For those with eyes to see, the citizens were thinner than they had been before the riots. Much of the city still lay in ruins or charred beams, but they had pride even so and they roared their appreciation. Octavian felt their excitement like a jug of wine in his blood, raising him. All that was missing was the slave at his shoulder to whisper ‘Remember thou art mortal.’
All the previous Triumphs had ended in the great forum and the crowds seemed to understand that, running ahead of the legions so that the roads grew more and more choked. Citizens and slaves began to chant the name of Caesar, and Octavian felt his face redden, overwhelmed. On his horse, he and his friends were at the level of the lowest windows overhanging the street and he saw women and men leaning out as far as they could, just a few feet from his head.
At three separate street corners, other men shouted furious insults and were shouted down in turn by those around them. One of the agitators fell senseless after a crack round the head from a middle-aged tradesman. The legions moved on towards the heart and Octavian knew he would never forget the experience. The Senate may have turned on his family, but the people themselves showed their adoration without shame.
They came over the Capitoline hill, walking the same route the assassins had taken. Octavian clenched his jaw at the thought of those who called themselves Liberatores holding out their red hands in pride. Of all things, that brought him fastest to rage. Murder was an old thing for the Republic, but masking the crime in dignity and honour was not. He hated the Liberatores for that, as much as for their jealousy and greed.
He did not doubt the Senate were sending feverish messages to their houses, calling each other in for the emergency. Octavian smiled bitterly at the thought. Without the might of the legions, they were just a few hundred ageing men. He had revealed that, throwing back the curtain that concealed how weak they truly were. He hoped all those who had voted for amnesty could hear the noise of the crowd as they welcomed Caesar. He hoped the sound chilled them.
Even the vast open space of the forum could not hold two legions at full strength. The first few thousand marched right across, allowing the rest to enter the heart of Rome. Legates Silva and Paulinius began to send runners back down the column, ordering their men out in all directions rather than have the crush increase. Every temple would house a few hundred. Every noble mansion would be the billet for as many men as it could take. When those were full, the legions would make their camps in the streets themselves, closing all the roads leading to the forum. Cooking fires would be lit in stone gutters for the first time and the centre of Rome would be theirs.
It took time to halt and organise the column, with both the legates and their officers working hard. The clot of men at the centre spread out in every direction, legionaries walking in and sitting down wherever there was space. They closed off the forum, allowing the crowds to filter out as the day wore on. Only the House of Virgins was untouched, as Octavian had ordered. Apart from the debt he owed to Quintina Fabia, the presence of legionaries among those young women could only result in disgrace or tragedy. He began to appreciate the difficulties Caesar had faced with any large movement of soldiers, but the legion structure was designed to respond to the commands of one man and he did not have to think of everything, only to trust that his officers would work hard and well for him.
The evening light was still soft as horns called across the forum, across the heads of thousands of men. They could not raise tents on the stones, even if there had been room. They would sleep out in the sun and rain, to sweat and freeze in turn. Those same soldiers had cheered him on the Campus and they did not complain at being led by a Caesar into Rome.
The site of the old senate house had been cleared of rubble, ready to be rebuilt. Its foundations lay exposed, rough brick and stone still heat-scorched and dark yellow against the grey cobbles. It made a sort of sense to have the legates construct a rough building there, their legionaries hammering in spikes to bind the beams, then heaving great leather sheets over to form a roof. Before it was fully dark, the shelter was snug and proof against rain, with couches, tables and low beds laid out inside like any command post on campaign. As if to make them prove their competence, dark clouds came in as the sun set. A light drizzle dampened the holiday atmosphere of the legions as they cooked a meal and found whatever shelter they could.
Octavian stood looking out on the darkening forum, with one shoulder resting against an oak beam, much marked and holed from previous use. Around him, legionaries moved with lamps and oil, refilling and trimming wicks so that the legates would have light. He had gambled everything on this one action and for that night at least he was the power in Rome. All he had to do was keep it.
He yawned, pressing a hand to his mouth.
‘You should eat, sir,’ Gracchus said. The legionary held a wooden plate covered in strips of various meats, sliced thin. Octavian smiled wearily.
‘I will, in a while.’ On impulse, he decided to speak again, addressing a problem he had ignored for days. ‘I am surprised to see you still here, Gracchus. Is it not time for you to return to Tribune Liburnius?’
The legionary just stared dully at him.
‘Are you even on my side?’ Octavian continued. ‘How can I tell? It wasn’t so long ago that you were thinking of flogging me in the street for disturbing your tribune.’
Gracchus looked away, his face shadowed against the warm light from the lamps.
‘You were not Caesar then, sir,’ he said uncomfortably.
‘Send him home to Brundisium,’ Maecenas called from behind them. His friend was already seated with Agrippa and the two legates, enjoying a spread of cold food and warm wine.
‘You are not a client of mine, Gracchus, nor your family. I have seen the lists now. You owe me nothing, so why do you stay?’ Octavian sighed. ‘Is it the thought of gold?’
The legionary considered for a moment.
‘Mainly, yes,’ he said.
His honesty surprised Octavian into laughing.
‘You’ve never been poor, sir, or you would not laugh,’ Gracchus said, his mouth a thin line.
‘Oh, you’re wrong, Gracchus, and I’m not laughing at you. I have been poor – and starving. My father died when I was very young and if it hadn’t been for Caesar, I suppose I could very well be standing where you are now.’ He became serious, studying the man who had almost strangled him in a tavern.
‘Gracchus, I need men around me who are loyal, who will take the risks with me and not think of the rewards. I am not playing a game. I will see these Liberatores destroyed and I don’t care if I have to spend all Caesar’s fortunes to do it. I will throw away the years of my youth for the chance to break those men. Yet if gold is your only ambition, you can be bought by my enemies.’
Gracchus looked at his feet, frustration making him grim. In truth, it was not just the thought of gold that kept him there. He had lived with these men for some of the most extraordinary days of his life.
‘I am not a man who speaks well,’ he said slowly. ‘You cannot trust me, I know that. But I’ve lived with the fear of senators, no … I’m not making it clear. You are taking them on. It’s not just about coins …’ He waved a hand, almost dropping the plate. ‘I’d like to stay. I’ll earn your trust in time, I promise.’
The rest of them were quiet at the table, hardly bothering to pretend they were not all listening. Octavian leaned away from the beam, intending to invite Gracchus to join them for the meal. As he moved, he felt the weight of a pouch at his waist. On impulse, he untied the leather thongs that bound it to his belt and held it up.
‘Put the plate down and hold out your hands, Gracchus,’ he said.
The legionary went to the table and returned.
‘Hold them out, go on,’ Octavian prompted.
He emptied the pouch into Gracchus’ hands, a stream of heavy gold coins. The legionary’s eyes widened at the sight of a small fortune.
‘Twenty … two, twenty-three aurei, Gracchus. Each on
e worth around a hundred silver sesterces. What is that? Five or six years’ pay for your rank? At least that much, I should think.’
‘I don’t understand, sir,’ Gracchus said warily. He could hardly drag his eyes away from the yellow coins, but when he did, Octavian was still watching him.
‘You can take that and go now, if you want, without censure. You have finished your work for me and for Tribune Liburnius. It’s yours.’
‘But …’ Gracchus shook his head in confusion.
‘Or you can give it back to me and remain.’ Octavian gripped his shoulder suddenly, passing by the legionary and moving to the table. ‘It’s your choice, Gracchus, but I must know, one way or the other. You are either with me to the death, or you are not.’
Octavian sat down and deliberately ignored the dumbfounded soldier standing with his hands full of gold. He called for the wine jug and Agrippa passed it to him. Maecenas was smiling wryly as they shared the food, each man at the table trying not to look over their shoulders at the figure in the lamplight.
‘What do you think the senators are doing tonight?’ Octavian asked the others as he ate.
Flavius Silva was relieved to be able to reply and spoke quickly through a mouthful of roasted pork.
‘They will bluster at first, I have no doubt,’ he said, chewing. ‘I have dealt with many of the senators over the last month and they will not react well to this challenge. I might advise you to ignore whatever they say for a day or two until they have had time to consider their position, with two legions camped in the centre of Rome.’
‘Whatever they threaten, they have no way of enforcing it,’ Octavian replied, taking a deep gulp of wine and wincing slightly.
Flavius Silva saw his reaction and chuckled. ‘Not so good, I agree. I will find some Falernian tomorrow.’
‘I’ve never tasted it,’ Octavian said.
Maecenas tutted to himself. ‘This is horse piss in comparison, believe me,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I have a few amphorae of it at my estate, laid down three years ago. It should be ready to drink this year, or perhaps next. You’ll see when you come.’
‘Leaving aside the qualities of the wine for a moment,’ Agrippa said, ‘the Senate will ask you what you want, eventually. What do you want from them?’
‘The Lex Curiata, first of all,’ Octavian said. ‘I need the law passed so that no one can ever say I am not the legitimate heir to Caesar. In normal times, it is just a formality, but they must still vote and lodge the record. They must also honour the will with Caesar’s funds, or I will pay the legacies myself and shame them. After that, I want only a reversal of the amnesty they granted.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘That small thing.’
‘They will not agree to making criminals of the Liberatores,’ Maecenas muttered into his wine cup. When he felt the eyes of the table on him, he looked up. ‘Men like Cassius have too much support still.’
‘You know these men,’ Octavian said. ‘What would you do?’
‘I would march the centurions in there and whip the Senate out of Rome,’ Maecenas said. ‘You have caught them for a brief moment without power, but there are other legions, Caesar. You can’t stop the senators sending messages out of the city and then their supporters will march. How many men are passing information to you now? The Senate have their own clients and I would imagine there is someone on the road to Brundisium as we speak. If Mark Antony moves quickly, he could have legions here in just a few days.’ He looked around the table. ‘Well, you did ask. Either you follow this through to the end and seize your moment, or we will shortly be defending this city from Roman soldiers.’
‘I won’t remove the Senate,’ Octavian said, frowning. ‘Even Julius Caesar kept them on, with all his influence and power. The people won’t welcome us so readily if we set about dismantling the Republic in front of them. If I make myself a dictator, it will force them together to act against me.’
‘You should consider it even so,’ Maecenas said. ‘Take command of the legions one by one as they come in. You have the name and the right to do it.’ He refilled their cups and almost as one they all drank the sour wine. Maecenas saw the two legates exchange a worried glance and spoke again.
‘The Senate will know they only have to hold on for a few weeks before you are faced with loyal legions at the walls. If you don’t execute some of them, they will be deciding your fate before the end of the month. You said you wanted to see the Liberatores brought down? It may not be possible to lay hands on them within the law, not when the Senate have made those laws. Perhaps you could demand the least of them to be turned over into your custody. Hold a trial for them in the forum and let the Senate see that you understand dignity and tradition.’
‘There’s only Gaius Trebonius and Suetonius left in Rome, I think,’ Octavian said slowly. ‘Trebonius did not even wield a blade with the rest. I could take them both by force. But that will not bring me the others, especially those who have been given powerful posts. It will not bring me Cassius or Brutus. All I need is a renunciation of the amnesty and then they can all be brought to trial.’
Maecenas shook his head. ‘Then you must be willing to cut a few throats, or at least threaten to do so without bluffing.’
Octavian brought his knuckles up to his eyes, pressing out the weariness.
‘I will find a way, when I have slept.’
He rose from the table, stifling another yawn that spread quickly around the table. Almost as an afterthought, Octavian looked towards the doorway where he had left Gracchus. It was empty. The lamplight lit only the gentle drizzle coming down through the air of the forum.
Pompey’s theatre was at its best at night. The huge semicircles of stone seats were lit by hundreds of lamps swinging high above. Servants had climbed ladders to reach the larger bowls of oil that flickered above the stage itself, creating conflicting shadows that moved in gold and black.
In the absence of Mark Antony, four men stood to face the others and direct the debate. Bibilus and Suetonius had the least right to do so, though Bibilus had been a consul years before. Senators Hirtius and Pansa were not due to take up their consular posts until the new year, but the emergency required the most senior men to put aside differences and they had the attention of the Senate that night. All four had discovered that the position facing the benches gave their voices a new power and resonance and they relished being able to quell discussion with just a sharp word.
‘Consul Mark Antony is not the issue,’ Hirtius said for the second time. ‘Fast messengers are on their way to him and there is nothing more we can do until he has returned. There is no point debating whether he will be successful in punishing the mutinous behaviour at Brundisium. If he has sense, he will have them marching without delay and leave their decimation as a condition of their success in relieving us here.’
Several senators stood up and Hirtius picked a man that he knew would at least add something useful instead of raging pointlessly about factors they could not influence.
‘Senator Calvus has the floor,’ Hirtius said, gesturing to him. The others sat down on the curving benches, though many of them talked among themselves.
‘Thank you,’ Senator Calvus said, staring grimly at two men talking close to him until they broke off in embarrassment. ‘I wished only to remind the Senate that Ostia is closer than the legions at Brundisium. Are there forces there which can be brought in?’
It was Bibilus who cleared his throat to reply. Senator Hirtius nodded to him out of courtesy.
‘In normal times there would be at least a full legion at Ostia. Until two months ago, that legion was the Eighth Gemina, one of the two currently infesting the forum. Caesar’s campaign against Parthia brought in legions from as far away as Macedonia, ready to join the fleet. Ostia has no more than a few hundred soldiers and administrators at the port, perhaps as many again in retired men. It is not enough to scrape these invaders out of the city, even if we could be certain they would remain loyal to us.’
Angry
voices answered him and Bibilus wiped sweat from his brow. He had not sat a single day in the Senate until Caesar’s death and he was still not accustomed to the sheer noise and energy of the debates.
Senator Calvus had remained on his feet and Bibilus gave way to him, sitting down with a thump on a heavy bench dragged to the front for that purpose.
‘The question of loyalty lies at the heart of the problem facing us tonight,’ Calvus said. ‘Our main hopes rest with the legions of Brundisium. Yet the consul has gone not to forgive them, but to exact punishment. If he has not suppressed their treachery, we have no other way to bring them back to Rome. It is possible that this adopted son of Caesar knows full well that there will be no help coming from the east. His tactic has all the marks of a wild gamble, unless he knows the Brundisium legions will not come.’ The noise around him had risen and he spoke louder. ‘Please, gentlemen, point out the flaws in what I have said, if they are clearer to you than to me.’
Three more senators rose immediately to reply and Calvus ignored them rather than be forced to sit through the interruptions.
‘It is my feeling that it would be unwise to rest all our hopes on consul Mark Antony. I propose we send messages to legions in Gaul to come south. Decimus Junius has a few thousand men close by the Alps …’
From the stage, Suetonius broke in, speaking easily over Calvus.
‘They would take weeks to get to Rome. However this is resolved, Senator, it will be over long before they could arrive. Is there nothing closer? Given months, we could bring in legions from half the world, but who knows what will have happened by then?’
‘Thank you, Senator Suetonius,’ Hirtius said, his voice cold enough for Suetonius to glance at him and subside. ‘Senator Calvus has raised a valid point. Though there are no other legions within a day’s march of the city, there are two in Sicily, two more in Sardinia that could be ordered home by ship. If the Senate agree, I will send riders to Ostia to bring them in. In two or three weeks at most, there can be four legions here at full strength.’
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 190
