The Horse Changer (27 page)

Brutus’s staff of legates pressed for a fight while they could still put an army in the field. Brutus’s speeches, which became more convoluted as time went on, assured us we had only to wait for our victory. I will not say the man rambled or that he seemed to be growing mad as time passed. He had come to his conclusion half-a-year before. Unable to admit the dynamics had changed, he argued the old opinion in the face of new evidence. To his thinking, nothing in the plan was faulty. Why adjust a perfectly logical strategy? We were winning this war! Body counts had given us all some assurance in the beginning, but after the desertions no one cared to hear about our splendid advantages. In the end, Brutus still argued that our moral superiority would answer, but I must tell you the word freedom, so lovely in the abstract when Brutus had said it in the early days, very soon came to sound like ‘death-by-sword’.

Brutus compared himself to Pompey Magnus at Pharsalus, pressed by his staff to fight when waiting would have meant victory. His history was accurate, but the situation he faced was quite different. At Pharsalus. Caesar was trapped and vastly outnumbered. Hubris and a lust for Caesar’s blood caused Pompey’s staff to insist on finishing matters at once. Here we enjoyed the advantage of high ground in a potential fight, but our numbers were dwindling and our legions were in a mutinous mood. There was no certainty of winning anything without a fight. When Brutus finally relented and turned his army out for a battle, he still insisted we would be better off waiting for winter. He said he acted against his better judgment. It was a sorry way for an army to take the field.

The day was cold and cloudy, but there was no rain. Rain might have given us an advantage had we come to fight in earnest. We had been told we were going to fight if the enemy answered, and of course Antony and Caesar came out to dance.

My Thracians now gone, I commanded a cohort of our Spartan lancers, these in the service of the very legions I had recruited in Egypt. We were grouped with several thousand other auxiliary cavalry at the northern reaches of the battlefield. We had a forest and hills to our right. It was not good land for a flanking attack but I thought we might see skirmishes if Caesar sent archers to harass our wing. I was well placed to have a look at the enemy, and without the dust of summer to hinder my vision, I could see Caesar’s legions as they formed for battle, with Caesar riding a fine white horse. He was a proud boy with that great army at his back; no tears for Maecenas to wipe from his cheeks on this fine morning.

I did not waste my breath whispering to the gods, but at the sight of young Caesar I did pray to whatever daemons inhabited the forest and marsh that I might have one more chance at the coward. But of course the perverse spirits of that great marsh at Philippi had teased me with the only opportunity I was ever going to have.

The fight lasted less than an hour, time enough for Brutus and the rest of the nobility to escape. They took with them our camp guards and the two legions holding the marsh. And of course the money. Once we knew what he had done, those of us left behind threw down our weapons.

The remainder of the day was spent sorting out the officers from the rank and file. Our camp was plundered. Nothing we owned stayed with us, even the hardtack tied to our belts. Half of us, those belonging to the southern camp, had been living without tents for the better part of a month; so another few nights in the open was no more onerous than usual. Those officers at or above the rank of a centurion were held in the new camp Antony had built. The rank and file were taken into the armies of Caesar or Antony after swearing an oath of loyalty. Men were happy to serve Antony. Those obliged to join Caesar made a brave face of it. All the same not a soul had any regrets leaving the armies of Cassius or Brutus, the one a fool, the other a coward. As for the auxiliaries, most were relieved of their property and set free.

We stayed on that field until news came that Brutus had committed suicide. He did this not in shame for his cowardice but to escape capture. After his death his staff turned themselves over without a fight. The day after these men arrived, the officers were all taken to the battlefield. First in line were the great men. After that, no one bothered sorting us out by ranks; they only insisted we stand in an orderly fashion. Scaeva stood before me, Horace behind. The three of us had been together as prisoners since our surrender. This was a consolation for me, for I counted them as my friends.

Caesar and Antony waited at the front of the line. They were seated and wrapped in robes, for the day was quite cold. They were attended, naturally, by friends and counsellors who might help them make their choices. Antony had fortified himself for the occasion; Caesar was cold-bloodedly sober. The captives stepped forward to receive judgment. Many of these men were known. If Antony or Caesar did not recognise them, one of their friends usually did. Men who were known on sight were generally proscribed. Their property was already gone. It only remained to take their heads. Others were sons of proscribed men. These men Caesar thought might be quite dangerous in the future, and so he took their lives while he had the opportunity. That is to say, he nodded his golden locks like Homer’s Zeus atop Mount Olympus, and a bloodied centurion stepped up to execute the man. The stroke was with a gladius. Properly aimed, the sword slipped under the ribs and into the heart. The heads of the proscribed nobility were removed at a distance from our party and placed in wine jars for the long journey home. Once in Rome the heads would be set up on the speaker’s platform in the Forum. Nobility had the right to speak before their execution, but any fellow giving a political speech was taken down at once. Most men asked a favour for their families; these appeals were always directed at Antony’s party, where one of Antony’s slaves took notes.

Those not recognised were asked to identify themselves. This involved giving a name and home, a declaration of citizenship, and of course past military experience. Caesar took the lead in these interrogations, chiefly because Antony soon grew bored with the whole spectacle. He remained only that he might cull out old friends or a bright young officer of reputation; otherwise, if he did not bother to speak up for a man, Caesar usually killed the fellow.

As we got close to the front of the line I expected I would die and only cared to do it with dignity. It was difficult in the circumstances. I could hear Caesar’s petulant voice as we came slowly forward. In Rome, young Caesar had been playing the role of an outraged prince denied his inheritance. At Philippi, he was a mighty imperator dispensing justice. In both instances he sounded like a boy out of his depth.

To those not related to a proscribed man, Caesar held out hope as he interrogated them; he even pretended kindness. In fact, he let a few of the young officers of no importance walk away with impunity so that the others might hope. With many he played games of chance. Some of the wagers involved dice, but the ones I witnessed were far stranger. A young officer with no political coin had the chance to guess the direction a certain bird would fly when it left its perch. ‘Quick now. Tell me where it goes!’ The fellow pointed, and all present, even Antony, waited curiously until the bird finally departed. Down went the man, for the bird had not flown in the direction he had indicated. This game hadn’t gone quite fast enough, so the next victim had to guess the number of fingers Caesar held behind his back. ‘You can trust me. I’ll play fair.’

‘Three!’ the poor youth cried, trembling at the prospect of one-in-five odds.

‘On your life, you wager it is three and not
four
or five?’

‘It is four!’

Caesar pulled his hand from behind his back, ‘Too bad for you. Three was the right answer.’ The flash of the gladius. The sound of another body hitting the muddy field.

‘What is your name?’ This to Scaeva.

Scaeva gave his name.

‘Cassius Scaeva? Are you a relative of the assassin Cassius Longinus?’

‘I have relatives who were freed by his ancestors.’

Caesar nodded, and the executioner stepped forward. The blade of the gladius swept into Scaeva’s side. As the blade withdrew Scaeva fell to his knees with a heavy grunt and rolled forward, nearly touching Caesar’s feet.

‘What is your name?’ Caesar was speaking to me, but I had no voice. I could hardly breathe, for I had thought Scaeva, of all men, would earn Caesar’s mercy. ‘Do you have a name?’ The voice seemed to come from a great distance. I heard him without quite understanding that Caesar was talking to me. I was watching the body of a man I counted my friend dragged away.

‘His name is Quintus Dellius.’

Caesar glared at Horace, who had spoken up for me. Of course Horace had not been asked to speak; for his impertinence he was now in mortal danger.

‘Mine is Horatius Flaccus – Horace,’ he added, though Caesar had not asked his name.

Mark Antony opened his eyes and blinked, for he had dozed off as we approached. His face became drunkenly animated as he cried out, ‘By the gods, Horace! What are you doing here?’

‘I really don’t know, Antony! Brutus got me so drunk I was an officer before I knew it. I have never been so drunk in my life.’

‘That is saying a good deal. Tell me, did our friend Brutus by chance promise you undying glory?’

‘He promised me the glory of Achilles.’

‘Achilles died young, Horace.’

‘It seemed only a small detail at the time.’

‘I expect so. I’ll take this one, Caesar. Horace promises me he will never again lift a sword in anger. Don’t you, lad?’

‘I swear it, Antony! But will you bring Dellius with you as well?’ Antony looked in my direction without seeming at first to recognise me. ‘He is really the most amazing man with a sword! The bravest man I have ever known – after you, that is. And Caesar, of course. You won’t regret it. I swear to you he is a fine and honourable man as well.’

‘What is the name?’ Antony asked, for I apparently now looked vaguely familiar.

‘Quintus Dellius, Imperator,’ I answered.

‘Dolabella’s creature? The mathematician?’

‘I served Dolabella, Imperator.’

Antony looked at Caesar. ‘I’ll take Dellius as well.’

Caesar shrugged indifferently, then turned his gaze to the man behind me. ‘What is your name?’

Caesar returned with his legions to Italy, where a great many were disbanded. Antony took his army as far as the Hellespont. Horace and I were both temporarily assigned to Antony’s Guard, but this did not mean very much. In fact, neither of us had any responsibilities. We simply moved in Antony’s entourage. One morning, however, Antony showed up quite drunk and called Horace into his carriage. This of course is a singular honour for any man, especially so for a junior tribune of the auxiliaries. A man of my rank watched Horace enter the carriage and muttered something about Antony needing a morning blowjob.

I took the fellow down from his horse and set upon him with a flurry of punches. I knew Horace was fine entertainment on a dreary trip; if there was something more to it than conversation I wasn’t ready to admit it of my friend and certainly would not allow anyone else to comment on the matter. Antony of course had a famously voracious sexual appetite, but unlike Dolabella I never knew him to use a citizen of Rome as a female. Not when he was sober enough to notice, I mean.

At the Hellespont several of our legions crossed into Asia, where they made their winter camps. The remainder sailed to Athens. Horace was assigned a secretarial post at the palace where Antony resided. I joined the junior tribunes at one of the armouries in Athens. We hadn’t any duties and a great many of the young officers spent most of their time pursuing the pleasures of the city. As I had no money, none at all until the first payday, I remained at the armoury and used the entire day for training.

I would see Horace when he had time off from his duties. On these occasions Horace assured me he was a tireless promoter of my talents. I would not languish forever in the lower ranks, not if he had anything to say about the matter. I answered these promises as nobly as I could. I was content, I said, to make my way by my own merits. This of course speaks plainly to my youthful folly. Fortunately, Horace did not listen to such nonsense.