'One thing worries me,' he said. 'It is unclear in what capacity we are proposing to act. Of course our dear Octavian is consul, but only till the end of the year - another couple of months. We both have proconsular commands, but they give us no imperium outside our provinces. And that is all. Is it enough to let us act with authority?'
'We have more than forty legions,' Antony said. 'Only an old woman would seek further authority.'
I could not agree. The legions gave power, not authority. There was meat in Lepidus' argument. It is frequently necessary in politics to depart from the book, but it is rash to seem contemptuous of formalities, precedent and legality.
'Unfortunately,' I said, 'Antony has abolished the office of dictator. Otherwise I would suggest he took that title, like my father and Sulla.'
'You would?' Antony said. 'I believe you, sure. Thousands wouldn't.' A smile broke through his mask of settled scepticism such as I have seen slide over the faces of practical men as they listened to philosophers debate.
'But of course,' I said.
'Formalities!' Antony said. 'I'm old enough to remember how Himself and Pompey and that great eunuch Marcus Crassus carved up the State at Lucca. Is that not precedent enough?'
'But that was condemned by all good men as sheer gangsterism.' 'Sure it was! So what?'
'A moment,' I said. 'I think it provides us with a model but one that we should refine further. Let us indeed institute a triumvirate, a Second Triumvirate, but let us do so by legal process. Let us get a tribune to introduce a law in the Assembly empowering the three of us, for a period of, say, five years, to order the Republic. He can spout a lot of high-minded stuff to let people vote with a good conscience for what they may not like but yet see is necessary. Such a law would grant us full imperium; it would mean that the legality of our measures could not be subsequently questioned, and it would let us control all elections; we could simply nominate sole candidates, for years in advance. Wouldn't some such scheme serve?'
(I knew it would. Marcellus, Maecenas and myself had hammered it out over beer and sandwiches the night before. Maecenas had then had himself ferried across to Antony's camp to discuss it with Antony's chief of staff Asinius Pollio. I was therefore hardly risking much in making this proposal, even though it seemed that Polio had had no time to brief his general, or perhaps had not found him in briefable condition.)
Before Antony could reply, I added, 'Though it may prove at some time expedient for one of us to hold a consulship during the period of our. . . rule, I don't think it's a good idea that one of us should do so at the start. I therefore propose to resign my consulship as soon as we have ratified our agreement.'
It was later put about that Antony had compelled me to give up my office; I am happy to take this opportunity of denying that and giving the true account.
My proposal lightened the atmosphere. We all now felt comfortably ensconced in legality, for we had of course no doubt that such a measure would be put through the Assembly. So we were able to turn our attention to those whom we were about to proscribe.
At first it was easy. Our several staffs had provided us with lists of those senators known to be inclined towards the 'liberators' and of similarly disaffected (and rich) equestrians. Many names were to be found on all three lists. We pricked them with equanimity. These were men who had chosen their side and knew what they risked losing. Our humanity was not affected, for most of them had already fled Italy, many more would do so on learning of their inclusion in our list. We were after their property; few had such personal significance as to make their deaths desirable.
Yet, as the listing continued, distrust and rivalry entered our hearts. We were each putting ourselves in a position in which we would appear to ill advantage; our proscriptions would arouse hatred as well as fear. Each death would breed vendetta. It was expedient therefore that all should be seen to be equally involved.
Antony drank more and more wine as the debate continued. I despised him for that. It was my first reminder of that weakness of character which would in time destroy him; he shrank from the reality of his actions, and grew boisterous and over-stretched.
'Lepidus,' he cried, 'your brother Paullus must go.'
'Paullus! My brother?'
'Look at his wealth, look at his record! Himself spared him. Himself bought him, didn't he? Did he get the support he paid for? Prick him down, kid.'
'You consent, Lepidus?'
He shrugged his shoulders, 'I have done what I can. Very well. On condition Antony sacrifices his mother's brother, L. Julius Caesar. He's a connection of both of you, and a Pompeian. You must be joined equally in blood guilt with me.'
Antony hid his mouth in his wine-glass. The man was old, blameless (I believed); he had opposed Cicero's demand that the Senate name Antony a public enemy. The glass was lowered.
'Very well. He has not long to live in any case. And he has, as you say, a history as an undeviating Republican. Prick him down
...
to sacrifice a Julian and a Caesar . . .'he broke off and took a swig from his wine.
'Will convince any doubters,' I said, 'that we have bound ourselves to the wheel. From proscriptions there can be no retreat.'
'Atticus,' Lepidus said, with a snake-flick of his tongue. 'No one will spill more gold than that fat banker.'
He was warming to his work. I learned then that a weak man's thirst for blood is fiercer than a strong man's. In drawing up this list Lepidus was repaying the world for his own sense that he was less than his name.
Antony gave me no lead. He had recently received conspicuous kindness from Atticus, acts which had been reprobated by the Senate's grandees. Now he was silent. His generosity of spirit stopped short of paying debts. I made a note of that, and myself said:
'There are many reasons for including Atticus on the list as our colleague suggests. His wealth for a start; the protection he has extended to Brutus' mother; the effect such a pricking would have on others. Yet I think we should consider the matter more closely. We may be about to embark on a long war. It is not only Brutus and Cassius whom we must confront. There's Sextus Pompey too. Who knows how many years it may take us? Now, proscriptions on this scale cannot be repeated. They must be regarded as a once-for-all capital levy. But when we have exhausted its proceeds, we shall still need money, often in a hurry. Who knows how to raise funds or advance credit better than Atticus or his fellow banker Balbus? They are men we shall need in the future. The wise course now is to bind them to us by manifest obligation. Therefore I move we omit their names from our list. We shall get more in the long run that way . . .'
I pitched my argument low, to convince Lepidus. All the same his lips pushed forward in a discontented pout; he felt disregard again envelop him like a bad smell.
Antony, shifting his pen, muttered: 'I agree. Carried, two to one. Atticus lives.'
'And Balbus.'
'Oh yes, Balbus too.'
The lamp went out. We sat in a thin twilight and felt cold. I drew my sheepskins round me, and still shivered. The brazier which alone heated the tent was low.
Antony spoke. We had waited for his words: 'Cicero must die.'
Neither responded.
'His attacks on me have been past, past anything. Himself spared him - oh, old Cicero is an ornament of our culture, he said - and less than a month after his murder, that ornamental mouth spouted forth: "Is there anyone except Antony and those who were glad to have Caesar reign over us, who did not wish for his death, or who disapproved of what was done? All were responsible, for all good men joined in killing Caesar. Some were ignorant of the plot, some lacked courage, some opportunity. None lacked the will." Those were his very words, they are engraved in my memory. Some ornament, some culture. These words alone should be enough to condemn this most insidious of our enemies. We have the opportunity; surely we do not lack the will?'
Antony's hands trembled on the table. I thought of the old man flattering me, digging his teeth into a fig, interrupting his declamation of his speech against Catiline to heed a call of nature and then resuming it at the exact point at which he had broken off; I felt his old crooked arthritic hands press against my shoulder.
I said, 'As you wish it, Antony.'
He turned a face, moonlike with wonder, on me. Lepidus emitted a little hiss of excitement. I repeated:
'As you wish it, Antony. "The boy," I quoted, "must be flattered, decorated, and got rid of." Cicero has had flattery enough for a lifetime; he will receive honour from generations that have forgotten us. Let that be sufficient epitaph. Let him depart.'
I do not propose to defend my decision now in other words than I employed then. That evening Marcellus urged me to send a messenger to warn the old man of the fate decreed. I replied that the publication of the proscription lists would give him ample warning. As all the world knows, he delayed to act, moved either by vanity or indecision. The manner of his death, which did credit to his virtue, is too well known to repeat here.
FOUR
Cassius died at Philippi, in the first battle, falling on his sword in imitation of Cato. Brutus, three days later, fled to the mountains; he hesitated to kill himself and besought the freedman who was his last companion to perform the work. These battles were Antony's triumph, not mine. My health was poor throughout the campaign, but that was not the only reason. Civil war is a horrible business; I could never forget that the legions which opposed us were themselves made up of our countrymen. Yet, after the battle, when the defeated were led before us, they hailed Antony as 'imperator'; they reviled me. I stood on the dais, sick at heart and in my belly, while they cursed. The body of Brutus had been brought down from the high mountains to the forum; in an actor's gesture Antony covered it with his own purple cloak. Stony-faced, I accepted the verdict of the defeated; it recognized that it had been my determination to avenge my father which had created the army that destroyed them.
That night Antony grew maudlin. He spoke lovingly of Brutus, of their friendship in youth. 'He was the noblest of us,' he said over and over again. 'The others envied Caesar. He alone acted out of true public spirit, honest and true to his conception of the Republic. He had principles; he died for them. Whatever else you say of him, he was a Man.'
I kept my argument to myself, and spoke soothingly. Antony was sunk in the guilt of victory. I did not then recognize it as such. It took his own death more than ten years later to let me feel it; a battle won in a civil war can be crueller and more bitter than a battle lost. Right can never be concentrated altogether on one side. The dead bodies of citizens reproach the living. Pray, my sons, you never have such experiences.
I am glad I soothed him. Yet my true feelings were quite other. I had no tender memories of Brutus. For me he was a dishonest rhetorician. I saw the man Caesar had spared and honoured with his love, who had then drawn the dagger against him. Is there anything in literature or history more terrible than that moment in my father's agony when he looked on the face of Brutus among his assassins, and clearly said: 'You too, my son?'; then covered his face and abandoned all resistance? Only a man of the most abnormal self-conceit could live with such a memory; Brutus managed to do so. He was inflated, like the frog in
Ae
sop,
with self-importance; carried through treachery, dishonesty and crime by his consciousness of his own virtue. I am glad I had his head sent back to Rome to be thrown at the feet of Caesar's statue.
Brutus' self-righteousness was shared by his colleagues: one of the other murderers, Quintus Ligarius, had the insolence to look me in the eye, and demand that he be given honourable burial. 'That is a matter for the carrion-crows and vultures,' I replied. My flash of temper was unworthy; I hope you do not think it uncalled for. On the other hand the story that I told a father and son who pleaded that one at least should be spared, that they should themselves decide which by casting lots or throwing dice, is a calumny. (You will note that when this story is related, no names are mentioned; always distrust the anecdote with anonymous subjects.) It was this rumour however which caused Marcus Pavenius to abuse me with filthy epithets which I recall with horror even now. To receive such insults from a man who is about to die is like the touch of an icy finger; what reports will he carry to the Immortals?
Antony and I had come close together after our meeting on the island. It was like our first days in Spain again, before shadows fell between us. I warmed to his Sun, to his spontaneous affection. Antony had a great need to be loved; this made him lovable wherever he let his radiance light. So I had been happy to seal our bond by agreeing to marry his stepdaughter Claudia; the pleasure this gave Antony and the legions over-rode my natural distaste for any connection with the girl's mother Fulvia. But now, after Philippi, I sensed that Antony, ever a ready victim of rumour (as gossips generally are) was drawing away from me. My inability fully to share his boozy sentimentality about Brutus distressed him; he was perturbed by what he saw as my coldness of heart. Almost overnight he stopped calling me 'kid', and it was only once or twice in later years that he resumed the habit. He was still able for a long time to be affectionate at a distance, his letters to me were lively and loving, but my presence froze him; it was as if the carrion-crows and vultures settled on the table between us.