Death of Caesar : The Story of History's Most Famous Assassination (9781451668827)

by Strauss, Barry

  No sooner had the ashes cooled on Caesar’s funeral pyre than men wanted to consecrate the spot. A column and altar were erected there at the behest of the man known as Herophilus or Amatius, the demagogue who claimed to be the son or grandson of Marius and who had once upstaged Caesar in his villa. Neither of the two consuls, Antony or Dolabella, favored such monuments. Dolabella supported the assassins (for now) while Antony had no use for anything with so radically populist a taint and so likely to shine glory on Caesar’s adopted son, Octavian. Antony was able to have Amatius-Herophilus executed and Dolabella could order certain rabble-rousers thrown to death from the Tarpeian Rock—an archaic punishment for traitors. But neither of them dared stop the other pressure group behind the monument—Caesar’s veterans.

  The veterans now erected a new column, possibly with Octavian’s support. Carved from a single block of ornamental marble, it stood twenty feet high and contained an inscription: TO THE FATHER OF THE FATHERLAND. It was a title voted for by the Senate. A statue of Caesar posssibly topped the column.

  The column on the site of Caesar’s cremation was a reminder and a challenge. It recalled the great honor of being cremated within the Sacred Boundary of the city. It defied the assassins and anyone who thought that Caesar had been justly killed. Finally, it brought up unfinished business—the cult of Caesar’s divinity that the Senate had established before his death but which had been left by the wayside.

  In September 44 B.C., Antony set up a competing statue of Caesar at the other end of the Roman Forum on the Speaker’s Platform. This was a compromise. It honored Caesar without stirring up the emotions of the site of his funeral pyre. But it had something to offend everyone—Caesar’s veterans, who wanted the maximum respect for their old chief, and republicans, who wanted no honors for Caesar at all. As Antony discovered, revolutionary times are hard on moderates.

  Octavian had no such problems. With his stepfather’s estate on the Bay of Naples as a base, he wooed prominent supporters of Caesar. He also met Cicero, whom he was determined to make an ally. Octavian courted the great orator. Cicero had mixed feelings about the high-powered youth. But as summer approached and a rift opened between Antony and Octavian, Cicero began to think of Octavian as the lesser of two evils and a useful tool. It was a gamble.

  Octavian was ruthless, energetic, and determined to have not only Caesar’s name but also his power. It was a tall order for an eighteen-year-old in a still fairly conservative society, but Octavian’s age was also an advantage. Since he had little invested in the old system, he had little inhibition about overturning it. And the veterans’ cry for blood vengeance for Caesar suited his purposes.

  Antony and Octavian dueled over money—Antony blocked Octavian’s access to Caesar’s funds—and Caesar’s legacy. To pay Caesar’s promised bequest to the Roman people, Octavian raised the funds on his own, and so endeared himself to the ordinary folk of Rome. In late July, Octavian put on the funeral games in honor of his adoptive father. Antony had to tolerate this, although he refused to allow the display of a golden chair and wreath—honors that the Senate had granted Caesar when still alive. Octavian later claimed that the urban plebs and Caesar’s veterans supported him against Antony.

  When a comet appeared during the games, Octavian turned what was usually considered an ill omen in Rome into a symbol of Caesar’s new place in heaven with the gods. This made splendid propaganda. Unusually bright, the comet was visible during the daylight hours, and so caught the public’s attention. When a soothsayer saw it as a sign of the dawning of a new age, the notion resonated with the Roman people.

  Antony, meanwhile, pivoted. In April, he conciliated the Senate. He made it possible for Brutus and Cassius to remain praetors although absent from Rome. Although Caesar himself had named Antony as High Priest for the worship of Caesar as a god, Antony did nothing to go forward with the new religion. But then the presence of Octavian forced Antony away from the Senate and toward Caesar’s veterans and the urban plebs. In late April and early May, he visited the veterans in Campania and promised them more land.

  Meanwhile, Antony prepared to deal with Decimus, who was now governor of Italian Gaul. The Senate had assigned Antony a different province after his consulship ended on December 31, Macedonia. It was an important position, especially since Macedonia included six legions that had been chosen for Caesar’s Parthian Expedition. Italian Gaul was more important, however, because its location controlled Italy. So Antony made clear that he intended to switch provinces—trading Macedonia for Italian Gaul—while also keeping the six legions. It was a dark cloud on the horizon.

  In the spring of 44 B.C., no one trusted anyone in Rome. Everyone talked peace but feared war. The few moderates, men like Hirtius, Caesar’s friend and one of the consul-designates for 43 B.C., had little room for maneuver in such a climate. As spring became summer, each of the leading players began turning his attention away from talk and toward arms. For Antony and Octavian their base consisted of Caesar’s veterans and the legions in Macedonia that had been allocated for Parthia. For Decimus, it was the legions of Italian Gaul as supplemented by his allies in the Senate. For Brutus and Cassius, it was the armies stationed in the East.

  Each attracted supporters from the Roman political and military leadership class. Each side needed money—a lot of money, and money in a hurry, because the urban plebs had to be appeased and soldiers had to be armed, fed, and paid. The result was taxation, and, soon enough, looting and murder.

  Caesar had predicted a new civil war if he died. He understood something about the Romans very well, that they liked to fight. Politics fascinated them, but it did not take much to make Romans resort to the sword.

  Only a few of the older generations of leaders were left and they returned to the scene for one last act, doing what they had always done best, only more so. For Cicero that meant giving speeches, holding meetings, and writing letters to make deals, all for the cause of the Republic. He pushed hard against the man whom he considered the biggest threat—Antony. For Servilia, it meant behind-the-scenes maneuvering to advance her son and save her family.

  It’s a reasonable guess that even before they raised their daggers against Caesar, Brutus and Cassius considered the possibility that they might have to leave Rome. It was not news to Roman politicians that men who played for the highest stakes sometimes had to go into exile and regroup. There was plenty of precedent for going east to raise money and manpower. Sulla, Pompey, and Caesar had all done so and only Pompey failed—and even he won great success on his first expedition in the East. Both Brutus and Cassius had substantial connections in the East dating back ten years and they also had the support of Deiotarus, the king of Galatia, who had been accused of trying to assassinate Caesar. There was also the intriguing possibility of help from Parthia.

  FLY ON THE WALL

  Antium (Anzio, of World War II fame) was a seaside town south of Rome where Brutus and Cassius withdrew after leaving the capital in April 44 B.C. Lined with villas, the area was virtually Rome’s Gold Coast. Cicero’s villa was nearby at Astura, and he called it “a delightful place, right by the sea.” But Brutus did not go to Antium for the waters. He held a virtual court in exile there.

  Brutus tried to win the power game in Rome by a combination of force and persuasion, but he was outfoxed and outmuscled by Antony. Like any good Roman aristocrat, Brutus now turned to the one certain haven in a heartless world—his family. Or, as a Roman might have put it, his familiares—a broad term including friends, servants, and even property as well as relatives.

  Brutus was hardly passive. He was well aware that money was the mother’s milk of politics. His friend the Roman knight Gaius Flavius tried to organize a group of wealthy knights as contributors to a fund for Caesar’s assassins. Brutus did his part by wining and dining Atticus, the prince of Roman political financiers. Atticus was an old friend of the family but he was a pragmatist and a survivor. Atticus was Antony’s friend, too. Rather than take a chance, Att
icus had declined and so torpedoed Brutus’s fund. Perhaps this is what Brutus and Cassius were referring to when they wrote to Antony a few weeks earlier and said they had dismissed their friends from the cities of Italy at his advice. But Brutus looked for other ways of building a power base.

  He called Cicero for advice and on June 7, the orator went to see Brutus in his villa at Antium, a scene later described by Cicero in a letter to Atticus (who was also a friend of Cicero). The other people present were Cassius (who arrived late); Brutus’s wife, Porcia; Cassius’s wife, Junia Tertia (in some sources called Tertulla), who was also Brutus’s half sister; and Servilia, mother or mother-in-law to most of the people in the room. Rounding out the group was Marcus Favonius. Like Cicero, Favonius was left out of the conspiracy to kill Caesar but showed his support for it right afterward.

  The fiasco at the Lupercalia on February 15, the dinner party at Lepidus’s on March 14, the funeral of Caesar, and, of course, the assassination itself—these are all events that make the historian wish he could be a fly on the wall. But for the combination of fear, spite, and theater of the absurd, nothing matches the scene in Brutus’s villa at Antium on June 7, 44 B.C.

  The purpose of the meeting was to consider an offer from the Senate, made at Antony’s prodding, to put Brutus and Cassius in charge of collecting grain in Sicily and Roman Asia (western Turkey). The decree also gave them permission to leave Rome, where, as praetors, they were supposed to serve. It was a graceful out and Cicero advised them to take it. Brutus wanted to go back to Rome and preside at the games that he was giving as urban praetor. Cicero pointed out that Rome wasn’t safe for Brutus, and he flattered Brutus by saying that his safety really mattered because Brutus was the Republic’s only defense. Brutus eventually agreed that Rome was dangerous.

  Then Cassius entered and angrily refused the job of grain commissioner, which he considered an insult. He said that he was going to Greece and from there to Syria, where he was scheduled to serve as governor in 43 B.C. Cicero had the impression that Brutus was going to go to Roman Asia, where he could join Trebonius, who was governor. Although it was Brutus who called the meeting, Servilia was not shy. She spoke as if she had real influence in the Senate and she promised to get the grain commission withdrawn from the Senate’s decree.

  Then the talk turned to lost opportunities. Everyone was bitter, especially Cassius. They heaped the most blame on Decimus, probably for not using his troops in Italian Gaul against Antony. This was just talk because Decimus’s troops were untested and no one, least of all Brutus, would begin a civil war lightly. Cicero said they shouldn’t dwell on the past, and then proceeded to blame the conspirators for their passivity after killing Caesar on the Ides of March and the next few days. Servilia proceeded to cut him off.

  “I’ve really never heard anyone say that!” Servilia exclaimed. Cicero told Atticus that he now stopped her, but it was the other way around. Cicero was still rehashing past politics while Brutus and his family had moved on to the clash of armies in addition to the funds needed to raise and outfit them.

  Wheels began to turn after the meeting. By summer’s end, the Senate assigned Brutus and Cassius new provinces, Crete and Cyrene (in modern Libya). If Servilia had worked her magic, it wasn’t a potent spell, since these provinces were still relatively small and unimportant. Brutus and Cassius had much bigger things in mind.

  In letter after letter from this period Cicero calls Brutus depressed, but if Brutus was down he was not yet out. With the help of family and friends he was actively building a new power base. Yet Brutus had good reason to be depressed. He had wanted peace and reconciliation but both sides were digging in their heels. Caesar’s veterans wanted loot and vengeance. Caesar’s enemies wanted their confiscated lands back.

  In July, for instance, Brutus and Cicero met a very important envoy on Brutus’s estate on the little island of Nesis (modern Nisida) on the Bay of Naples. A former praetor, he was Sextus Pompey’s father-in-law and he brought news of Pompey’s continued military success in Hispania. No deal was made but the door was open to an alliance between Sextus and Caesar’s assassins.

  On August 4, Brutus and Cassius wrote a letter to Antony from Naples. First they blasted him for writing them an abusive and threatening letter. They were praetors after all, and men of dignity. In his letter, Antony denied ever accusing them of raising troops and money or of tampering with the soldiers and sending ambassadors overseas. For their part, Brutus and Cassius said that they knew nothing about any of these charges. They cattily added that they were amazed by Antony’s restraint, considering his inability to keep from angrily taunting them with Caesar’s death. They couldn’t resist a warning before closing: “Bear in mind not only how long Caesar lived but how briefly he reigned.”

  That surely did little to ease Antony’s suspicions about Brutus and Cassius. Their fellow assassins had already laid a bridgehead in the East. Probably in April, Trebonius went to Roman Asia and Cimber went to the nearby province of Bithynia, both as provincial governors. Other assassins and their friends also took up important civil and military positions in the eastern provinces. Meanwhile, the long, slow courtship of Sextus Pompey went forward. Decimus held Italian Gaul while Cicero remained in Rome to anchor the cause in the capital.

  In mid-August, Brutus left Italy for the East. Before his departure, he and Cassius issued edicts saying that for the sake of the Republic and to avoid civil war, they were going into exile. But Brutus’s actions said otherwise; they bespoke armed conflict. He and Porcia had a tearful farewell in the city of Velia, south of Naples. This was the Roman equivalent of a photo op. Velia had formerly been the Greek colony of Elea, famous for its philosophers. Brutus and Porcia let it be known that they parted in front of a painting of Hector and Andromache, the doomed couple of Homer’s Iliad. No doubt they felt deep emotion, but it was also a message for the Greek East: Brutus is coming and he is one of you. He spoke Greek, he loved philosophy, and he would be polite as he shook down city after city for the money needed to fund the war for the Republic. Cassius, who followed shortly afterward, would be less diplomatic.

  DECIMUS UNDER SIEGE

  From the day that Decimus left Rome in April 44 B.C. to the moment he stepped into a trap in a pass in the Iura (modern Jura) Mountains on the modern French-Swiss border, his post-assassination life was an epic. Actually, it had been an epic from the day he first served in Caesar’s army. The last phase was merely the most dramatic.

  If ever there was a man suited to the province he governed, it was Decimus in Italian Gaul. He was, once again, among Celts. From boyhood he heard about his grandfather’s exploits among the Celts in Hispania. He spent much of his adult life among Celts in Transalpine Gaul, what is today France and Belgium. He even spoke the Gaulish language. Rome had begun colonizing Italian Gaul in the third century B.C. By Decimus’s day, Latin was mandatory for the local elite. Yet there was still a heavy Celtic flavor to the region, especially in the foothills and mountains of the Alps. Decimus would have felt at home.

  As governor, Decimus had two legions, one composed of veterans, the other men with one year’s experience. Decimus spent the summer of 44 B.C. attacking the Alpine tribes. He claimed to have fought exceptionally fierce enemies, laid waste to many strongholds, and captured a great deal of loot to distribute to his men. They, in turn, saluted him as imperator, great commander, the title customarily given to a general after a successful battle. The experience honed his two legions and made them more attached to their commander. Decimus wrote to Cicero in Rome to help him get formal recognition from the Senate. Cicero promised to take care of Decimus’s dignitas—it was dearer to him than his own, said Cicero.

  No doubt Cicero had better things to do with his limited resources in the Senate but he knew to whom he wrote. He refers in other letters as well to Decimus’s dignitas. He assures Decimus how much the Roman people love him for freeing them from tyranny. He ends one letter with the firm hope that Decimus will be the greatest and
most famous man of all.

  In any case, by then, Decimus’s actions in Italian Gaul were illegal. On June 1, Antony got the people to vote him command of Italian Gaul, for a term that was soon extended to five years. Antony protected his dignitas and attacked that of the assassins. It was a blow to Decimus, who was to lose his governorship of the province, and he refused to accept this insult and threat. He disobeyed the law and stayed in command in Italian Gaul. Then in October, Antony’s friends arranged for the execution of a slave named Myrtilus for allegedly aiming to assassinate him. They claimed that Decimus was behind the whole thing.

  If Decimus led the republican cause in Italian Gaul, Cicero led it in Rome. He never trusted Antony and, by September 44 B.C., he made his opposition public. He gave a series of speeches against Antony that he called Philippics, after a famous set of speeches against King Philip of Macedon by the Athenian orator Demosthenes in the mid-fourth century B.C. Cicero’s speeches savaged Antony and praised Octavian. He hailed Decimus as a defender of the Republic, a member of a family (the Brutus family) with a divine mission to protect Roman liberty. Cicero could only hope for more success than Demosthenes, who rallied the public to a losing cause—Philip won and conquered all of Greece.

  Whatever happened, Cicero could be sure of one thing. Never again would he have to say that he lacked courage. By taking his stand, particularly at the age of sixty-two, Cicero risked everything for the Republic.

  At first, Cicero helped to push Antony out of Rome. In October 44 B.C., three of the Macedonian legions chosen for Antony landed in Brundisium, with a fourth on the way. Antony went to meet them and got an angry reception for his policy of reconciliation with Caesar’s killers—the soldiers wanted vengeance. Antony offered the men a small sum of money to appease them, but Octavian’s agents had already promised more and they refused. Finally, Antony ordered that some of the troops be executed in order to restore discipline.