by Jack Lindsay
“I’m not.”
“Fulvia’s right,” said Lucius. “You can’t withdraw now.”
“I can.”
“Don’t you want to destroy Octavianus?”
“I could destroy him quickest by joining up with the Senate and cutting off his support there. But that’s not the reason. I’m sick of things. I’m sick of putrid ambitious scheming.”
“You’re going to fight,” said Fulvia. “Everyone’s pleasant to you now, because they’re frightened. How do you think you’ll last after the end of the year when you’re consul no longer?”
“Fulvia’s right,” repeated Lucius. “You’re not beaten because you’ve lost two legions.”
“I am. And I wouldn’t have lost them if I hadn’t acted the fool at Brundisium. It was Fulvia’s fault. She couldn’t bear to think of the men getting the donative they expected. I didn’t want to take her, but she insisted on going. She got on my nerves. Do you think I don’t know how to manage men? Yet I acted like a wretched tyrant. I don’t blame them for deserting.”
“If you give up now, we’re all done for,” said Fulvia. “You can’t. Do you hear? You can’t.”
But she had lost her power to dominate. “Shut your cat’s face,” said Antonius, sullenly.
“Fulvia’s right,” began Lucius again.
“O find something new to say. Why are you always backing her up? You seem more like her husband than I do. You’re welcome to the job.”
“Make him do the right thing,” said Fulvia between her teeth.
“Shut your cat’s face. I won’t do it.”
“By Dis, you will!” cried Lucius. His face writhed and quivered. The scar showed lividly. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
“My master, eh?” Antonius surveyed his wife and brother. “Go to hell.”
Lucius sprang at him and bore him down to the floor. Antonius was the stronger man, but he was taken by surprise and he was feeling very weak and sick. Lucius gripped his arm behind his back, and straddled him. Antonius saw a dagger glinting in the air.
“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.
“Are you going to fight, you rotten coward?” shouted Lucius, his eyes gleaming with a mad rage. “Or are you going to murder the lot of us?”
Suddenly Antonius remembered his soldiers, a host compacted by their loyalty to Caesar. If he stood aside, that loyalty would fade; it would be broken away, thrown out by trivial needs and lures, worn out in political games of hide-and-seek. The soldiers had only a certain staying-power; they would forget in time, torn by the necessity to follow someone who could pay them and look after their families. But at the moment stronger than all such lures was the passion of loyalty. It must be given expression; it must not be let run to waste.
“Keep your dagger to stir your porridge,” he said. “I’m going to fight. Let me up.”
XII — REVOLUTION
So Antonius rode northwards at the head of his remaining legions, reinforced by the veterans from Rome, to attack Decimus Brutus, who had now recruited four more legions; and the conservatives made overtures to Octavianus, who had taken refuge at Alba. Antonius was hugely outnumbered, but little he cared for that now. He had a name to shield him — the name of the Avenger.
At Rome the upper classes could not believe at first that the rowdy soldiers had gone; the unarmed mob they did not fear. Then gradually they realised that they were once more masters of Rome and that with any management at all they should soon be the undisputed lords of the world. Cassius would raise the East; Cornificius was holding Africa; Pollio held Spain; Plancus held Further Gaul; Decimus Brutus held Cisalpine Gaul. Certainly there was Lepidus in the lower province of Gaul, but he had so many affiliations with the conservatives; he would not oppose them. Likewise Octavianus, now guarding Rome with his two legions, could be controlled and kept in his place.
Against all these forces stood Antonius with his two legions, a praetorian cohort, and a crowd of undistributed veterans. And the name of Avenger.
Cicero felt his spirits rising, but did not like to trust Octavianus too far as yet. The test would be the day of Casca’s assumption of the tribuneship, 10th December; if Octavianus allowed one of Caesar’s murderers to enter office, he would have proved his acceptance of the Amnesty.
Octavianus was far too worried holding the faith of his men and yet satisfying the Senate to think about Casca. The last thing he wished was to complicate matters further. Finally, on the morning of the 19th, Cicero overcame his fears and doubts. He appeared in the Senate and dared to throw down the challenge. He said what the lesser men wanted but feared to say. Decimus Brutus was a great patriot for defying Antonius; he must be supported at all costs; Octavianus also deserved well of the State, and his two legions should be rewarded.
But the Senate was dilatory. Though it agreed, though it knew that conflict could not now be avoided, it did not dare to face the issues frankly.
*
Antonius halted at Bononia on the Aemilian Road and sent a message to Decimus Brutus demanding the surrender of the province. He was in no hurry, and gave Decimus all the time necessary for settling into Mutina and preparing against a siege. With the sweep of action had come confidence to Antonius. He knew that he was at the head of events, that all the other leaders were but retarding the forces which nothing could hold back. Therefore time must be on his side. Time could but strengthen his mission and disintegrate the plans of the others. Tireless, he moved about among his soldiers, drawing from them the strength that he needed, the strength that would flood the world. He was unconcerned at the odds against him; for he alone possessed power, and he knew it. His power was the purpose animating his small force. The others would be painfully struggling to keep their men contented, promising them all kinds of rewards and preferments, elaborately arguing to convince them that they were standing for the rule of law and order.
Antonius needed no arguments. He was the Avenger.
*
With January the new consuls took up the control at Rome — Hirtius and Pansa, both moderate men who wanted peace without too great a landslide of power into the conservative camp; but the real leader of the State was Cicero. Against the flabbiness and indecision of the conservative majority, the astuteness of the few Antonians in the Senate who endeavoured to distract on side-issues, the sincere effort of the consuls to hold a middle course and keep open a door for negotiation, he alone fought with passionate directness for vigour of plan and act. Nothing else could save the State. He saw to the full the fanatical purpose of which Antonius and his men were the core. Nothing could oppose that fanaticism but a determination of equal intensity.
The troubled Senate listened with pounding hearts and knew that he was right. But they could not drop the faint hope that negotiation might yet arrange things. Antonius had been so conciliatory in the months after Caesar’s death. There must be a mistake somewhere. They voted for an embassy.
But something had to be done. With some hastily levied troops Hirtius joined Octavianus and marched north.
Antonius was now between two armies, both greater than his own. He replied firmly and contemptuously to the ambassadors, and maintained his position. Soon the months of winter would be passed. Then the dead earth would be reborn. Then he would act. Meanwhile he sent his lieutenant Ventidius to collect more of the veterans in the south; and the talkers at Rome thought this a great joke, since Ventidius had been a mere mule-contractor once. What officers!
*
Pansa had remained to raise more money and four legions. Only one thing was acutely distressing the moneyed classes: the threat that the tributum, dropped for over a century, would now be reimposed. They were determined to resist that whatever arguments were brought forward, whatever talk of perils environing the State was dinned into their ears. Hands off money. In their fierce resistance they felt their own constitutional authorities more a menace than the distant Antonius, the chance of bloody revolution less fearful than the immediate call for
taxes.
Cicero was bearing the whole dead weight of inertia on his shoulders. But he refused to be wearied or distracted. Mercilessly he reiterated his points. The State and the whole present order were doomed unless prompt and definite action was taken. Antonius must be denounced as a traitor, his men given a short time to disperse, money and more soldiers levied. It was ridiculous to debate terms. War had begun, and yet the Senate talked about reaching an accommodation.
A second embassy was decided on. The Senate even tried to make Cicero one of the ambassadors.
One thing only disturbed Cicero. In the necessity of creating a unified front and narrowing the issues down to Antonius against the State, he had been obliged to stand security for Octavianus, to swear before the Senate that Octavianus could be entirely trusted; and though Octavianus had responded by calling Cicero father, Cicero was not satisfied.
In mid-February came news from Greece. Brutus, who had gone in despair to Athens, had been caught in a revolt of the students; surprisingly the conservatives had carried all before them; Gaius Antonius had been deposed from Macedonia.
Then, early in March, came news that removed all effect of mere political moves in these armaments. Dolabella had stormed Smyrna and put Trebonius to death. War was begun.
Cassius had taken the province of Syria.
*
Antonius, awaiting news of Dolabella, had led out his men for a stricter blockade of Mutina. When he heard of the death of Trebonius he swore heartily. Death to all the traitors. The net was tightening. What did he care for the odds?
Pansa could not keep on delaying at Rome, though on the principle of balance he for the moment blocked the Senate from appointing Cassius to charge of the East. Meanwhile Octavianus had persuaded Hirtius to leave their quarters, to seize Bononia (now evacuated by Antonius), and to advance within sight of besieged Mutina and its besiegers.
But the Senate was still afraid of action. Neither Octavianus nor Hirtius trusted their men. Hearing of the second embassy proposed, they wrote to Antonius, and he replied in a letter of indignant and burning appeal. Justice must be done, and Dolabella was the only man who had dared to strike for righteousness. But the day of wrath was coming.
Octavianus and Hirtius politely sent the violent letter on to Rome.
The armourers at Rome were working night and day.
Never had such an array of arms been known. It seemed that every able-bodied man in the Empire was soldiering. So much the better, smiled Antonius at the heart of the ring, hopelessly hemmed in.
*
News came that Pansa was nearing, and Antonius resolved to act. The moment had come. He left some troops under Lucius to hold Octavianus and Hirtius in skirmish while he himself ambushed Pansa on the road. He did not know, however, that Hirtius had cautiously sent the Martian legion and two picked cohorts to reinforce and direct Pansa; but otherwise his strategy worked as he had intended. He concealed two legions and two picked cohorts at Forum Galli, and sent the rest of his cavalry and light infantry along the Aemilian Road. These men duly encountered Pansa’s advance guard, but found veterans instead of raw recruits. They retreated, as instructed, and drew Pansa’s troops on to Forum Galli, where the waiting legions swooped out to the attack.
Pansa bade two of his four new legions throw up a ramparted camp as best they could, while he sent on the other two legions to support the attacked vanguard. At the same time he sent messengers to Hirtius. Then he strode into the forefront of the battle. His praetorian cohort was wiped out, himself gravely wounded, and the Martian legion, hotly pursued, had to retire in disorder to the encampment.
But at this point Hirtius appeared in response to the messages, and the troops of Antonius had no recourse but to disperse over the marshy and wooded ground. During the night Antonius rounded them up by cavalry and led them back to the lines before Mutina.
*
Octavianus and Hirtius were delighted to find that under the pressure of fear and promises their men would fight. They decided to break the lines of Antonius.
Antonius sent out his cavalry to drive them back and followed up with his legions. Hirtius led the 4th legion in an assault on the camp, and Decimus Brutus sallied out of Mutina. A fierce battle was fought. Antonius was attacked in front and rear by two superior armies. But the spirit of invincibility was in his men and in himself, a Herculean figure of courage and strength. Hirtius and his chief officer were slain, and only the approach of Octavianus with his supports prevented Antonius from routing all the attackers. Decimus Brutus was hurled back into Mutina. The lines were unbroken.
That night Antonius held a Council of War. He did not know that Hirtius was dead or he would at once have assailed the inexperienced Octavianus. Messengers had arrived, however, with news that Ventidius with further legions of veterans had reached Faventia.
He decided to march off and join Lepidus in lower Gaul. Messengers were despatched to bid Ventidius cross the Apennines and march across Liguria for the same meeting-place.
Before dawn Antonius had marched out his own men. He knew that time was on his side and that his manoeuvres would soon break down the numerical superiority of his opponents. The legions would see the standard of Caesar shining brighter with every day that passed.
*
At Rome there were endless exclamations of joy. It was taken for granted that Antonius was crushed and that the revolution was ended. The Senators in their relief scoffed at Cicero for taking things so tragically. How right they had been to resist the tributum. Thus the victory which should have strengthened Cicero’s authority deprived him of what grip he had had on the Senators through their fears. But he had his way in one thing. At last Antonius was proscribed.
But the victory was not so definite. Decimus had interviewed Octavianus, who, aware of the insecure hold he had on the troops, refused to pursue Antonius. Decimus wasted another day by going off to see the wounded Pansa; but on the way he received news that Pansa had died. Thus, by the time he set out with his own troops on the chase, Antonius had a start of two days.
*
On the second day of his march Antonius reached Parma, some thirty miles beyond Mutina. That evening he sent his troops to storm and sack the city. Let them hearten themselves with the wetness of wine and women. Two days later he was forty miles farther on, at Placentia. Next day he was along the Milvian Road towards Dertona. At Dertona he gave his men a day’s rest and then led them out on the mountain road.
Decimus, now allotted three of Pansa’s legions besides his own, had to go much slower in pursuit. His raw recruits, exhausted by the privations of the siege, lacked the morale of the legionaries of Antonius. But he hung grimly on, subduing the men by his dogged earnestness.
Antonius marched his legions over the wild and rugged mountain tracks, cheering them with his indomitable presence as they trudged through desolate regions of stone. He ate horseflesh and berries among them, laughing at the fare, drinking horse urine for a bet, snatching the pack from the shoulders of a bent man and tossing it in the air as if he was playing at ball. He moved up and down the line, walking twice as far as the plodding soldiers, picking out a recognised face and talking of the great days under Caesar in Gaul. He sang in his powerful voice, and threw stones at an occasional bird of prey. His boots were cut to pieces on the stones, but he refused a new pair, and compared bruises with the footsore. He was unwashed. He had let his beard grow. Any wine he could lay hands on he drank, laughing, fiercely and tautly alive.
But he had one anxiety. Would Ventidius meet him as ordered?
On 5th May Decimus reached Tortona and heard a rumour that Antonius and Ventidius had joined forces at Vado. He believed and wrote in despair to Cicero, asking for money. But during the night he learned that the junction had not been effected. Next day he advanced, and after a hard march, on the 9th, while only thirty miles from Vado, he discovered that he was too late. Ventidius had arrived.
But he did not know the new troubles of Antonius. The soldiers
under Ventidius, not inspired by the long contact with Antonius that upheld the others, complained that they’d done nothing but march over mountains and that they’d had enough of it. Another 100 miles of heavy climbing was too much to ask.
Having no time to deal with this discontent, Antonius ordered Ventidius to occupy and hold Placentia; but Decimus heard of this move, and by a forced march he seized Placentia ahead of Ventidius. He thus helped Antonius considerably; for the discontented troops, seeing themselves shut out, decided to follow Antonius after all, and retraced their steps.
Antonius was now assured of a safe arrival beyond the Ligurian Mountains. The one hope of the conservatives was that Lepidus would declare against him; but Antonius had no fear of that.
Decimus, unable to pursue farther, marched off to join Plancus, who as governor of Further Gaul has massed his troops to the north of Lepidus.
*
Antonius knew where the heart of Lepidus lay. While before Mutina he had received a deputation from Lepidus, who had given the men conveniently vague instructions; they attached themselves to Antonius under the command of Silanus, younger son of Servilia and half-brother of Brutus. Before Lepidus left Rome he had been made Chief Priest through the offices of Antonius, and a match had been arranged between his young son and an even younger daughter of Antonius, who was living with her grandmother. But Lepidus liked to do things his own way and Antonius had no wish to hurry him. Always now he had the conviction that time was on his side, that every day gained meant a deepening and widening of disorder in the ranks of the enemy and of Caesar-faith in the hearts of the soldiers.
He had lost all fear and doubt. He was part of the army that he led, the spearhead of the shaft. The great boisterous communal life of the men was centred in his blood. They were his thoughts, his strength; stirring with him asleep or awake; filled with him as he with them. The day was the glamour of their bonded energy; the night was the immensity of their trust. His decision was their increasing certainty of worship for the dead Caesar. He ate and drank with them, supremely absorbed and happy.
