Augustus i-1

by Allan Massie

  I am tired, and yet cannot sleep. I know the mood. It has come on me before, on the eve of great occasions, and I have learned to recognize it as an expression of divine intimations. Tomorrow is consecrated to Apollo and Diana – her chariot sails high now above the Tiber, I can see her glint on the marble of the Forum that is sleeping almost below me, and very soon the Sun-God's rosy fingers will touch the Palatine and her own temple here on my Palatine hill; touch them with the new light I have been instrumental in giving Rome. I say tomorrow, but it is already by some hours today, first of tomorrows. And there will be no blood in our sacrifices to sun and moon. The children will sing the new Carmen Saeculare to bring these Games to full conclusion: I have instructed that every purpose of our four days' ritual be woven into the song: the first night's ancient ceremonies with prayers in an antique Latin none now understands; then the recognition of our dependence on the bounty of Mother Earth; our prayers by day to the old tutelary Gods of Rome, and our welcome to the Gods of Light. How I wish Virgil had lived to write the piece, for his spirit broods over these ceremonies which are designed and, I trust, also destined, to fulfil what he promised: 'Caesar Augustus, son of a God, who shall establish the age of gold in Latium, over fields that once were Saturn's realm.' But Horace has done a commendable job; he has taste if not vision…

  I look to the east, as once, under the mountains of Illyria in a cold dawn of March, I gazed westwards… Strange reflective note, written in high emotion. I did right to associate these Games and ceremonies with that sleepless night when I brooded over what Caesar's murder meant for me and for Rome. The Secular Games represented – I see still more clearly now – the completion of the task I had set myself, they were the apogee of my life. Of course I must admit that the young student who found himself Caesar's heir hardly thought of what he could do for Rome. The city was for him merely a field of opportunity. That young man now seems impossibly remote to me. Trying to remember his feelings is like trying to understand an historical character. I am amazed by his nerve. When I consider the arguments that his stepfather Philippus advanced, I wonder at his temerity in rejecting them. I am staggered to consider how he set himself to outwit Cicero, and even more so by his success in doing so. Yet one thing still rankles: Cicero's gibe: 'The young man must be praised, decorated and disposed of…' He should not have said that.

  Always, in my dreaming memories of those days (and my sleep now is ever shallow, disturbed by dreams) the figure of Antony rises before me, in its beauty, panache and vulgarity. How I envied him… How I wished that I had his power to arouse devotion with a careless word, a smile breaking from his frowning face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. Yet how little judgement he had. 'You, boy, who owe everything to a name.' Had he been generous to me, had he even refrained from swindling me, how willingly I would have thrown myself at his feet. Even the horror he had inspired in me in Spain had changed to a sort of glamour.

  When I met him that first time after the murder, on a late May morning in a house that had been Pompey's, he was insolent and unsmiling, and I sat in silence. Why did he disdain to employ his charm on me? I was still so young, and afraid in my heart. I yearned for him to take me in his arms, and promise… what? That he would see me right? That he would avenge Caesar? I do not know. I recall the flickering mood, as the light flashed on his jewelled hand. I see him lying back, tawny and full-throated, the wide generous mouth drawn down at sneering corners. My flesh crawled when I remembered that night in Spain; yet, if he had approached me… The truth is, I was at least half in love with him. Remember, I was only eighteen, still a boy, and for six months schooled in love by Maecenas. Was he deterred by my Spanish negative?

  These are the maunderings of senility. Love could no more have held us together, than it was love that made Antony turn to Cleopatra. Nor was it merely ambition caused my break with Antony. We were divided by our different visions of Rome. For Antony the State existed to be plundered. I trust I have shown what my view has always been. Yet now, looking back, how full of regrets my memories of Antony are. What we regret most in life are not the crimes we have committed, but the opportunities which we let slip to be someone other than the person one has become. In a small secret tucked-away part of my nature, I have always desired to be Antony's lover and to have lived as such without responsibility.

  Of course, when we came together again, it was too late. I had grown up, pushed Maecenas to the hinterland of my affection, formed other tastes. Moreover, Antony and I then did in concert that which made any intimacy impossible. The Proscriptions were a crime. My name is stained with the blood of those we pricked. They were necessary, an imperative imposed by the fact of civil war. I have never doubted that. Yet I have never been able to forget the children we made fatherless, the sons we slew who should have been the joy and stay of their fathers. Antony and I were divided by the deed that joined us together. On the one hand we were partners against a revengeful world. On the other I could not look him in the eye. And the Fates, which give so much, drawing out a long thread of promise and fulfilment, never fail to act without savage irony. The scissors cut the thread, promise is buried, fulfilment turns to smoky ash in the mouth. The crimes I committed on other unknown fathers have not gone unpunished. The mocking Fates have destroyed my own hopes and joy in living.

  How little of that I foresaw as I gazed to the Alban Hills and dawn brought roses to the sky that would overlook our bloodless sacrifices to the deities of Light.

  SEVEN

  Yet the next years were the happiest of my life. I look back on them now as a man shivering in January wind may pine for the beneficent skies of June, hardly able to believe their reality. Well is it said, whom the Gods wish to destroy they first make mad. My euphoria these years now seems to have been an idiot's joy. It was as if I trusted that the laws of the world, the inexorable working of action and consequence, had been suspended for me. It was as if I was being rewarded for my struggles with happiness, and it did not occur to me that you are never allowed to pay for happiness in advance.

  The Republic was calm and orderly. True, the Germans threatened on the Rhine, and even defeated Marcus Lollius, capturing an eagle of the Vth legion; but this defeat was more humiliating than serious. The following year I arrived in the province myself, with my stepsons Tiberius and Drusus, and taught the barbarians a sharp lesson. That brief campaign pleased me, for it showed that both the boys were ready to take their full part in the government of the Empire. Both revealed military talent. Tiberius was a stern disciplinarian, but unlike many such was admired and trusted by the soldiers; they knew he would never be prodigal of their lives, and he never has been. Every advance was meticulously planned. However, though prudent to the point of caution, he was never indecisive; he took time to brood over a decision. Once taken, he saw to it that execution was brisk and efficient. There has been no general of Rome, not even Agrippa, to whom I have more happily and confidently entrusted my soldiers. Drusus had more dashing qualities, and a charm of manner his brother lacked (though it is one of Tiberius' qualities that he has never felt this lack; he has been aware of it of course, but it has never perturbed him, and he was never jealous of his younger brother).

  I was so impressed by their conduct in Gaul that I gave them joint command of the north-eastern part of our European frontier. Unrest was seemingly endemic there, especially among the mountain tribes of the Tyrol and Bavaria. The territory was of strategic importance, for only by commanding it could we obtain a satisfactory land route to Illyria and Macedonia. My stepsons conceived and carried out a brilliant pincer movement, defeating the Rhaeti and Vindelicae and pursuing them through the Alps. They drove forward to the Danube, and won territory for Rome and glory for themselves. I asked Horace to celebrate their achievement, which he did in noble lines. This was a supreme example of the ancient virtue of Rome. Livia burned with justified pride at what her sons had done, and was grateful to me for the confidence I had shown in the boys.

  I mys
elf passed two years in Gaul. I inaugurated the building of more than twenty towns, transferring the rude inhabitants of the old hill fortresses of Bibracte and Gergovia (both of which had offered stiff resistance to Julius Caesar) to new cities which they were proud to name in my honour, Augustodonum [Autun] and Augustonemetum [Clermont]. I made Lugdonum [Lyon] the centre of financial administration for the whole of Gaul and established a mint there. I encouraged the use of Latin, built roads and bridges and let it be known that I was always ready to act myself as a judge of appeal. I admired the noble bravery of the Gauls, and found them honest and frank in speech. No provincials appealed more to me. It gave me deep pleasure to foster the spread of civilization there. I had another reason for my tender care for the province. No one can read Julius Caesar's account of his Gallic wars without having his pride in Roman achievement corrupted by the shame he must experience at reading of Caesar's cruelty. I know nothing in the annals of warfare so horrible as his lapidary account of massacres, and I could never forget that Cato had proposed Caesar be handed over to the Gauls to be tried as a war criminal. As Caesar's heir, it was my duty to expunge the memory of these atrocities, to make the sufferings of the Gauls in some way worthwhile. I succeeded. I did not try to suppress local customs or even the Druid religion, of which all civilized men stand in awe, but I held out to them all the riches of Greece and Rome, and, because I did so in a generous and admiring spirit, the Gauls welcomed my gifts. My treatment of Gaul stands second in my estimation to my ending of the civil wars and restoration of the Republic in the catalogue of what I have done for Rome and mankind.

  Meanwhile Agrippa was in the East. He established colonies for veterans in Syria. I may say in passing that this sort of colonization is the best means of stabilizing lands of uncertain loyalty. It provides a focus for what, to coin a word, I may call Romanization. He then visited Judaea and wrote to me from there: You are quite right about the oddity of the Jews. It seems to be true that they worship only one God. I could hardly believe this was possible, and made enquiries, but no, it seems to be the case. It is flying in the face of everyone's experience as well as common sense. What's more, it doesn't seem to do the one thing you might think useful. I mean of course, that there might be something to be said for asserting that there is only one God – monotheism is, Julia reminds me, the Greek word for this, and it's typical of the Greeks to have a word for a foreign concept – if it achieved some sort of tribal unity. I mean, we have our national Gods, don't we, and I could see some point in having a single deity for Rome. But it doesn't work out like that. No fear, not with the Jews. They squabble among themselves the whole time, just as if they were all adherents of different and hostile gods. They are divided into sects, and one thing I have understood quickly is that it is better for us to keep them in that condition, 'divide and rule' as Julia puts it.

  I think however I have gained some credit by offering sacrifices to their 'one true god'. They wouldn't allow me in their Temple to do so. It seems they keep some sacred relic there which they call the Ark of the Covenant, and non-Jews may not set eyes on it. Sacrifice doesn't play an important part in their religion, which is odd too. However, they were pleased by my actions, though I am told that some extremists called Zealots thought it an act of what they call blasphemy. These Zealots are a wild bunch who totally reject everything Rome has to offer. Fortunately the dominant sect, who are called Pharisees – sounds Egyptian, doesn't it? And we both know where you can put the Gyppos – fear the Zealots themselves, and are very happy to see us smack them down.

  We were invited here by King Herod. I can't remember how well you know him. I met him first years ago. He has an abundance of charm, of a rather slimy sort, but he doesn't improve with age or acquaintance. I don't like the way he keeps sniffing around Julia. Fortunately, his wife (who is his second wife and a cousin too) is what the soldiers call 'a tough cookie or ratbag' and your Jewish Majesty doesn't dare do more than sniff. Needless to say, Julia finds his attentions repulsive, but it would be undiplomatic to choke them off too abruptly.

  Julia is in marvellous form and wins hearts wherever she goes. For all that, she is a loving and faithful wife to her middle-aged husband. For we are, alas, middle-aged, you and I. (I suppose Maecenas is still painting his face so as he can look young?) The boys are splendid. Little Lucius had a slight fever last week, but is better again. He keeps asking when is he going to see Grandpa. We would all like to do that, old friend. As for me, my gout is hellish painful. I sometimes wake up screaming with pain. I tried to read Virgil's poem -too deep for me – there was a bit though in the Sixth Book which Julia picked out about the horrors of the Underworld. They sounded a bit like gout. Not bad stuff that bit.

  Finally, the good news. Julia is pregnant. The child is due in six months, and now that she is over the morning sickness, we have decided she should sail back to Rome with the boys.

  Maybe you can meet them somewhere in the summer. She proposes spending the hot weather at one of my villas on the Bay of Naples…

  Take care of yourself. Rome could spare me, but not you, old friend. M. Agrippa. I replied as follows: My dear Agrippa, I am of course delighted by your news, though as usual my joy is overlaid by worry that Julia will come through all right. How pleased it makes me when you write so lovingly of my child, and how glad I am that this marriage (of which, it amuses me to recall, you were so nervous) should have cemented our old friendship so firmly that nothing but death can break the bonds. I would worry about her fitness to travel in her condition if I were not quite certain that you would never have permitted it without taking the best advice and every precaution. I shall indeed be in Italy this summer, and long to see her and the boys. They must of course come to stay with us.

  As for your gout, I feel for you, and have consulted my physician Antonius Musa. He tells me that there is no certain cure, but that you can alleviate the condition by abstaining from red wine and red meat. White wine and cheese is what he recommends. He really is a flibbertigibbet and jack-in-the-box. He takes me off white wine and puts me on red, though I have always preferred white (and actually still drink it on the sly) and now he would have you do the reverse. It seems that our natural preferences are always wrong where doctors are concerned.

  Of course I know Herod well, very well indeed. He was in Rome the year before the Secular Games and I saw a lot of him then. Where were you that year? I would have thought he would have boasted to you of his intimacy with me, but of course you wouldn't believe him. You would be right not to. I dislike him extremely. He is a twister and a hypocrite and was originally, as you may have forgotten, a client of Gaius Cassius. Then he made a play at Antony and won his favour by pandering to his vices. He is, I think, unbalanced, the sort of man who shrinks away from a straight path and can't see a belt without hitting below it. He is no true Jew of course -his mother was a sort of degenerate Greek – but he is alas the sort of instrument we need, and you do right to flatter and conciliate him. They say he sacrifices daily in my honour, which is somewhat disgusting, and makes his subjects swear by my name. He doesn't actually give a fig for me. But, with all his faults, and they are legion, he and Rome are linked together. No good Jew would promote our Empire or try to pull his co-religionists into our civilization. Herod is a Hellenist and sympathetic to the wider culture of the Mediterranean world. He has no sympathy with the extremes of Judaism like the Zealots you mention. I have had agents among them for some time. You are quite right. They reject us utterly, and wait for a leader whom they call The Messiah. Their god has promised he will be a new king for the Jews. He is even expected to throw us out. Naturally, the Zealots who hate and despise Herod could never cast him as their Messiah, though he is so twisted that he would play the part if given half a chance. However he is sufficiently intelligent to realize this will never happen, though characteristically he resents the Jews' rejection of his claims for he is quite eaten up with vanity, and only his natural prudence prevents him from letting it destroy his j
udgement. He therefore knows that he depends on Rome to keep him in power, and so we are, as I say, and as I am sure you know, bound together. Still, in view of Herod's unpopularity, you are quite right to make every effort to please the Jews. They are so cantankerous however that I doubt even your ability to please them for long.

  It would distress me if you felt more warmly towards Herod, for, when everything is said and done, he is really a disgusting fellow. I tell you, my dear friend, I would rather be his pig than his son. That's a pun by the way if you translate it into Greek.

  Do look after yourself. Rome depends on its greatest general and I on my dearest and oldest friend… The sun shone on the deep blue water and set blood-red behind the islands, leaving the sky a streak of glorious colour that faded like a man's life. That summer was a time of languor and picnic excursions. Livia was as serene and bountiful as the weather. Nothing could quench her good humour: one day she encountered a band of nudists not two miles from the gates of our villa. Her shocked attendants would have cut them down or had them carried off to prison. My wife however, without the hint of a smile, asked them to do nothing. To a woman such as myself,' she said, 'a naked man is no different from a statue.' She maintained her gravity then, but giggled as she told me the story. 'Poor things,' she said, 'their eyes nearly popped out of their heads, when they realized who I was. It was certainly a close shave for them. All the same, you should send someone to tell them to put some clothes on. Not everyone can take the same detached view as I. I suppose they are a bit deranged, and though I know it's the done thing either to mock the mad, or regard them as some sort of portent, for my part I find them insignificant but to be pitied. Do get someone to dress them, my dear. It would distress me if anything happened to them.'