Augustus

People killed themselves in many different ways and for many different reasons, as they have done throughout history. But there was, at least among the upper classes and in military circles, what could be called a culture of suicide. In certain circumstances it was the honorable thing to do, and had about it a certain gloomy glamour.

The two main justifications for a “noble” suicide were desperata salus (no hope of rescue or deliverance) and pudor (shame). Julius Caesar in his account of his wars in Gaul gives a spectacular example of the former. Roman survivors of an ambush “had hard work to withstand the enemy’s onslaught till nightfall; in the night, seeing that all hope was gone, every single man committed suicide.”

In feeling pudor, a Roman meditating self-destruction did not so much suffer from guilt at some bad thing he had done (although this could be the case) as recognize a catastrophic collapse in his social or political standing. Such reversals of fortune happened from time to time, and for a senior politician suicide was a recognized professional hazard. It was pudor that did for Cato.

In July of 46 B.C., Caesar returned to Rome. Most people—including critics such as Cicero—were relieved that peace and, above all, certainty had returned. There was a widespread expectation that, if they had won, the republicans would have massacred their opponents, and even those who had been neutral in the civil war. Caesar’s famous clemency, although regarded with some suspicion, contributed to an atmosphere of calm.

The Senate offered the victor new, extravagant, and unprecedented honors, which he accepted. In return Caesar followed a policy of reconciliation. According to Dio, he promised not to “take any cruel action simply because I have conquered, and am able to say exactly what I like without being called to account, and have complete freedom to do whatever I choose.” He needed the cooperation of the surviving optimates to help him run the empire. He could not undertake this task singlehanded, but many of his leading followers were inexperienced and unreliable. That Antony was the best of them indicates the abilities of the rest.

In fact, Caesar felt impatient and thwarted. Behind adulation, he detected dumb insolence, a reluctance to award him true loyalty. When talking to his associates, he was less than discreet. “The Republic is nothing,” he said crossly, “a mere name without form or substance.”

IV

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

46–44 B.C.

He kept up with his old school friends, and, now that he had regular and free access to Caesar, he was able to do one of them a signal favor. Agrippa’s brother had been made a prisoner of war during the African campaign. Evidently he had fought on the republican side before and been pardoned, for Caesar tended to punish repeat offenders. Fearing for his brother’s life, Agrippa asked Octavius to put in a good word for the man. Octavius hesitated, for he had never yet used his special position in this way and knew Caesar’s anger with those who abused his clemency. Taking his courage in both hands, he made the request, which Caesar granted. This not only bound Agrippa to his friend, but won Octavius a reputation for loyalty.

Toward the end of September there were eleven days of victory celebrations, during which Caesar held an unprecedented four triumphs on four days. The Roman “triumph” was a military procession held by a general to mark outstanding success in a campaign against a foreign enemy. The dictator planned to mark the conquest of Gaul, the brief Egyptian war, the even briefer Asian war, and the defeat of Juba, the king of the northern African kingdom of Numidia. Juba was a stand-in for Cato and the republican army, Caesar’s real opponents: a fact that could not be openly admitted because they had been Roman citizens, with whom it was forbidden to go to war.

It so happened that Octavius’ seventeenth birthday fell during this festival of triumphs, on September 23; to honor his great-nephew, Caesar invited Octavius to accompany him in the parade for the African war and awarded him service medals as if he had actually served on his staff during the campaign. The day of the triumph will have been one of the most exciting in Octavius’ life so far. Here were fame and glory manifest, the ultimate prize to which a Roman could aspire.

The ceremony opened in the Campus Martius, the field of the war god, Mars, an open space northwest of the city (stretching roughly from today’s Piazza Venezia to Vatican City). This was originally the exercise ground of the army, but a number of important public buildings now dotted the area. One of these was the temple of Bellona, goddess of war and sister of Mars. The Senate met there to receive the victorious commander before following his triumphal procession into the city.