Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra

by Peake, R. W.

  “And where do you propose that we go, my wife?”

  I think it was the way that Antonius posed the question that convinced me that this was all a sham, that everything had already been decided, making me realize that the look on Canidius’ face was one of resignation, because he knew he was wasting his breath.

  “Well, it would seem that since our most pressing problem is keeping a supply line open and that a large part of the reason is the length of that line, it would make sense to shorten it. The best way to shorten it is to sail back to Alexandria.”

  Now it was the turn of the Eastern heads to start nodding up and down in approval, although I noticed that it was not unanimous.

  “So you’re proposing that we just abandon most of our army to save your precious fleet?”

  I turned in some surprise, since it was Spurius who asked this question, making no attempt to hide in the crowd, in fact stepping forward to be recognized. Perhaps he was counting on his status as being a favorite of Antonius, but it was a courageous thing to do no matter what his reasoning.

  “No, Spurius, I am not proposing that,” Cleopatra replied coolly. “I would not just leave those Legions to their own devices. I would emplace them at strategic points along the coast and in the interior, forcing Octavian to devote some of his own troops to counter this threat. He cannot leave a substantial force in what would become his rear as he turns his attention to Egypt, where the army would be able to refit and prepare defenses that no army could penetrate.”

  Spurius looked to Antonius, who said nothing, choosing instead to examine the large signet ring on his finger. The Primus Pilus of the 3rd stood helplessly and I could see his fists clenching and unclenching as he struggled to guard himself from voicing his anger and frustration. Careful Spurius, I thought, or you could end up choking on your own tongue like Eumenis. However, Spurius had not achieved and maintained his position by being stupid, so he said no more. For several moments, nothing was said by anyone. Finally, I heard the sound of a throat clearing and I looked away from Spurius to see Canidius standing again.

  “Your Highness, as you have complimented my plan, allow me to compliment yours for having some merit. However, it is a military axiom that you never, ever divide your army. Despite understanding your attachment to the fleet, I respectfully disagree that it is the most important. Navies can help control territory, but only armies can take and hold cities, towns, and countries. Weakening the army by dividing it makes each part more likely to be defeated, and every defeat makes holding territory impossible. But I understand your attachment to your fleet, which is why I am making an alteration to your proposal.”

  He paused, the silence as we waited for what he was going to say next hanging like a blanket over the entire forum.

  “I believe that the best course of action, given our respective opinions, is that the fleet does exactly as you say. It should fight its way out and return to Egypt. And of course, they will fight all that much harder if you command the fleet. Then, we will remain here, under the command of the Triumvir, and continue the fight.”

  Cleopatra looked as if she had been slapped, while Antonius sat upright, only slightly less shocked. This obviously was not part of the plan and I suspected that there had been a discussion before this meeting among the three about how it would go. Evidently, this new proposal had not been part of that discussion. Cleopatra’s mouth opened but nothing came out, then she looked to Antonius for help. Antonius frowned at Canidius, clearly irritated that he had not followed the plan.

  “General,” he said coldly. “It's out of the realm of possibility to do as you suggest. We can't hope to achieve victory without the fleet in support of the army. I'm surprised that you would suggest otherwise.”

  Canidius affected a look of surprise.

  “Triumvir, I'm not suggesting that we send the whole fleet back to Egypt. I'm sure that the Egyptian navarchae would fight to the death to protect the queen. We should allow them to escort the queen back, while our Roman and other allied commanders would stay in support of the army.”

  So there it was, out in the open. One last-gasp effort on the part of a Roman to become a Roman army again, commanded and supported by a Roman general and Roman navy respectively. The silence that followed stretched for several heartbeats, with both Antonius and Cleopatra glaring at Canidius, who stood, unyielding. Any bad feelings I had continued to hold for Canidius had evaporated in that moment, since I knew perhaps better than anyone else in that crowd what he risked in crossing Cleopatra. Finally, Antonius spoke again, his tone as hard and unyielding as it had been on the day that Quintus Postumius was torn apart.

  “Your proposal is not accepted, General. I will not weaken the fleet by dividing it. That would make it easier for Octavian and Agrippa to capture each part. As it is, now that Agrippa and Octavian have combined, the fleet is outnumbered, though not by much. Dividing the fleet would make that disparity in numbers much larger.”

  “Then burn it,” Canidius said. “Burn the fleet so that it can be of no use to Octavian.”

  Cleopatra leaped to her feet, livid with rage.

  “Burn it? Burn the fleet?” She was shrieking now, clearly beside herself. “Do you realize how much money it cost, the amount of work that went into building it, you stupid man? And you’re suggesting that we burn all that money? All of my money?”

  I had never seen Cleopatra so angry, but Canidius refused to back down, as now Gaius Sosius, who had been made one of the commanders of the Roman contingent of the fleet stood from his spot arrayed behind the royal couple, coming to stand next to Canidius.

  “I agree with Canidius, Triumvir. We can't win unless we do as he suggests.”

  He turned to squarely face Cleopatra, then said in a louder voice so that there was no chance he would not be heard, “In fact Triumvir, I'll go farther than the General. I say that we can't win as long as the queen is present.”

  There is no way adequately to describe the shock that accompanied Sosius’ statement, on the part of everyone present. Cleopatra took a staggering step backward, then in the next instant she sprang forward, clumsily trying to pull her sword, clearly intent on running Sosius through, but Antonius was too quick for her. Reaching out he grabbed her wrist, restraining her with ease, while she spit and clawed, screaming at Sosius in what I recognized was not Macedonian Greek, but the native Egyptian tongue. Men began shouting, shaking their fists in approval at Sosius’ words, as all the pent-up frustration and rage at the queen came pouring out. It quickly became impossible to distinguish one man’s voice from another, complete pandemonium reigning for several moments. Antonius was now holding Cleopatra around the waist, and she was flailing her arms in an attempt to get at Sosius, still standing next to Canidius, both men shaking their fists at Cleopatra. I saw Antonius’ mouth open as he took a giant breath.

  “TACETE!”

  At first, nobody obeyed, but then he bellowed the order again and again, so that finally things calmed down. Antonius, to my surprise, did not look angry. In fact, he looked more tired than I had ever seen him and the moment order was restored and Cleopatra was seated, still glaring daggers at Sosius, who glared back, he slumped into his own chair.

  “We're not burning the fleet,” he said tiredly. “We can’t burn it because it would strand us here, and there would be nothing to stop Octavian. He could go straight to Egypt and there would be nothing to stop him. So, we're not burning the fleet. We're going to do as the queen proposes. We'll take the veteran Legions with us to Egypt. The other Legions will be deployed at strategic points along the coast to tie down Octavian’s own army. Canidius,” he turned to face the general, “you'll command that effort. The queen and I will be commanding the fleet and the accompanying Legions.”

  He stood, signaling that the meeting, if that is what it could be called, was at an end.

  “You'll be informed where each of your Legions will be heading in the next day. I expect each of you to do your duty to Rome, and to me in thi
s matter. That is all.”

  We were then dismissed to go back to our Legions to make them ready. I had little doubt that as the most experienced Legion left in the army, the 10th would be expected to board ships to go with Antonius and Cleopatra, something that I had no intention of doing.

  I immediately called for Scribonius to tell him what was happening, along with some others. We sat in my private quarters, with Gaius, Diocles, and Balbus present as well, and I had taken a chance by asking Macrianus to attend. Because I had not spent as much time with the man as I had hoped, it was something of a question in my mind how much he could be trusted. They sat on stools in front of my desk while I told them what had transpired, then outlined what I was sure would be the plan for the 10th Legion. As I talked, I watched Macrianus carefully, trying to judge his reaction to what I was saying; I was pleased to see his face cloud at the idea of getting on a ship and sailing to Egypt. Once I was finished, I looked at the others, giving Scribonius a silent signal that I did not want him to speak, knowing that neither Balbus nor Gaius would be comfortable speaking first, for different reasons. Macrianus sat looking back at me, gradually becoming aware that I was waiting for him to say something. He opened his mouth, then shut it.

  “Speak your mind, Macrianus,” I told him. “I give you my word that nothing you say will leave this tent.”

  “I don’t want to take my men to Egypt,” he replied instantly, seeming to be relieved to be able to get it out. “I don’t see the point in prolonging this any more than we already have.”

  I took notice that his first concern was not for himself, but for his men. With some of the other Centurions, if they had said as much it would have sounded false, but I had come to know Macrianus well enough to know that he was being genuine in his concern. However, I decided that it was time to push Macrianus further.

  “That's understandable,” I acknowledged. “But what exactly does that mean? If I were to tell you that we would refuse the order to go, what would you do? It’s easy to talk here in the tent. It’s another thing entirely when the moment is at hand.”

  The younger man said nothing for a moment, giving me a level stare that did not betray his thoughts in any way.

  Finally, he said, “If you give the order, Primus Pilus, I'll follow it.”

  “And if I give the order to get on the boats?”

  He paused again before nodding his head. “I would obey that as well. But I wouldn’t like it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” I agreed. “But I would expect you to obey.”

  I looked over at Scribonius, asking him, “Do you still think I should wait?”

  He nodded. “Do you want to end up like Postumius? Antonius and Cleopatra are clearly at the end of their tether, and if they get wind of anything they think is a plot, your guts are going to be scattered all over the forum.”

  There was no need for any more convincing than that. I do not know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between the council and that moment in the tent, I had decided that I would not wait to hear from Octavian to lead a mutiny of the 10th Legion.

  After this flurry of events occurred, there was a period of inactivity for us that stretched for several days. An air of gloom and despair hung over the entire army, the men waiting for whatever was going to happen next. While the men in the army waited, Antonius’ naval contingent was hard at work, inspecting and refitting the best of the ships in the bay, most of them riding at anchor idle or beached for the last several months. It was now the end of Sextilis; we had been at Actium more than nine months and had been on short rations for the last several weeks. Despite the fact that the ground had dried out somewhat, there were still hordes of mosquitoes that came out in the evenings, drawn to the host of fleshy targets sitting about their fires. Men were still sick with fevers of varying origins and severity, while their condition was not helped by the reduced rations. The leather of our tents was wearing thin and I was worried that the first bad storm would rip them apart, and the only thing keeping us from starving was the daily arrival of at least one and sometimes two trains of mules carrying grain and other supplies. Still, men from Octavian’s camp were allowed to visit friends in ours, creating an air of unreality about the impending battle.

  I was still waiting for a message from Octavian, but the atmosphere was so oppressive, with the men entering the camp so closely watched that I did not see how he could send word to any of the men working for him in Antonius’ army. However, I should have known him better than that; Octavian is not a man easily thwarted, and is as clever a man at deception and guile as I have ever met. The day that I had been dreading happened on the same one that Quintus Delius again changed sides, somehow managing to slip out of camp to run to Octavian, carrying in his head all of Antonius and Cleopatra’s plans. Taking advantage of the uproar at the Praetorium, with Antonius ordering a search for the missing man, one of those visiting the camp slipped away from his host and asked his way to our area. He ran into Ovidius, my Quintus Princeps Prior, who directed the man to my tent, where Diocles was sitting in the front office, going through the motions of compiling the daily report. I was lying down in my quarters, when Diocles came to tell me that I had a visitor.

  “He’s a Senator, but I’ve never seen him before,” he whispered. “I think he might be from Octavian.”

  That got my attention, my heart beginning to thud against my ribs as I sat up. Telling Diocles that I would be out momentarily, I straightened myself up, then entered the outer office. The man who was standing just inside the front flap had iron-gray hair, cut almost as short as mine. He was perhaps ten to fifteen years older than I was, but still fit for his age. He was wearing a tunic of expensive linen, edged with the senatorial stripe, but even if he was not wearing it, his badge of rank was plain to see in his face and in the way he carried himself. Proud nose, head slightly tilted upward, skin gleaming from the oil that some slave applied every morning and evening, mouth turned slightly downward to show his distaste at being in such surroundings. I instantly hated the man.

  “Primus Pilus Titus Pullus?”

  His voice was surprisingly raspy, as if he had spent a fair amount of his time bellowing at the top of his lungs.

  “I am,” I replied.

  “I am Gaius Amulius Marcellinus and I bring greetings from Caesar Octavianus Divi Filius. We do not have much time, so I will be brief. I am instructed to give you a message from him.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, a thought suddenly struck me. Before he could continue, I held up my hand.

  “My apologies, Gaius Amulius Marcellinus, but how do I know you are who you say you are, and that you truly bear a message from the man you name?”

  He stiffened at the question, but his tone was even as he replied, “Caesar says that there is still an open dinner invitation that neither of you have had the time to fulfill. In case you asked that very question.”

  I relaxed, but only a little, remembering that long-ago evening when I dined with Caesar and Octavian, when he gave his invitation to dine with just him and me. Satisfied, I nodded for him to continue.

  “Caesar sent me to remind you of a debt, I believe? And he suggests that this would be the appropriate time to repay that debt. Of course, he leaves it up to you as to the best way to do so.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking of my body, but I said nothing.

  “Primus Pilus, I require an acknowledgment that you have received and understood my message before I can depart,” Marcellinus said, making his voice as gentle as I suppose was possible.

  Gulping, I nodded, then realizing he expected more, I replied, “I understand the message you have given me.”

  I was surprised at the sound of my voice, it sounding hoarse, as if I had been yelling all day.

  Marcellinus gave a slight bow, then turned to leave.

  “If you will excuse me, Primus Pilus, I have more messages to deliver while your general is still occupied elsewhere.”

  W
ith that, he left the tent, leaving me suddenly bathed in sweat as if I had just been working at the stakes for a third of a watch. When I looked over at Diocles, he was staring back at me wide-eyed, but was already up and moving.

  “I'll go get Scribonius,” he said as he left the tent.

  The moment was now at hand. Later the same day that Marcellinus showed up in my tent, Antonius gave the order to burn a large number of the ships in the bay. Because of the desertions and sickness, there were not enough crews left to man all of the vessels of the fleet, so the best had been selected, with the remainder put to the torch. The sky filled with an inky, greasy smoke, carrying huge particles that deposited themselves on anything in the way. Additionally, the order was also given for the Legions designated to leave with the fleet to pack their personal belongings. Our tents and stakes that were part of the rampart of the camp were to be left behind, along with our artillery and other items of heavy gear, both to save room and to supposedly fool the enemy about our departure. We were told that we would begin loading the next morning, although there were to be no transports used; most of the ships were the huge quinqueremes and quadriremes, with perhaps a quarter of the fleet triremes, along with a smattering of smaller scout ships. Despite the fact that I had no intention of going through with putting my men on ships, I had to participate in the fiction to a certain degree, so I gave the order for the men to pack.

  Walking about the Legion area, I saw that the men were sullenly obeying, moving slowly, just quickly enough to avoid being smacked with the vitus of their Centurions. Sensing the eyes of the Centurions on my back as I passed by, I felt their probing gazes seemingly searching my soul for a clue about what lay in store for them, but I kept my face a mask. After seeing to the men, I returned to my tent to make my own preparations for what was about to happen. Shortly before dark, Scribonius arrived from seeing to his Cohort, his face taut with the tension that we were feeling.