‘You know each other?’ Octavian said.
‘I should do. Quintina Fabia is my aunt,’ Maecenas replied without embarrassment. ‘Not a favourite aunt or anything; just, you know, an aunt.’
‘And he is far from my favourite nephew, lazy as he is,’ she replied, though she smiled as she said it. ‘But who is this fine and silent man?’
‘Agrippa?’ Maecenas said. ‘The smell of fish should have warned you, Quin. He’s a sailor, a rough and simple man, but loyal, like a good dog.’
Agrippa ignored Maecenas as his own hands were gripped in turn and he found himself flushing under the scrutiny.
‘Maecenas thinks he is amusing, Agrippa,’ she said. ‘I have given up apologising for him.’
‘There is no need,’ he said. ‘He is just nervous. It has been … an interesting morning.’
She cocked her head slightly.
‘I am glad to see he has such friends,’ she said. ‘His mother despairs at the low company he usually keeps. Will you be the witnesses to the document of identity?’
Maecenas nodded, with a glare at Agrippa.
‘Good, then come through.’
They followed her into the maze of rooms and halls beyond the main entrance. The House of Virgins was many times larger than the round temple that faced the forum. Young women scurried past in simple white shifts, often carrying sheaves of parchments or bound scrolls.
Quintina saw their interest and smiled.
‘You assumed they would spend their days in prayer? My girls are part of the beating heart of Rome, gentlemen. Believe me when I say they know more about the laws of the city than the most august orators in the courts or the Senate. When their time in the temple is up, they have no difficulty finding good husbands, with households to run.’
‘I never doubted it,’ Maecenas said. He stumbled as he tried to watch one long-legged young woman who had just passed them. Quintina saw the interest.
‘Though, of course, until then they are children of the goddess. If their purity is, shall we say, removed, they are buried alive – and the man is impaled before the crowds.’
‘A harsh punishment,’ Maecenas said wistfully.
‘But necessary. Men can be wolves, nephew.’
‘Shocking, truly shocking.’
They reached a door of polished oak and the priestess led them in. On a large table lay piles of wax tablets and cut parchment pieces, along with ink and reed pens and all the paraphernalia of a business. Quintina seated herself behind the desk, leaving them standing.
‘This is a simple matter. I have prepared the document to be signed in front of your witnesses. I will add my name and then, Octavian, you will be Gaius Julius Caesar.’ She shuddered slightly as she said the name. ‘I had not thought to hear it again so soon. It is a name of honour. I hope you bear it well.’
‘I will,’ Octavian said. He read the single page, then each man signed his name with the reed pen Quintina handed to them.
The priestess touched a lump of wax to the small flame of an oil lamp. She wore no rings, but used an iron stick imprinted with the seal of Vesta. Octavian repeated her action with Caesar’s seal and she looked at the imprinted image with fond sadness.
‘He was loved, you know. If you are half the man he was, you will make his shade proud.’
She picked up a tiny bell and rang it, waiting as the door opened and a woman of delicate beauty came in and took it from her hands. As the woman passed Maecenas, she made a slight sound and stared angrily back at him. He looked innocent.
‘It is done, then. I hope you understand I could not allow the argentarii to enter the house. It is unusual enough to have the three of you in these rooms. They are waiting for you in the garden on the far side. The gate there leads out to the Palatine.’
‘Argentarii?’ Octavian asked.
Quintina looked taken aback.
‘The moneylenders. They have been applying to me all morning to see you. What did you expect?’
‘I don’t need a loan …’ Octavian began.
Maecenas snorted. ‘From this morning, you have the richest line of credit in Rome,’ he said. ‘So unless you intend to live on my funds, you do.’
Quintina shook her head.
‘I don’t think you understand,’ she said. ‘They are not here to offer credit. Caesar had deposits with the three largest societies of argentarii. I think they are here to ask what you want to do with the gold.’
Mark Antony felt a twinge of satisfaction at the sight of the senators facing him. Having been forced to use the theatre of Pompey for their meetings while the senate house was being rebuilt, they found that the sheer scale of the new building subtly undermined their authority. Their numbers had filled every space in the old building, but in the theatre they were surrounded by empty seats by the thousand, diminishing them in comparison. As consul, Mark Antony faced them on the stage, and there too the design favoured him. His voice boomed out as the architects had intended, while theirs sounded reedy and thin whenever they rose to speak.
The senators avoided one area of the theatre in particular. The stones had been scrubbed clean, so that it was hard to be certain of the exact place, but no one sat where Caesar had been killed.
Before the formal session, Mark Antony had waited patiently with the senators while scribes droned through a formal list of appointments, appeals and points of law that had been brought to their attention. He had been deep in conversation when his ear caught names he knew and he broke off to listen. Cassius had arranged a post for himself in Syria and Brutus had Athens. With Decimus Junius already in the north, many more had been given posts as far away as Jerusalem and Spain or Gaul, content to wait out the troubles in Rome until they could return safely. Mark Antony only wished they had all gone. Suetonius was still there, balding badly, with a sheen of thin hair brushed over the dome of his head. He was the last of the Liberatores to remain and was always in the presence of Bibilus, chief among his supporters and cronies. They made a tight group with Hirtius and Pansa, the senators already marked to succeed Mark Antony at the end of his consular year. Mark Antony could feel their dislike when they looked at him, but he did not let it ruffle his calm.
The first formal discussion concerned Caesar’s will, particularly the bequests that were to be administered by the Senate. Those few who had not already heard were shocked to whispers by the sums involved. More than a hundred million sesterces would be given out to the people of Rome, a vast undertaking that would require identification of individuals by family and hundreds of trusted men to give out the silver. Mark Antony showed nothing of his inner turmoil as he waited through tedious speeches from men like Bibilus, demanding that the Senate delay the payments. Of course they would not want Caesar’s generosity to be the talk of every street, as if that bird hadn’t already flown.
‘Senators,’ Mark Antony said at last, allowing his voice to boom over their heads and silence Suetonius even as he began to speak. ‘The citizens of Rome know very well what they have been given. In this one thing, we can only step back and allow it to go ahead. We have barely recovered from riots, gentlemen. Would you see them return? Caesar had funds in every major temple and fully six parts in ten of the Senate store of coins has his name marked against it. Let no man call us thieves when our popularity is already at such a low ebb. His bequests must be honoured and quickly.’
Suetonius rose again, his continually flushed face showing spite.
‘Such funds would be better spent rebuilding the city. Why should they be given silver when they have done ten times as much damage over the previous month? I propose we hold back the funds until such time as the city has been restored – and the old senate house must be first among those projects. Should there be no consequences for the damage they have done to our city? Let them see their precious few coins going on something worthwhile. Let them see also that we are not afraid to offend their delicate sensibilities, or we will forever live in fear of the mob.’
Hundre
ds of voices grumbled loud agreement and Mark Antony felt his throat tighten with irritation. He wondered if Cassius was behind the mean-spirited point. Disbursing the funds would go a long way towards repairing their status in the city and yet other senators were jumping up to support Suetonius, their voices sounding tinny and harsh in the open space.
To Mark Antony’s disgust, the vote to delay the payments passed by a huge majority and the Senate sat back on the benches, smug with the exercise of their authority. Mark Antony stepped aside temporarily while one of the Senate staff read a series of letters from legion officials in Gaul. He was fuming at the setback, more for what it revealed about his standing in the Senate than anything else. The men who ruled Rome had not missed his special treatment during the riots, it seemed. Now that he was aware of it, he could see the open animosity in many more than just those who were creatures of the Liberatores. He rubbed his chin, hiding his indignation. On one hand, the Senate were stretching their muscles, and on the other, he had a young fool naming himself Caesar, heir to half the gold in Rome. It was infuriating.
As the Senate meeting continued, Mark Antony made a decision in his private thoughts. The discussion had moved on to the legions at Brundisium, with the Senate calling for a vote of censure. Hundreds of eyes stared his way while they waited for the consul to continue with the formal structures. Mark Antony returned to the rostrum, seeing his salvation.
‘Senators, we have heard calls for the legions in Brundisium to be punished,’ he began. If he had judged them right, he could force them to go in the direction he wanted. ‘In normal times, I would agree, but these are far from normal times. Those legion commanders were Caesar’s men, almost without exception. That name is still a talisman for the citizens. You have said we should not fear them and I accept that, but should we poke and prod at their pride until they are forced to react in anger? Can the Senate stand another blow to the esteem in which we are held? I think not. Like so many others, the Brundisium legions were lost without strong leadership from Rome. However, that is in the past. Order has been restored and it ill behoves us to seek petty revenge. Some of you have talked blithely of having the legions decimated, but have you considered how Rome will react to such news? One man in ten, beaten to death by his fellows, and for what? For staying where they were while Rome was in chaos. It would be a thankless task for any man to give that order.’
His heart leapt as he saw the bulk of Bibilus come to his feet to speak. Suetonius was up as well. Mark Antony took a deep breath, knowing his own future was in play. He acknowledged Bibilus first, taking a seat while the other man spoke.
‘I am astonished and sickened to hear the authority of the Senate discussed in such a fashion,’ Bibilus began. His cronies and supporters made noises of assent, spurring him on. ‘We are discussing legions under lawful authority who refused orders at a time of national crisis – and the consul would have us forgive them without punishment? It is unconscionable. Instead, I suggest to this house that only one of consular authority can take the will of the Senate and see it carried out. I recommend that Consul Mark Antony travel to that city and decimate each of the six legions there. The public death of a few thousand common soldiers will make the point for us far better than any rhetoric or noble speeches. It will be a mark that legions will remember in the future when mutiny rears its head once more. “Remember Brundisium” they will say, and it will die still-born before it has even begun.’
There were cheers then and Bibilus patted the air for quiet.
‘Not many of us here have been quite as fortunate as the consul in the recent riots. Unlike the leader of this house, we have lost property and slaves to fire and looting. Perhaps if he had suffered with us, he would have a better understanding of the stakes involved!’
A great roar of appreciation echoed around the theatre. Mark Antony kept his face a mask. It was true his properties had remained untouched in the riots while those of other senators had been deliberately targeted. He had been a friend of Caesar, his name whispered as the one who had delivered the oration, who had inspired the crowds to revenge for the assassination. The Senate were still seen as the men who had brought Caesar down and that rankled with them.
As Bibilus sat, Mark Antony rose, judging the moment was right and preferring not to let the poisonous Suetonius speak as well.
‘I am a servant of Rome, as Senator Bibilus knows full well. If it is the will of this house that I carry your orders to Brundisium, I will do so. However, let my objections be made part of the record. Such an action achieves nothing but revenge at a time when we must be unified. I call the matter to a vote.’
The voting was over in a matter of moments, with a triumphant jeer ringing out through the theatre. Bibilus sat back with his friends patting him on the back. They had shown what they thought of Caesar’s favourite.
Mark Antony continued to play his part, hiding his satisfaction. He waited through a few minor speeches and discussions, hardly contributing, until the senators were ready to depart. He endured Bibilus’ insolent triumph as the man levered his bulk up to leave, surrounded by his favourites. Mark Antony shook his head slightly. Julius had never spoken of what passed between those two men, but Mark Antony had made a few enquiries of his own. Caesar had taken a group of child slaves from the ex-consul’s house, passing them to families without children. Bibilus had replaced them with adults and never bought a child since that day. The truth was there to be read and Mark Antony wondered if Bibilus had resumed his old cruelties now that Caesar was gone. He made a private vow to have the man watched. He had been ruined once and could be again.
As Mark Antony came out into the open air, the Campus Martius stretched into the distance, the great training field of the city. It was almost hidden from view by the loyal legions camped there and he felt a pang of doubt. If he succeeded in taking control of the army at Brundisium, it would be a challenge to the new authority of the Senate. The legions before him on the Campus might be ordered to march against him. As his lictors gathered, he firmed his jaw. He had come too far, risen too far, to sink back into the mass of men claiming to rule Rome. He had Caesar’s example to follow. Men like Bibilus and Suetonius would not be able to stop him. For the first time in years, Mark Antony thought he understood Julius a little better. He felt alive with the challenge and the tasks ahead. To rule Rome, he needed the legions at Brundisium. With them at his command, he would be immune from anything the Senate could do. That prize was surely worth the risk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Evening was coming on in smooth shades of grey by the time Octavian reached the street on the Aventine hill where the consul had his main property. He yawned, suppressing tiredness. From the moment at dawn when he had heard his legacy from Caesar, he had hardly stopped moving. He’d visited three different homes in the city, complete with slaves and staff, all of whom were now his. It was dizzying. He had come into Rome with nothing, but it was somehow fitting that Caesar’s will had been the agent of his change in fortune. Alive, Caesar had been unpredictable, given to ignoring laws and rules as he saw the fastest way to achieve his objectives. Octavian had learned from him. If he hesitated, those who might oppose him would have time to gather their strength.
It was strange to see the consul’s property pristine and untouched. On the streets nearby, Octavian had passed through great swathes of rubble and ash, seeing views of the seven hills that had not existed for a century or more. There were already builders and sweating workmen in those places, paid by the wealthy owners. The vistas created by destruction would not last long. Yet Mark Antony’s homes remained, his reward for firing the emotions of the city.
‘Maecenas and I both think this is a terrible idea,’ Agrippa said, as they strode up the hill.
Gracchus was with the three men, in the main because he had made himself useful all day. His motive for sudden loyalty was obvious and Maecenas baited him at every opportunity, but another sword was undeniably useful and Octavian had not sent him away.
Octavian did not reply and the four of them reached the massive oak door set into the wall that ran alongside the cobbled street. There was a small iron grille and Agrippa bent down to peer through it, raising his eyebrows at the courtyard within. It was chaotic, with more than a dozen slaves running to and fro, loading a carriage and bringing draught horses into position.
‘It seems we have chosen a busy time for the consul,’ he said. ‘There is no need to do this, Octavian.’
‘I say there is. And you will have to get used to the new name. I have the right to it, by blood and adoption.’
Agrippa shrugged.
‘I will try to remember, Julius. Gods, it doesn’t sit well to call you that.’
‘It will get easier. Use makes master, my friend.’
In the courtyard, one of the scurrying slaves had noticed the big man peering in and approached them, making waving motions with his hands.
‘Whatever you want, the consul is not available,’ he said. ‘If it is official business, see your senator.’
‘Tell him Caesar is here,’ Octavian said. ‘I think he will come out for me.’
The slave’s eyes widened.
‘Yes, sir. I will let him know.’ The man trotted away, looking back over his shoulder every few paces until he had disappeared into the main house.
‘There’s nothing to be gained here; you do know that?’ Maecenas said. ‘Even your excited new dog knows it, don’t you, Gracchus?’ Gracchus merely glared at him, saying nothing. ‘At best, you will anger a powerful man.’
Mark Antony came out into the courtyard, looking harassed and flushed. He gave orders as he went and more men and women scurried around him, staggering under chests and bales tied with leather.
The consul made a gesture to a man they had not yet seen, presumably guarding the door on the inside. They heard the rattle of iron as a bar was lifted and bolts drawn. It opened smoothly and Mark Antony stopped a pace within his property, regarding them with impatience in every feature. His gaze took in the fact that they were armed and his mouth firmed.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 186
