Lepidus was more conscious than ever of those two mounds of flesh half-revealed by the top of her tunic. She was a very fine woman, as well as an intelligent politician; if she saw him as an attractive man as well as a Triumvir, well, was that absurd?
Their talk was sprinkled with endearments, but that was the fashion and meant nothing in particular. Fulvia had a habit of seizing his wrists to make sure she had his attention, or else with every other word she patted him on the chest. He tried to recall whether she spoke to everyone in the same manner, or whether she touched him because his body pleased her.
When it was time to leave he was still sitting beside her couch. For some hours they had been alone together (maids didn’t count). If it became known many people would think the worst. Marcus Antonius had divorced his first wife on flimsier evidence; and then hounded her reputed lover, Dolabella, until he fled the City. But Lepidus had not wronged his colleague, and on the whole he was glad of it. He felt sure he could win Fulvia, if he tried hard enough. But she would be a demanding mistress, and Junia would soon find out. It was more pleasant to sit chatting with this intelligent, loyal comrade, knowing that she would yield if he pressed her, but deliberately refraining from breaking the moral code of the ancestors.
That night they met again at a rowdy supper-party, where dancing-boys made such a racket that rational conversation was impossible. She sat beside his couch, on an ornate chair; again he passed hours with her bosom and legs before his eyes. Pleading a
headache, Junia had stayed at home.
By October bulletins were being read to the Senate twice daily, with the latest news of the fighting in Thrace. Forty legions were crowded round the little town of Philippi, digging trenches and assaulting palisades, as two mighty armies tried each to besiege the other after the new fashion of tactics. Presently came word that an accidental collision had developed into a pitched battle; or rather, into two simultaneous pitched battles; with differing fortune. Brutus had beaten young Caesar; he had broken his line of battle, and barely been repulsed from his camp. But the famous soldier Cassius, pitted against Marcus Antonius, had fallen on his sword when he saw his army dissolve in rout. Looked at as a whole, the result was a draw; two great armies still faced one another, and all was still to be won or lost. That was not how they saw it at ‘The Keels’.
When Lepidus looked in to show Fulvia her husband’s official dispatch he found her with the two. Consuls-designate, Plancus and the third Antonius brother, Lucius. All were excited and elated; Fulvia in particular was talking at the top of her voice, too interested in her audience to order them to withdraw and leave her alone with the ruler of Rome.
‘The boy has been shown up in his true colours,’ she exclaimed in triumph. ‘Even Brutus could beat him, Brutus who can’t inspect a guard of honour without tripping over his own sword. After this exhibition his soldiers won’t stick to him. My Marcus overcame the conquerer of the Parthians, the only commander who came well out of that disgraceful business at Carrhae. I used to hope that he would one day prove himself the best soldier in the world. Now he has done it.’
‘He has avenged the Dictator,’ Lucius put in. ‘Cassius instigated the murder-plot. He has still to avenge poor Caius, who was butchered by Brutus. In my family we stick together, and he won’t rest until that’s done. Then, I suppose, he will take over all the Caesarian legions, little Caesar will die of his next bout of fever, and Marcus will come home to make himself King of the Romans.’
‘Shut up, you fool,’ said Plancus roughly. ‘That’s no way to talk before a Triumvir. Don’t you know that the three of them are united in eternal friendship? All the same, Lepidus, there’s no denying that Antonius has shown himself a better man than young Caesar. Do you think he will be content to remain his equal?’
‘The war isn’t finished. Young Caesar may yet win a great victory,’ Lepidus answered mildly. ‘Marcus has been content to remain my equal, though he is a much better soldier than I am. War is not the sole activity of the government.’
He was not annoyed with Lucius Antonius, who had only said openly, in his brother’s house, what was known to the whole world as his candid opinion. Plancus had been far more irritating; untimely tact is more offensive than frank insubordination. To put the fellow in his place he continued: ‘Rank and title are at best only a rough guide to real power in the republic. When we crossed the Alps Marcus was my leader; at Bononia he made me his equal. Whether I am in fact his equal you may judge for yourselves. In the same way, every year the City is ruled by two Consuls, supreme embodiments of the authority of the republic. Yet in fact some Consuls are more important than others.’
‘Listen to that, Lucius,’ Fulvia shouted cheerfully. ‘The Triumvir has put you both where you belong. You and Plancus may be next year’s Consuls, but what do Consuls matter while there are Triumvirs to rule us?’
‘That’s right,’ Lucius shouted back (among themselves the Antonius family always conversed in shouts). ‘Of course we don’t matter, we humble Consuls. But we are also the faithful servants of good old Marcus, who will soon be tyrant of Rome. You’re an Antonian, aren’t you, Lepidus? You will help us if little Caesar Octavianus gets uppish?’
‘The Triumvirate is united, and all Triumvirs are equal in power,’ said Lepidus, now thoroughly nettled. ‘This conversation is most unsuitable. My dear lady, I came only to bring your husband’s official dispatch. It seems I intrude on a family gathering. I hope to call on you again when you are less occupied.’
Amid stunned silence he stalked to the door. These people might be relations of the greatest soldier in the world; but in Rome, on that day, Lepidus held power of life and death.
He was content with his warning, and took no further action. The next time Fulvia met him she apologized for her brother-in-law’s indiscretion, and Lepidus repeated his little sermon on the duty of Triumvirs to stick together. The government remained united.
Other observers had seen the increased importance of Marcus Antonius. Eunomus passed on to his patron a proposal, alleged to have come from Sextus Pompeius though there was nothing to authenticate it: beginning with a blunt suggestion that young Caesar should be killed by poison, and that Pompeius should take over the resulting vacancy in the Triumvirate, it continued with hints, impossible to pin down, that eventually Pompeius would combine with Lepidus to overthrow Antonius. ‘And then, I suppose, he will poison me,’ Lepidus said impatiently. ‘Does he think I am a halfwit, to join forces with a pirate who is looking for an accomplice in murder? Little Caesar is no danger to anyone, and I get on well enough with Antonius. Why should. I wish to change the Triumvirate, when I am already as great as any Roman?’
‘Caesar the Dictator was greater, my lord, and so for a short time was Pompeius Maximus. At present you are one of three rulers. Sextus proposes to make you one of two. Then of course he will plot against you. But you will be plotting against him, and who knows which of you will be victorious? The plan is worth consideration.’
‘I won’t consider it. If he puts it in writing I shall inform my colleagues, and we shall attack Sicily together. They might doubt my unsupported word; it’s so obviously to my interest to make trouble for young Sextus.’
‘Young Sextus commands a much greater force than is generally realized, my lord. I hope I have convinced you of that. It is something we should keep to ourselves. Private knowledge is useful in any negotiation.’
‘Young Sextus is a pirate, and an enemy of Rome. If you have been bribed to put in a word for him you may keep his money; you have earned it. I remain unimpressed. When the time comes Antonius will sweep him away. What can sailors do against legions?’
‘Very well, my lord. The decision is for you. If you combine with Pompeius you may destroy Antonius, and so rule the world. But if you combine with Antonius you must without fail destroy Pompeius, who is the weaker; though afterwards Antonius will still surpass you.’
‘I am content with my rank. Antonius may command more legion
s, but in the records I am set down as his equal. I have risen higher than any of my ancestors.’
It was typical of Eunomus to stake his winnings on another desperate gamble, to win even more if all went well; these Greeks were never satisfied. For a great statesman the game was too hazardous.
Within fifteen days the political situation changed again. News came that, after more siege-operations, Brutus had fought a second pitched battle on the old ground at Philippi. This time he had been defeated, to such effect that he must kill himself to avoid the dishonour of public execution. But, most tiresomely, young Caesar had behaved with the utmost gallantry in the hard-fought battle; with the unfair advantage of his name, he was now equal in popular esteem with Marcus Antonius.
This time Lepidus, hurrying round to ‘The Keels’with the official dispatch, found Fulvia alone. She received him in her boudoir, lying on the usual couch, as though their friendship had never been interrupted. It was disappointing that she already knew all about the campaign. Antonius had written to her, including in his letter news he had not bothered to pass on to the Senate.
‘My Marcus is a family man,’ she said proudly. ‘He was anxious to avenge the foul murder of poor Caius; Brutus has avoided punishment by his timely suicide. However, in this letter dear Marcus explains that he captured a fellow called Hortensius, the man whose sword actually killed Caius. So Marcus arranged a pious little ceremony, in which Hortensius was pole-axed on the very tomb of my unfortunate brother-in-law. They made it a proper sacrifice, with wine and barley-meal, and the liver cut out for inspection by a haruspex, as though this Hortensius were a four-legged beast. Don’t you think that shows a pretty vein of sentiment?’
‘A most impressive display of fraternal affection. But I hope your husband doesn’t develop a taste for that kind of thing. He is a man of extremes; if he does it too often he will make himself disliked.’
‘It won’t happen often. A brother is someone special, after all. Though I need not remind you of that. Your brother may have been proscribed, but the soldiers couldn’t catch him. I suppose he will be coming home, now the proscription is over.’
‘As a matter of fact, he won’t. I wrote to him not long ago, advising him that he could return in safety. His reply was most discourteous, when you remember all I did for him. He wrote that he preferred Miletus to Rome, because over there they don’t fight civil wars or murder their own kin. He says it is a cultured city, and he has no intention of leaving it. I suppose I shall never see him again.’
‘Oh well, that’s all the thanks a great ruler ever gets for his kindness. My Marcus also has a forgiving nature. He writes that he is sending to Rome the ashes of Junius Brutus. They will be delivered to Servilia, for burial in the family tomb. I suppose it’s too much to hope that Junia will write to thank him for his reverence. That obstinate wife of yours never has a kind word for my Marcus, though she thinks little Caesar the greatest man in the world. The two of them killed her darling brother between them, but Marcus gets all the blame.’
‘My dear lady, you know how things are in my home. I respect my wife; but she goes her way and I go mine.’
‘And your way, I hope, will be the way of my dear Marcus. Seriously, when the break comes you must line up on the right side. Marcus is staying behind in the east, where he can raise all the money he needs; he will fix up some kind of working agreement with Sextus Pompeius, who is stronger than most people think. Silly little Caesar Octavianus wants to come back to Italy, to find farms for his veterans. That’s the duty of Lucius, as next year’s Consul, but Caesar grudges him any authority. When Caesar begins to steal land he will make enemies on all sides. Then we pounce on him together; Marcus from Asia, Pompeius from Sicily, Lucius at the head of the dispossessed farmers of Italy itself. If you give us in addition control of the City we shall be grateful; but even without Rome we can’t lose. Will you join us?’
Lepidus sat up with a jerk. On the very day that news came of the ending of the civil war he was being invited to start another. Ought he to arrest this reckless lady? No, he dared not. To arrest his colleague’s wife would mean war with Antonius. But she was proposing that he join Antonius in war against Caesar. Was there no hope of peace? Then he recovered his spirits. Dear Fulvia was talking nonsense, not for the first time. If Antonius meditated war he would himself write to his supporters; he would not leave the organization of a plot to his wife. This must be her own idea. He would persuade her to be sensible.
Fulvia continued to pour out her plans. ‘You see what’s in Caesar’s mind? He wants to control the land-settlement of all Italy, while my Marcus defends Syria from the Parthians. Then Caesar’s troops, who didn’t do any fighting, will get immense estates; and loyal Antonian veterans will be fobbed off with the promise of some barren rock in the Appenines. A nasty plot, the sort of thing that sly shirker would think up. But the silly boy has forgotten one thing; from next January Italy will be governed by loyal Antonians. The Consuls-designate are my brother-in-law and Plancus, whom Marcus made Imperator. When the war starts we shall have the government in our hands, the treasury and all the prestige of the City. That will count with neutrals – if there are any neutrals. We shall have young Pompeius also, the surprise-packet who is so much stronger than people think.’
Lepidus jumped at this opportunity to stem the flow of words.
‘My secretary keeps on telling me that Sextus is stronger than I suppose, and now you repeat it. Very well, I shall faithfully suppose that he is very strong indeed. By this time every politician in Rome must know it. But his father was a failure. Don’t count on him too much.’
‘His father was a failure, but the youngster is great in his own right. Marcus Lepidus, I offer you supreme power – with my friendship. Don’t be false to your destiny.’
As she spoke the lady Fulvia moved restlessly on her couch; her arms opened as though for an embrace, and her tunic at last slipped below her breasts.
Lepidus was left dazed by a sudden flash of comprehension. Fulvia wanted him, as her partner in love, as her partner in power. All this talk about the rivalry between Antonius and young Caesar was just a blind, to keep the support of Lucius and Plancus. Here was a challenge to his manhood. He must accept it, or for the rest of his life mourn a lost opportunity.
He sprang from his chair. ‘Darling, with ardour I embrace my destiny. Together, you and I will rule the world!’
Before he could gather her in his arms he sat down again, with a thump that jarred his spine. The lady Fulvia had seen many boxing-matches, and her uppercut came from nowhere as she rose to her feet; but he could see her right hand travelling, palm open, to smack his cheek.
Then the assault was finished. She stood over him, hands on hips, shouting hysterically. ‘You fat miserable slug. You common hangman, employed to murder noble Romans while your betters do the fighting. You Lepidus. I can’t think of a fouler name to call you. Here, Melissa, fetch a looking-glass. Let the oaf see his scraggy neck and wobbling paunch. Did you imagine, you fool, that I would betray my husband for you? I, who am married to Marcus Antonius? Think for a minute, if you can. My Marcus is the bravest man in Rome, and the best looking, and the most ardent in bed – it’s known to all the world. And you thought to supplant him! Go away, and never come back. I don’t want to see your face again until-I see it stuck on a pole, like Cicero’s.’
On his way home Lepidus imagined the passers-by could see the red marks of fingers on his cheek, even through the drawn curtains of his litter.
In December young Caesar returned to Italy. His health was poor, but he was urgently needed in the countryside, where farmers threatened with eviction were gathering in menacing bands; they were themselves mostly old soldiers, prickly men to deal with. It was worse when they were harangued by Lucius and Plancus, the Consuls-designate, who explained that the new confiscations were the work of Caesar alone, and that as soon as Marcus Antonius came back he would see justice done.
The City also was restless. Fr
om Sicily the cruisers of Sextus Pompeius levied blackmail on the corn-ships, and the price of wheat rose. Marcus Antonius was collecting an enormous tribute from Asia; but he spent money as fast as he gathered it. No funds reached the central government, which must pay off a victorious army with the revenue of Italy alone. Even the most short-sighted could discern another civil war piling up on the horizon.
It broke very suddenly. In the middle of a December night Lepidus was roused from his solitary bed by Eunomus, to be told that Lucius Antonius was marching on Rome.
As soon as he understood the news he asked the question that came first to the mind of any experienced politician: ‘Never mind the strength of his army. What’s his warcry?’
‘Liberty, the republic restored. So I’ve been told.’
‘Then he’s too late. The men who would have rallied to that programme were killed in the proscription. He’s bound to lose. Anyway, it means alliance with the Optimates, so I can’t support him. Do you think I can stay neutral?’
‘No, my lord. You command in Rome, and you must defend the City. It’s the most maddening piece of rash imprudence. No one knows whether Marcus is behind his brother, and anyway he’s a thousand miles away. Nobody warned Sextus Pompeius in advance, so he will wait until he can offer assistance to the victor. All the army commanders in the provinces are equally in the dark. We were just organizing a coalition that would have forced Caesar to retire into private life without even making a fight of it. Now they have struck too soon, and their allies are afraid to move.’
‘Very well. Since I must choose, I have chosen. Mark that, Eunomus. I am a man of instant decision, twice Imperator, used to war’s alarms. Plans come to me in a flash, and I am never dismayed. I shall support young Caesar. Later a time may come when it is my manifest destiny to be sole ruler of the world. Then, let Caesar beware. For the present I shall preserve him.’
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