Doubtless, Pansa’s injury was a flesh wound from which he would have been expected to recover; that he did not suggests an insuperable infection, a common enough occurrence in the days before antibiotics. In May, having heard the rumor, Marcus Brutus spoke up for Glyco, who was being kept in custody: “It is quite incredible. Pansa’s death hit nobody harder. Besides, he is a well-conducted, decent fellow, who would not be likely to be driven to crime even by self-interest.”
What was certain, though, is that sheer good luck—the untimely elimination of both Hirtius and Pansa—had placed Octavian in an extraordinarily powerful position. For the time being, though, he decided to take no precipitate action. When the Senate ordered that the dead consuls’ armies should be handed over to Decimus Brutus, he refused and took command of them himself, with the result that he now controlled eight legions, loyal to him rather than the Republic. He explained, with some plausibility, that the established legions would refuse to fight under the command of one of Julius Caesar’s assassins.
He would not cooperate with Decimus Brutus, either, and told a delegation from the proconsul, “Nature forbids me either to set eyes on or talk to Decimus. Let him seek his own safety.” Decimus strongly, and rightly, suspected that Caesar’s heir was looking for an opportunity to take revenge on him.
Octavian also refused to chase Antony. When an officer of the former consul was captured at Mutina, Octavian treated him respectfully before setting him free and sending him on to join his general in Gaul. The officer asked what his policy was toward Antony. Octavian replied dryly: “I have given plenty of hints to people who have their wits about them. Any more would still not be enough for the stupid.”
When Rome learned of the relief of Mutina, there was unalloyed delight. It seemed that what Cicero called “this abominable war” was over. The Senate was so excited by Antony’s defeat that they completely misread the consequences of the consuls’ deaths. Decimus was awarded a triumph. A promised bounty for the soldiers was reduced from the (extremely generous) twenty thousand sesterces to ten thousand, and a commission was appointed to distribute the money directly to the soldiers (rather than routing it, as was the custom, through their general). Both Octavian, who was not even offered a place on the commission, and his men were infuriated, and their discontent was communicated to Rome.
Meanwhile reports began to filter south of an astonishing transformation in Antony’s fortunes. After his crossing of the Alps and arrival in Gaul, he made contact with three provincial governors. They were Marcus Aemilius Lepidus of Narbonese Gaul (today’s southern France) and Hither (northern) Spain, who commanded seven legions; Lucius Munatius Plancus of Long-haired Gaul (central and northern France); and Gaius Asinius Pollio of Farther (southern) Spain. Antony won them over to his cause and found himself the commander once more of a large army. The misery of Mutina could be forgotten.
Decimus Brutus had struggled after Antony with his bedraggled legions, but was now trapped. Antony renewed was too strong for him, and if he retraced his steps to Italy, he would find Octavian waiting to destroy him. His men saw the position was hopeless; they deserted. With a handful of supporters, Decimus tried to escape to Macedonia and Marcus Brutus, but fell into the hands of a Gallic chieftain, who killed him on Antony’s orders.
Caesar’s heir was now ready to pounce. Both consulships were vacant, and the disorganized and increasingly uneasy senators had no obvious and willing candidates. Octavian knew that the time for caution was past and he was more than ready to submit a claim. Obviously he was far too young, for according to the constitutional rules a consul had to be at least forty-two years old. However, it could be countered that in times of emergency men in their twenties had occasionally been elected—Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus, for example, had been about twenty-nine when he won the command to defeat Hannibal in the third century B.C. Closer to the present day, Pompey the Great became a leading figure in Roman politics at the age of twenty-three and won proconsular authority when he was thirty.
In July a deputation of four hundred centurions arrived in Rome to lay proposals before the Senate. They wanted the soldiers’ promised bounty paid in full, and for their commander they required, rather than requested, the consulship. With extraordinary short-sightedness, the Senate refused.
As soon as this news reached him, Octavian, who was waiting in Cisalpine Gaul, called a soldiers’ assembly. They told him to lead them at once to Rome and they would elect him consul themselves. Octavian marched them off the parade ground—eight legions, cavalry, and auxiliaries—and took the road south.
As he neared the city, he became worried about the safety of his mother, Atia, and sister, Octavia. They clearly had great value as hostages, and with help from Caesarians in the city they went into hiding. There being no consuls, the praetors were in charge of Rome’s defense, but their men would not fight.
Determined to put on a show of constitutional propriety, the young candidate for the consulship waited twenty-four hours before entering Rome. On October 19, ostensibly without the slightest evidence of external threat, the people elected Octavian and the dim and unambitious Quintus Pedius, a nephew of Julius Caesar and one of his heirs, to the supreme governance of the Republic. Pedius had the advantage of being a safe pair of hands and could be guaranteed not to oppose his young colleague’s wishes. On the next day, Octavian made his way through the city to the Forum, surrounded by a precautionary bodyguard. His political opponents came out to meet him along the route, with what Appian called “spineless readiness to serve.”
Much to his relief, the new consul saw Atia and Octavia at the Temple of Vesta, waiting to greet him. They had survived the last few difficult days unscathed. Although she had advised against his accepting Caesar’s will only a short year previously, his mother must have been proud to see him at the pinnacle of power when he was not yet twenty years old. She was lucky to have witnessed this day, for within a few weeks or months she was dead. We do not know what killed her, nor has any account survived of her son’s reaction.
One of Octavian’s first official tasks was to preside over a sacrifice to the immortal gods in the Campus Martius. As he did so, he looked up and saw six vultures. This was a good omen, but an even better one followed: later, while he was haranguing his troops, twelve vultures appeared, as had happened to Romulus at Rome’s foundation in 753 B.C. The livers of the animal victims Octavian slaughtered were found to be doubled up at the lower end—an omen the haruspices unanimously declared to foretell a prosperous and happy future. The supporters of the new regime made the most of this lucky propaganda opportunity.
The message the vultures gave to the world was that Rome was being founded for a second time.
By the summer of 43 B.C., Octavian had made good progress toward fulfilling the three-point program he set out in the letter he wrote Philippus on reaching Italy after the catastrophe of the Ides of March. One, he had accepted the legacy, and the lex curiata confirming his adoption, which Antony had obstructed, was now finally passed. Two, with the consulship, he had “succeeded to [Caesar’s] power,” at least in part, although there was more to do as and when opportunity offered. Three, now at last, he was in a position to “avenge his ‘father’’s death.”
The consul calmed the public by completing the payments that Julius Caesar had bequeathed to citizens, and by settling the bounties promised to the legions. He behaved with pretended gratitude to the Senate, but dared not attend its meetings without a bodyguard.