. Later he remarked to Cassius: “A pity you didn’t invite me to dinner on the Ides of March! Let me tell you, there would have been no leftovers.”

Against Cassius’s advice, Brutus had refused to have Antony killed. By implication, he must have judged that Antony was unlikely to seek to step into the Dictator’s shoes. Brutus was probably right. Antony did not have the prestige, the ability or the application to be a Caesar. An acute observer remarked: “If a man of Caesar’s genius could find no way out [of Rome’s problems], who will find one now?” Antony certainly had no solution.

Now in his late thirties, Antony was a handsome man, built like a bull and, according to Cicero, “as strong as a gladiator.” He was sexually promiscuous and hard drinking and retained the taste he had acquired as a young man for bad company: actors and prostitutes. A good soldier, he was popular with his men. He could summon up great resources of stamina and energy, but only when occasion demanded. His patchy record when he was in charge of Italy during the Dictator’s absences suggested a lack of aptitude for civilian administration. His style was straightforward, and when he said something he tended to mean it.

In all likelihood, Antony genuinely endorsed a return to constitutional methods and, if he had a future career path in mind, might have found in Pompey a safer model than in Caesar. A five-year governorship after his Consulship would establish him as the leading figure in the Republic. He could become the first man in Rome, as Pompey had been, without challenging the very foundations of Roman tradition and its familiar balanced rivalries.

Two important groups felt very differently. For the moment they were powerless because leaderless, but their minds were set on revenge and they waited for their opportunity. The first of these groups was the army. Tens of thousands of men were still armed—two legions in Italian Gaul, three in Transalpine Gaul and six in Macedonia, waiting for the now aborted Parthian expedition. There were six legions in Spain, and more troops in Africa and Asia Minor. So far as those who had served under Caesar were concerned, relations with their Commander-in-Chief had sometimes been stormy, but they had adored him. They wanted blood for blood.

Second, the aides and civil servants whom the Dictator had hired had lost their jobs. They were able and dedicated. At their head were Balbus and Oppius: everything they had been working for would be lost forever if they could not find a way of subverting the newly restored Republic. They soon realized that Antony was going to be of no use. But they had another unsuspected card in their hand, and in due course they would play it.

By contrast, Cicero was thrilled by the dramatic turn of events. A hurried note he wrote to one of the conspirators probably refers to the assassination. “Congratulations. For myself, I am delighted. You can count on my affection and active concern for your interests. I hope I have your affection and want to hear what you are doing and what is going on.”

He did not have to wait long for a briefing. During the evening of March 15 he visited the conspirators at the Capitol. He believed they should seize the initiative. With Antony’s disappearance, Brutus and Cassius were the senior officeholders and Cicero advised them to call a Senate meeting immediately for the following day. Proceduralists to the core, they preferred to wait and send a delegation to find the Consul. It was a bad mistake—and Cicero never let them forget it.

Realizing that his life was not in danger, Antony spent the night taking steps to secure his position. Lepidus led his legion from the island in the Tiber into the city and secured the Forum. Fires were lit to illuminate the streets and friends or associates of the conspirators were revealed scurrying to and from Senators’ houses in search of support. Antony went to the State House, where the widowed Calpurnia, with the help of Caesar’s secretary, handed over all the Dictator’s papers and a large sum of money. He announced that, in his capacity as Consul, he would convene the Senate at a temple near his house on March 17.

Antony also met with Balbus and the following year’s designated Consul, the gourmet and writer Hirtius. The former argued, unsurprisingly, for the severest measures against the assassins, the latter for caution. This disagreement boded ill for the dead Dictator’s party: it revealed a split which constitutionalists hurried to exploit.

On March 16 Brutus addressed a large gathering at the Capitol, but he made little impression. He was a plain, unemotional speaker and his performance more than justified Cicero’s low opinion of the Attic style of oratory. He let it be known that, had he been asked to give an address, he would have spoken much more passionately.

The conspirators stayed away from the Senate on the following day, although they were invited to attend. Die-hard Caesarians were a minority, but a lively debate started as to whether to declare Caesar a tyrant and give immunity to the assassins. Antony interrupted and went straight to the point. He ruled that if Caesar was condemned, it followed that his appointments would be illegal. Was this what the Senate wanted? Self-interest immediately concentrated minds. Senators jumped up and protested against having to go through another round of elections. Dolabella, so strong in his denunciation of the Dictator and all his works the previous day, was first among them, for he knew that his own position as Consul would be at risk.

Privately Cicero would have much preferred to have drawn a line under the past and agreed on a new start. But with veterans surrounding the meeting and Senators fearful of losing their offices and provincial commands, that was out of the question. So he spoke strongly in favor of Antony’s proposal. A compromise was found: all Caesar’s official acts were to be approved and, in return, the conspirators would not be punished. The formal decision was taken at a Senate meeting on March 18. A few weeks later Cicero justified himself to Atticus: “What else could we have done? By that time we were long sunk.”

One of the important results of the Senate’s ruling was the protection it gave to the leading conspirators. In addition to deciding the Consulships for the coming three years, Caesar had allocated provincial governorships. Brutus and Cassius were to have Macedonia and Asia in 43. Decimus Brutus was confirmed in the current year for Italian Gaul, where he would be the first conspirator to take charge of an army, for two legions were stationed there. If trouble arose, these provinces would provide power bases where the conspirators could legitimately establish themselves.

AS the Senate was about to break up, a noisy discussion broke out over Caesar’s will. His father-in-law, Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, was asked not to announce its contents or conduct a public funeral for fear of disturbances. He angrily refused and, after renewed debate, permission was granted.

When published, the will inflamed opinion on the street, for it bequeathed Caesar’s gardens on the far side of the Tiber as a public park and left 300 sesterces to every Roman citizen. Popular with the masses, it was not calculated to please Antony, for it also disclosed that the chief heir to the Dictator’s fortune was Caius Octavius, his eighteen-year-old grandnephew. He was also designated as his adoptive son; from now on his formal name would be Caius Julius Caesar Octavianus (in English, Octavian). The news came as a complete surprise to everyone, including its young beneficiary. The will concerned his personal estate and did not mean that Caesar was giving him the Republic. Antony saw himself as the inheritor of Caesar’s political legacy and that was how he meant it to remain. He did not anticipate a teenage boy to be a serious threat.

The funeral on March 20 promised to be a very grand affair on the Field of Mars and was to be preceded by speeches in the Forum before the bier. Brutus and the other conspirators foresaw trouble and locked themselves in their houses. A funeral pyre was built on the Field of Mars and, because the traditional procession of mourners bringing funeral gifts would have taken all day to file past, everyone was invited to come there by whatever route he pleased and without order of precedence.

In the Forum, an ivory couch stood on the Speakers’ Platform, draped in an embroidered gold-and-purple pall. In front a temporary chapel had been erected, modeled on the Temple of Venus in Caesar’s new Forum. Piso brought the body, clothed in the purple gown the Dictator had been wearing when killed, into the square, laid it on the couch and posted a large group of armed men to guard it. There were loud cries of mourning and the men clashed their weapons.

Antony, in his capacity as mourner, friend and kinsman (his mother was a member of the Julius clan) of the dead Dictator, delivered the funeral oration. There are two accounts of what happened. According to the historian Suetonius, writing about a century and half later but with access to the imperial archives, Antony dispensed with the usual speech and asked a herald to read out the recent decree voting Caesar “all divine and human honors” and the oath by which the Senate had vowed to watch over his safety. He then added a few comments.

Appian, writing in the second century AD, has it that Antony spoke with passion about the dead man’s achievements and criticized the recent amnesty for the assassins. Standing close to the bier as though he were on stage, he hitched up his toga to free his hands. He bent over the body and, swept by emotion, pulled off Caesar’s gown, bloodstained and torn, and waved it about on a pole. Choirs then sang formal dirges, again stating the dead man’s achievements and bewailing his fate. At some point in these lamentations Caesar was imagined as listing by name those enemies of his whom he had helped and saying in amazement: “To think I saved the lives of the people who were to be my murderers.”

It is possible that in their memory of this extraordinary day people mixed up the contents of Antony’s opening presentation and the dirges. It was not obviously to the Consul’s advantage to foment general disorder and Suetonius’s account may be the right one. Whatever the truth of the matter, the ceremony made a tremendous impact on the crowd. The climax came when a wax effigy of Caesar (the corpse itself was lying out of sight on the bier) was lifted up. It was turned around in all directions by a mechanical device and twenty-three wounds could be seen, on every part of the body and on the face.

This was too much for many to bear. In a repetition of the outpouring of grief and rage at the death of Clodius, the mob went berserk. They burned down the Senate House, not long rebuilt after its previous incineration. Furniture and wood were pulled out of shops to create an impromptu pyre in the Forum not far from the Temple of the Castors. Musicians and performers who had been hired for the funeral threw their costumes onto it. It was reported that two young men with swords and javelins lit the pyre and subsequent mythmaking or ingenious stage management on the day suggested they were the divine brothers Castor and Pollux, who had a legendary record of guarding over Rome and making an appearance at moments of crisis. Caesar was cremated then and there.

It is hard to believe that whoever designed the funeral ceremony was unaware of the effect it was likely to have. If Antony was not responsible, it must have been Caesar’s family, perhaps advised by his clever aides, Balbus and Oppius. After all, it was in their interest to subvert the attempts by Republicans and moderate Caesarians to create a peaceful transition to a new political order.

The conspirators realized it was impossible for them to remain in Rome and withdrew to their country estates. This left Antony master of the situation. He acted with restraint, discouraged an unofficial cult of Caesar and was deferential to leading Senators. A well-received law was passed abolishing the office of Dictator. Antony was scrupulously polite to Cicero, who in early April decided that he was “more concerned about the composition of his menus than about planning any mischief.”

This was a misjudgment of the situation, for the Consul was still intent on securing his power base. To this end he used Caesar’s papers for his own purposes, forging documents to reward his supporters and enrich himself. His main aim was to ensure that the compromise settlement of March 17 stuck. The main threat to him lay in the future behavior of the conspirators when they went abroad to take over their allotted provinces and armies. Decimus Brutus, soon to set off for Italian Gaul, already looked threatening and in the summer two other conspirators left for commands in Asia Minor.

In some ways Cicero found himself in the same uncomfortable position that he had been in at the beginning of the civil war. This time, though, he had absolutely no doubt whose side he was on and had no intention of putting himself forward as mediator again. However, there was a problem of competence. He admired the conspirators for their heroism on the Ides of March but felt that everything they had done afterwards had been ill-conceived and poorly planned. He believed that Antony’s venality and willingness to act arbitrarily was the prelude to a new autocracy. Realizing that he was not being taken seriously, he became cross with everybody and left the city. He confessed wryly to Atticus that he ought to reread his own essay On Growing Old. “Advancing years are making me cantankerous,” he remarked in May. “Everything annoys me. But I have had my time. Let the young ones worry.”

Cicero kept restlessly on the move from one villa to another, often sleeping in one place for only one night. He wrote to Atticus almost every day. He also seems to have revised the savage Secret History he had started working on in 59, in the bitter aftermath of his Consulship.

Marcus was getting on reasonably well in Athens. Atticus, presumably in Greece, was helping out with his cash flow. The boy was poor at keeping in touch, but when in June he did eventually write home his father was pleased to see that his literary style showed signs of improvement. Meanwhile, Quintus fell out with his son and was having difficulty repaying Pomponia’s dowry. Young Quintus was as politically unsatisfactory as ever, having now attached himself to Antony.

Balbus and Hirtius took care to keep in touch with Cicero. He received a very civil letter from Antony asking him to agree to the recall of one of Clodius’s followers from exile; this unpleasant reminder of the past annoyed him, but he made no objection. He was delighted when “my wonderful Dolabella” put down some pro-Caesar riots and demolished a commemorative pillar and altar where the Dictator had been cremated in the Forum. An agitator, falsely claiming to be Marius’s grandson, was arrested and executed.

Cicero noted the hurried departure of Cleopatra from Rome. “The Queen’s flight does not distress me,” he wrote coolly. Well endowed with regal ways, Cleopatra appears not to have been a popular figure in Rome, and the death of her protector meant that there was nothing left to keep her in Italy. She may have hoped that Caesar would have recognized their son, but there had been no mention of Caesarion in his will. This may have been a disappointment, but at least she was able to leave with a renewed treaty of friendship between Rome and Egypt.

A month later, on May 11 Cicero noted cryptically: “I hope it’s true about the Queen and that Caesar of hers.” A week or so later, he made further references to some rumor about her. It is hard to know what to make of this, but it has been conjectured that Cleopatra had become pregnant a second time and that she had been reported to have miscarried on the journey home. “That Caesar” would have been a dismissive reference to the dead fetus.

Towards the end of April Caesar’s youthful heir arrived in Italy. Octavian had been born during Cicero’s Consulship in 63 and came from a respectable provincial family in the country town of Velitrae in the Alban Hills south of Rome. His ambitious father had married Atia, Caesar’s niece, but he had died when Octavian was four. The widowed Atia had married again, choosing Lucius Marcius Philippus, who was Consul in 56.

Octavian grew up to be a short, slight, attractive young man with curly yellowish hair and clear, bright eyes. A weakness in his left leg sometimes gave him the appearance of having a limp. His health was delicate, but he was an industrious student. Although he had a gift for speaking extempore, he worked hard at improving his rhetorical technique.

In 45, despite being in a state of semiconvalescence after a serious illness, Octavian had followed Caesar to Spain, where he was fighting the last campaign of the civil war. After surviving a shipwreck, he had traveled with a small escort along roads held by the enemy. His great-uncle had been delighted and impressed by his energy and formed a high estimation of his character. Doubtless this was why he had decided to make the boy his heir.

After the battle of Munda, Octavian had been sent to the coastal town of Apollonia, across the Adriatic Sea in Macedonia. Caesar wanted him on the Parthian campaign and told him to wait there with the assembled legions until he joined them. In the meantime he was to pursue his education and receive military training.

When the terrible news arrived in Apollonia, Octavian’s first nervous instinct was to stay with the army, whose senior officers offered to look after him. But his mother and stepfather suggested that it would be safer if he came quietly and without fuss to Rome. Shortly afterwards Octavian was informed of his dangerous inheritance. His family thought he should renounce it, but he disagreed. Crossing the sea to Brundisium, he made contact with the troops there, who received him enthusiastically as Caesar’s son. He decided, as instructed, to assume his great-uncle’s name. He liked to be addressed as Caesar, although this was not to his stepfather Philippus’s liking, and for a time Cicero insisted on calling him Octavius and later by his cognomen after adoption, Octavianus.

In taking these actions, Octavian was publicly asserting himself as the Dictator’s political, not merely personal, heir. He felt able to do so because he realized that Antony’s compromise settlement with the Senate did not take the feelings of the army into full account. It was a remarkably bold step and calls for explanation. IS it reasonable to believe that an inexperienced teenager would have seized the initiative in this way without prompting? It is of course a possibility, for his later career revealed very considerable political ability. It is much more plausible, however, that Balbus and other members of the Dictator’s staff, disenchanted with Antony’s policy of reconciliation, judged that the young man, carefully handled and advised, was well placed to assume the leadership of the Caesarian cause. The boy would be a focus for the simmering resentments among the Roman masses, the disbanded veterans and the standing legions, and that Antonius would be outmaneuvered and put on the defensive.

The long-term plan, shadowy in outline at this stage and not publicly emphasized, would be to turn the tables on the conspirators and take revenge for the assassination. What the Caesarians had in mind was, in essence, a plot to overthrow a restored Republic. When Caesar foresaw that a new civil war would break out if he was removed from the scene, he can hardly have guessed that it would be his heir who fulfilled his prediction.

On his journey north from Brundisium, Octavian was welcomed by large numbers of people, many of them soldiers or the Dictator’s former slaves and freedmen. Perhaps some of these demonstrations on the road were engineered, but they revealed a deep well of support for the young pretender. In Naples he was met by Balbus and went on to his stepfather’s villa at Puteoli. Cicero happened to be on hand when he arrived, for Philippus was his neighbor. (It was at their two villas that they had entertained Caesar the previous December.) Always prone to like young men and take them under his wing, Cicero may have been tempted by the prospect of another protégé to groom. On the following day he received a visit from Octavian and, writing to Atticus in his presence, insisted that gratified vanity did not mean he had been taken in. “Octavian is with me here—most respectful and friendly,” he noted. “My judgment is that he cannot be a good citizen. There are too many around him. They threaten death to our friends and call the present state of affairs intolerable.… I long to be away.”

During recent weeks Cicero had been thinking of leaving the country for a few months and he arranged for a special leave of absence from the Consuls. He intended to be in Rome for a Senate meeting on June 1 but afterwards there would be no reason to linger. His idea was to go to his beloved Athens and check in person how Marcus was getting along.

Young Octavian’s appearance on the scene turned the political situation on its head. His growing popularity with the army and the Roman masses had the effect, as intended, of detaching Antony from the Senate, for it compelled him to outbid his new rival as a loyal supporter of Caesar’s memory. This in turn meant that Brutus’s and Cassius’s strategy of sitting around quietly in their country houses, on the assumption that politics were gradually returning to normal, was pointless. All sums had to be recalculated.

For the time being the newcomer was little more than a nuisance and the Consul called him dismissively a “boy who owes everything to his name.” However, the popularity of that name in the army and among the urban masses soon made him a force to be reckoned with. If he meant to remain at the head of affairs, Antony would sooner or later be driven to align himself against the constitutionalists (and so fulfill Cicero’s originally misplaced suspicions). To begin with, though, he bided his time.

When Octavian asked Antony to make over the moneys promised in the Dictator’s will so that he could pay out the various bequests, the Consul coolly responded that the funds belonged to the state and had, in any event, been spent. With a sharp eye on public relations, Octavian simply raised the necessary funds from his family and by loans.

The atmosphere in Rome grew tense and uneasy. Antony’s popularity slid and he enlisted the services of veterans to keep public order. The Consuls, who had been squabbling, were now friends, for Dolabella, bribed (or so Cicero thought) by Antony, had changed sides and abandoned the constitutionalists. They had already dispossessed Brutus and Cassius of their original provincial allocations, with Antony taking over Macedonia and Dolabella Syria. But this was no longer enough for Antony, who decided that it was time to tackle Decimus Brutus head-on in Italian Gaul. With the help of the General Assembly, Antony engineered a further switch of his Consular province from Macedonia (taking the army there with him) to the two Gauls. This was an unusual maneuver, for according to convention it was the Senate that decided provincial appointments, and the move was seen as a blatant attempt to undermine Decimus Brutus. A land-distribution bill was also passed, which would please the demobilized soldiery. In place of their original provincial commands, Brutus and Cassius were given insultingly unimportant commissions to purchase corn, respectively, in Asia and Sicily.

Many moderates in the Caesarian camp, including the following year’s Consuls-elect Hirtius and Caius Vibius Pansa Caetronianus, now agreed with Cicero that open hostilities were approaching. They did their best to stop the main players from provocations. When Hirtius heard that Brutus and Cassius were thinking of leaving Italy, to raise troops he suspected, he sent Cicero a desperate appeal to try to prevent them. “Hold them back, Cicero, I beg you, and don’t let our society go down to ruin; for I swear it will be turned upside down in an orgy of looting, arson and massacre.”

The conspirators’ position was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and a conference was called in Antium to consider the situation. Cicero was invited to attend. He gave Atticus a long description of what was said. Those present included Brutus and Cassius, together with their wives. Brutus’s mother and Julius Caesar’s onetime lover, Servilia, was also in attendance. For many years this well-connected and astute matriarch had been an influential figure in Roman politics behind the scenes, and she was still in a position to pull strings when necessary.

Without revealing his source, Cicero passed on Hirtius’s advice that Brutus should not leave Italy. A general conversation followed, full of recriminations about lost opportunities. Cicero remarked that he agreed with what was being said, but there was no point in crying over spilled milk. He then launched into a reprise of all his familiar views (“nothing original, only what everyone is saying all the time”): Antony should have been killed alongside Julius Caesar, the Senate should have met immediately after the assassination and so forth. He was doing exactly what he had just criticized the others for, and no doubt at much greater length. Servilia lost her temper. “Really, I’ve never heard anything like it!” This silenced Cicero and the gathering went on to debate, with little success, what should be done next. The only firm decision taken was that the official Games, which Brutus was financing in his capacity as Praetor, should go ahead in his absence. Servilia promised to use her good offices to get the corn commissions revoked.

“Nothing in my visit gave me any satisfaction except the consciousness of having made it,” Cicero concluded. “I found the ship going to pieces, or rather its scattered fragments. No plan, no thought, no method. AS a result, though I had doubts before, I am now all the more determined to escape from here, and as soon as I possibly can.”

It would have been out of character if he had not delayed acting on his decision, and for the next month he nervously pondered the best route to take. The Macedonian legions being brought back to Italy by Antony would land at Brundisium, so he had better avoid the place. He worried that people might blame him for running away, but if he promised to return for the new year when Antony’s Consulship would have finally ended, surely that would pacify his critics? Brutus had, after all, decided to leave the country and perhaps he would allow Cicero to accompany him. (In fact, he was not very enthusiastic.)

Despite his anxieties, Cicero insisted to Atticus that his underlying frame of mind was firm. He attributed his calmness to the “armor-proofing” of philosophy and it is evidence of Cicero’s creativity that he continued producing a flood of books and essays, including his treatise for Marcus, Duties. He monitored Octavian’s activities with interest and suspicion. “Octavian, as I perceived, does not lack intelligence or spirit,” he remarked to Atticus in June. “But how much faith to put in one of his years and name and heredity and education—that’s a great question.… Still, he is to be encouraged and, if nothing else, kept away from Antony.”

He found it shocking that Brutus’s Games were advertised for “July,” the new name in honor of Julius Caesar that had replaced the month of Quintilis. The Republican Sextus Pompey, who had survived the disaster at Munda, was running a fairly successful guerrilla war in Spain and it was thought he might march his forces to Italy against Antony. If he turned up, it would create an awkward dilemma for Cicero, for there would be no mercy for neutrals this time around. It may have come as a relief when news arrived later that Sextus Pompey had come to terms with an army led by Lepidus, the Dictator’s onetime Master of the Horse.

On the domestic front, young Quintus wanted to get back into Cicero’s good books. He claimed to have quarreled with Antony and to have decided to switch his allegiance to Brutus. Cicero did not believe a word of it. He asked Atticus: “How much longer are we going to be fooled?” More credibly, Quintus had apparently used his father’s name without permission in some dubious financial transaction. (It may well be that shortage of funds was behind much of his political maneuvering and his efforts to regain his family’s confidence.) He was still wife hunting and had found a possible candidate. His uncle was unimpressed: “I suspect he’s romancing as usual.”

AS he was getting nowhere at a distance, Quintus decided to spend some days with Cicero at Puteoli and see what persuasion in person could achieve. He wanted an introduction to Brutus, which his embarrassed uncle could not decently refuse. Also he was anxious for a family reconciliation and Cicero wrote Atticus a dissembling letter in which he pretended to be convinced that the young man’s reformation was sincere. He warned Atticus under separate cover that he had written in these terms only under pressure from Quintus and his father.

At long last, on July 17, Cicero set sail for Greece from his house in Pompeii in three ten-oared rowing boats. AS he boarded, he was, of course, already having second thoughts. A long sea voyage would be fatiguing for a man of his age. (He was now 62.) The timing of his departure was unfortunate, for he was leaving peace behind him with the intention of returning when the Republic would very probably be at war. Also, he was going to miss his country estates. His financial affairs were in their usual state of disarray.

The little flotilla sailed at a comfortable speed down to Syracuse, from where it would set out west across the open sea. But a southern gale blew the boats back to the toe of Italy. Cicero stayed for a few days at a friend’s villa near Regium and waited for more favorable weather. While he was there a local delegation returned from the capital on August 6 with some exciting news.

The story was that disorder on the streets of Rome and Octavian’s ceaseless efforts to gain the public-relations initiative were shifting the Consul’s policy again. Perhaps, after all, Antony was believed to think, his best bet would be to return to the March 17 settlement and align himself with moderate, antiwar Caesarians and the Senate. He delivered a speech in which he made some friendly references to the conspirators. A Senate meeting was called for August 1, which Brutus and Cassius begged all ex-Consuls to attend.

Cicero also learned, to his dismay, that people were commenting adversely on his absence. Atticus was having second thoughts too and, although he had endorsed Cicero’s original plan to spend some time in Athens, now took him to task. Cicero decided to abandon the expedition. On his way back to Rome he met Brutus, who was in the southwest of Italy gathering ships in preparation for his departure for Macedonia. “You wouldn’t believe how delighted he was at my return or rather my turning back!” Cicero told Atticus. “Everything he had held back came gushing out.”

Unfortunately, the Republicans had been tempted by a false dawn. Caesar’s father-in-law, Piso, who Cicero still believed had connived at his exile and whom he consequently loathed, launched a fierce attack on Antony at the August Senate meeting. He received no support, but, if a tentative rapprochement was being considered, this was enough to halt it in its tracks.

In fact, the idea had probably never been seriously viable. Octavian, or his advisers, was too canny to allow a complete breach with his competitor. Dealing with Antony was a balancing act: on the one hand the two were rivals for popularity with the army—that is, for Caesar’s political succession, for whoever controlled the legions in the last analysis controlled Rome. On the other hand, it was essential not to drive the Consul back into the arms of the optimates. The task was to manage him, not to crush him.

At a personal level the two men had little in common. Antony, who was twenty years older than Octavian, was a playboy. He probably had no long-term strategy and seems not to have been particularly interested in avenging the Ides of March. He would react vigorously if prodded but preferred to live and let live. By contrast, Octavian had a colder personality and, although he told no one about it, intended to pursue the conspirators to the end. Yet, whether they liked it or not, the two men were obliged to cooperate. The legionnaires, aghast at their disagreements, forced a reconciliation and a special ceremony was held on the Capitoline Hill to mark the event.

Hopes of compromise dashed, Brutus and Cassius had finally made up their minds to abandon Italy, although their precise intentions after that were unclear. Servilia had evidently fulfilled her promise to work behind the scenes to get the corn commissions canceled and they had again been awarded new provinces, but they did not go to them. Instead, Brutus settled in Athens in the province of Macedonia where, hoping that the political situation would improve, he waited for as long as possible before determining whether or not to recruit an army. Cassius traveled to Syria (where he had been Quaestor in 51) with the idea of taking over the legions based in the region.

Cicero’s return to Rome on August 31 echoed the excitement and applause of his return from exile thirteen years earlier. The crowds that poured out to meet him were so large that the greetings and speeches of welcome at the city gates and during his entry into the city took up most of a day. It would be wrong to exaggerate Cicero’s influence, for he commanded no divisions, but his significance can also be undervalued. Perhaps he undervalued it himself; his letters show him to be much preoccupied with the preservation of his public standing, but they convey little awareness of his authority and influence.

That autumn a combination of factors conspired to give him real political influence for the first time since his Consulship. This was partly because he was one of the few senior statesmen of ability to have survived in a pollarded oligarchy. AS Brutus had recognized when he called out Cicero’s name at Pompey’s theater, he stood for the best of the past, the old days and the old ways. People were beginning to fear a new breakdown of the fragile Republic and Cicero was the one man who had proclaimed the need for reconciliation throughout his career. His proven administrative ability and formidable skills as a public speaker were assets that few other politicians of the time could deploy.

But the most important factor was the change which seems to have taken place in his personality. He showed a new ruthlessness and clarity, as if iron had entered his soul. Perhaps it was simply that by the standards of the age Cicero was an old man and felt he had little to lose. Perhaps his immersion in philosophy had made him clearer about what was important and what could be jettisoned. In any case, step by step, he let himself be drawn towards the center of events and, to the surprise of those who knew him well, Brutus above all, showed himself willing to use unscrupulous and even unconstitutional methods to achieve his ultimate goal: the full, complete and permanent restoration of the Republic.

The day after Cicero’s return Antony called a Senate meeting at which he would propose a new honor in Julius Caesar’s memory. Cicero was working towards a coalition with moderate Caesarians including Hirtius and Pansa who revered the Dictator’s memory. If he opposed the measure publicly he would unnecessarily offend them. So he pleaded exhaustion and kept to his bed.

Antony was furious. During the debate he launched an outspoken attack on Cicero, threatening to send housebreakers in to demolish his home on the Palatine. On September 2, in the Consul’s absence, the Senate was reconvened and Cicero responded to the onslaught with the first of a series of speeches against Antony. He later nicknamed them his “Philippics” (after the Athenian orator Demosthenes’ speeches against Philip of Macedon) in a letter to Brutus, who for the time being was impressed by Cicero’s new firmness and replied that they deserved the title.

Avoiding personal insults and using studiously moderate terms, he followed up Piso’s criticisms a month earlier of Antony’s unconstitutional activities and fraudulent use of Julius Caesar’s papers. It was a well-judged address, carefully aimed at all who occupied the middle ground. The Consul well understood the threat it posed to his position and spent a couple of weeks in his country villa working up a counterblast. At a Senate meeting on September 19 he delivered a comprehensive onslaught on Cicero, who cautiously stayed away: he dissected his career, blaming him for the “murder” of Catilina’s followers, the death of Clodius and the quarrel between Julius Caesar and Pompey. Antony’s aim was to unite all the factions in Rome against Cicero and, above all, to show the veterans that here was the real contriver of their hero’s downfall. If he failed, little in the way of a power base would be left to him in Rome and the affections of the legions would continue to slide toward Octavian. In a letter to Cassius, alluding to a tendency of Antony’s to vomit in public (presumably when drunk), Cicero commented: “Everyone thought he wasn’t speaking so much as spewing up.”

Cicero settled safely in the countryside, where he spent the next month preparing the second of his Philippics, a lengthy, colorful but in the end unappealing invective against Antony, in which he reviewed the Consul’s life episode by episode. Like the speeches against Verres, it was never delivered. He wanted it published, but Atticus doubtless advised against, and the work did not appear until after its author’s death.

At about this time, Cicero learned that an old friend of his, Caius Matius, whom he nicknamed Baldy, was annoyed by some critical remarks he had reportedly made about him. Matius had been devoted to Julius Caesar and was one of the few who had worked for him without asking for any favors. He had been deeply upset by Caesar’s assassination and had irritated Cicero by his constant prophecies of doom and, indeed, by the very fact of his grief.

In a carefully composed letter, Cicero defended himself but made it clear that he did think Caesar had been a despot. He dropped a broad hint that in his view the claims of freedom came before those of affection. Matius wrote a reply, so open in its emotions that it still has the power to touch the reader.

I am well aware of the criticisms which people have leveled at me since Caesar’s death. They make it a point against me that I take a friend’s death so much to heart and am indignant that the man I loved has been destroyed. They say that country should come before friendship—as though they have already proved that his death was in the public interest.… It wasn’t Caesar I followed in the civil conflict but a friend whom I did not desert, even though I didn’t like what he was doing. I never approved of the civil war or indeed the origin of the conflict, which I did my very utmost to get nipped in the Bud.… Why are they angry with me for praying that they may be sorry for what they have done? I want every man to be sorry for Caesar’s death.

The letter is testimony to the magnetism of Caesar’s personality. Cicero had once given in to it himself, but, as he entered this last exclusively public phase of his life, he was becoming impervious to the claims of private feeling. In Duties, which he was writing at the time, he made no concession to the genius of his great contemporary; he condemned the

unscrupulous behavior of Caius Caesar who disregarded all divine and human law for the sake of the preeminence on which he had deludedly set his heart.… If a man insists on outcompeting everyone else, then it is hard for him to respect the most important aspect of justice: equality. Men of this type put up with no restraint by way of debate or due process; they emerge as spendthrift faction leaders, because they wish to acquire as much power as possible and would sooner gain the upper hand through force than fair dealing.

The entente between Antony and Octavian was short-lived, and the scene of action soon shifted from the Forum to the legionary camps. The Consul’s rage at Cicero’s first Philippic reflected a tacit acknowledgment that he could no longer depend on support from the Senate. His year of office was drawing to a close and his priority now was to establish himself in his province with a strong army. Otherwise, he would be politically marginalized. He decided to move at once to Italian Gaul, before his Consulship was over, and to seize it from Decimus Brutus, who was enlisting legions to add to the two already stationed there. For this purpose he needed soldiers and in early October he set out for Brundisium to pick up four legions he had ordered over from Macedonia.

At this point his plans faltered. While his back was turned, Octavian went to Campania and started recruiting veterans. It was completely illegal for someone who held no public office to raise a private army, although forty years previously Pompey had launched his career by doing so. Today’s young adventurer, only nineteen years old, knew that unless he had troops behind him he would make no political headway. The appeal of his name and the added inducement of a hefty bribe of 2,000 sesterces per soldier was persuasive, and Octavian soon had a force of 3,000 experienced men at his disposal. The question now was what should he do with it.

Meanwhile, at Brundisium the Consul found his legions in truculent mood. He promised them only 400 sesterces for their loyalty. Aware of Octavian’s much more generous offer, they booed him, left him standing while he was speaking to them and rioted. “You will learn to obey orders,” was his savage response. Some judicious summary executions brought the soldiers to heel, but morale remained low.

What had been a political crisis was transforming itself into a phony war. The civilian leaders in Rome had no direct access to an army and were on the sidelines. The nearest loyal troops belonged to Decimus Brutus in Italian Gaul, but they were too few to pose an aggressive threat to anybody; he could only await the arrival of Antony, with some nervousness, behind the walls of the city of Mutina.

Between Antony and Octavian there was a standoff. The former was an experienced general and commanded a substantial force, but his soldiers would not follow him against Octavian. For its part Octavian’s illegal army was growing, but he was no military match for the Consul.

Faced with this impasse, Octavian had to regularize his position somehow or he risked being marginalized by both Antony and the Senate. In all probability, Antony would march on Rome, impose a concordat of some sort and then proceed north to Italian Gaul to defeat Decimus Brutus and install himself safely in his province. In January there would be new Consuls, Hirtius and Pansa, who would be able to raise their own troops: this was unhelpful from Octavian’s point of view because they were moderate Caesarians and likely to cooperate with the Senate. Meanwhile, there was no saying what Brutus and Cassius would be getting up to in Macedonia and Asia Minor. It was perfectly possible that they would raise armies and invade Italy if they thought the Republic was in danger.

So the young man and his advisers took what must have been an agonizing step, going against their deepest instincts. This was to ally themselves with the despised Republican leadership, which was only too happy to forget all about Octavian’s adoptive father and had not the slightest intention of making the conspirators pay for his death. But the prize was worth the sacrifice, for, in return for helping the Senate deal with Antony, Octavian and his illegal army would receive official status.

It was at this moment that Octavian decided to approach Cicero: if he could only win over the leading personality in the Senate to his scheme, the other Republicans would follow.

At a safe distance from these alarms and excursions, Cicero continued to devote much of his time to literary pursuits. Besides Duties, he was working on a short dialogue, Friendship, dedicated to Atticus, as a complement to Growing Old, which he probably completed towards the end of November. In it he returned to the theme of his correspondence with Matius: the conflict between loyalty to one’s friend and loyalty to the state. There was no easy answer, he decided, except that one should make sure that a friend deserved one’s trust before giving it to him.

This principle was soon put to the test, for a proposal of friendship arrived from a startling source. On October 31 Cicero, who was staying in his villa at the seaside resort of Puteoli on the Bay of Naples, received a letter from Octavian in which he offered to lead the Republican cause in a war against Antony. The letter was delivered by a personal emissary, who brought the news that the Consul was marching on Rome. “He has great schemes afoot,” Cicero wrote excitedly to Atticus. “So it looks to me as though in a few days’ time we shall be in arms. But whom are we to follow? Think of his name; think of his age.” It was an uninviting choice.

Octavian proposed a secret meeting and asked for Cicero’s advice: should he anticipate the Consul, who would soon be returning from Brundisium with his troops, and march on Rome himself? In Cicero’s opinion, a secret meeting was a childish idea because news of it would inevitably be leaked. He wrote back, explaining that it was neither necessary nor feasible; but he recommended that he go to the capital. He told Atticus: “I imagine he will have the city rabble behind him and respectable opinion too if he convinces them of his sincerity.”

Octavian’s approach was not a one-time advance; it quickly grew into a courtship. On November 4 Cicero reported that he was being pestered:

Two letters for me from Octavian in one day. Now he wants me to return to Rome at once, says he wants to work through the Senate. I replied that the Senate could not meet before the Kalends of January, which I believe is the case. He adds “with your advice.” In short, he presses and I play for time. I don’t trust his age and I don’t know what he’s after.

The future for Republicans lay in splitting the partisans of Caesar. Moderates grouped around Hirtius and Pansa, the following year’s Consuls, were likely to align themselves with Cicero and the constitutionalist majority in the Senate. In theory that would isolate Antony, increasingly desperate to find himself a safe provincial base, and Octavian, with his magical name. However, they both commanded the loyalty of the legions. Together they would be irresistible and it was essential that nothing be done to persuade them to overcome their differences and join forces.

Cooperation with Octavian would raise two difficult issues. If Cicero wanted to play this dangerous and delicate game, he would have to work with people who operated outside the constitution; he might even have to act unconstitutionally himself. However much he told himself that this would be for the greater good, dubious means might subvert virtuous ends. This was certainly the view of some of the conspirators, who were deeply suspicious of any accommodation with the new Caesar. The more immediate question was how far the young man was to be trusted. If his short-term interest was to align himself with Cicero and the Senate, what were his long-term aims? It seemed that the people around him, like Balbus and Oppius, shared the dead Dictator’s belief that the Republican oligarchy was incompetent to run an empire and would have to give way to some kind of autocracy.

For the time being Cicero kept his distance. For some days he wondered nervously whether or not to join Octavian in Rome. He did not want to miss some great event; but then it might not be safe to leave the coast: Antony was approaching and Cicero could be cut off and at the Consul’s mercy. On balance he felt that Octavian’s project of taking his new troops to Rome was daring but ill considered. Nevertheless, he acknowledged Octavian’s growing popularity and decided that he might, after all, go to the capital before January 1, as he had originally intended.

The march on Rome turned out to be the fiasco Cicero had feared. Undeterred by the absence of Senators, Octavian met the General Assembly and delivered an uncompromisingly anti-Republican speech. He gestured towards a statue of Caesar and swore under oath his determination to win his father’s honors and status. But Antony was fast approaching and Octavian’s troops made it clear they would not fight against him. Many deserted. His hopes dashed, he withdrew north to Arretium.

The setback was only temporary. Antony arrived in the city “in battle array” and, just as Octavian had done a few days earlier, illegally introduced troops inside the pomoerium. He called a Senate meeting for November 24, with the intention of charging Octavian with treason. However, for some reason the session was postponed. According to Cicero, Antony was drunk: “He was detained by a drinking bout and a feast—if you can call a blowout in a public house a feast.” A more plausible explanation was that one of his legions had mutinied and transferred its allegiance to Octavian. AS soon as he heard the news, the Consul rushed from Rome to confront the mutineers at a town named Alba Fucens; they would not listen to him and shot at him from the walls. Doubtless drawing on Caesar’s hijacked fortune, Antony arranged a donation of 2,000 sesterces for every soldier to calm his remaining legions. He then returned to the city and reconvened the Senate, which met (against convention) by night at the Capitol.

A former Consul had been primed with a motion declaring Octavian a public enemy, but now Antony faced another disaster. The Fourth Legion also changed sides. The balance of power was shifting and Antony could no longer depend on a favorable vote in the Senate; even if he could win a majority, a Tribune would probably veto the bill. Some hurried business was pushed through: Brutus and Cassius had their latest provinces withdrawn again; a vote was passed to compliment Antony’s ally Lepidus for coming to terms with Sextus Pompey, the Republic’s standard-bearer in Spain; and Macedonia was allotted to Antony’s brother, Caius.

After a military review the following day the Consul, who had been given a bad fright, left Rome and marched north. He still had four legions at his disposal. If he could have had his way, he would doubtless have preferred to finish off Octavian and encamped at Arretium, but he knew that his men would not have followed him. However, they were more than happy to fight any of Julius Caesar’s assassins, so Antony led them to Mutina and Decimus Brutus. With the onset of winter no immediate developments were expected.

On December 9 Cicero at last made his way back to Rome from the country. Before setting off, he gave Atticus a summary of the political situation as he saw it. He was still cautious about Octavian, especially after receiving a copy of the speech he had given to the General Assembly on November 12.

The boy is taking the steam out of Antony neatly enough for the moment, but we had best wait and see the issue. But what a speech—a copy was sent to me. Swears “by his hopes of rising to his father’s honors,” stretching his hand out towards the statue! Sooner destruction than this kind of a rescuer! But, as you say, the clearest test will be our friend Casca’s Tribuneship. [Casca, one of the conspirators, was due to take up office on December 10 and Octavian’s behavior towards him would be a test of his sincerity.] I told Oppius on that very subject, when he was pressing me to embrace the young man, not to mention his whole movement and band of veterans, that I could do nothing of the kind unless I was sure that he would be not only no enemy but a friend to the tyrannicides.

At this point the correspondence with Atticus closes. We do not know why. Atticus may have been in Rome for the rest or most of the rest of Cicero’s life and so there would have been no need to write; alternatively the correspondence may in fact have continued but have been judged to be too controversial for publication and thus suppressed. AS Emperor years later, Octavian may not have relished his maneuverings as Julius Caesar’s heir being exposed to the public gaze.

In the absence of both Consuls (Dolabella had already left Rome for Asia, his province) a Tribune called a meeting of the Senate for December 20 to approve the appointment of an armed guard for the new Consuls, Hirtius and Pansa, when they took up office on January 1. At first Cicero had not intended to be present, but, having read an edict by Decimus Brutus warning Antony to stay away from his province and announcing his allegiance to the Senate, he let it be known he would be there. He had encouraged Decimus Brutus to make a stand and, now that he was doing so, was determined to help him in any way he could.

There was no time to be lost. The Consul was moving as fast as he could to take over Italian Gaul before his successors could repudiate the legality of the law that had given him the province. He does not appear to have been acting unconstitutionally. After all, Decimus Brutus was soon due to hand over his powers to his successor. It should also be remembered that Antony (with his ally Dolabella) was head of the government with supreme executive powers. By the admittedly loose standards of the time he was within his rights to act as he did.

Cicero opened the debate at an unusually well-attended meeting with a powerful address, his third Philippic. He sought to demonstrate that Antony was an enemy of the state (arguably a treasonable assertion, bearing in mind that he was still Consul, if only for a few more days). He also argued that Octavian’s position as the leader of a private army should be regularized. For the first time he referred to the young man not as Octavian but by his new patronymic. “Caesar on his own initiative—he had no alternative—has liberated the Republic.” It sounded very much as if Cicero, despite all his misgivings, had at last decided to yield to the young man’s advances and strike a deal.

The Senate accepted most of Cicero’s advice but not all. It agreed that Antony was engaging in civil war but refused to outlaw him. It recognized Caesar and his army and confirmed all provincial governors in their posts until further notice, thereby overriding the following year’s appointments.

In his speech Cicero made a passing reference to young Quintus. He had definitively broken with Antony, who accused him of plotting his father’s and uncle’s deaths. Cicero commented: “What amazing impudence, presumption and bravado! To dare to write this about a young man whose sweetness and excellence of character make my brother and me rivals in our love for him.” The charge was routine slander and not to be taken seriously—but those who were aware of the dissensions inside the Cicero family will have smiled at this description of the orator’s unreliable nephew.

Aware of the need to secure public opinion for the Republican side, Cicero made a point throughout this period of guiding the People through complex and confusing developments. Once the Senate meeting was over, he went on to give a rousing address (the fourth Philippic) to a packed General Assembly in the Forum, in which he said: “We have for the first time and after a long interval, on my advice and by my initiative, been fired by the hope of freedom.” He compared Antony to Spartacus and, interestingly, to Catilina. AS Consul in 63, Cicero had had Catilina condemned for raising a private army, but now he was using all his powers of persuasion to have a legally appointed Consul declared a public enemy and a freebooting young privateer its savior. The lifelong conservative was standing his convictions on their head. He did not notice the contradiction, or if he did thought it a matter of no consequence.

To the conspirator Trebonius, now in Asia as its governor, he wrote: “I did not mince my words, and, more by willpower than by oratorical skill, I recalled the weak and weary Senate to its old, traditional vigor. That day, my energy and the course I took, brought to the Roman People the first hope of recovering their freedom.”

Without the letters to Atticus we no longer have a window into Cicero’s mind, his private moods and doubts; but, so far as we can tell, the process of transformation that had begun with Cato’s death was now reaching completion. Some twentieth-century historians have detected fanaticism and obsession in Cicero at this time, especially so far as his loathing of Antony is concerned. One certainly senses a coarsening of his personality, the obverse perhaps of his new decisiveness. This was the price Cicero was to pay for his return to power. Although he held no public office, the next six months saw him become the first man in Rome, with as great a dominance over the political scene as during his Consulship. The disappointments and humiliations of the intervening twenty years were behind him.