Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

by R. W. Peake

  “General, I assure you I didn't know Natalis before this posting,” I said stiffly. “And the evidence against him is overwhelming. I can have the report and documentation sent to you so that you can examine everything yourself. You'll see that there is no question of his guilt.”

  “Be that as it may,” he shot back, clearly impatient with me. “You still overstepped your authority.”

  “Perhaps you can show me in the regulations exactly where the Camp Prefect is prohibited from doing such a thing?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

  For a moment, I thought his eyebrows were suddenly fleeing in an attempt to join the hair on his head. Clearly flummoxed, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he finally spoke.

  “Well, I don't believe such a regulation has been written yet,” he said grudgingly. “So I suppose that going by the letter of the regulations, you were acting within your rights. But,” he poked a finger at me, “you're violating the spirit of the regulations, and well you know it. Still, I don’t suppose it would hurt for me to examine this evidence.”

  I nodded my appreciation of the wisdom of his decision, but he was not through.

  “However,” he glared at me as he spoke, I suppose thinking he looked quite fierce, but it took more than a Norbanus to scare me. “If I find that the evidence is not quite compelling, you and I are going to have some trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “I can see why Augustus warned me about you,” he said, almost to himself.

  “Augustus?” I had not heard that term before. He looked at me sharply, then seemed to realize that we had been in the hinterlands of Greece for the last few months.

  “Oh yes, I suppose you wouldn't have heard. The Senate, in recognition and appreciation for all that Caesar has done, has awarded him the title of Augustus. That's how he's to be known in all official documents, monuments, and so forth from now on.”

  “I see,” was all I could think to say, for while I would refer to him publicly by whatever name or title he deemed appropriate, to my inner self he would always be Octavian.

  Even now, in these words that Diocles has been laboriously scribbling while I talk, I will continue to refer to him in the manner in which I first met him, with all the bravery of a man who is no longer important enough for it to matter.

  “It was the least the Senate could do,” Norbanus went on, interrupting my thoughts. “Especially after he relinquished all of his power back to the Senate and people.”

  I was sure that I had not heard correctly, and he evidently saw my surprise. He gave another of his barks.

  “Yes, I suppose if you didn't know of Augustus, you wouldn't know about that either. Well, I don’t have time to tell you of all that has occurred in Rome. I suggest you find someone to let you in on all that's happened. That is all.”

  I saluted, and walked out the door, my head spinning with all that Norbanus had just told me. I had to find someone who knew what was going on, as quickly as I could.

  “Yes, he is now Augustus. And yes, he called a meeting of the Senate where he relinquished all authority and returned it back to the Senate and people of Rome,” Cornelius confirmed after coming to my quarters at my request. I sat sipping my wine while he talked, my mind racing, trying to determine what was really going on. I may not have known Octavian that well, but I knew him well enough to understand that there was more to what was going on than just a simple transfer of power. It was the year of his seventh Consulship and Agrippa was his colleague again. Octavian was now thirty-six, while I was about to turn fifty-one, and he had spent every year since his nineteenth trying to first gain, then consolidate his power and control over Rome. Now, he was just giving it up? I could not see that happening, and I shook my head at Cornelius.

  “I'm not buying it,” I said flatly. “There has to be more to it than that. I just don’t see him giving up everything he’s worked for almost half his life.”

  Cornelius’ face gave away none of his thoughts, his tone very careful as he continued.

  “He still retains a great deal of autoritas. After he made his announcement to the Senate, there was a great uproar by the assembly, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

  I very well could, sure that the sleek, well-fed members of the Senate had the same thoughts running through their head that ran through mine. Octavian represented security and most importantly stability; his stepping down would seem to threaten that, which was not good for anybody.

  “The members of the Senate prevailed upon Octavian to accept the Praetorship of the provinces of Hispania, Gaul, and Syria, for a period of ten years. With Proconsular authority, of course,” Cornelius added, unnecessarily in my opinion, since I could not imagine that Octavian would take a Praetor’s post without having the ability to select Legates to rule on his behalf.

  Simply put, he could not be in three places at once. Cornelius went on to describe some of the other honors that the Senate conferred on Octavian. The doorway of his villa on the Palatine was decorated with laurel and oak in recognition of his ob cives servatos, the saving of the lives of Roman citizens, presumably by his actions in salvaging the Republic from the chaos of civil war. It was on this occasion that he was also given the cognomen Augustus, despite insisting that he continued to be referred to as Princeps. Finally, a golden shield, in the shape of a shield of the Legions, was erected in the Senate house, this monument in recognition of his valor, such as it was. Octavian is no coward, but martial ardor is not high on the list of his qualities. His courage is not primarily physical, yet I cannot say that he is not courageous; for a boy of nineteen years old to lay claim to all that Caesar had left him, in the face of men as formidable as Marcus Antonius, takes a tremendous amount of courage, along with a hard lump of iron in the soul. I thanked Cornelius for taking the time to inform me of these interesting developments, then sent him on his way. There was only one thing left to do, trying to determine what this all meant, and there was only one man I would trust to be able to tell me exactly.

  “I admit that it’s puzzling, but I don’t think that Octavian has really changed things that much,” Scribonius said, sitting in the same spot that Cornelius had been a short time before.

  We were sipping wine, Scribonius still carrying the vitus as acting Primus Pilus of the 13th but finished with his day’s duties. Before we started discussing this latest development from Rome, we had gone over one last time the list of candidates from the Centurions of the 13th for the new Primus Pilus that we would present to Norbanus, despite having no assurance that Norbanus would take our recommendations. There was also the business of getting rid of the dead wood from the Centurionate and the Optionate of the 13th, but somewhat to my surprise, that list was fairly short, or so Scribonius insisted. Putting that aside for the moment, I listened while Scribonius thought through all that I had told him. After his initial statement, he sat staring reflectively into his cup, his frown firmly in place. Finally, his face came alight, and he looked at me with a smile that told me he thought he had unraveled the mystery of Octavian’s decision.

  “There's an army in each of these provinces, correct?”

  I thought for a moment, then nodded. Under his reorganization, Octavian had fixed the sites for garrisons all about the Republic, and it was true that each of these provinces had a garrison in it.

  “True, but that’s not the entire army,” I pointed out. “There are more armies that he doesn’t have control over.”

  “Yes and no,” Scribonius replied. “He doesn’t have physical control perhaps, but do you doubt that any of the Legates in command are not Octavian’s men? Like Norbanus,” he pointed out. “He’s Octavian’s to the death, as are the other Legates, I’ll wager. So what has he given up, really? Besides, there are twenty Legions under the control of one man, while even if the Legates in the provinces not under his control decide to make mischief, they'd be heavily outnumbered. Whoever controls the bulk of the army controls Rome.”


  “True,” I granted, seeing the truth in what Scribonius was saying the instant it came out of his mouth.

  “And you can bet that the Senate knows it as well. Oh, some ambitious men may hold secret meetings and mutter about taking some sort of action to seize power, but it won’t go any farther than that.”

  I hoped he was right, though I was not so sure. I should have had more faith in Octavian’s ability to know what was going on in men’s minds and taking steps to stop any threat to his power before it really had a chance to get started. Marcus Crassus was a prime example of what would happen to a man who overstepped as far as Octavian was concerned.

  “So for all his protests to the contrary, Octavian hasn’t given up a thing, and I feel sorry for any man who forgets that. Now we’ll see what he does next, whether he actually leaves Rome and lets things settle down, or if he stays put and keeps an eye on the Senate,” my friend concluded.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” I asked.

  “If I were him, I would make myself scarce.” Scribonius did not hesitate. “If he stays around, it will show even the thickest Senator what a sham his stepping down is. No, he almost has to leave Rome to make his plan work.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” I said slowly, continuing to digest the conversation. I had a sudden thought because for the first time, what Octavian was doing made some sort of sense to me.

  “He’s not doing anything that hasn’t been done before,” I said. “So he can safely say that he's upholding the traditions of Rome as it was. And by giving up, or seeming to give up his power, he protects himself from the charge that he's trying to finish what his adopted father started by taking Rome back to being ruled by a king.”

  Scribonius was clearly pleased that I had worked this out for myself.

  “Exactly, but the reality is that he gives up nothing. He still has Proconsular power, and he's still the senior Consul for the year. Most importantly, he keeps the power of the army to himself. Make no mistake, Titus. Octavian is a king in everything but name.”

  Despite the fact that we were alone, I still found myself glancing over my shoulder. Accusing a man of aspirations to be a king is an extremely dangerous thing in Roman society; one only had to look at what happened to Caesar to understand that.

  “So what does that mean for us?” I asked suddenly.

  Scribonius considered for a moment.

  “I don’t think it changes much.” He shrugged. “We'll still march where we’re told, kill who we’re supposed to, and Rome will go on. And that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

  “That it is,” I agreed, lifting my cup in a toast to that sentiment. “Octavian needs the army more than ever because it ensures his status, so he’s unlikely to do more to us than he already has, at least in the short term. Farther down the road, who knows?”

  Now that I had an idea of what was happening, I felt better and was ready to enjoy our return to Siscia, so I summoned Diocles.

  “I know it’s short notice, but I want to have a dinner tonight with Gaius and Iras.”

  I expected that Diocles would not be happy that I was putting this on him, but he just gave me a smile.

  “I expected that, and we're already making preparations and I sent Agis to invite the young couple. They'll be here shortly after sundown.”

  I barely had time to get to the baths for a good cleaning, scraping, and changing into a clean tunic before my guests arrived, and I must say that I was looking forward to seeing my nephew. Scribonius was of course invited, and I even allowed Agis to sit at the table as well, telling Diocles to bring Egina, who had been waiting for him in Siscia while we had been on the march, or at least so I thought.

  “She ran off with a wine merchant from Pamphylia, or at least so I was told,” Diocles said, though he did not seem all that upset about it. I did not pry, but I admit I was curious about the story.

  When I entered the dining area to count the table, I saw that there was one extra setting, and when I looked over at Diocles with a questioning glance, he said nothing, but I knew immediately who it was for, and I felt tears stinging my eyes, understanding that it was for Balbus. I shook the depression off, refusing to allow myself to go back to that place I had been in the time after Balbus’ death. When Scribonius arrived, also cleaned up, and saw the empty place, he had the same reaction. We looked at each other, sharing our sadness without saying a word. Our momentary bout of self-pity was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door, and I heard Diocles open it, followed by the sounds of enthusiastic greetings. Despite my sadness, I felt a smile creasing my face, turning to the entrance just in time to see Gaius enter the room, followed by Iras, looking radiant in a yellow gown, her face suffused with that glow that seems to come to women with being pregnant. Seeing her looking so happy caused yet another pang of sorrow from remembering other women in my life who had that same glow, shaking it off as I crossed the room to embrace first Gaius, then Iras.

  “You didn’t waste any time did you?” I teased him as we embraced.

  “I don’t want to crush you since you’re pregnant,” I told her, while she blushed prettily. So did Gaius, who looked on, beaming with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

  "Who's the extra chair for? Are we expecting someone else?" Iras asked.

  "It's for Balbus," Scribonius answered quietly. "Since he'll always be with us, he'll always have a place at the table."

  When Scribonius was finished, there was a long silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  I finally looked up to see Gaius sitting there with a look on his face that I could not identify, yet somehow knew did not bode well. Our eyes met, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Uncle. But I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

  It felt like my blood froze in my body, and my first thought was that it concerned Gaius’ mother, my sister Valeria. My face must have reflected that, because he said hastily, “No, it’s not about my mother. She's fine. In fact, she wants to know why you don’t write more often.” He gave a weak smile before he continued. “But it is about home. It concerns Vibius Domitius. I’m sorry to tell you this Uncle, but Vibius is dead.”

  Despite my relief that Valeria was in good health, it was a short-lived feeling as I absorbed what Gaius had just said. I sat back, the queerest feeling I have ever experienced flooding my senses. Vibius Domitius, my boyhood friend, our bond first formed when I had rescued him from having his head dipped into a bucket of cac, was dead.

  “How did it happen?” I heard Scribonius ask.

  It took a moment for me to remember that Scribonius and Vibius had been good friends, and had maintained that friendship long after Vibius and I had our falling out.

  “My mother wasn't sure of the details, but apparently he had some sort of apoplectic fit at his tavern and just keeled over dead,” Gaius explained.

  I do not know why, yet I found that funny, and I gave a chuckle, causing some surprised looks around the table.

  “Probably someone tried to leave without paying,” I said, looking over to Scribonius, who was staring at me with disapproval. “You know how mad he'd get about being cheated.”

  Scribonius’ frown melted and he gave a soft laugh.

  “That’s true. He would certainly get worked up.”

  “You remember the time he thought Achilles had filched some of his vinegar when we were tiros?” I asked Scribonius, my mind transported back to the days when we had been the closest of friends, close comrades in every sense of the term, and sure that nothing would ever change that.

  Scribonius threw his head back, laughing again, this one from the belly as he went back with me through the years.

  “By the gods, I thought it would take every one of us to hold him down,” he said. “All for a bottle of vinegar.”

  “It’s not the vinegar, it’s the principle,” I shouted, mimicking the words that Vibius had continuously shouted while he had struggled to get free to
continue going after Spurius Didius, who we had nicknamed Achilles for the time he had stepped on a rusty nail during our first battle, taking himself out of the fight.

  Scribonius and I were now roaring with laughter, tears streaming down our face. Despite the others joining in, I think it was more at the sight of the two of us than the humor. With the others listening, Scribonius and I told stories about our old friend, and for the first time in years, I completely forgot the rancor of our falling out, when I had threatened to strike him down for his part in the mutiny against Caesar after Pharsalus. Instead, I remembered only the good times, or the times when we had shared hardship and dangers, and for the first time ever, I related the story of our first visit back home, when I had killed one of Vibius’ tormentors from the day he and I first met. Marcus was still a bully, with a gang of other youths that always seem to follow the boy with the biggest mouth. They had been terrorizing Astigi while Vibius and I had been on our first campaign in northern Hispania against the Lusitani and Gallaeci. When we had come home to visit, they had been in their usual spot loitering about the forum, looking for trouble. Unfortunately for them, Marcus and his friend Aulus had chosen to make some sort of slighting comment within our earshot. Vibius and I confronted them, and Marcus made the mistake of trying to draw a dagger, but neither Vibius nor I were raw youths anymore. We had become battle-hardened men, Legionaries of Rome, so in the time it takes to blink an eye, I had pinned Marcus to the wall with a thrust of my sword through the mouth. We escaped getting in trouble, partially because Marcus and his gang were known troublemakers, and it is very hard to punish Legionaries for crimes against civilians, even if they were citizens. However, the man who served as the unofficial provost of Astigi, a veteran himself, made it clear to us that we needed to go back to the army as quickly as possible. The dinner passed in this manner until, seeing that our guests were tiring of hearing old men reminisce, I changed the subject to Gaius’ visit to Rome.