Augustus

But what now to do with it? One senses a mood of unusual overexcitement. Octavian wanted to confront Antony, although his soldiers were much keener on catching and killing Caesar’s assassins. He decided to risk all and march on Rome, hoping for the backing of the Senate and leading personages. He pestered Cicero with a stream of letters asking for advice and practical support. For his part Cicero suspected that the political class would be uncooperative. He said of Octavian: “He is very much a boy.”

He was right to be skeptical. The Senate was conspicuous by its absence when Octavian arrived with his troops and illegally occupied the Forum. Meanwhile, Antony was making his way toward the capital with the Macedonian legions. Octavian’s men had not joined up to fight their comrades, much less a lawfully elected consul, and many of them melted away. The bold throw of the dice had failed; the inexperienced leader led his remaining forces to the comparative safety of the hill town of Arretium. He must have been thoroughly depressed, and anxious for the future.

Fortunately for Octavian, matters went no better for Antony. Back in Rome he called a meeting of the Senate on November 24. His intention was to denounce Octavian, but the session never took place. According to Cicero, not an impartial witness, he attended “a blowout in a public house” and was too drunk to address the Senate. If this is so, Antony may have been drowning his sorrows, for he had just received the appalling news that one of the Macedonian legions, the Martian, had declared for Octavian. He rushed off to talk with them; they not only refused him admittance to the town near Rome where they had billeted themselves, but also shot at him from the walls.

A few days later news came of another defection, this time of the IVth Legion. Despite the failed march on Rome, Octavian was winning the battle for the soldiers’ hearts and minds. He held the great advantage of being Caesar’s heir and carrying his name. His generous bonuses reinforced his legitimacy. Hoping that activity would stanch the hemorrhage of loyalty, Antony immediately marched north to expel the assassin Decimus Brutus from his province of Cisalpine Gaul.

It would be wrong to overinterpret these events. Antony had certainly been humiliated, but he was down, not out. By contrast, Octavian lacked both military experience and imperium, constitutional authority; he could see that he was in a corner, and had to devise a way out of it.

The career of Marcus Tullius Cicero had been a brilliant failure. A new man, he had risen to the consulship in 63 solely by virtue of his abilities as an administrator and (above all) as a public speaker. Following his exposure of Catilina’s conspiracy, he had been hailed as “father of the country” (pater patriae).

Justifiably proud of his achievement, Cicero could not stop telling everyone about it, even writing a bombastic epic about the rebirth of Rome during his year as consul.

This was not merely vanity. In the aristocratic cockpit that was Roman politics, Cicero could not boast a long line of noble ancestors, as his colleagues and competitors constantly did, and so had little choice but to bore on about his own astonishing career.

Although he could be tedious and long-winded, the orator was also famous as a wit; Julius Caesar made a point of collecting his bons mots. On one occasion, an ambassador from Laodicea in Cilicia (the southeastern coast of modern Turkey) told him that he would be asking Caesar for freedom for his city. Cicero replied: “If you are successful, put in a word for us at Rome too.”

His politics were moderate and conservative. A resolute civilian in a militaristic society where politicians doubled as generals, he promoted the rule of law. In his eyes, the Roman constitution was unimprovable, and he opposed risky radicals like Julius Caesar, though admiring his prose style and enjoying his company. He was dismayed by Caesar’s rise to power. The republican values for which he had campaigned all his life had been overthrown, and he was obliged to retire from active politics.

Cicero was too much of a gossip for the freedom fighters to trust him to hold his tongue, and so he was not let into the conspiracy against Caesar. However, he applauded the event. His only regret was that Mark Antony, whom he had long distrusted and disliked, had not been put to death as well as his master. “The Ides of March was a fine deed, but half done,” he commented ruefully.