Augustus

The young men exercised with squadrons of cavalry. By virtue of his kinship with the dictator, Octavius was of high status, and senior officers used to call on him. He gave everyone a warm welcome and was popular both in the city and in army circles. He was given good reports by his instructors.

Apollonia housed a well-known school for public speaking (or rhetoric), comparable with those at Athens and Rhodes. Octavius studied there, and read Greek and Roman literature. He wanted to become proficient in Greek as well as Latin, and he was an assiduous student. As well as literature, he studied elocution. He brought with him a tutor from Rome, Apollodorus of Pergamum, one of the most celebrated teachers of the day, although a very old man.

The month of March, 44 B.C., would soon be over. The legions were in a high state of readiness. Julius Caesar was expected any day now, and would soon lead them against Parthia.

Then, one afternoon, a messenger arrived with an urgent letter for Octavius, just as he and his companions were going into dinner. A freedman of Octavius’ mother, the man was in a state of high excitement and dismay. No wonder, for Atia had terrible news to tell. Writing on March 15, 44 B.C., she reported that Julius Caesar had been assassinated at Rome before midday by Marcus Brutus, Gaius Cassius Longinus, and others. She asked Octavius to return to her as she had no idea what would happen next. According to Nicolaus, she wrote: “You must show yourself a man now and consider what you ought to do, and implement your plans as fortune and opportunity allow.”

The freedman confirmed the contents of the letter, saying that a large number of people had taken part in the murder, and they intended to hunt down and massacre all Caesar’s relatives.

In no time, rumors spread through Apollonia that some catastrophe had taken place, although no one was entirely sure what. After sunset, a delegation of distinguished Apollonians, carrying torches and followed by numerous curious bystanders, presented themselves at Octavius’ front door. They asked, as his well-wishers, what news had come. To avoid setting off a panic, Octavius decided to answer only the leaders of the group, who with some difficulty persuaded the rest to disperse and then, having learned what had happened, eventually departed as well.

Sitting in lamplight, he and his small circle of inexperienced friends spent the rest of the night talking and talking. What was to be done? One line of thought was that they ought to join the army outside the city. Octavius should persuade its commander, Marcus Acilius Glabrio, to let him lead the troops to Rome, where they would take revenge on his great-uncle’s murderers. The soldiers had loved Caesar and would loathe his killers. Their sympathy would increase when they met his young, now defenseless relative.

But the cautious Octavius felt that he was too inexperienced to carry off a bold action of this kind. Too much was uncertain, too little known. He would wait for further news.

Soon another letter from Atia and Octavius’ stepfather arrived. They advised him not to get overexcited or overconfident yet, but to bear in mind what Caesar, who had eliminated all his enemies, suffered at the hands of his closest friends. He should, at least temporarily, take the less dangerous course of acting like a private citizen. The letter repeated Atia’s earlier advice to return to Rome quickly and quietly.

This must have struck Octavius as rather odd. Why should Atia and Philippus suppose that their mild-mannered and totally inexperienced son should be considering bold measures? It was too soon for them to have heard back from Octavius about any proposal to invade Italy, even if he had decided to discuss it with them. There is only one plausible answer to the puzzle: his family were aware that Caesar’s closest supporters—his personal friends and his kitchen cabinet of aides and advisers—were talking about Octavius at Rome, and were planning a political role for him of some sort. One or more of them must have written to him, telling him of the bitter gloom into which the dictator’s inner circle of professionals had been plunged, and of their determination somehow or another to fight back. They knew or guessed that the now leaderless army was enraged, but impotent; and that the city mob, after a day or two of stunned silence, bitterly missed the one politician on whom they could depend to protect their interests. What had happened was not a revolution, but a coup from above.

Since Octavius’ departure from Rome a few months previously, letters and correspondents must have made him aware that the atmosphere had steadily deteriorated even before the assassination. Now dispatches gave him the details of how his great-uncle had died.