Augustus

Then some terrible news arrived. On the same day as the battle, a great sea fight had taken place in the Adriatic. A republican fleet had encountered a convoy conveying two legions to join the triumviral forces. A few transport ships escaped, but then the wind fell and the remainder drifted about in the calm to be rammed or set on fire with ease. The soldiers were helpless in the face of their destruction. Appian writes:

Some committed suicide when the flames reached them, some jumped aboard the enemy warships, to do or die. Half-burnt ships sailed about for a long time with men on board who were incapacitated by burns or by hunger and thirst. Some men even clung to spars or planks and were washed up on deserted cliffs and beaches.

The disaster was a grim reminder that the republicans controlled the seas. If the triumvirs failed to defeat them by land, they would find it difficult if not impossible to withdraw to Italy; they would be cornered in Greece and would soon run out of supplies. Unsurprisingly, morale among the troops was badly shaken, and Antony and Octavian determined to try to keep the news of the naval catastrophe from Brutus and his men, whom it would excite and reinvigorate.

Although living conditions were not so bad as down in the plain, the situation in Brutus’ camp left much to be desired. The mood among the republicans darkened. Some eastern princes and levies slipped away homeward and a local Thracian leader, who had been a firm ally, changed sides. The soldiers resented being cooped up “like women, inactive and afraid.” Against his better judgment, Brutus decided to take his officers’ advice and give battle.

Late in the afternoon of October 23, he led out his troops and combat commenced. There seems to have been little in the way of maneuver; the two sides simply slugged it out like tired boxers. Octavian’s troops fought bravely, and silence about his whereabouts suggests that their general was sufficiently recovered to lead them. Eventually they began to push the enemy back “as though they were tipping over a very heavy piece of machinery.” Retreat turned to rout. Antony led the pursuit until night fell. Octavian, still weak and doubtless now exhausted, was meant to guard the camp, but he delegated the duty to a deputy.

Brutus retreated into the wooded hills above Philippi with a sizable force, four understrength legions. His plan was to make his way back to his camp when night came, or perhaps escape to the sea, for through his navy he still ruled the waves. However, Antony had ringed his hideaway with guardposts and spent the night under arms on watch opposite him.

Hope was dying and Brutus began to consider suicide. It is hard to escape the impression that the defeated freedom fighter was consciously giving a public performance for the benefit of posterity. He quoted apt tags from the Medea of Euripides, and from another play about Heracles, who when dying said:

O wretched valour, you were but a name,

And yet I worshipped you as real indeed;

But now it seems you were but Fortune’s slave.

During the night it became clear that the four legions were no longer willing to obey orders and were planning surrender. For Brutus, this disloyalty was conclusive. At first light, someone said it was time for everyone to go and make their escape. Brutus jumped up and answered: “Yes, that’s right, but with our hands, not our feet!” He went round them all to bid them goodbye, saying that it was a great joy that not a single friend of his had failed him. He then walked a little distance with two or three companions. Grabbing one of their swords, he held the point to his left nipple and threw himself on it.

Marcus Junius Brutus was a man of contradictory qualities. In his arrogance and ruthlessness, he represented the worst of the old republican elite. Breaking the rule that senators should not engage in trade or moneylending, he practiced usury in the Middle East on a breathtaking scale. He turned coat after Pharsalus, and revealed to Julius Caesar that the fleeing Pompey’s likely destination was Egypt—a betrayal of trust, if ever there was one.

At the same time, Brutus was high-minded, an intellectual who took ideas seriously. He saw the assassination of Caesar as a sacrifice rather than a political act. He was a man with “a singularly gentle nature,” who feared civil war almost (although not quite) as much as tyranny.