The records of Chinese astronomers show that this comet was not a later invention but almost certainly a contemporary phenomenon—further evidence of the improvisatory skill of Octavian and his advisers.
After more squabbling between Octavian and Antony, another unconvincing reconciliation ensued. The ceremony was staged on the Capitol under the watchful gaze of Caesar’s veterans, who, in a pointed signal to the consul, accompanied the dictator’s heir to his front door.
Octavian did not restrict his efforts to winning the hearts of Rome’s citizens. He sent agents disguised as tradesmen to mingle with the troops that Antony was bringing over from Macedonia and the veterans’ settlements in Italy. They distributed leaflets and sounded out opinion. While Antony was a well-liked and competent leader, the soldiers were put out that he had come to terms with the Senate, even if he was now changing his stance. They had known Octavian in Apollonia and very much liked what they had seen. Dangerously for Antony, they were inclined to regard the young man as Caesar’s political as well as personal heir.
Antony was soon told about the subversion of his soldiers; he unexpectedly announced that Octavian’s aim was not simply to weaken their loyalty, but to arrange his assassination. He claimed to have uncovered a conspiracy among his bodyguard, some of whom he sent away.
Many people believed the story, and for once the young man lost his habitual self-possession. “Mad with anger,” he ran to Antony’s house and shouted at the front door that Antony was the plotter, who wanted to ruin Octavian’s popularity with the people. He swore all kinds of oaths and challenged Antony to bring him to court. When no one appeared, he said in desperation: “I agree to be judged by your friends.” With this he tried to go inside, but was stopped. He hurled abuse at the men at the door and, before going away, claimed that if anything happened to him, his death would be due to Antony’s treachery.
The assassination plot was almost certainly an invention, Antony’s attempt at a publicity coup. As Appian noted:
A few people, who had the ability to think a problem out, were aware that it was in Octavian’s interest for Antony to survive, even if he did Octavian some harm, because Caesar’s assassins were afraid of him; while if he died the assassins, enjoying strong support from the Senate, would embark with less apprehension on every venture.
Octavian’s panic-stricken reaction won around public opinion, although a few skeptics suspected that the two men were colluding in some kind of contrivance against their mutual enemies.
As summer gave way to autumn 44 B.C., matters were coming to a head. It would only be three months before new consuls were in place: Hirtius and Pansa, moderate Caesarians who were profoundly irritated by Antony’s clumsy maneuvering to secure his personal position and were aligning themselves cautiously with republicans. They would be entitled to raise troops; once they had done so, the Senate would be able to defend itself militarily, as it had not been able to do so far.
Out of sight but not out of mind, Brutus and Cassius were playing a waiting game. If possible, they wanted to avoid a new civil war, but, should the Republic be at risk, they, too, would recruit an army, with which to save it from its Caesarian enemies, such as Antony and Octavian.
Since his arrival on the scene, Caesar’s teenaged heir had played his hand with cool skill. Young and inexperienced, he had that most essential of political talents, the ability to take good advice. Ruthless and patient, he would do whatever was necessary to the achievement of his goals. However, he was still without an army and without a role. As Julius Caesar’s adopted son, he was hugely popular with the masses, but had not found a way of translating this into tangible power.
VI
FROM VICTORY, DEFEAT
44–43 B.C.
Beneath Antony’s easygoing, affable manner lay a harsh and unforgiving nature. Furious at the men’s attitude, in his speech he blamed them for not bringing Octavian’s secret agitators to him; if they would not help him, he would find them himself. He ended, nonetheless, by offering each soldier present a small donative, or bonus, of four hundred sesterces.
The soldiers laughed at this cheapskating, and when he lost his temper they became rowdy and began to disperse. This was looking like mutiny, so Antony obtained from his officers the names of those soldiers who were known for being disruptive, and had some of them (chosen by lot) beaten to death in his and Fulvia’s presence. It was said that blood was spattered on his wife’s face. “You will learn to obey orders,” he told the rest.
Meanwhile, in the consul’s absence, Octavian set off to Campania to visit new colonies of Julius Caesar’s veterans (a colony was a settlement specially founded to house demobilized soldiers), as well as two legions, the VII and the VIII. Ostensibly he was going to sell some of his father’s property, but his real purpose (which he kept even from his mother, lest she try to stop him) was to raise a private army from the dead dictator’s loyal legionaries.
The attempt met with success. The legionaries and veterans at colonies near the city of Capua were faced with an offer they could not refuse: an immediate grant of two thousand sesterces to every soldier (more than twice his annual pay), with a promise of additional largesse later. This generosity compared well with Antony’s parsimony. Soon an army of more than three thousand men had been mustered.
But what now to do with it? One senses a mood of unusual overexcitement. Octavian wanted to confront Antony, although his soldiers were much keener on catching and killing Caesar’s assassins. He decided to risk all and march on Rome, hoping for the backing of the Senate and leading personages. He pestered Cicero with a stream of letters asking for advice and practical support. For his part Cicero suspected that the political class would be uncooperative. He said of Octavian: “He is very much a boy.”
He was right to be skeptical. The Senate was conspicuous by its absence when Octavian arrived with his troops and illegally occupied the Forum. Meanwhile, Antony was making his way toward the capital with the Macedonian legions. Octavian’s men had not joined up to fight their comrades, much less a lawfully elected consul, and many of them melted away. The bold throw of the dice had failed; the inexperienced leader led his remaining forces to the comparative safety of the hill town of Arretium. He must have been thoroughly depressed, and anxious for the future.
Fortunately for Octavian, matters went no better for Antony. Back in Rome he called a meeting of the Senate on November 24. His intention was to denounce Octavian, but the session never took place. According to Cicero, not an impartial witness, he attended “a blowout in a public house” and was too drunk to address the Senate. If this is so, Antony may have been drowning his sorrows, for he had just received the appalling news that one of the Macedonian legions, the Martian, had declared for Octavian. He rushed off to talk with them; they not only refused him admittance to the town near Rome where they had billeted themselves, but also shot at him from the walls.
A few days later news came of another defection, this time of the IVth Legion. Despite the failed march on Rome, Octavian was winning the battle for the soldiers’ hearts and minds. He held the great advantage of being Caesar’s heir and carrying his name. His generous bonuses reinforced his legitimacy. Hoping that activity would stanch the hemorrhage of loyalty, Antony immediately marched north to expel the assassin Decimus Brutus from his province of Cisalpine Gaul.
It would be wrong to overinterpret these events. Antony had certainly been humiliated, but he was down, not out. By contrast, Octavian lacked both military experience and imperium, constitutional authority; he could see that he was in a corner, and had to devise a way out of it.