Cicero slammed his hands on the armrests of his chair. “If that is how you feel, then this has been a wasted journey.”
He made as if to rise, but Octavian leaned across and pressed down on his shoulder. “Not so fast, my dear friend. No need to take offence. I agree with your analysis. My sole objective is to defeat Antony, and I would much prefer to do that with the legal authority of the Senate.”
Cicero said, “Let us be clear: you would prefer it even if—and this is what it would mean—you have to go to the rescue of Decimus, the very man who lured your adopted father to his death?”
Octavian fixed him with his cold grey eyes. “I have no problem with that.”
From then on, there was no doubt in my mind that Cicero and Octavian would make a deal. Even Agrippa seemed to relax a little. It was agreed that Cicero would propose in the Senate that Octavian, despite his age, be given imperium and the legal authority to wage war against Antony. In return, Octavian would place himself under the command of the consuls. What might happen in the longer term, after Antony was destroyed, was left vague. Nothing was written down.
Cicero said, “You will be able to tell if I have fulfilled my side of my bargain by reading my speeches—which I shall send you—and in the resolutions passed by the Senate. And I shall know from the movements of your legions if you are fulfilling yours.”
Octavian said, “You need have no doubts on that score.”
Atticus went off to find the steward and came back with a jug of Tuscan wine and five silver cups which he filled and handed round. Cicero felt moved to make a speech. “On this day youth and experience, arms and the toga, have come together in solemn compact to rescue the commonwealth. Let us go forth from this place, each man to his station, resolved to do his duty to the republic.”
“To the republic,” said Octavian, and raised his cup.
“To the republic!” we all echoed, and drank.
Octavian and Agrippa politely refused to stay the night: they explained that they needed to reach their nearby camp before darkness as the next day was Saturnalia and Octavian was expected to distribute gifts to his men. After much mutual backslapping and protestations of undying affection, Cicero and Octavian said goodbye to one another. The young man’s parting phrase I still remember: “Your speeches and my swords will make an unbeatable alliance.” When they had gone, Cicero went out on to the terrace and walked around in the rain to calm his nerves while I out of habit cleared away the wine cups. Octavian, I noticed, had not touched a drop.
Cicero had not expected to have to address the Senate until the first day of January, when Hirtius and Pansa were due to take over as consuls. But on our return we discovered the tribunes had summoned an emergency meeting to be held in two days’ time to discuss the looming war between Antony and Decimus. Cicero decided that the sooner he made good on his promise to Octavian the better. Accordingly he went down to the Temple of Concordia early in the morning to show his intention of speaking. As usual I went with him and stood at the door to record his remarks.
Once word spread that Cicero was in his place, people began pouring into the Forum. Senators who might not otherwise have attended also decided they had better come to hear what he had to say. Within an hour the benches were packed. Among those who changed his plans was the consul-designate, Hirtius. He rose from his sickbed for the first time in weeks, and his appearance when he walked into the temple drew gasps. The plump young gourmet who had helped write Caesar’s Commentaries and who used to entertain Cicero to dinners of swan and peacock had shrivelled to barely more than a skeleton. I believe he was suffering from what Hippocrates, the father of Greek medicine, calls a carcino; he had a scar on his neck where a growth had been recently removed.
The tribune who presided over the session was Appuleius, a friend of Cicero. He began by reading out an edict issued by Decimus denying Antony permission to enter Nearer Gaul, reiterating his determination to keep the province loyal to the Senate and confirming that he had moved his forces into Mutina. That was the town where I had delivered Cicero’s letter to Caesar all those years before, and I recalled its stout walls and heavy gates: much would depend on whether it could hold out against a long siege by Antony’s superior forces. When he had finished reading, Appuleius said, “Within days—perhaps even already—the republic will be gripped once more by civil war. The question is: what are we to do? I call on Cicero to give us his opinion.”
Hundreds of men leaned forwards in anticipation as Cicero rose.
“This meeting, honourable gentlemen, comes not a moment too soon in my opinion. An iniquitous war against our hearths and altars, our lives and fortunes, is no longer just being prepared but is actually being waged by a profligate and wanton man. It is no good our waiting for the first day of January before we act. Antony does not wait. He’s already attacking the eminent and remarkable Decimus. And from Nearer Gaul he threatens to descend on us in Rome. Indeed, he would have done so before now had it not been for a young man—or almost rather a boy, but one of incredible and near-godlike intelligence and courage—who raised an army and saved the state.”
He paused to allow his words to register. Senators turned to their neighbours to check they had heard correctly. The temple became a hubbub of surprise mingled with some notes of indignation and gasps of excitement. Did he just say the boy had saved the state? It was a while before Cicero could continue.
“Yes, this is my belief, gentlemen, this is my judgement: had not a single youth stood up to that madman, this commonwealth would have utterly perished. On him today—and we are here today, free to express our views, only because of him—on him we must confer the authority to defend the republic, not as something merely undertaken by him, but as a charge entrusted to him by us.”
There were a few cries of “No!” and “He’s bought you!” from Antony’s supporters but these were drowned by applause from the rest of the Senate. Cicero pointed to the door. “Do you not see the packed Forum and how the Roman people are encouraged to hope for the recovery of their liberty? That now, after a long interval, when they see us assembled here in such numbers, they hope we have met together as free men?”
Thus opened what became known as the Third Philippic. It turned Roman politics on its axis. It lavished praise on Octavian, or Caesar, as Cicero now called him for the first time. (“Who is more chaste than this young man? Who more modest? What brighter example have we among youth of old-world purity?”) It pointed the way to a strategy that might yet lead to the salvation of the republic. (“The immortal gods have given us these safeguards—for the city, Caesar; Decimus for Gaul.”) But perhaps even more important, for tired and careworn hearts, after months and years of supine acquiescence, it fired the Senate with fighting spirit.
“Today for the first time after a long interval we set our feet in possession of liberty. It is to glory and to liberty we were born. And if the final episode in the long history of our republic has arrived, then let us at the least behave like champion gladiators: they meet death honourably; let us see to it that we too—who stand foremost of all nations on the earth—fall with dignity rather than serve with ignominy.”
Such was the effect that when Cicero sat down a large part of the Senate immediately stood and rushed to crowd around him with their congratulations. It was clear that for the time being he had carried all before him. At Cicero’s behest a motion was proposed thanking Decimus for his defence of Nearer Gaul, praising Octavian for his “help, courage and judgement,” and promising him future honours as soon as the consuls-elect convened the Senate in the new year. It passed overwhelmingly. Then, most unusually, the tribunes invited Cicero rather than a serving magistrate to go out into the Forum and report to the people on what the Senate had decided.
He had told us before he went to meet Octavian that power in Rome was lying in the dust merely waiting for someone to pick it up. That was what he did that day. He climbed on to the rostra, watched by the Senate, and turned to face all those th
ousands of citizens. “Your incredible numbers, Romans,” he bellowed at them, “and the size—the greatest I can ever remember—of this assembly, inspire me to defend the republic and give me the hope of re-establishing it!
“I can tell you that Gaius Caesar, who has protected and is protecting the state and your liberty, has just been thanked by the Senate!” A great swell of applause arose from the crowd. “I commend,” shouted Cicero, struggling to make his voice heard, “I commend you, Romans, for greeting with the warmest applause the name of a most noble young man. Divine and immortal honours are due for his divine and immortal services!
“You are fighting, Romans, against an enemy with whom no peace terms are possible. Antony is not just a guilty and villainous man. He is a monstrous and savage animal. The issue is not on what terms we shall live, but whether we shall live at all, or perish in torture and ignominy!
“As for me, I shall spare no efforts on your behalf. We have today, for the first time after a long interval, with my counsel and at my instance, been fired by the hope of liberty!”
With that he took a pace backward to signal that his speech was over, the crowd roared and stamped their feet in approval, and the last and most glorious phase of Cicero’s public career began.
—
From my shorthand notes I made a transcript of both speeches, and once again a team of scribes worked in relays to make copies. These were variously posted up in the Forum and dispatched to Brutus, Cassius, Decimus and the other prominent men in the republican cause. Naturally they were also sent to Octavian, who read them at once and replied within a week:
From G. Caesar to his friend and mentor M. Cicero.
Greetings!
I enjoyed your latest Philippics very much. “Chaste…modest…purity…godlike intelligence”—my ears are burning! Seriously, don’t lay it on too thick, mon vieux, as I can only be a disappointment! I would love one day to talk to you about the finer points of oratory—I know how much I could learn from you, on this as on other matters. And so—onwards! As soon as I hear word from you that my army has been made legal and I have the necessary authority to wage war, I shall move my legions north to attack Antony.
All men now waited anxiously for the next meeting of the Senate, due to be held on the first day of January. Cicero fretted that they were wasting precious time: “It is the most important rule in politics always to keep things moving.” He went to see Hirtius and Pansa and urged them to bring the session forward; they refused, saying they did not have the legal authority. Still, he believed he had their confidence and that the three of them would present a united front. But when the new year dawned, and the sacrifices had been conducted on the Capitol in accordance with tradition, and the Senate retired to the Temple of Jupiter to debate the state of the nation, he received a nasty shock. Both Pansa, who presided and made the opening speech, and Hirtius, who spoke next, expressed the hope that, grave though the situation was, it might still be possible to find a peaceful solution with Antony. This was not at all what Cicero wanted to hear.
As the senior ex-consul, he had expected to be called next and rose accordingly. But instead Pansa ignored him in favour of his father-in-law, Quintus Calenus, an old supporter of Clodius and a crony of Antony, who had never been elected consul but had only been appointed to the office by the Dictator. He was a stocky, burly figure, built like a blacksmith, and no great speaker, but he was blunt and heard with respect.
“This crisis,” he said, “has been made out by the learned and distinguished Cicero to be a war between the republic on the one side and Mark Antony on the other. That’s not correct, gentlemen. It’s a war between three different parties: Antony, who was made governor of Nearer Gaul by a vote of this house and by the people; Decimus, who refuses to surrender his command; and a boy who has raised a private army and is out for all he can get. Of the three, I know and personally favour Antony. Perhaps as a compromise we should offer him the governorship of Further Gaul instead? But if that’s too much for the rest of you, I propose we should at the very least stay neutral.”
When he sat, Cicero stood again. But again Pansa ignored him and called Lucius Piso, Caesar’s ex-father-in-law, whom Cicero had also naturally counted as an ally. Instead Piso made a long speech, the gist of it being that he had always regarded Antony as a danger to the state, and still did, but having lived through the last civil war, he had no desire to live through another and believed the Senate should make one last attempt at peace by sending a delegation to Antony to offer him terms. “I propose that he should submit himself to the will of the Senate and people, abandon his siege of Mutina and withdraw his army to the Italian side of the Rubicon but no closer to Rome than two hundred miles. If he does that, then even at this late stage war may be averted. But if he does not, and war does come, at least the world will have no doubt who bears the blame.”
When Piso had finished, Cicero did not even bother to stand, but sat with his chin sunk on his chest, glowering at the floor. The next speaker was his other supposed ally, P. Servilius Vatia Isauricus, who delivered himself of a great many platitudes and spoke bitterly of Antony, but even more bitterly of Octavian. He was a relative by marriage of Brutus and Cassius and raised a question that was in many minds: “Ever since he arrived in Italy Octavian has made the most violent speeches, swearing to avenge his so-called father by bringing his killers to justice. In so doing he threatens the safety of some of the most illustrious men in the state. Have they been consulted about the honours now being contemplated for Caesar’s adopted son? What guarantees do we have that if we proceed to make this ambitious and immature would-be warlord the ‘sword and shield of the Senate’—as the noble Cicero suggests—he won’t turn round and use his sword against us?”
These five speeches, coming after the ceremonial opening, took up all of the short January day, and Cicero returned home with his prepared oration undelivered. “Peace!” He spat out the word. Always in the past he had been an advocate of peace; no longer. He jutted his chin in belligerence as he complained bitterly of the consuls: “What a pair of spineless mediocrities. All those hours I spent teaching them how to speak properly! And to what end? I would have been better employed teaching them how to think straight.” As for Calenus, Piso and Isauricus, they were “addle-headed appeasers,” “faint hearts,” “political monstrosities”—after a time I stopped making a note of his insults. He retired to his study to rewrite his speech and the next morning sallied forth for the second day of the debate like a warship in full battle array.
From the moment the session began he was on his feet, and stayed there, signalling that he expected to be called next and would not take no for an answer. Behind him his supporters chanted his name, and eventually Pansa had no option but to indicate by his gestures that Cicero had the floor.
“Nothing, gentlemen,” Cicero began, “has ever seemed longer to me in coming than the beginning of this new year and with it this meeting of the Senate. We have waited—but those who wage war against the state have not. Does Mark Antony desire peace? Then let him lay down his arms. Let him ask for peace. Let him appeal to our mercy. But to send envoys to a man on whom thirteen days ago you passed the heaviest and severest judgement is beyond a joke and is—if I must give my real opinion—madness!”
One by one, like the impact of missiles thrown by some mighty ballista, Cicero demolished the arguments of his opponents. Antony did not have any legal title to be governor of Nearer Gaul: his law was pushed through an invalid assembly in a thunderstorm. He was a forger. He was a thief. He was a traitor. To give him the province of Further Gaul would be to give him access to “the sinews of war: unlimited money”—the idea was absurd. “And it is to this man, great heavens, that we are pleased to send envoys? He will never obey anybody’s envoys! I know the fellow’s madness and arrogance. But time meanwhile will be wasted. The preparations for war will cool—they have already been dragged out by slowness and delay. If we had acted sooner we should not now be having
a war at all. Every evil is easily crushed at birth; allow it to become established and it always gathers strength.
“So I propose, gentlemen, that we should send no envoys. I say instead that a state of emergency should be declared, that the courts should be shut, that military dress should be worn, that recruitment should be started, that exemptions from military service should be suspended throughout Rome and the whole of Italy, and that Antony be declared a public enemy…”
A spontaneous roar of applause and stamping feet drowned out the remainder of his sentence but he carried on speaking through it:
“…if we do all that, he will feel that he has begun a war against the state. He will experience the energy and strength of a Senate with one mind. He says this is a war of parties. What parties? This war has not been stirred up by any parties but by him alone!
“And now I come to Gaius Caesar, upon whom my friend Isauricus heaped such scorn and suspicion. Yet if he had not lived, who of us could have been alive now? What god presented to the Roman people this heaven-sent boy? By his protection the tyranny of Antony was thwarted. Let us therefore give Caesar the necessary command, without which no military affairs can be administered, no army held together, no war waged. Let him be pro-praetor with the maximum power of a regular appointment.
“On him our hope of liberty rests. I know this young man. Nothing is dearer to him than the republic, nothing more important than your authority, nothing more desirable than the opinion of good men, nothing sweeter than genuine glory. I shall even venture to give you my word, gentlemen—to you and to the Roman people: I promise, I undertake, I solemnly pledge that Gaius Caesar will always be such a citizen as he is today, the citizen that we all most earnestly wish and pray that he should be.”
That speech, and in particular that guarantee, changed everything. I believe it can truly be asserted—and it is a rare boast for any oration—that if Cicero had not delivered his Fifth Philippic, then history would have been different, for opinion in the Senate was almost evenly divided, and until he spoke, the debate was running Antony’s way. Now his words stemmed the tide and the votes started to flow back in favour of war. Indeed, Cicero might have won on every point if a tribune named Salvius had not interposed his veto, prolonging the debate into a fourth day, and giving Antony’s wife, Fulvia, the chance to appear at the door of the temple to plead for moderation. She was accompanied by her infant son—the one who had been sent up to the Capitol as a hostage—and by Antony’s elderly mother, Julia, who was a cousin of Julius Caesar and greatly admired for her noble bearing. They were all dressed in black and made a most affecting spectacle, three generations walking down the aisle of the Senate with their hands clasped in supplication. Every senator was aware that if Antony was to be named a public enemy, all his property would be seized and they would be thrown out on to the streets.
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