Augustus

According to a near contemporary historian, Agrippa “was…well-disciplined to obedience, but to one man only, yet eager to command others; in whatever he did he never admitted the possibility of delay. With him, an idea was implemented as soon as it was thought of.” Portrait busts show a man with hard and determined features, someone whose disapproval was to be feared—perhaps even by his friend and master? He held official posts, but was as uninterested in the trappings of authority as Maecenas, albeit for a completely different reason. While Maecenas could not really be bothered with power (being satisfied with influence), Agrippa cared for it passionately—but only for its reality.

Although no records survive of Agrippa’s private opinions, we may surmise that he watched Octavian’s growing affection for Marcellus with unease. As the young man grew up, Agrippa could well find an inexperienced heir interfering in his freedom of action, interposing himself between him and Octavian. That would not do.

The end of the civil wars brought a substantial peace dividend. A grand total of sixty legions under arms in 31 B.C. was reduced to the minimum necessary to guard the empire from external invasion. Octavian set the number at twenty-eight legions, or about 150,000 men, all of whom were Roman citizens. These were brigaded with about the same number of auxiliary troops, noncitizens recruited from the less Romanized and less militarily secure provinces (for example, Gaul and northern Africa). These auxiliaries often served near or in their homelands—a sensible policy, for it gave the provinces an active role in their own defense.

The army was permanently stationed where it was most needed: along the imperial frontiers in the east and northern Africa, Spain, northeast Gaul, and what we now call the Balkans. These dispositions were adequate, but there was no reserve to send to trouble spots in times of emergency. Intent on reducing public expenditure and seeing no great and imminent threat, Octavian was willing to take the risk of a lean military establishment.

He then turned his attention to civilian matters. According to Suetonius, he gave serious consideration after Actium to bringing back the Republic, but everything we know about Octavian—above all, his slow, undeviating pursuit of mastery—suggests that this must be a misunderstanding. What he did do was give very careful thought to the kind of polity that should now be installed. Dio imagined that a debate took place at this time in Octavian’s presence, in which Agrippa put the case for a democratic or, in effect, republican constitution, and Maecenas argued the benefits of monarchy. Though such a discussion probably never took place, it is true that Octavian found a way forward that married these two opposing positions. As usual, he took his time, and a good three years passed before he came to a conclusion.

In 28 B.C., Octavian held his sixth consulship, this time alongside Agrippa. All the acts of the triumvirs were annulled, and assurances given that there would never be a return to the terrible past. The consuls assumed censoria potestas, the powers of censors. The censors were two senior officials elected every five years. They had three main tasks: first, to hold a lustrum or general ritual purification of the people; second, to conduct a census of Roman citizens; and third, to supervise the conduct of citizens, and more especially of members of the Senate.

The census held by Octavian and Agrippa revealed that there were 4,063,000 citizens (we do not know whether the number included women and children). A more ticklish job was to identify and weed out senatorial undesirables. The number of senators was reduced from one thousand to a somewhat more manageable eight hundred. As Suetonius records, this was a highly unpopular procedure. At the meeting when the outcome of the review of the Senate was announced, Octavian is said to have worn a sword and steel corselet beneath his tunic. Senators were allowed to approach only after their togas were searched.

The regime was not yet quite ready to chart a course for the long term, but an awkward incident took place which strongly suggested that a new political framework must be put in place sooner rather than later. People needed to know what the rules of the political game now were.

Marcus Licinius Crassus, the able grandson of Julius Caesar’s onetime colleague, returned to Rome from a highly successful campaign on the Macedonian frontier. He claimed not only a triumph but also spolia opima. This high and rare honor was granted to a general who had killed the enemy commander with his own hands and stripped him of his armor—namely, the spolia opima, or splendid spoils. This was what Crassus had done. In the history of the state, only two men had achieved this feat previously.