The October Horse (75 page)

“Oh, dear! Isn't she Titus Atticus's sister?”

“She is,” Cicero said sourly.

“Acrimonious, was it?” Octavian asked sympathetically.

“Dreadfully so. He can't pay her dowry back.”

“I must offer my condolences for the death of Tullia.”

The brown eyes moistened, blinked. “Thank you, they are most welcome.” A breath quivered. “It seems half a lifetime ago.”

“Much has happened.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Cicero shot Octavian a wary look. “I must offer you condolences for Caesar's death.”

“Thank you.”

“I never could like him, you know.”

“That's understandable,” said Octavian gently.

“I couldn't grieve at his death, it was too welcome.”

“You had no reason to feel otherwise.”

So when Octavian took himself off after a properly short visit, Cicero decided that he was charming, quite charming. Not at all what he had expected. Those beautiful grey eyes held no coldness or arrogance; they caressed. Yes, a very sweet, decently humble young fellow.

So when Octavian paid several more visits to Cicero, he was received warmly, allowed to sit and listen to the Great Advocate talk for some time on each occasion.

“I do believe,” Cicero said to his newly arrived houseguest, Lentulus Spinther Junior, “that the lad is really devoted to me.” He preened. “Once we're all back in Rome, I shall take Octavius under my wing. I—ah—hinted that I would, and he was enraptured. So different from Caesar! The only similarity I find is the smile, though I've heard others call him Caesar's living image. Well, not everyone is gifted with my degree of perception, Spinther.”

“Everyone is saying that he means to take up his inheritance,” said Spinther.

“Oh, he will, no doubt about that. But it doesn't worry me in the least—why should it?” Cicero asked, nibbling a candied fig. “Who inherits Caesar's vast fortune and estates doesn't matter a”—he brandished his snack—“ fig. Who matters is the man who inherits Caesar's far vaster army of clients. Do you honestly think that they will cleave to an eighteen-year-old as raw as freshly killed meat, as green as grass, as naive as an Apulian goatherd? Oh, I don't say that young Octavius doesn't have potential, but even I took some years to mature, and I was an acknowledged child prodigy.”

•      •      •

The acknowledged child prodigy was invited, together with Balbus Major, Hirtius and Pansa, to dinner at Philippus's villa.

“I'm hoping that the four of you will support Atia and me in persuading Gaius Octavius to refuse his inheritance,” Philippus said as the meal began.

Though he itched to correct his stepfather, Octavian said nothing about wanting to be called Caesar; instead, he reclined in the most junior spot on the lectus imus and forced himself to eat fish, meat, eggs and cheese without saying anything at all unless asked. Of course he was asked; he was Caesar's heir.

“You definitely shouldn't,” said Balbus. “Too risky.”

“I agree,” said Pansa.

“And I,” said Hirtius.

“Listen to these august men, little Gaius,” Atia pleaded from the only chair. “Please listen!”

“Nonsense, Atia.” Cicero chuckled. “We may say what we like, but Gaius Octavius isn't going to change his mind. It's made up to accept your inheritance, correct?”

“Correct,” said Octavian placidly.

Atia got up and left, on the verge of tears.

“Antonius expects to inherit Caesar's enormous clientele,” Balbus said in his lisping Latin. “That would have been automatic had he been named Caesar's heir, but young Octavius here has—er—complicated the picture. Antonius must be offering to Fortuna in gratitude that Caesar didn't name Decimus Brutus.”

“Quite so,” said Pansa. “By the time that you're old enough to challenge Antonius, my dear Octavius, he'll be past his prime.”

“Actually I'm rather surprised that Antonius hasn't come to congratulate his young cousin,” Cicero said, diving into the mound of oysters that had been living in Baiae's warm waters that dawn.

“He's too busy sorting out the veterans' land,” Hirtius said. “That's why brother Gaius in Rome is enacting new agrarian laws. You know our Antonius—too impatient to wait for anything, so he's decided to legislate reluctant sellers into giving up their land for the veterans. With little or no financial recompense.”

“That wasn't Caesar's way,” said Pansa, scowling.

“Oh, Caesar!” Cicero waved a dismissive hand. “The world has changed, Pansa, and Caesar is no longer in it, thank all the gods. One gathers that most of the silver in the Treasury went into Caesar's war chest, and of course Antonius can't touch the gold. There's not the money for Caesar's system of compensation, hence Antonius's more draconian measures.”

“Why doesn't Antonius repossess the war chest, then?” asked Octavian.

Balbus sniggered. “He's probably forgotten it.”

“Then someone ought to remind him,” said Octavian.

“The tributes are due from the provinces,” Hirtius remarked. “I know Caesar was planning to use them to continue buying land. Don't forget he levied huge fines on Republican cities. The next installments ought to be in Brundisium by now.”

“Antonius really ought to visit Brundisium,” said Octavian.

“Don't worry your head about where Antonius is going to find money,” Cicero chided. “Fill it with rhetoric instead, Octavius. That's the way to the consulship!”

Octavian flashed him a smile, resumed eating.

“At least we six here can console ourselves with the fact that none of us owns land between Teanum and the Volturnus River,” said Hirtius, who was amazingly knowledgeable about everything. “I gather that's where Antonius is garnishing his land. Latifundia only, not vineyards.” He then proceeded to drop sensational news into the conversation. “Land, however, is the least of Antonius's concerns. On the Kalends of June he intends to ask the House to let him swap Macedonia for two of the Gauls—Italian Gaul and Further Gaul excluding Lepidus's Narbonese province, as Lepidus is to continue governing next year. It seems Pollio in Further Spain will also continue next year, whereas Plancus and Decimus Brutus are to be required to step down.” Discovering every eye fixed on him in horror, Hirtius made things even worse. “He is also going to ask the House to let him keep those six crack legions in Macedonia, but ship them to Italy in June.”

“This means Antonius doesn't trust Brutus and Cassius,” said Philippus slowly. “I admit they've issued edicta saying they did Rome and Italy a great service in killing Caesar, and begging the Italian communities to support them, but if I were Antonius, I'd be more afraid of Decimus Brutus in Italian Gaul.”

“Antonius,” said Pansa, “is afraid of everybody.”

“Oh, ye gods!” cried Cicero, face paling. “This is idiocy! I can't speak so certainly for Decimus Brutus, but I know that Brutus and Cassius don't even dream of raising rebellion against the present Senate and People of Rome! I mean, I myself am back in the Senate, which shows everybody that I support this present government! Brutus and Cassius are patriots to the core! They would never, never, never incite an uprising in Italy!”

“I agree,” said Octavian unexpectedly.

“Then what's going to happen to the campaign with Vatinius against Burebistas and his Dacians?” asked Philippus.

“Oh, that died with Caesar,” said Balbus cynically.

“Then by rights Dolabella ought to have the best legions for Syria—in fact, they're needed there now,” said Pansa.

“Antonius is determined to have the six best right here on Italian soil,” said Hirtius.

“To achieve what?” Cicero demanded, grey and sweating.

“To protect himself against anyone who tries to tear him off his pedestal,” said Hirtius. “You're probably right, Philippus—the trouble when it comes will be from Decimus Brutus in Italian Gaul. All he has to do is find some legions.”

“Oh, will we never be rid of civil war?” cried Cicero.

“We were rid of it until Caesar was murdered,” Octavian said dryly. “That's inarguable. But now that Caesar's dead, the leadership is in flux.”

Cicero frowned; the boy had clearly said “murdered.”

“At least,” Octavian continued, “the foreign queen and her son are gone, I hear.”

“And good riddance!” Cicero snapped savagely. “It was she who filled Caesar's head with ideas of kingship! She probably drugged him too—he was always drinking some medicine that shifty Egyptian physician concocted.”

“What she couldn't have done,” said Octavian, “was inspire the common people to worship Caesar as a god. They thought of that for themselves.”

The other men stirred uneasily.

“Dolabella put paid to that,” Hirtius said, “when he took the altar and column away.” He laughed. “Then hedged his bets! He didn't destroy them, he popped them into storage. True!”

“Is there anything you don't know, Aulus Hirtius?” Octavian asked, laughing too.

“I'm a writer, Octavianus, and writers have a natural tendency to listen to everything from gossip to prognostication. And consuls musing on the state of affairs.” Then he dropped another piece of shocking news. “I also hear that Antonius is legislating the full citizenship for all of Sicily.”

“Then he's taken a massive bribe!” Cicero snarled. “Oh, I begin to dislike this—this monster more and more!”

“I can't vouch for a Sicilian bribe,” Hirtius said, grinning, “but I do know that King Deiotarus has offered the consuls a bribe to return Galatia to its pre-Caesar size. As yet they haven't said yes or no.”

“To give Sicily the full citizenship endows a man with a whole country of clients,” Octavian said thoughtfully. “As I am a mere youth, I have no idea what Antonius plans, but I do see that he's giving himself a lovely present—the votes of our closest grain province.”

Octavian's servant Scylax entered, bowed to the diners, then moved deferentially to his master's side. “Caesar,” he said, “your mother is asking for you urgently.”

“Caesar?” asked Balbus, sitting up quickly as Octavian left.

“Oh, all his servants call him Caesar,” Philippus growled. “Atia and I have talked ourselves hoarse, but he insists upon it. Haven't you noticed? He listens, he nods, he smiles sweetly, and then he does precisely what he meant to do anyway.”

“I am just profoundly grateful,” Cicero said, suppressing his unease at hearing this about Octavius, “that the lad has you to guide him, Philippus. I confess that when I first heard that Octavius had returned to Italy so quickly after Caesar's death, I thought immediately what a convenient rallying point he'd make for a man intent upon overthrowing the state. However, now that I've actually met him, I don't fear that at all. He's delightfully humble, yes, but not fool enough to allow himself to be used as somebody else's cat's-paw.”

“I'm more afraid,” said Philippus gloomily, “that it's Gaius Octavius will use others as his cat's-paws.”

After Decimus Brutus, Gaius Trebonius, Tillius Cimber and Staius Murcus left for their provinces, Rome's attention became focused on the two senior praetors, Brutus and Cassius. A few shrinking ventures into the Forum to test the atmosphere with a view to presiding at their tribunals had convinced the pair that to absent themselves was more sensible. The Senate had granted each of them a fifty-man bodyguard of lictors minus fasces, which served only to increase their visibility.

“Leave Rome until feelings die down,” Servilia advised. “If your faces aren't seen, people will forget them.” She gave a snort of laughter. “Two years from now, you could run for consul without anyone's remembering that you murdered Caesar.”

“It was not murder, it was a right act!” Porcia shouted.

“Shut up, you,” Servilia said placidly; she could afford to be generous, she was well and truly winning the war. Porcia had handed it to her on a platter by growing steadily madder.

“To leave Rome is to admit guilt,” said Cassius. “I say we have to stick it out.”

Brutus was torn. The public half of him agreed with Cassius, whereas the private half dwelled wistfully upon an existence without his mother, whose mood hadn't improved after she gave Pontius Aquila his marching orders. “I'll think about it,” he said.

His way of thinking about it was to seek an interview with Mark Antony, who looked as if he was capable of containing all opposition. The result, Brutus decided, of the fact that the Senate, full of Caesar's creatures, had turned to Antony as to its guiding star. Comforting then to know that Antony really had accommodated the Liberators in every way. He was on their side.

“What do you think, Antonius?” Brutus asked, big brown eyes as sad as ever. “It's no part of our intention to contest you—or proper, ethical Republican government. Personally, I found your abolition of the dictatorship enormously reassuring. If you feel that good government would be assisted by our absence, then I'll talk Cassius into going.”

“Cassius has to go anyway,” Antony said, frowning. “He's a third of his way into the foreign praetorship and he hasn't yet heard a case anywhere except in Rome.”

“Yes, I understand that,” said Brutus, “but for me, it's a different matter. As urban praetor, I can't leave Rome for more than ten days at a time.”

“Oh, we can find a way around that,” Antony said comfortably. “My brother Gaius has been acting as urban praetor ever since the Ides of March—not hard, as you'd issued your edicta—which, by the way, he says are excellent. He can go on doing the job.”

“For how long?” Brutus asked, feeling as if he were being swept along on an irresistible tide.

“Between you and me?”

“Yes.”

“At least four more months.”

“But,” Brutus protested, aghast, “that would mean I wouldn't be in Rome to hold the ludi Apollinares in Quinctilis!”

“Not Quinctilis,” Antony said gently. “Julius.”

“You mean Julius is to stay in place?”

Antony's little white teeth gleamed. “Certainly.”

“Would Gaius Antonius be willing to celebrate Apollo's games in my name? Naturally I will be funding them.”

“Of course, of course!”

“Stage the plays I specify? I have definite ideas.”

“Of course, my dear fellow.”

Brutus made up his mind. “Then will you ask the Senate to excuse me from my duties for an indefinite period of time?”

“First thing tomorrow,” said Antony. “It's really better this way,” he added as he accompanied Brutus to the door. “Let the people grieve for Caesar without reminders.”

•      •      •

“I was wondering how long Brutus would last,” Antony said to Dolabella later that same day. “The number of Liberators still inside Rome is steadily declining.”

“With the exception of Decimus Brutus and Gaius Trebonius, they're paltry men,” Dolabella said contemptuously.

“I'll grant you Decimus and Trebonius, but Trebonius isn't a problem now he's scuttled off to Asia Province. The one who does worry me is Decimus. He's a cut above the others for ability as well as birth, and we shouldn't forget that under Caesar's dictates he's consul with Plancus the year after next.” Antony's frown gathered. “He could prove very dangerous. As one of Caesar's heirs, he has the power to collect at least some of Caesar's clients. While he's up there in Italian Gaul, he's among vast quantities of them.”

“Cacat! So he is!” cried Dolabella.

“Caesar secured the full citizenship for those who live on the far side of the Padus, and now that Pompeius Magnus is out of the client equation, Caesar's inherited those who live on this side of the Padus as well. Would you care to bet that Decimus isn't going among them wooing them into his clientele?”

“No,” said Dolabella very seriously, “I wouldn't care to bet one sestertius on it. Jupiter! Here was I thinking of Italian Gaul as a province without any legions, when all the time it's stuffed with Caesar's veterans! The best of them, at that—those who have already been allocated land, and those who have family holdings. Italian Gaul was Caesar's best recruiting ground.”

“Exactly. What's more, I've heard that those among them who enlisted under Caesar's Eagles for the Parthian war are starting to go home already. My crack legions are holding, but the other nine are definitely losing cohorts from Italian Gaul. And they're not coming home through Brundisium. They're marching through Illyricum, a few at a time.”

“Are you saying Decimus is recruiting already?”

“I honestly don't know. All I'm prepared to say is that it behooves me to keep a close eye on Italian Gaul.”

•      •      •

Brutus left Rome on the ninth day of April, but not alone. Porcia and Servilia insisted upon coming too. After an extremely trying night spent in the main hostelry at Bovillae—just fourteen miles down the Via Appia from the Servian Walls of Rome—Brutus had had enough.

“I refuse to travel with you one moment longer,” he said to Servilia. “Tomorrow you have two choices. Either you will enter the carriage I've hired to take you to Tertulla in Antium, or tell the driver to take you back to Rome. Porcia is going with me, but you are not.”

Servilia gave a twisted smile. “I shall go to Antium and wait until you admit that you can't make the right decisions without me,” she said. “Without me, Brutus, you're an utter idiot. Look at what's happened to you since you listened to Cato's daughter ahead of your mother.”

Thus Servilia went to Tertulla at Antium, while Brutus and Porcia moved on a little way from Bovillae to his villa outside the small Latin town of Lanuvium, where, had they wished to look up the mountainside, they might have gazed at Caesar's daring villa on its massive piers.

“I think Caesar's choosing an eighteen-year-old as his heir was very clever,” said Brutus to Porcia as they dined alone.

“Clever? I think it was remarkably foolish,” said Porcia. “Antonius will make mincemeat out of Gaius Octavius.”

“That's just the point. Antonius doesn't need to,” Brutus said patiently. “Loathe the man I might, but the only mistake Caesar ever made was in dismissing his lictors. Don't you see, Porcia? Caesar settled on someone so young and inexperienced that no one, no matter how deluded by imagined persecutions, will consider him a rival. On the other hand, the youth possesses all Caesar's money and estates. Perhaps for as many as twenty years, Gaius Octavius will seem no danger to anyone. He'll have time to grow and mature. Instead of selecting the biggest tree in the whole forest, Caesar planted a seed for the future. His money and estates will water that seed, give it nourishment, permit it to grow quietly and provoke no one to chop it down. In effect, his message to Rome and to his heir is that in time there will be another Caesar.” He shivered. “The lad must have many traits in common with Caesar, many qualities that Caesar saw and admired. So twenty years from now, another Caesar will emerge from the forest's shadows. Yes, very clever.”

“They say Gaius Octavius is an effeminate weakling,” Porcia said, kissing her husband's wrinkled brow.

“I doubt that very much, my dear. I know my Caesar better than I know my Homer.”

“Are you going to lie down tamely under this banishment?” she demanded, returning to her favorite topic.

“No,” Brutus said calmly. “I've sent Cassius a message that I intend to draft a statement on both our behalves, addressed to all of Italy's towns and communities. It will say that we acted in their best interests, and beg for their support. I don't want Antonius to think that we're without support just because we gave in and left Rome.”

“Good!” said Porcia, pleased.

•      •      •

Not every town and rural district in Italy had loved Caesar; in some areas Republican sentiments had caused the loss of much public land, in others no Roman was loved or trusted. So the two Liberators found their statement well received in certain places, were even offered young men as troops if they wished to take up arms against Rome and all Rome stood for.

A state of affairs that perturbed Antony, particularly after he left Rome himself to deal with veteran land in Campania; the Samnite parts of that lush region were seething with talk of a new Italian War under the aegis of Brutus and Cassius. So Antony sent Brutus a stiff letter informing him that he and Cassius were, consciously or unconsciously, stirring up revolt and courting a trial for treason. Brutus and Cassius answered him with another public statement that implored the discontented parts of Italy not to offer them any troops, to leave things as they lay.

Setting Samnite hatred for Rome aside, there were still nests of ardent Republicans who looked to the pair as to saviors, which was unfortunate for Brutus and Cassius, genuinely not interested in stirring up revolt. In one such nest sat Pompey the Great's friend, praefectus fabrum and banker, Gaius Flavius Hemicillus, who approached Atticus and asked that canny plutocrat to put himself at the head of a consortium of financial magicians willing to lend the Liberators money for purposes Hemicillus left unspecified. Atticus courteously refused.

“What I am willing to do privately for Servilia and Brutus is one thing,” he told Hemicillus, “but public odium is quite another.”

Then Atticus informed the consuls of Hemicillus's overtures.

“That settles it,” said Antony to Dolabella and Aulus Hirtius. “I'm not governing Macedonia next year, I'm going to remain right here in Italy—with my six legions.”

Hirtius raised his brows. “Italian Gaul as your province?” he asked.

“Definitely. On the Kalends of June I'll ask the House for Italian Gaul and Further Gaul apart from the Narbonese province. Six crack legions camped around Capua will deter Brutus and Cassius—and make Decimus Brutus think twice. What's more, I've written to Pollio, Lepidus and Plancus and asked them if they'll place their legions at my disposal if Decimus tries to raise rebellion in Italian Gaul. None of them will back Decimus, that's certain.”

Hirtius smiled, but didn't voice his thought: they'll wait and see, then back the stronger man. “What about Vatinius in Illyricum?” he asked aloud.

“Vatinius will back me,” Antony said confidently.

“And Hortensius caretaking in Macedonia? He has long-standing ties to the Liberators,” said Dolabella.

“What can Hortensius do? He's a bigger lightweight than our friend and Pontifex Maximus, Lepidus.” Antony huffed contentedly. “There'll be no uprisings. I mean, can you see Brutus and Cassius marching on Rome? Or Decimus, for that matter? There's not a man alive with the guts to march on Rome—except me, that is, and I don't need to, do I?”

•      •      •

To Cicero, the world had gotten ever crazier since Caesar's death. He couldn't work out why, except that he blamed the failure of the Liberators to seize government on their not taking him into their confidence. He, Marcus Tullius Cicero, with all his wisdom, his experience, his knowledge of the law, had not been asked for advice by one single man.

That included his brother. Quintus, free of Pomponia but unable to pay back her dowry, had filched a solution from Cicero and married a nubile young heiress, Aquilia. That way he could pay off his first wife and still have something to live on. Which had outraged his son to the point of huge temper tantrums. Quintus Junior ran to Uncle Marcus for support, but was silly enough to declare to Cicero that he still loved Caesar, would always love Caesar, and would kill any of the assassins foolish enough to appear in his vicinity. So Cicero had had a temper tantrum of his own and sent Quintus Junior packing. Having nowhere else to go, the young man attached himself to Mark Antony, an even worse insult.

All Cicero could do after that was write letter after letter, to Atticus (in Rome), Cassius (on the road), and Brutus (still in Lanuvium), asking why people couldn't see that Antonius was a bigger tyrant than Caesar? His laws were hideous travesties.

“Whatever you do, Brutus,” he said in one letter, “you must return to Rome to take your seat in the House on the Kalends of June. If you're not there, it will be the end of your public career, and worse disasters will follow.”

One rumored disaster had him ecstatic, however; apparently Cleopatra, her brother Ptolemy and Caesarion had been shipwrecked on the way home and had all drowned.

“And have you heard,” he asked the visiting Balbus in his Pompeian villa—Cicero was an incessant villa-hopper—“what Servilia is doing?” He uttered a theatrical gasp, mimed horror.

“No, what?” asked Balbus, lips twitching.

“She's actually staying alone with Pontius Aquila in his villa down the road! Sleeping in the same bed, they say!”

“Dear, dear. I heard that she'd broken with him after she found out he was a Liberator,” said Balbus mildly.

“She did, but then Brutus threw her out, so this is her way of embarrassing him and Porcia. A woman in her sixties, and he's younger than Brutus!”

“More distressing by far is the declining prospect of peace in Italy,” Balbus said. “I despair of it, Cicero.”

“Not you too! Truly, neither Brutus nor Cassius intends to start another civil war.”

“Antonius doesn't agree with you.”

Cicero's shoulders slumped, he sighed, looked suddenly eighty years old. “Yes, things are drifting warward,” he admitted sadly. “Decimus Brutus is the main threat, of course. Oh, why didn't any of them seek counsel from me?”