Octavian said, ‘Yes, but they are the wrong side of the Alps and are needed to hold down Gaul. Besides, we both know the commanders are not necessarily reliable, especially Lepidus.’
‘I shan’t argue with you,’ said Cicero. ‘The position boils down to this: you have the soldiers but no legitimacy; we have the legitimacy but no soldiers. What we do both have, however, is a common enemy – Antony. And it seems to me that somewhere in that mixture must be the basis for an agreement.’
Agrippa said, ‘An agreement you’ve just told us you have no authority to make.’
‘Young man, take it from me, if you want to make a deal with the Senate, I am your best hope. And let me tell you something else – it will be no easy task to convince them, even for me. There’ll be plenty who’ll say, “We didn’t get rid of one Caesar to ally ourselves with another.”’
‘Yes,’ retorted Agrippa, ‘and plenty on our side who’ll say, “Why should we fight to protect the men who murdered Caesar? This is just a trick to buy us off until they’re strong enough to destroy us.”’
Cicero slammed his hands on the armrests of his chair. ‘If that is how you feel, then this has been a wasted journey.’
He made as if to rise, but Octavian leaned across and pressed down on his shoulder. ‘Not so fast, my dear friend. No need to take offence. I agree with your analysis. My sole objective is to defeat Antony, and I would much prefer to do that with the legal authority of the Senate.’
Cicero said, ‘Let us be clear: you would prefer it even if – and this is what it would mean – you have to go to the rescue of Decimus, the very man who lured your adopted father to his death?’
Octavian fixed him with his cold grey eyes. ‘I have no problem with that.’
From then on, there was no doubt in my mind that Cicero and Octavian would make a deal. Even Agrippa seemed to relax a little. It was agreed that Cicero would propose in the Senate that Octavian, despite his age, be given imperium and the legal authority to wage war against Antony. In return, Octavian would place himself under the command of the consuls. What might happen in the longer term, after Antony was destroyed, was left vague. Nothing was written down.
Cicero said, ‘You will be able to tell if I have fulfilled my side of my bargain by reading my speeches – which I shall send you – and in the resolutions passed by the Senate. And I shall know from the movements of your legions if you are fulfilling yours.’
Octavian said, ‘You need have no doubts on that score.’
Atticus went off to find the steward and came back with a jug of Tuscan wine and five silver cups which he filled and handed round. Cicero felt moved to make a speech. ‘On this day youth and experience, arms and the toga, have come together in solemn compact to rescue the commonwealth. Let us go forth from this place, each man to his station, resolved to do his duty to the republic.’
‘To the republic,’ said Octavian, and raised his cup.
‘To the republic!’ we all echoed, and drank.
Octavian and Agrippa politely refused to stay the night: they explained that they needed to reach their nearby camp before darkness as the next day was Saturnalia and Octavian was expected to distribute gifts to his men. After much mutual backslapping and protestations of undying affection, Cicero and Octavian said goodbye to one another. The young man’s parting phrase I still remember: ‘Your speeches and my swords will make an unbeatable alliance.’ When they had gone, Cicero went out on to the terrace and walked around in the rain to calm his nerves while I out of habit cleared away the wine cups. Octavian, I noticed, had not touched a drop.
XVII
Cicero had not expected to have to address the Senate until the first day of January, when Hirtius and Pansa were due to take over as consuls. But on our return we discovered the tribunes had summoned an emergency meeting to be held in two days’ time to discuss the looming war between Antony and Decimus. Cicero decided that the sooner he made good on his promise to Octavian the better. Accordingly he went down to the Temple of Concordia early in the morning to show his intention of speaking. As usual I went with him and stood at the door to record his remarks.
Once word spread that Cicero was in his place, people began pouring into the Forum. Senators who might not otherwise have attended also decided they had better come to hear what he had to say. Within an hour the benches were packed. Among those who changed his plans was the consul-designate, Hirtius. He rose from his sickbed for the first time in weeks, and his appearance when he walked into the temple drew gasps. The plump young gourmet who had helped write Caesar’s Commentaries and who used to entertain Cicero to dinners of swan and peacock had shrivelled to barely more than a skeleton. I believe he was suffering from what Hippocrates, the father of Greek medicine, calls a carcino; he had a scar on his neck where a growth had been recently removed.
The tribune who presided over the session was Appuleius, a friend of Cicero. He began by reading out an edict issued by Decimus denying Antony permission to enter Nearer Gaul, reiterating his determination to keep the province loyal to the Senate and confirming that he had moved his forces into Mutina. That was the town where I had delivered Cicero’s letter to Caesar all those years before, and I recalled its stout walls and heavy gates: much would depend on whether it could hold out against a long siege by Antony’s superior forces. When he had finished reading, Appuleius said, ‘Within days – perhaps even already – the republic will be gripped once more by civil war. The question is: what are we to do? I call on Cicero to give us his opinion.’
Hundreds of men leaned forwards in anticipation as Cicero rose.
‘This meeting, honourable gentlemen, comes not a moment too soon in my opinion. An iniquitous war against our hearths and altars, our lives and fortunes, is no longer just being prepared but is actually being waged by a profligate and wanton man. It is no good our waiting for the first day of January before we act. Antony does not wait. He’s already attacking the eminent and remarkable Decimus. And from Nearer Gaul he threatens to descend on us in Rome. Indeed, he would have done so before now had it not been for a young man – or almost rather a boy, but one of incredible and near-godlike intelligence and courage – who raised an army and saved the state.’
He paused to allow his words to register. Senators turned to their neighbours to check they had heard correctly. The temple became a hubbub of surprise mingled with some notes of indignation and gasps of excitement. Did he just say the boy had saved the state? It was a while before Cicero could continue.
‘Yes, this is my belief, gentlemen, this is my judgement: had not a single youth stood up to that madman, this commonwealth would have utterly perished. On him today – and we are here today, free to express our views, only because of him – on him we must confer the authority to defend the republic, not as something merely undertaken by him, but as a charge entrusted to him by us.’
There were a few cries of ‘No!’ and ‘He’s bought you!’ from Antony’s supporters but these were drowned by applause from the rest of the Senate. Cicero pointed to the door. ‘Do you not see the packed Forum and how the Roman people are encouraged to hope for the recovery of their liberty? That now, after a long interval, when they see us assembled here in such numbers, they hope we have met together as free men?’
Thus opened what became known as the Third Philippic. It tuned Roman politics on its axis. It lavished praise on Octavian, or Caesar, as Cicero now called him for the first time. (‘Who is more chaste than this young man? Who more modest? What brighter example have we among youth of old-world purity?’) It pointed the way to a strategy that might yet lead to the salvation of the republic. (‘The immortal gods have given us these safeguards – for the city, Caesar; Decimus for Gaul.’) But perhaps even more important, for tired and careworn hearts, after months and years of supine acquiescence, it fired the Senate with fighting spirit.