When the door was shut I asked, ‘Why did you urge him to go to Rome? Surely the last thing you want is to encourage another Caesar?’
‘If he goes to Rome he’ll cause problems for Antony. He’ll split their faction.’
‘And if his adventure succeeds?’
‘It won’t. Philippus is right. He’s a nice boy, and I hope he survives, but he’s no Caesar – you only have to look at him.’
Nevertheless, he was sufficiently intrigued by Octavian’s prospects to postpone his departure for Athens. Instead he conceived a vague idea of attending the Senate meeting Antony had summoned for the first of June. But when we arrived in Tusculum towards the end of May, everyone advised him not to go. Varro sent a letter warning that there would be murder. Hirtius agreed. He said, ‘Even I’m not going, and no one’s ever accused me of disloyalty to Caesar. But there are too many old soldiers in the streets too quick to draw their swords – look what happened to Cinna.’
Octavian, meanwhile, had arrived in the city unscathed and sent Cicero a letter:
From G. Julius Caesar Octavianus to M. Tullius Cicero, greetings.
I wanted you to know that yesterday Antony finally agreed to see me at his house: the one that used to be Pompey’s. He kept me waiting for more than an hour – a silly tactic that I believe shows his weakness rather than mine. I began by thanking him for looking after my adopted father’s property on my behalf, invited him to take from it whatever trinkets he desired as keepsakes, but asked him to hand over the rest to me at once. I told him I needed the money to make an immediate cash disbursement to three hundred thousand citizens in accordance with my father’s will. The rest of my expenses I asked to be met by a loan from the public treasury. I also told him of my intention to stand for the vacant tribunate and asked him for evidence of the various edicts he claims to have discovered in my father’s papers.
He replied with great indignation that Caesar had not been king and had not bequeathed me control of the state; that accordingly he did not have to give an account of his public acts to me; that as far as the money went, my father’s effects were not as great as all that, and that he had left the public treasury bankrupt so there was nothing to be got from there either; as for the tribunate, my candidacy would be illegal and was out of the question.
He thinks because I am young he can intimidate me. He is wrong. We parted on bad terms. Among the people, however, and among my father’s soldiers my reception has been as warm as Antony’s was cold.
Cicero was delighted at the enmity between Antony and Octavian and showed the letter to several people: ‘You see how the cub tweaks the old lion’s tail?’ He asked me to go to Rome on his behalf on the first of June and report back what happened in the Senate meeting.
I found Rome, as everyone had warned us, teeming with soldiers, mostly Caesar’s veterans whom Antony had summoned to the city to serve as his private army. They stood around on the street corners in sullen, hungry groups, intimidating anyone who looked as though they might be wealthy. As a result, the Senate was very thinly attended, and there was no one brave enough to oppose Antony’s most audacious proposaclass="underline" that Decimus should be removed from the governorship of Nearer Gaul and that he, Antony, should be awarded both of the Gallic provinces, together with command of their legions, for the next five years – exactly the same concentration of power that had set Caesar on the road to the dictatorship. As if this were not enough, he also announced that he had summoned home the three legions based in Macedonia that Caesar had planned to use in the Parthian campaign and placed these under his own command as well. Dolabella did not object, as might have been expected, because he was to receive Syria, also for five years; Lepidus was bought off with Caesar’s old position of pontifex maximus. Finally, as this arrangement left Brutus and Cassius without their anticipated provinces, he arranged for them to be offered instead a couple of Pompey’s old corn commissionerships – one in Asia, the other in Sicily; they would have no power at all; it was a humiliation; so much for reconciliation.
The bills were approved by the half-empty Senate and Antony took them to the Forum the next day to be voted on by the people. The inclement weather continued. There was even a thunderstorm halfway through proceedings – such a terrible omen that the assembly should have been dismissed at once. But Antony was an augur: he claimed to have seen no lightning and ruled that the vote could go ahead, and by dusk he had what he wanted. There was no sign of Octavian. As I turned to leave the assembly I saw Fulvia watching from a litter. She was soaked from the rain but did not seem to notice, so engrossed was she in her husband’s apotheosis. I made a mental note to myself to warn Cicero that a woman who hitherto had been nothing more than a nuisance to him had just become a far more dangerous enemy.
The following morning I went to see Dolabella. He took me to the nursery and showed me Cicero’s grandson, the infant Lentulus, who had just learnt to take a few wobbling steps. It was now more than fifteen months since Tullia’s death, yet still Dolabella had not repaid her dowry. At Cicero’s request I began to broach the subject (‘Do it politely, mind you: I can’t afford to antagonise him’), but Dolabella cut me off at once.
‘It’s out of the question, I’m afraid. You can give him this instead in full and final settlement. It’s worth far more than money.’ And he threw across the table an imposing legal document with black ribbons and a red seal. ‘I’ve made him my legate in Syria. Don’t worry, tell him – he doesn’t have to do anything. But it means he can leave the country honourably and gives him immunity for the next five years. My advice, tell him, is that he should get out as soon as he can. Things are worsening by the day and we can’t be held responsible for his safety.’
I took the message back to Tusculum and relayed it verbatim to Cicero, who was sitting in the garden beside Tullia’s grave. He studied the warrant for his legateship. ‘So this little piece of paper has cost me a million sesterces? Does he really imagine that waving this in the face of some illiterate half-drunk legionary would deter him from sticking his sword in my throat?’ He had already heard what had happened at the Senate and in the public assembly, but wanted me to recite my precis of the speeches. At the end he said, ‘So there was no opposition?’
‘None.’
‘Did you see Octavian at all?’
‘No.’
‘No – of course not – why would you? Antony has the money, the legions and the consulship. Octavian has nothing but a borrowed name. As for us, we daren’t even show our faces in Rome.’ He slumped against the wall in despair. ‘I tell you something, Tiro, between you and me – I’m starting to wish the Ides of March had never happened.’
There was to be a family conference with Brutus and Cassius on the seventh day of June in Antium to decide their next steps: he had been invited and he asked me to accompany him.
We set off early, descending the hills just as the sun came up, and crossed the marshy land in the direction of the coast. The mist was rising. I remember the croaking of the bullfrogs, the cries of the gulls; Cicero barely spoke. Just before midday we reached Brutus’s villa. It was a fine old place built right on the shoreline with steps cut into the rocks leading down to the sea. The gate was blocked by a strong guard of gladiators; others patrolled the grounds; more were visible walking on the beach – I guess there must have been a hundred armed men in all. Brutus was waiting with the others in a loggia filled with Greek statuary. He looked strained – the familiar nervous tapping of his foot was more pronounced than ever. He told us he had not left the house for two months – amazing considering he was urban praetor and not supposed to be out of Rome for more than ten days a year. At the head of the table sat his mother, Servilia; also present were his wife Porcia and his sister Tertia, who was married to Cassius. Finally there was M. Favonius, the former praetor known as Cato’s Ape on account of his closeness to Brutus’s uncle. Tertia announced that Cassius was on his way.