He sent an amused account of his redux to Octavian:
I do not think I boast when I say that nothing can happen in this city these days without my approval. Indeed it is actually better than a consulship because no one knows where my power begins or ends; therefore rather than run the risk of offending me, everyone consults me on everything. Actually it is even better, come to think of it, than a dictatorship, because nobody holds me to blame when things go wrong! It is proof that one should never mistake the baubles of office for actual power – another piece of avuncular advice for your glittering future, my boy, from your devoted old friend and mentor.
Octavian wrote back at the end of March to report that he was doing as he had promised: his army of nearly ten thousand men was striking camp just south of Bononia, beside the Via Aemilia, and moving off to join the armies of Hirtius and Pansa in relieving the siege of Mutina:
I am placing myself under the command of the consuls. We are expecting a great battle with Antony within the next two weeks. I promise that I shall endeavour to perform as valiantly in the field as you have in the Senate. What was it that the Spartan warriors said? ‘I shall return either with my shield, or on it.’
Around this time, word began to reach Cicero of events in the east. From Brutus in Macedonia he learned that Dolabella – heading for Syria at the head of a small force – had reached as far as Smyrna on the eastern shores of the Aegean, where he had encountered the governor of Asia, Trebonius. Trebonius had treated him civilly enough and even allowed him to proceed on his way. But that night Dolabella had secretly turned back, entered the city, seized Trebonius while he was asleep, and subjected him to two days and nights of intensive torture, using whips, the rack and hot irons, to force him to disclose the whereabouts of his treasury. After that, on Dolabella’s orders, his neck was broken. His head was cut off and Dolabella’s soldiers kicked it back and forth through the streets until it was completely crushed, while his body was mutilated and placed on public display. ‘Thus dies the first of the assassins who murdered Caesar,’ Dolabella was said to have declared. ‘The first – but he will not be the last.’
Trebonius’s remains were shipped to Rome and subjected to a post-mortem examination to confirm the manner of his death before being passed to his family for cremation. His grisly fate had a salutary effect on Cicero and the other leaders of the republic. They knew now what to expect if they fell into the hands of their enemies, especially when Antony issued an open letter to the consuls pledging his loyalty to Dolabella and expressing his delight at Trebonius’s fate: That a criminal has paid the penalty is a matter for rejoicing. Cicero read the letter out loud in the Senate: it strengthened men’s determination not to compromise. Dolabella was declared a public enemy. It was a particular shock to Cicero that his former son-in-law should have exhibited such cruelty. He lamented to me afterwards: ‘To think that such a monster stayed under my roof and shared a bed with my poor dear daughter; to think that I actually liked the man … Who knows what animals lurk within the people who are close to us?’
The nervous strain under which he lived during those early days of April, while waiting for word from Mutina, was indescribable. First there would be good news. After months without contact, Cassius at last wrote to say that he was taking complete control of Syria: that all sides – Caesareans, republicans and the last remaining Pompeians – were flocking to him and that he had under his command a united army of no fewer than eleven legions. I want you to know that you and your friends at the Senate are not without powerful support, so you can defend the state in the best interests of hope and courage. Brutus also was meeting with success and had raised a further five legions, some twenty-five thousand men, in Macedonia. Young Marcus was with him, recruiting and training cavalry: Your son earns my approval by his energy, endurance, hard work and unselfish spirit, in fact by every kind of service.
But then would come more ominous dispatches. Decimus was in desperate straits after more than four months trapped in Mutina. He could only communicate with the outside world by carrier pigeon, and the few birds that got through brought news of starvation, disease and low morale. Lepidus meanwhile was moving his legions closer to the scene of the impending battle with Antony, and he urged Cicero and the Senate to consider a fresh offer of peace talks. Cicero was so incensed by this weak and arrogant man’s presumption that he dictated to me a letter that went off that same night:
Cicero to Lepidus.
I rejoice at your desire to make peace among citizens but only if you can separate that peace from slavery. Otherwise you should understand that all men of sense have taken a resolution to prefer death to servitude. You will act more wisely in my judgement if you meddle no further in this affair, which is not acceptable either to the Senate or the people, or to any honest man.
Cicero was under no illusions. The city and the Senate still harboured hundreds of Antony’s supporters. If Decimus surrendered, or if the armies of Hirtius, Pansa and Octavian were defeated, he knew he would be the first to be seized and murdered. As a safety precaution he ordered home two of the three legions stationed in Africa to defend Rome. But they would not arrive until the middle of the summer.
It was on the twentieth day of April that the crisis finally broke. Early that morning, Cornutus, the urban praetor, hurried up the hill. With him was a messenger who had been dispatched by Pansa six days earlier. Cornutus’s expression was grim. ‘Tell Cicero,’ he said to the messenger, ‘what you’ve just told me.’
In a trembling voice the messenger said, ‘Vibius Pansa regrets to report a catastrophic defeat. He and his army were surprised by the forces of Mark Antony at the settlement of Forum Gallorum. The lack of experience of our men was immediately evident. The line broke and there was a general slaughter. The consul managed to escape but is himself wounded.’
Cicero’s face turned grey. ‘And Hirtius and Caesar? Any news of them?’
Cornutus said, ‘None. Pansa was on his way to their camp but was attacked before he could join them.’
Cicero groaned.
Cornutus said, ‘Should I summon a meeting of the Senate?’
‘Dear gods, no!’ To the messenger Cicero said, ‘Tell me the truth – does anyone else in Rome yet know about this?’
The messenger bowed his head. ‘I went first to the consul’s home. His father-in-law was there.’
‘Calenus!’
Cornutus said grimly, ‘He knows it all, unfortunately. He’s in the Portico of Pompey at this very moment, on the exact spot where Caesar was struck down. He’s telling anyone who’ll listen that we’re paying the price for an impious killing. He accuses you of planning to seize power as dictator. I believe he’s gathering quite a crowd.’
I said to Cicero, ‘We ought to get you out of Rome.’
Cicero shook his emphatically. ‘No, no. They’re the traitors, not I. Damn them, I’ll not run away. Find Appuleius,’ he ordered the urban praetor briskly, as if he were his head steward. ‘Tell him to call a public assembly and then to come and fetch me. I’ll speak to the people. I need to steady their nerves. They must be reminded that there’s always bad news in war. And you,’ he said to the messenger, ‘had better not breathe a word of this to another soul, do you understand, or I’ll have you put in chains.’