Brutus buried his head in his hands, masking a pained expression. He finally picked up his stylus, which seemed to weigh as heavy as a dagger, and commenced to draft a letter to his ally and mentor.
Dear Cicero,
You wisely set down in On the Nature of the Gods that, “If anyone ever tried to improve anything in the natural world, he would either make it worse or else attempt the impossible.” Perhaps the same is true for the political world. We either underestimated Julius’ auctoritas or overestimated our own. The ghost of Caesar still haunts Rome, whilst I am in exile. How long before Antony usurps enough power to decree me an outlaw? I should now be presiding over legislation in the capital - instead I am bound for Macedonia, to preside over grain storage …
… What option do I have but to exit the stage for now? But I am yours to direct. This race is but half run - and as Julius once argued it is where one is positioned at the end of the course that matters. Both Cassius and I will glean support and funds to build an army. Antony is not Caesar. He neither possesses Julius’ abilities, or fortune. The “feckless boy”, as Pompey rightly judged him, will fail - fall. Despite my protestations above know my friend that I am still Brutus and my commitment to rid Rome of tyranny remains as stolid. I am as constant as the Northern Star.
Your friend and student, Marcus Brutus.
Brutus put down his stylus and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was unsure whether the wine was causing his headache, or if by partaking of some more he would remedy it. He read over the letter again, ruminating upon whether to tell Cicero how the ghost of Caesar was also haunting his dreams.
*
The encampment was just outside Atina, buried in the woods. A thick canopy of trees blocked out a majestic night sky. Lentil soup and a side of honey-glazed venison sat over a crackling fire. Gravius - and a select band of men from his cohort - were now devoid of any possessions marking them out as legionaries. The centurion downed another measure of sour acetum - thinking that he would be able to afford a fine vintage after this job was complete. Most of his men were now sleeping off their own measures of wine, but Gravius was still awake, holding court around the fire with his lieutenants.
“It was shortly after Alesia. We were on patrol and discovered this Gaulish deserter in a cave. After spending ten minutes with Scylla and Charybdis (Gravius here proudly held up his two scarred fists) I proposed some sport with the surrender monkey. We found a length of rope and a dice. He was told that if he threw a one, two, three, four or a five we would hang him. His eyes near popped out of his head as if he had already been hung upon hearing this. But there was also this one shred of hope lighting his expression as he asked, ‘What about if I throw a six?’, ‘Well, if that happens’ I said, whilst putting a reassuring arm around his shoulder, ‘you get to throw again.’”
The men cackled in unison with the fire.
“But to business. The plan will be to march to Venatrum. Our quarry is currently cooped up in Puteoli. I will send a scouting party along the Appian Way. Our contractor has also placed some agents close to the estate where the boy is staying. Either way we shall be provided with intelligence of the party’s position in advance. I know of a perfect spot for an ambush between Venatrum and Allifae. There are to be no survivors.”
“The poor bastard won’t know what’s hit him,” one of the lieutenants remarked, shaking his head in sadness but grinning nevertheless.
“I’ll know what has hit him. My axe. But let the gods bless the poor bastard all the same - as he’s about to make us all rich bastards,” Gravius declared.
Again the band of brothers laughed as Gravius sniffed and spat out the phlegm caught in his throat. No one complained as the green missile landed limpet-like upon the venison, missing its intended target of the fire.
*
Marcus Agrippa yawned and gazed at his bed with a look of desire as if the serving girl from earlier was lying across it - but he continued with the letter to his friend.
Dear Rufus,
The night has been long so you will forgive me if this letter is short. We have arrived safely at Balbus’ estate. You’d like it here. There are more staff than dishes on the menu, just about - and the staff are dishes in themselves. I caught the eye of a serving girl tonight. I just hope that’s all I caught off her.
You ask what Gaius’ plans are? I’m not sure if he even knows them. We are like an army marching to battle, not knowing the strength of our enemy. Or enemies. It is a shame that your father would not allow you to join our party. Employ all your arts as a young advocate to change his mind…
… I was talking to Oppius and one could almost reduce it down to mathematics - which side will have the most money to purchase the most legions. At present no one contingent - whether it be ours, Antony’s or the Senate’s - has the necessary force to defeat the other two… Lucius remarked that our greatest strength at present could be our perceived weakness, for the Senate and Antony are unlikely to collude to see off the threat of an eighteen year old …
Your tired friend, Marcus.
25.
Citrus sunlight poured down over the emerald garden. The felt lawn was bordered by all manner of ornate flowers. Bowls of grapes, olives, cured meats and sweet pastries were placed on a table, which was housed underneath a tent. Balbus stood to attention and invited his guest to sit.
“Please, let me know if there’s anything I can get you.”
“This water will suffice, thank you,” Octavius replied.
Balbus raised a corner of his mouth in a fleeting smile, recalling how Julius would have the same meagre breakfast. With a nod of his head Balbus instructed his attendants to depart.
“Your great-uncle, or father as we should grow accustomed to calling him, was the most accomplished man I have ever known. If you do right by his name then I will do right by you Gaius.”
“I have no intention of seeing his name, or accomplishments, dishonoured Cornelius.”
“Now, to business. And the business of Rome is business. One of our tasks is to convince people - the merchant and political classes, the mob, and legions - that by investing in Caesar their futures will be more prosperous. We have retained the support of the majority of Caesar’s clients - senators who owe their position to Julius, merchants who have profited from his legislation and favours, soldiers who served under his standard. We must persuade these constituencies that they are, by betting on you, betting on the eventual winner.”
Octavius listened intently but refrained from comment.
“As soon as you enter the capital as Caesar you will be crossing your own Rubicon. Are you prepared for the consequences? Power can change a man Gaius; turn him into a monster - a serpent feeding upon its own tail. The course of honours is a race that never ends. Even if one becomes the First Man of Rome you’ll still be fated to look over your shoulder, worried about who stands behind you - and as such you may take your eyes off where you’re going. Knowing such, do you still want to cross the Rubicon?”
“Aut Caesar aur nihil,” Octavius calmly replied, gazing out onto the well tended garden.
“What are you prepared to do? What kind of person are you willing to become? Would you slit the throat of your best friend?”
Octavius thought of Agrippa.
“No, but I would slit the throat of the man that asked me to do such a thing,” Caesar responded, with a look as steely as a blade.
*
Oppius’ arrow thudded into the centre of the target, adding to the tightly grouped bunch. He proceeded to instruct Agrippa.
“Never ask your men to do something you haven’t done, or wouldn’t do. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. Do not break a promise over pay. Train hard, so you can fight easy. Promote discipline, but never be cruel for cruelty’s sake.”
Agrippa nodded his head and then fired his own arrow into the target next to the centurion’s. Again the bolt landed outside the inner circle, where but one shot resided. Oppius raised an eyebrow, hoping that Marcu
s was just having an off session. They all had things on their minds.
“For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a soldier. Yet I have of late thought that I do not want to solely be a soldier for the rest of my life.”
“What do you want to be then, Marcus?”
“A general can build an army - but it is usually for the purpose to destroy something.”
“Or protect. But your point is taken.”
“We, Gaius and I, want to build something else. Something better.”
Marcus pulled back his bow and fired off another shot, which again landed outside the inner target.
“And what is it you wish to build?”
“An empire.”
“You’re certainly aiming high, Marcus. Nearly as high as that last arrow.”
“Really? There I was thinking that I was just getting my eye in,” Agrippa replied, nodding towards the target and the make-shift face upon it: a lop-sided grin, nose and two eyes, marked out by his arrows.
*
The breeze wafted through the tent. Wood pigeons darted across the pastel blue sky. Balbus was impressed by the speed at which the young Caesar took things in. The clarity and insight with which Octavius expressed himself also reminded the secretary of his former employer.
“Hirtius, our consul-elect and one time secretary to Julius when he was writing his books, passed this way recently. Suffice to say he can replicate Julius’ prose style better than his military or political genius.”
“Julius once joked to me that he used his stomach more than his head,” Octavius replied, recalling the scene of his uncle whispering the comment in his ear.
“Aye, our Hirtius is quite the gourmet, or glutton. One of the arms of the curule chair may have to be removed, just so he can fit on it. It is doubtful whether Hirtius or Pansa will side with Antony, as my agents report that Antony is reluctant to allow them to inherit the consulship. He wishes to remain as dictator, or serve as pro-consul in Gaul - yet Decimus Brutus has a grip on the office there and would rather give up his mother than his legions. Mark Antony has a number of legions loyal to him in Macedonia. But ultimately he is relying upon winning over our Caesarian legions. Partly because he too wishes to win over the Caesarians - and to undermine Antony - Hirtius will not oppose you or your bid to claim your inheritance. And where Hirtius goes Pansa will follow. And he has recently followed him to Cicero’s villa.”
“We must divide to conquer,” Octavius remarked, surveying the map on the table and political situation.
“Exactly. We must play a long game - and you have time on your side to do so. There are other positives, too. Our campaign is well funded. We have at our disposal the war chest that Julius was intending to take to Parthia. Marcus Phillipus pledged his support this morning too. Our clients are not without means and the will to finance you, for their present support, will buy future favours.”
“And what future favour will purchase your present support, Cornelius?” Octavius remarked, in a spirit of candour rather than offence.
“I want you to honour a promise that your uncle made to me before he died.”
*
Whilst Oppius, Casca and Roscius went off to drill the men whom Balbus was providing to escort Octavius to Rome, Cleanthes and Agrippa, finished off their lunch.
“I have to confess Cleanthes, I’ve been impressed by the amount of drink you can handle,” Agrippa exclaimed, as the tutor drained another cup.
“The harder I practise, the luckier I get,” Cleanthes replied, winking at his companion.
“Why do you drink so much, if you do not mind me asking?”
“I drink to forget, Marcus.”
“To forget what?”
“I can’t remember. But no more on that. I was speaking to Roscius last night. He seems to think that you could make a great general one day.”
“Wine truth I warrant,” Agrippa self-effacingly replied, inwardly cheered by the comment however.
“Perhaps. But to be successful in this life Marcus you should, even more than a great general, be a good husband and father. Your devotion to Gaius and Rome are admirable but make sure that they do not become the sum of your existence. Tullia brought Cicero greater consolation to his life than his study of philosophy or becoming consul. And would not Caesar have traded all his victories to have his daughter Julia back? Remember Marcus, to win on the battlefield you have to dominate, but to succeed in your personal life sometimes you have to submit, sacrifice ground.”
“And how successful have you been in your personal life?”
“I forget,” the tutor replied, burying a wistful smile in his wine cup.
*
Octavius and Balbus continued to plot. The secretary advised that Octavius should cut his hair; he should address the legions with a short martial style, not that of a floppy-haired teenager. He suggested the date, time and even gate that Ocatvius should use as to when to enter Rome. In order to sow the seeds of the new Caesar’s dignitas and authoritas the secretary would employ his agents and clients to arrange rallies, both for civilians and military constituencies, in towns along the way to Rome. The two men worked on the import and wording of various correspondence and pamphlets. There would be a distinct difference between Caesar’s public and private mandate towards avenging Caesar’s death. As well as schooling his new master in the sport and stratagems of Roman politics, Balbus shared some stories about Caesar.
“Whilst Crassus used to hide himself away in his treasury counting his money, Julius would be in Crassus’ bedroom, counting the times he made love to his wife … Julius once remarked that though Pompey had more hair, he had more brains … Sometimes Caesar’s clemency was sincere, sometimes cynical … I remember him quoting Thucydides the evening after returning from Spain and the civil war: The right way to deal with free people is this - not to inflict tremendous punishments on them after they have revolted, but to take tremendous care of them before this point is reached, to prevent them even contemplating the idea of revolt, and, if we have to use force with them, to hold as few of them as possible responsible. For all of his charm and brilliance Julius, for me, towards the end, was enmeshed in remorse. He was trying to atone for his past by creating a better future.”
Twilight’s mellow glow suffused the air. The lines across the map were becoming blurred, Cornelius’ hand ached from having written so much. The secretary decided to call time on their day’s work. As Balbus did so however one of his attendants strode up and handed him a scroll. He opened and surveyed it immediately.
“It seems that Antony has dispatched Lepidus to Spain in order to recruit to his cause the legions posted there. I warrant his mission is to also sound out Sextus Pompey about his support,” the politic adviser remarked, his eyebrow arched in intrigue.
“Should we be worried by this news?”
“The news certainly shows that Antony is worried, if he needs to ask his former enemy for help. We can use such desperation and treachery to our advantage. This news also reminds us how we must get you to Rome sooner rather than later. The stage is set for the young Caesar to enter Rome.”
“I have one other stop to make beforehand.”
“Cicero? You should keep to our timetable,” Balbus warned, partly fearful of Octavius being detained too long, but more so he was worried about the seductive influence the former consul could have upon the studious youth.
“I mean to keep to our schedule, but I also must keep my promise to Marcus Phillipus.”
“I count Cicero as a friend - but also a political opponent. Julius admired him greatly. He once remarked that the only things which would endure as much as his deeds would be Cicero’s words. Critics of Cicero have called him inconsistent and hypocritical over the years but one could argue that he has always remained constant in his stance - to have a foot in more than one camp. I sense that this new crisis has re-invigorated the old man as well. For many a month he just pined away, mourning for his daughter. For that I can forgive him. Tullia
was an accomplished young woman, wise in everything aside from her choice of husband and her blind devotion to the wastrel. I dare say Cicero was also in mourning for past glories and influence. Although Julius admired the former consul - he also often ignored him. Be wary of the wily old man though, Gaius. Marcus Tullius spoke in my defence at a trial in Rome many years ago. Such was his eloquence that even I started to believe that I was innocent,” Balbus issued with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. “If he offers to champion you in Rome, remember that his ultimate champion is Brutus.”
“I’ll duly trust him as much as he trusts us,” Octavius remarked and smiled, concealing however how much he was genuinely looking forward to meeting the revered statesman and writer.
*
The wind rustled the leaves of the cypress trees. Crickets murmured in the background, along with chimes of laughter from the serving girls who attended to Roscius and Casca inside the house. Octavius and Agrippa sat on the porch. The air was still stodgy from the smell of the Trojan Pig, pine nuts and marinated vegetables that had been served at dinner. Stars studded the satin cloth of a clear evening sky.
“How was your day?” Agrippa asked.
“Long, but rewarding. Cornelius can be trusted I think,” Octavius replied, going on to recount the latest news and strategy that they had mapped out. “And how was your day?”
“Shorter than yours, it seems. It mostly consisted of a long lunch with Cleanthes. But I intend to have a long night. You must join us. I’ll let the First Man of Rome have first choice with the staff.”
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