THE AUGUSTEAN EMPIRE (44 B.C.—A.D. 70)

CHAPTER I

 

THE AVENGING OF CAESAR

 

I.

ANTONY IN POWER

 

 

THE Ides of March closed in a night of fear and trembling; none knew what might happen. The panic-stricken senators had fled from the scene of the murder; Antony, the surviving consul, fortified himself in his house in fear of an attempt on his life also, Lepidus, the magister equitum withdrew across the Tiber; even the exultant assassins, who had rushed out proclaiming Liberty, were forced to retire on to the Capitol by the hostile attitude of the people. Yet they held the key to the situation; all Rome waited to see what they would do; vigorous and decisive action on their part could effect much. In this expectation Cicero visited them; it was on his name that Brutus had called, as he held his dagger aloft, for that name stood for constitutional government. But though Brutus was determined there should be no more blood­shed, he was determined on nothing else; in the fond belief that the Republic would immediately be itself again, once Caesar was removed, neither he nor his fellow-conspirators had any plan of action or scheme for the future.

The first thing needful was to call the Senate and get the machinery of government in motion once more: during the day after the murder messengers passed between Antony and the assassins, and on 17 March the senators assembled at the summons of the consul in the temple of Tellus, which was conveniently near his house. An enthusiastic Republican like Tiberius Nero might propose rewards for the tyrant-slayers, others might clamour for the casting of Caesar’s body into the Tiber, but more moderate counsels soon prevailed, for Antony’s speech revealed clearly the unpleasant fact that the cancellation of Caesar’s acta meant that many of those present would have to forfeit their position and hopes of a career. Cicero used all his influence in favour of a general amnesty, Munatius Plancus and others supported him, and the illogical compromise was finally reached that, while no inquiry should be held about the murder, Caesar’s will and acta (not only those already published, but also those projects which could be found among his papers) should be confirmed, and a public funeral granted to the body. After the meeting the conspirators were invited by the Caesarians to dine with them and relations thus re-established.

But at a stroke the initiative had now passed to Antony, and he was quick to take advantage of it. Something of his previous career has already been seen: his early years had revolved around the exuberant pleasures of an aristocratic life in the capital, amid love-affairs and debt and rioting, followed by campaigns in the East wherein he had distinguished himself. But Caesar’s insight had appraised his vigour and courage and found a use for him, and though for some time he fell into disfavour, after the battle of Munda he was received back and even chosen to ride next to Caesar himself on the journey through Italy. He was the most trusted of Caesar’s lieutenants, colleague in the consulship with Caesar himself, and likely enough (as he had hoped and hinted) to be Caesar’s heir and son. Hence his zeal for the confirmation of the acta and will, and bitter must have been his disappointment when the will was opened in his house and he learnt that Caesar’s great-nephew had been preferred to him and that he was only mentioned among the heredes secundi. But his opportunity had come now and he meant to seize it; in the prime of life, of proved bravery and resourcefulness in action, a ready speaker, popular with the soldiery for his easy-going ways, splendidly impulsive and direct, he must have appeared the natural leader for the Caesarian party: what fate had yet to manifest was whether under this dashing exterior lay a unity of purpose or a controlling intelligence that might mark him out as a great statesman. For the moment the bankruptcy of counsel displayed by the conspirators gave him the very chance he needed; his first aim obviously was to conciliate the assassins and get them out of the way, to bind his fellow Caesarians to himself by tactful concessions, to satisfy the Senate by a semblance of constitutionality, and then to gain an important command for himself in some province near Italy. He had (with the consent of Calpurnia) already taken possession of all Caesar’s papers and funds and during the next few weeks he worked with notable energy and success.

Each item on this programme was carried out smoothly. The news of Caesar’s lavish benefactions to the Roman people had spread quickly, and when on 20 March the procession escorting the body of the dictator defiled into the Forum, amid all the pomp and moving ceremonial of a Roman funeral, the mob needed little rousing: as it listened to the recital of the honours heaped upon him and the oath that the whole Senate had taken to protect him, as it saw the toga in which he had been murdered, sympathy was soon excited and Antony had but to add a few words; a transport of fury against the assassins seized it, and fire and rioting broke out. Urged on by various leaders the populace soon became so formidable that within a month Brutus and Cassius found it prudent to leave the city. Antony demonstrated his friendliness by procuring a decree allowing Brutus to be absent from the city for more than ten days, which was the legal limit for the urban praetor. To the Caesarians he was all favours: when Dolabella abruptly assumed the consulship (to which Caesar had intended him to succeed in his place) he made no objection, though a few months ago he had opposed it bitterly, and for Lepidus, who had already promised him his support on 16 March, he gained by an irregular election the coveted office of Pontifex maximus. Finally he won over the senators, who had been shocked at the consequences of the funeral, by a motion abolishing for ever the dictatorship, such as Sulla or Caesar had held, and by empowering Lepidus, who was on the point of setting out for his provinces of Old Gaul and Nearer Spain, to negotiate with young Sextus Pompeius, who was still at large with six legions in Spain; to Cicero too he wrote in the most amicable and flattering terms. As Decimus Brutus had left for his province of Gallia Cisalpina in early April, Antony was now free of the embarrassing presence of the conspirators, and could feel he had conciliated all; the Senate showed its gratification by decreeing the province of Macedonia to himself and that of Syria to Dolabella. But unfortunately Antony could not rest here; the possession of Caesar’s papers gave him opportunities, too tempting to lose, of winning supporters and raking in money: though he published much which was genuine (as, for instance, the drafts which were given the force of law by the Lex Antonia de actis confirmandis in June) or had been among Caesar’s intentions, he invented more; Roman citizenship was bestowed on the Sicilians, Deiotarus given the kingdom of Armenia Minor, possible helpers smuggled into the Senate, privileges and exemptions sold, and a steady process of embezzlement of the treasure in the temple of Ops began. But in the long run he must rely upon Caesar’s veterans: he and Dolabella had carried a law assigning land to them, and towards the end of April, with his beard grown long in symbol of mourning for the murdered dictator, he left for Campania to supervise personally the work of allotment and to assure himself of their fidelity. Some weeks before, Cleopatra, bereft of her protector, had left with her young son in flight for Egypt.

Within two months of the murder of Caesar his chief lieutenant had, by skilful manoeuvring, gathered the State into his hands and rendered his opponents helpless. Cicero lamented that despotism still lived though the despot was dead, but he could do nothing. For a time he was consoled by news of the repressive measures taken by Dolabella against the enthusiastic mob, who, urged on by an adventurer Herophilus, had erected on the site of Caesar’s pyre a pillar at which they made offerings, but it was small re­compense for lack of freedom. But as May was ending the announcement that a claimant to Caesar’s fortune, who might disturb his plans, had appeared in Rome, impelled Antony to return to the city.

 

II.

THE YOUNG OCTAVIUS

 

The new arrival, C. Octavius, was for nearly sixty years to play a leading part in the history of Rome and of the world. Ancient writers, struck by the contrast between the alleged villainies of the early Octavius and the acknowledged beneficence of the later Augustus, elaborated the picture of a young man for whom no wickedness was too base but who, through sheer satiety, turned to mildness and wisdom: many moderns, rejecting the rhetoric but retaining the contrast, postulate a change somewhere but leave it unexplained. Yet such a conception violates the laws of psychology and probability alike: anyone who would understand the character and achievement of Augustus must realize from the outset that most of the charges commonly brought against his youth or early manhood—immorality, cowardice, treachery—are based on no firmer foundation than the accusations and polemic of his personal enemies and are worthless. This fact cannot be too strongly stressed, and once acknowledged, it is not difficult for the historian to discern, from careful and sympathetic study, how the boy Octavius could develop into the future Augustus.

His father, C. Octavius, belonged to an old and respectable, but not distinguished, family from Velitrae; his mother Atia, a niece of Julius Caesar, had borne to her husband two children, the elder a girl, Octavia, and Octavius himself, whose birth fell on 23 September 63 BC, in the consulship of Cicero. Four years later the father died and Atia, though she married L. Marcius Philippus, devoted her time, like a Cornelia, to the education of her children. For Octavius was not strong constitutionally; time and again he was attacked by serious illnesses, and his health always needed careful nursing. From his mother he imbibed the veneration for the traditions and religion of Rome that is so marked a trait in his character, and learnt the glories of the clan to which she belonged. His teachers were some of the most celebrated of the day, M. Epidius, Apollodorus of Pergamum, and Arius of Alexandria; the affection he felt for them may be gauged by the fact that he gave his old paedagogus Sphaerus a public funeral and recognized later as just causes for freeing a slave devoted service as nurse or teacher. The promise he showed, his exceptional beauty and nobility of bearing, and a discretion and intelligence beyond his years, no less than the family connection brought him to the notice of his great-uncle. From a boy the name and fame of Julius Caesar can never have been far from his thoughts, and he made him the pattern of his ambition, for it was Julius who introduced him to political life, allowing him at the age of twelve the honour of pronouncing the laudatio over his grandmother Julia (including as it would the past history and glory of the gens Iulia), and promoting him to a place in the pontifical college. Like any Roman boy brought up on the tradition of pietas and gloria he longed to accompany his great-uncle, but his mother refused to let him go to Africa on the ground of his ill-health; still he received the dona militaria and rode in the triumph of 46 BC. Next year illness again almost prevented him going to Spain, but he joined Caesar after the culminating victory at Munda and came back with him to Italy. Greatness calls to greatness: it is idle to speculate what he may have learnt from Caesar even in that short period of association, but the impact of so tremendous a personality upon the lad must have been overwhelming; on the other side, too, it is noteworthy that Caesar (unknown to him) in September 45 had decided to make him his heir. In the late autumn Caesar sent him over to Apollonia, accompanied by friends such as M. Agrippa and Q. Salvidienus Rufus, to complete his studies, and to pick up army-life amid the officers and men of the legions in training there; the eighteen-year-old boy could look forward to having his taste of war at last in the coming Parthian campaigns.

Such had been his upbringing and career when on a late March evening came the terrific news that his great-uncle had been murdered, among the very senators who had sworn an oath to protect his life, by men whom he had spared, pardoned, and even promoted. All the ambitions and hopes of a delicate boy at the very moment when life seemed opening for him, all the love and admiration which had centred for so long in his great relative, were now suddenly fused by horror and pity into a white heat of fury against his murderers; everything bade him avenge his death, but so deep and strong was his passion that it called for deliberation, where a lesser passion would have rushed into action. He even rejected as untimely the suggestion of some officers that he should march on Rome at their head (for the men were ready), though he thanked them for their loyalty: instead, with a few friends, uncertain how he would be greeted, he determined to come to Italy, and landed obscurely near Brundisium.

Now came the second shock. Welcomed by the garrison at Brundisium, he learned for the first time that Caesar had left him heir to three-quarters of his estate and had adopted him as his son. He was already resolved to avenge the murder; the news that Caesar had thought him worthy of his name and (who could tell?) of his position, gave the final edge to his resolution. To his mother, who tried to dissuade him from entering upon a perilous inheritance, he replied with Achilles’ cry to Thetis when she too warned him of danger; to all his elders’ prudent cautionings he could only repeat that he dared not think himself unworthy of that name of which Caesar had thought him worthy. Henceforward he could not go back: the image of the murdered dictator was ever present to his mind; to avenge his death and then to complete his work became the sacred object of his life.

Yet in the pursuit of that object he was to meet many obstacles: his own ill-health he overcame by the sheer courage of a will that refused to give in; against enemies or against those who (as he considered) would not further or misunderstood his father’s plans he was to struggle for some fifteen years, sometimes openly and in strength, sometimes with the weapon of weakness, deceit, but always with one overmastering motive and with the clear consciousness of work reserved for him. And that consciousness came to him early, a consolation in perplexity (as to many another great man): in mid-July, when, against opposition and backed only by a few, he was celebrating the Ludi Victoriae Caesaris, a comet appeared in the heavens: the populace took it as a proof of Caesar’s final reception among the gods, and he naturally encouraged this belief; but with an inner joy he recognized it as a sign for himself and knew his manifest destiny.

Meanwhile to work. He sent agents to secure the funds that Caesar had deposited in Asia for the Parthian war. Near Naples, in mid-April, he met Cicero, who despite his mistrust was impressed by his modest bearing and flattered by his attentions: ‘he is completely devoted to me’, he wrote to Atticus, though he agreed (perhaps with some malicious anticipation) that there was bound to be ‘a terrible fracas between him and Antony’. As Octavius entered Rome, towards the end of April, a halo round the sun seemed to promise divine favour, and his advent was welcomed by veterans and populace alike, and by a few true friends of Caesar such as Marius, who found in him ‘a young man of the highest promise and well worthy Caesar’. He was allowed to address the people, and in doing so made no secret of his claim to Caesar’s name and Caesar’s money or of his views about the assassins; as soon as Antony returned he lost no time in visiting him; in the gardens of Pompey he placed his claim before him and asked for his help, but found himself treated with patronizing contempt and rebuffed.

For to Antony Octavius’ arrival was likely to prove an embarrassing factor; up to now, while he had been the obvious leader for all who were devoted to Caesar, his reasonable and tactful bearing had averted any serious division in the State. But if he upheld the boy’s claim, apart from the annoyance of having to surrender the great riches he had so easily acquired he would almost certainly offend Senate and ‘Liberators’, which was far from his intention: if he did not, the boy would win support from Caesar’s friends and veterans, who might well ask why nothing had been done to avenge the murder. However intelligible his irritation it betrayed him into a blunder which was to have far-reaching consequences: he was after all the person to whom Octavius would naturally turn for support, the trusted colleague and friend of Julius Caesar, and from the day that Octavius found himself set aside and despised he could never trust Antony fully again. Antony had allowed his resentment to cloud his judgment, when tact and forbearance might have achieved much; and the appearance of a rival so disturbed him that he determined to grasp at once the power and the provinces he desired. On 3 June a resolution of the people was passed giving him a provincial command for five years in Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul, in exchange for Macedonia, though he was empowered to keep the Macedonian legions; at the same time his fellow-consul Dolabella received a similar command in Syria, and a commission which had been proposed in order to decide upon those unpublished intentions of Caesar which should become law was now revealed as consisting of the two consuls alone. In order to get rid on a specious pretext of Brutus and Cassius, the senators were induced on 5 June to give them charge of the corn-supply from Asia and Sicily, and to assign provinces to them to be named at a later date. Finally a new agrarian law was carried distributing all the available land in Italy to veterans and poor citizens. By these measures Antony fortified his position for the present and secured a large command near Italy for the future, and already P. Ventidius Bassus, a man of ignoble birth but a capable soldier, had begun raising recruits for him. He was irresistible, and Cicero in despair decided to leave Italy for the remainder of the year and return in 43 BC when Hirtius and Pansa would be consuls.

Octavius was not so easily disheartened, though he was meeting with nothing but opposition obviously inspired by Antony; first a tribunician veto held up the lex curiata which he needed to formalize his adoption, and then another prevented him displaying at the Ludi Cereales (which were held a month late) the golden chair and the diadem which had been granted to Caesar. Undaunted he paid such legacies as were due out of his own private funds, helped too, it is said, by his friends, and let slip no chance of demonstrating his pietas towards his father; he undertook personally the celebration (20-30 July) of the Ludi Victoriae Caesaris (for Thapsus) since the officials in charge of them dared not, and though Antony again would not permit him to exhibit the chair and diadem, the veterans and the people acclaimed him and were vexed at Antony. In return the consul denounced Octavius, but his soldiers remonstrated with him, and in the end patched up a reconciliation between the two on the Capitol. But though Octavius treated Antony with all the respect due to a consul and an older man, the reconciliation was hollow, and more than a year was to pass before Antony realized how essential concord was.

In the meantime Brutus and Cassius were busy collecting fleets before setting out, for there were rumours of pirates on the sea. Cicero had quitted Italy in disgust, but on the voyage contrary winds constrained him to put in at Leucopetra, and here the news of an attack made by L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus in the Senate of August 1 upon the conduct of Antony—and possibly the impression that dissension between Octavius and Antony might be encouraged—induced him to return. At Velia (17 August), on his way northwards he met Brutus, who announced he was leaving Italy to prevent any possibility of civil war, and a few days later Cassius with his fleet also set sail—not to the provinces allotted to them, but to Macedonia and Syria. But though Cicero reached Rome in time for the meeting of the Senate on 1 September, he did not dare attend for fear of coming into collision with Antony; the next day, in Antony’s absence, he appeared and delivered the first of the series of speeches known as Philippics. Though it was temperate in tone, and subjected the consul’s acts to a criticism that seems mild in comparison with later efforts, it may be doubted whether Cicero would have adopted so definite an attitude unless he was already meditating support from Octavius; by November they were exchanging letters almost daily, and must have been in communication before.

Antony’s position was now far less strong: true, he had had the satisfaction of registering several shrewd hits on Cicero’s target, when he replied to him on 19 September, but his relations to Octavius had not improved. He made some effort to attract Caesarian sentiment by erecting on the Rostra a statue of Caesar with the legend parenti optime merito, but when there occurred a vacancy in the tribunate for which Octavius supported a friend, and the rumour grew that Octavius wanted to be tribune himself, Antony not only pointed out the illegality of such a candidature but threatened he would use all his consular authority to prevent it. The reconciliation was breaking and early in October came a sensation; Antony put some of his bodyguard into custody at Suessa Aurunca and later had them executed on the ground that they had been tampered with; the suggestion that Octavius had tried to assassinate him was obvious; whether there was any substance to this charge it is impossible to determine; so rash a step seems unlike the caution of Octavius, who must early have realized how important Antony’s existence was to him, and Antony may himself have fabricated the whole story. But now, pretending his life was in danger, he determined on more decisive action; he would go to Brundisium to meet the legions he had recalled from Macedonia, extort what decrees he wanted from a subservient Senate, and occupy the provinces granted to him by the plebiscite of 3 June. But Octavius was equal to the occasion; he too left Rome on a visit to his father’s veterans and dispatched agents to Brundisium to work on the Macedonian legions by speeches and (a characteristic touch) by propaganda leaflets. In consequence Antony had a stormy time, for the troops asked why Caesar’s assassins had not been punished, and contrasted the small bounty they had been offered with the generous sums Octavius had distributed to the veterans of Calatia and Casilinum; he was compelled to execute the leaders and promise further payments for the future, and so persuaded the men to march to Ariminum, while he himself advanced on Rome with the legion Alaudae.

It was high time, for Octavius had returned to Rome with three thousand loyal veterans raised without authorization and was openly inveighing against Antony. He was in constant touch with Cicero, asking his advice and urging him to come to Rome, but still Cicero hesitated. He had spent the previous month fuming with resentment over Antony’s attack and planning an elaborate and crushing reply, the famous Second Philippic; there is a certain irony in the reflection that while he was working feverishly on this tremendous piece of invective, he also found time to polish and complete his treatise ‘On Friendship’. But between lingering distrust of Octavius and fear of possible violence from Antony he waited at Arpinum, and Octavius, hearing of Antony’s approach, quitted Rome for Arretium, raising levies on his own account in Etruria as he progressed.

Events now began to move quickly. Shortly after mid­November, Antony arrived in Rome with the intention of declaring Octavius a public enemy, but alarming news suddenly reached him that the Legion Martia and the Fourth legion had gone over to his rival. There was no time to be lost: he hastily summoned the Senate for November 28 to an evening meeting (which was illegal), redistributed provinces among his supporters, and set off for Cisalpine Gaul to dislodge Decimus Brutus, whom he formally ordered to leave. Decimus replied with defiance, declaring that he would uphold the authority of Senate and People, and after these admirable sentiments shut himself into Mutina to stand siege there. However weak he may have felt, to submit tamely, without striking one blow, to being besieged was scarcely the way to inspirit his troops, and Antony completed the investment of the city before the year was out.

But the departure of Antony from Rome and his discomfiture by Octavius at last emboldened Cicero to emerge from his retirement. News began to be more cheering: Brutus had occupied Macedonia and Cassius was rumoured to have reached Syria; Lepidus had brought over Sextus Pompeius; from Gaul Munatius Plancus was replying to his letters in exemplary Latin, and best of all Octavius had made no objection to the assassin Casca—‘the envious Casca’—holding the office of tribune. The young man was ‘sound’, and Cicero arrived in Rome in time to attend meeting of the Senate on 20 December, at which he delivered the Third Philippic. Both in this speech and in the following one to the populace he urged the instant prosecution of war with Antony and energetic support for Decimus in Mutina: for Octavius he had nothing but praise; the young man (whom he now addressed as ‘Caesar’ publicly for the first time) had, ‘by his own initiative and exertions’, raised forces and freed Rome from the domination of Antony; all honour to him and his gallant legions.

So the eventful year 44 drew to its close. The prospects for the Republicans were sensibly brighter, for the consuls for 43, Hirtius and Pansa, were not bound by their service under Caesar to be partisans of Antony, and Cicero could write to Decimus Brutus in a tone of encouragement and hope. The apathy and timidity of the past few years fell away from him, to be replaced by much of his former energy and something of his old ambition; it may be surmised that he was once more toying with an idea, that had always proved attractive, of acting as political mentor to a successful general, guiding the State by his counsels while it was defended by the strong arm of a soldier; he had failed with the great Pompey, might he not succeed with a younger man, whose deference to and admiration for him were so apparent? For the moment he was the centre, though not the chief, of the constitutional party, in close touch with Brutus and Cassius, writing to all (Lepidus and Plancus in Gaul, Pollio in Spain, or Cornificius in Africa) who would or could lend support. The issue was defined and clear— a contest between the claims of Antony and the State, but there was still one uncertain element, the mind of Octavius, who was playing his difficult hand with an adroitness that deceived all save a few shrewd observers.

 

III.

MUTINA

 

On New Year’s Day 43 BC. the Senate gathered under the presidency of the new consuls to consider the situation. In spite of the insistence of Cicero, who saw clearly the importance of legalizing Octavius’ position, members were not disposed to take, the precipitate step of declaring Antony a public enemy, and after some days’ debate a moderate motion by Fufius Calenus, that an embassy should be sent to Antony requiring him to withdraw and submit to the wishes of Senate and People, finally won approval.

But Cicero carried his point that honours should be conferred both on Lepidus (for winning over Sextus Pompeius) and on Octavius, in whom he now professed complete confidence; “I know the inmost secrets of his heart”, he assured his hearers, and claimed that Providence itself had intervened to produce this divine young man who had delivered them from the tyranny of Antony. The listening Senate decreed that Octavius should be given the rank of senator and should, together with the two consuls, join in command, as propraetor, of the force that was to be dispatched against Antony. February brought the return of the embassy with the news that their mission had been fruitless, for Antony far from showing submission had counter-claims to put forward, and the senatus consultum ultimum was formally passed. But Antony could still rely on his supporters at Rome to protract proceedings, and it was only after another proposal for an embassy had been mooted and quashed that Pansa marched out on 19 March, with four legions, to join his colleagues, of whom Hirtius was at Claterna and Octavius at Forum Cornelii. In addition Antony had written to the two consuls protesting against their attitude, jeering at Octavius as ‘a boy who owed everything to Caesar’s name’, and declaring that he himself was in understanding with both Lepidus and Plancus: evidence for this last assertion was soon seen in the arrival of letters to Cicero from these two advocating negotiations and peace, though publicly Plancus assured the Senate of his unwavering loyalty.

During the early spring Brutus had begun to feel the pinch of hunger in Mutina, and Hirtius and Octavius had moved nearer. Warned of Pansa’s approach, Antony determined to attack him before he could join his colleagues, and marched up the Aemilian Way; but Hirtius had foreseen this move and had dispatched the legio Martia (which had already suffered from Antony at Brundisium) and two praetorian cohorts to aid his fellow-consul. On 14 April they came into conflict near the village of Forum Gallorum, where Antony had laid an ambush: Pansa was badly wounded, Antony’s troops carried the day and were returning in victorious disorder when in their turn they encountered Hirtius coming up in support, who routed them. Octavius, who had been left to defend the Republican camp, for his bravery in repelling an attack won the praise of the veteran Hirtius; both of them were acclaimed as Imperatores (15 April). Six days later Antony again offered battle, but Octavius and Hirtius forced their way into his camp, Brutus made a vigorous sally from Mutina itself, and his only course was to retreat. Decimus, with his famished troops, could not initiate a pursuit at once, and even when he did he was misled by false information. Meanwhile Antony, with one legion (V Alaudae) and the ill-armed remnants of several others, made for Gaul and Lepidus, and was joined by Ventidius Bassus and three legions raised in Italy; a harassing march awaited him over the Alps, but his courage was superior to all hardships, and the real worth of the man showed itself here; by mid-May he had reached Forum Julii. But though the Republicans had triumphed, Hirtius had fallen in the moment of victory, Pansa was fatally stricken by his wound, and Octavius was left in possession of the field.

This unwelcome truth was not however immediately apparent to the senators: in their first reaction from fear they were prepared to be masterful. Antony was formally declared a public enemy, and all his opponents encouraged. At earlier meetings in March Cicero had succeeded in getting the position of Brutus in Macedonia legalized, though he had failed to secure a maius imperium for Cassius in Syria. But now the Senate was inspirited to grant more: Brutus and Cassius were confirmed in their provinces and given a maius imperium over all governors in the East; Sextus Pompeius was summoned from Massilia to be put in charge of the fleet and of the coast of Italy; Decimus Brutus was actually given a triumph. To Octavius they were less generous: he was not allowed the ovatio that Cicero proposed, his own troops and those of the consuls were to be transferred to the sole command of Decimus, a commission of ten men to distribute bounties to the troops was appointed from which he was excluded, and the despatches were addressed not to him but direct to the legionaries. The majority would doubtless have agreed with what Marcus Brutu’s wrote to Atticus, that there was a risk that the boy might become difficult to hold in check, and that Cicero’s enthusiasm for him was a blunder.

Octavius naturally made no effort to pursue Antony; rather through various channels he offered reconciliation. He would not surrender Pansa’s legions to Decimus; the rest refused outright to serve under a leader whom they loathed for his treachery to Caesar. Thus the hopes of the Senate rested on Lepidus and his seven legions; Plancus on hearing of the news of Mutina promised to influence Lepidus in the right direction, but on reaching the Isere in early May he was greeted by confident despatches from the man he had come to save, for Lepidus affirmed he was quite capable of dealing with Antony by himself. The next news was, naturally enough, that the soldiers of Antony and Lepidus had fraternized and that the two leaders had joined forces; Lepidus now dispatched a letter of pious resignation to the Senate. Such were the tidings that reached Decimus Brutus, toiling in pursuit, early in June, and all he could do was to join Plancus, who had retreated to Cularo. Lepidus was of course declared a public enemy and Cicero lamented his ‘criminal folly’ in letters to M. Brutus, through which a growing note of despondency sounds; nowhere could he discern honest selfless Republican patriotism, and Octavius would no longer listen to him.

It was true enough: in July a party of centurions entered the Senate-house to demand the consulship for their general. Octavius had eight legions to back him, he had played long enough with Cicero to prevent the Senate taking united action against him he was in touch with the other Caesarian leaders, and the time was ripe. Various reasons were advanced in ancient times for this change of attitude, but all—whether irritation at being referred to as a boy, or Pansa’s death-bed exhortation, or a reputed witticism of Cicero’s—are trivial when weighed against the calculation that in order to avenge his father’s death and attain his honours Octavius was bound eventually to combine with Antony, but must meet him on equal terms; last year Antony had been consul, this year it would be Octavius. The Senate temporized by offering a praetorship; he replied by marching on Rome and resistance collapsed. Once assured that his mother and sister were safe and unharmed, and after distributing from the treasury the promised bounties to his troops, he could wait outside the city till the elections were over; some difficulties were felt, for while one patrician magistrate remained the auspicia could not return to the patres, but the praetor nominated two proconsuls to hold the election, and on 19 August Octavius and his uncle Q. Pedius were duly announced consuls. He had reached the highest honour Rome could offer at an age younger even than Pompey, and it was reported that at his first taking of the auspices twelve vultures were seen, as on the first auspicium of Romulus. The lex curiata necessary to confirm his adoption was at last passed; henceforward he was Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. The full significance of this—which Antony well realized—is obscured for modern readers by the convention of describing him as Octavian, a term only employed for him by his enemies or by those who wished to be less than polite. To the Roman people and to the legions he was now Caesar, and the name was magical. A Lex Pedia, which pronounced sentence of outlawry upon all assassins after a form of trial had been gone through, was passed as a signal for all Caesarians, and with his army increased to eleven legions Octavian drew out of Rome for the north. Pedius easily persuaded the Senate to revoke the decrees against Antony and Lepidus.

The collapse of Republicanism in Italy was followed by its collapse in the West. The danger of a possible collision between the Caesarians in Gaul and the recently united forces of Plancus and Decimus Brutus was soon averted; Asinius Pollio, arriving from Spain with two legions, preferred to join Antony, and succeeded in bringing over Plancus as well. Decimus found himself deserted; his legions joined the victors; in a vain effort to reach Aquileia (? and Macedonia) he was captured by a Gaulish chief and put to death. It is easy to brand the vacillation of a Lepidus or Plancus or Pollio, but hard to descry what other course than joining Antony was feasible for them. All three were men of distinction who had served under Julius Caesar and owed their rank and provinces to him, and Plancus was certainly carrying out the great dictator’s plans when he founded the colonies of Raurica and Lugdunum (Copia Felix Munatia) in his province: the sacred name of the Republic meant little to those who had seen one man’s genius supersede it, and in a period when none was secure realism sought the protection of big battalions; in addition it was highly doubtful whether their men would fight against their fellows in Antony’s army, for one of the most remarkable features of these years is the ‘war-weariness’ of the troops and their constant efforts to secure conciliation.

The only menace now left was in the East, where the Republicans had succeeded beyond expectation. As Syria at the beginning of 44 BC was held by a Pompeian general, Caecilius Bassus, Caesar had dispatched M. Crispus and Staius Murcus to deal with him and assigned the province of Asia to Trebonius, later one of his assassins. At the end of the year Dolabella set out to assume the government of Syria, and on his way through Asia killed Trebonius, who resisted him. But he was not to have peace, for Cassius, also bound for Syria, outstripped him travelling by sea, and won over not only the forces of the Pompeian Bassus but also those of the Caesarian Murcus, and at the same time pounced on four legions which Cleopatra had sent from Egypt to assist Dolabella. With a total of twelve legions he had no difficulty in blockading Dolabella in Laodicea and driving him to suicide. Urgent messages now reached him from M. Brutus (aware of the issue at Mutina) to meet him at Smyrna; he renounced a punitive expedition against Cleopatra, and after extorting 700 talents from the Jews, enslaving the inhabitants of four towns, and setting up various tyrants in the cities of Syria, he marched to join his colleague.

Brutus, too, had been fortunate. Landing at Athens he was warmly received and young men such as M. Cicero or M. Valerius Messalla Corvinus or O. Horatius Flaccus enrolled themselves under him in a transport of Republican fervour; in Illyricum the legions of Vatinius went over to him, and he managed to bring C. Antonius (who had tried to occupy Macedonia, which the Senate had assigned to him on November 28 and had ordered him on December 20 to give up) to surrender. He was in continuous correspondence with Cicero, and his letters display a calm lenity in curious contrast with Cicero’s vehemence. He did not wish to drive Antony to extremes, and he repeatedly cautioned Cicero against the bestowal of excessive honours on young Octavian, in which he foresaw danger; ‘we should be more keen on preventing the outbreak of a civil war than in glutting our anger on the defeated’ was his message, and he spared the life of Antony’s brother Gaius, though later he had to put him to death in reprisal for the proscriptions. The news of Mutina heartened him considerably, and during the campaigning season of 43 he not only collected recruits from Asia but also received the submission of several Thracian chieftains, and conducted a victorious expedition against the Bessi, for which he was greeted by his soldiers as Imperator. With the booty gained and the treasure contributed by the Thracian chiefs he issued a series of coins proclaiming symbolically his action as liberator of Rome, and in the autumn made his way into Asia in order to collect a fleet, money and recruits, and meet Cassius. By the end of the year the two Republican leaders were at Smyrna and by this date the Caesarians too had come to a meeting and agreement.

 

IV.

TRIUMVIRATE AND PROSCRIPTION

 

By the autumn of 43 BC, when Octavian, leaving Pedius in charge of Rome, marched out northwards, his object must have been clear: however great the disparity of character and purpose among the Caesarian leaders, however deep their mutual distrust, a year’s experience had shown that concord and a common policy were essential. Antony and Lepidus had agreed to meet him; on the appointed day, early in November, the three arrived at their rendezvous near Bononia, accompanied by the officers of their staff, such as Pollio and Ventidius, and by their troops, and (after elaborate precautions against treachery) conferred together during two fateful days in full view of the soldiery on a small island in the river Lavinius. The solution reached amounted to a triple dictatorship, like the informal compact of 60 BC but whereas that had been a secret and personal arrangement, this was to be public and statutory: the three were to be appointed tresviri reipublicae constituendae for a long term of years, superior to all magistrates, with power to make laws and to nominate magistrates and governors. Each Triumvir was also to have a province, Antony taking Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul, Lepidus Old Gaul and all Spain, Octavian Africa, Sicily, and Sardinia; the division demonstrated Antony’s predominance, for his possession of Cisalpine Gaul gave him the mastery of Italy and he left to his partners those lands which were most vulnerable by naval operations and in which Sextus Pompeius (deprived of his command by Octavian but still master of a considerable fleet) might cause trouble. In the meantime, while Antony and Octavian dealt with the Republican forces in the East, Lepidus was to govern Italy. But to carry out this programme funds would be needed, not only for the expenses of war, but also to meet the demands of the veterans. These were satisfied by the allotment of land from eighteen of the richest Italian towns (Capua, Beneventum, Rhegium, Vibo, Cremona, and Venusia were among the number), while in order to replenish their war-chest and to rid themselves of their enemies the three determined on a proscription. There should be no clemency such as had ruined Caesar: with unflinching logic and on approved ‘Sullan’ methods they would uproot all opposition.

Such were the terms of this unholy alliance, and after they had been communicated to the exultant troops, they were embodied in a written compact formally sealed and signed by the partners. Octavian now resigned his consulship in favour of Antony’s legate, Ventidius Bassus, and was to receive Antony’s step-daughter, Claudia, to wife; Asinius Pollio was left in Transpadane Gaul to supervise the assignment of land there to the veterans—a step momentous for literature—and the three leaders marched on Rome, where a tribunician law of 27 November (the Lex Titia) gave them the legal status they desired for a term of a little over five years, till 31 December 38 BC. The next day a table of 130 proscribed was posted in the city, with a preamble intended to justify it; but a short preliminary list of the most important had already been issued, with no fine phrases, and the hunt was up. Nights and days of unendurable horror followed: the consul Pedius, who tried to allay the rising panic, died of sheer exhaustion; victims were cut down without mercy, for the rewards offered were large and payment prompt; terror ruled. Yet amid the wreck of civilized life there were still some whom rewards could not tempt or torture affright, slaves sons and wives who dared greatly and whose heroism triumphed over all obstacles.

A few, who were guilty of great possessions, attracted the triumvirs’ cupidity (though the prudent kindness of the wealthy Atticus to Fulvia had ensured his safety and Varro was exempted by the intervention of Fufius Calenus), but the majority of the proscribed belonged to the old aristocratic order, who had supported Pompey and the Senate, and notable among these was Pompey’s surviving son, Sextus, who during the winter was able to lay hold upon some towns in Sicily. Proscribed himself he made every effort, by the dispatch of ships and men, to rescue the unfortunate fugitives and bring them safely out of Italy. Many escaped to him, others lay hidden till better days dawned, but even so the number of those murdered—three hundred senators and two thousand knights—was appalling. Only those who believe that the triumph of a party deprives its opponents not only of the rights of citizens but also of human beings will find phrases to defend the proscription. Rome may have ultimately profited, but a crime it remains, and none of the three triumvirs can escape responsibility. Indeed it is false to history and to psychology alike to exempt Octavian; granted he was young, yet in pursuit of an object to which both his duty to his murdered father and his own ambition pointed, there could be small room for pity; he may have tried to avoid proscription at first, but he was the most ruthlessly logical in carrying it out, once it had been determined.

Among the first to fall was Cicero: worn out by his feverish exertions, his hopes and ideals crumbling around him, he had quitted Rome in August. A few fragments of letters to Octavian remain, the rest is silence. When the news of his proscription reached him he meditated flight, but the wintry weather and his own indecision drove him back. The soldiers overtook him; his slaves were ready to fight, but he forbade them; life had no more to offer, and gazing firmly on his executioner he met the supreme moment as a Roman should. There can be few whose character has been more bitterly impugned or more warmly defended, and fate ironically ordained that his own matchless power of expression (as exemplified in his Letters should survive as the most relentless witness against him. His native horror of bloodshed and of ‘Sullan’ cruelty, his legal training, and his humanism as a scholar all gave him a traditionalist standpoint, making him an admirer of a stable constitution, where life could be lived in peace and reasonableness, and of this he saw a pattern in the times of Scipio Aemilianus before the Gracchi disturbed the State. It was his peculiar misfortune to be thrust into an age when all the arts of peace were powerless against brute ambition, which left no choice to a reasoning and sensitive nature save that between two evils. His vacillation was as much the consequence of his time as of his temperament, for in a real crisis he was no coward. In an age of apathy and corruption he could sympathize with the needs of the provincials and strive for better government: in his treatises his insight so gauged the trend of politics that, as Nepos remarks, ‘he foretold even the things which are coming to pass now’. Yet it is not as consul or statesman that he vindicates his claim to fame, but by the influence that his speeches and writings exerted after him, so that (in the generous phrase of Julius Caesar) he ‘advanced the boundaries of the Latin genius’, and fashioned Latin into an enduring and universal speech.

 

V.

PHILIPPI

 

An impressive act marked the opening of the year 42, for on 1 January the Senate recognized Julius Caesar as a god, and the triumvirs not only themselves swore to uphold his acta but also administered the oath to magistrates and Senate: henceforward Octavian, the young Caesar, was divi filius. The final arrangements for the coming campaign were made: the three triumvirs had at their disposal an army amounting to forty-three legions; while sufficient forces were left to guard the provinces, Lepidus with three of his legions was to maintain order in Italy; to Antony Lepidus lent four, to Octavian three, and it appears that the two mustered between them twenty-eight legions with which to face Brutus and Cassius. Eight legions were sent on in advance under Decidius Saxa and Norbanus Flaccus, and during the early summer the rest were transported across the Adriatic. Difficulties, however, were many: the proscriptions not only brought hatred upon the three, but had actually failed to provide sufficient funds for the campaign, and the imposition of property taxation met with strenuous resistance. During the winter Sextus Pompeius gained control of Sicily and began to give trouble, but though he repulsed a small squadron sent against him under Salvidienus Rufus, his own inertia prevented him from joining the two Republican admirals, Staius Murcus and Domitius Ahenobarbus, in harassing the transport of the triumviral forces. Octavian fell ill and had to be left behind at Dyrrhachium, but Antony moved rapidly eastwards to link up with Saxa and Norbanus, who after taking up an advanced position had been outflanked by Brutus and Cassius and so had fallen back upon Amphipolis.

Since meeting at Smyrna the Republican leaders had dealt determinedly with all open or suspected enemies. Brutus had summoned the cities of Lycia to contribute to his war-chest; Xanthus, proud of its century-old independence, refused and when the legions encompassed it, sooner than surrender, men and women destroyed themselves and their city; the other cities gave in and paid. Cassius was more extortionate still; Laodicea had to pay for its resistance, Tarsus was fined 1500 talents; the Rhodians saw their temples and citizens robbed of 8000; upon the cities of Asia he imposed the burden of ten years’ tribute. It was the last expiring act of old Republican brutality, but it supplied the sinews of war, and the two reached the Hellespont together in September, in command of nineteen legions, whose fidelity was carefully reinforced by a share of the booty gained. They had sent Q. Labienus to ask for assistance from Orodes of Parthia—a mission that was to have far-reaching consequences—and now marched westwards, turning the flank of Saxa and Norbanus, towards Philippi. Prospects were good, for their fleets, under Murcus and Ahenobarbus, commanded the sea and had their base at Neapolis; winter was approaching and if an engagement could be postponed hunger might work havoc among the Caesarians. But it was not to be: though the Republicans had the better ground, though the two armies were approximately equal in numbers, the Caesarians possessed in Antony the most vigorous and resourceful general of the time, and now that Octavian, despite his illness, had joined the camp they had a living reminder of the name and cause for which they fought. Against this personal element the Republicans could offer nothing.

Brutus and Cassius had pitched their camp, to the west of Philippi, on either side of the via Egnatia and in easy communication with their fleet at Neapolis. A large marsh lay to the south, a defence against outflanking of their camps and a barrier to any enemy who tried to cut their communications. Antony saw that the only way to foil the waiting tactics of the Republicans was to pierce this barrier, and started building a causeway across; when Cassius replied with counter-works Antony organized a simultaneous attack here and on the camp of Cassius. His dash and courage carried all before him, the troops of Cassius were routed and his camp plundered. In the dust and confusion Cassius, ignorant that Brutus’ troops had rushed into battle unordered and actually stormed the camp of Octavian, chagrined at defeat and despairing of the future, committed suicide. It was a heavy loss to the Republican cause, for Cassius was a better disciplinarian and more experienced general than his colleague, who found it difficult to hold his troops in check, and now, fearing the effect of a public burial on his men, dispatched the body to Thasos. For the present he moved into Cassius’ camp and carried on the uninspiring policy of inaction.

The only course for the Caesarians was to cut off Brutus’ supplies; their own were running low, and winter was beginning. Propaganda leaflets were thrown into Brutus’ camp, which induced some to desert, and taunts and abuse were hurled at the Republicans; men and officers alike chafed under inaction, and at last Brutus, against his better judgment, perhaps afraid that his lines would be cut, perhaps mistrustful of the continuing loyalty of his men (to whom it is said he had promised the plunder of Thessalonica), late on the afternoon of 23 October led his legions out to accept the challenge. Octavian’s troops played their part manfully and finally turned the Republicans to rout, Antony carried on the pursuit with brilliance, and night brought complete victory. But Octavian was still so weak in health that he handed over the guarding of the camp to Norbanus. Some of the leading Republicans committed suicide, some fled to join the fleet, a few obtained pardon; the troops, naturally enough, enlisted under the Caesarian generals.

Escorted and defended by a few faithful companions Brutus had escaped towards the hills, only to realize as the night wore on the hopelessness of further resistance; crying out, like some ancient Hildebrand, upon that righteousness which he had followed so unswervingly and which had at last left him destitute, he fell upon his sword. So passed away ‘the noblest Roman of them all’, the last representative of the aristocratic tradition, and with him died the Republican spirit, for henceforward men fought for a leader. His is one of the most famous figures in antiquity, yet the fame seems factitious, and the figure has suffered strange distortions. To the oppressed and to revolutionaries he has seemed the ideal combination of patriot and philosopher, his name one ‘before which tyrants tremble’; modern critics, emphasizing his dourness of manner, his bluntness of speech, and that superior expression which Cicero noted, heap scorn on virtus that could prey on provincials and kill a benefactor for the sake of principle. All this is beside the mark, for Brutus was a more ordinary man and no unfair specimen of the late Republican senator; what held admiration in antiquity was his steadfast adherence to a creed (however narrow) and his intense earnestness of purpose. It is to his credit too that the murder of Caesar did not degenerate into a massacre of Caesarians; he would willingly have spared C. Antonius, and throughout he remained true to the principle he had enunciated to Atticus of unconditional warfare against extraordinary commands, tyranny, and all ‘power which would place itself above the laws.’ But firmness of character and loyalty to an ideal, however admirable in themselves, are no sufficient guides through changing political conditions, unless based upon an equipment of intellect, and intellectually Brutus was in no way superior to his fellow­nobles. When all is said, his was a creed of negative principles, lacking any trace of constructive policy to meet the needs of the time, ineffectual too against those who fought for a person and a memory.

 

VI.

PERUSIA AND AFTER

 

Philippi finally shattered Republican hopes: Murcus and Ahenobarbus might gather in the irreconcilables and depart, the one to offer his services to Sextus, the other to maintain himself in the Adriatic with 70 ships and two legions, but there was no party and no leader of the prestige of Brutus left. Caesar’s murder was avenged; forty years later the inauguration of the temple of Mars Ultor fulfilled Octavian’s vow before the battle. But much remained to be done: the two immediately urgent problems were to bring the East into order again and to deal with the great mass of men who were or had been under arms. A start was made by planting a colony at Philippi and by disbanding all but eleven legions, and of these eleven at least two were composed of Brutus’ and Cassius’ old troops; for the future the two partners agreed to a division of duties and provinces, witnessed by a signed compact of which each kept a copy. The division showed that Antony was still the predominant partner: while Octavian had been ill and carried about the camp in a litter Antony’s courage and resource had won both battles; the prestige was his and he could impose his will. But Octavian held second place, for Lepidus was rumoured to be in negotiation with Sextus and, until he could clear himself, was to receive no provinces or troops. In the new allotment Antony took the two Gauls, together with the more important task of settling the East and of collecting the money which was required for the settlement of the disbanded troops; ultimately, he meant to carry out Caesar’s plan of attacking Parthia. Octavian received Spain, Sardinia and Africa; this last on condition that he would pass it over to Lepidus, if he proved satisfactory; we may assume that Lepidus would also receive back the seven legions that he had lent to the other two. In addition Octavian was to supervise all the assignation of land and also deal with Sextus. Italy was to be common ground.

Of the eleven legions left Antony’s share was six, but he borrowed two more from Octavian, thus taking eight legions with 10,000 horse, and leaving three legions and 4000 horse with his colleague. He left six of his eight legions under L. Marcius Censorinus in Macedonia, as the Illyrian Parthini were threatening, and took two with him to Asia. In the two Gauls he already possessed large armies, eleven legions under Fufius Calenus, and thirteen divided between Ventidius Bassus, Pollio and Plancus, but he was going to lose touch with his generals there.

So the two triumvirs separated, Antony to the East, Octavian to the West; he was not fully recovered, and the fatigues of a winter journey brought on a recurrence of his illness which nearly proved fatal, but somehow he reached Brundisium. Arrived in Italy he showed Antony’s representatives the written compact and gained their consent. To safeguard his provinces he sent Salvidienus Rufus with six legions to Spain to replace C. Carrinas, while in Sardinia he had two. Africa had been held for the triumvirs by T. Sextius, a soldier of extraordinary resource, who had succeeded in routing Cornificius and all other Republican commanders; he now handed over to the successor sent by Octavian, T. Fuficius Fango, but apparently still remained in the province. Such were the resources with which Octavian faced his task.

It was no easy one: Sextus Pompeius was daily gaining strength from victims of the proscriptions or runaway slaves, and Murcus with his 80 ships brought a considerable accession to his fleet; the soldiers knew their power and were in dangerous mood; the veterans demanded immediate satisfaction; evicted townsfolk or landowners raised every possible obstacle; hundreds of poor wretches driven from farm and home were drifting about Italy or emigrating in despair; some few, such as Virgil, found protection, but the remainder mingled with the other malcontents and only needed a leader. But, despite all, Octavian’s faith in his mission was unshaken; he was beginning to feel his feet, and could already afford to pardon some of the proscribed, and he had friends upon whose loyalty he could depend to the last. Such were M. Agrippa, who had been with him at Apollonia and was soon to manifest his ability as general and administrator, and C. Cilnius Maecenas, a rich and cultivated Etruscan noble, whose diplomatic gifts and talent for negotiation were increasingly at the disposition of his friend; these two were to be of inestimable service to him. Important too was the fact that they were contemporaries of his, unfettered by inconvenient memories of the Republic, unafraid to tread new paths.

As the work of settlement went steadily on, friends of Antony began to realize that he had made a mistake in leaving the execution of it, and the resultant popularity with the veterans, entirely to Octavian. Lucius Antonius, the brother of the triumvir, who had been consul in 42 and earned a triumph against some Alpine tribes in 41, was the first to give trouble; he claimed to be a Republican, and not only championed the cause of the evicted but attacked the triumvirate itself, and by so doing won considerable support. Fulvia, Antony’s wife, was at length persuaded by a steward called Manius that her husband’s interests were at stake, and the three joined in fierce opposition to Octavian; Lucius, pretending his life was endangered, collected a bodyguard from his brother’s veterans, Asinius Pollio blocked Rufus’ march westwards, and orders were sent to Bocchus, king of the Maurusii, to attack and detain the legions under Carrinas in Spain, and to T. Sextius to contest Africa with Fango. The leaders of the legions, in alarm, tried to effect a reconciliation at Teanum Sidicinum, in the early autumn; the terms agreed on, as reported by Appian, are mysterious—including apparently the restoration of the con­sular power and an equal division between the two parties of the legions of Antony and the confiscated property—but they remained a dead letter from the start. The legionaries made a desperate last effort to bring the two parties together at Gabii; but Lucius, either through fear, or affecting to despise ‘the hob-nailed Senate of soldiers’, did not keep the appointment. There was nothing for it but to fight.

The only excuse to be urged for Lucius and Fulvia is that they honestly thought they were acting in Antony’s interest; indeed Lucius assumed the name Pietas as a symbol of his loyalty. But Octavian was in a most delicate situation, for how could he be sure that the whole business might not be due to Antony’s prompting? Both parties wrote to Antony, but winter made communication slow, the news did not reach him till spring, and in any event he could not oppose his colleague without overthrowing the pact to which he had set his seal after Philippi. The actual course of the war demands no long narration; Octavian sent a legion to Brundisium to guard against possible reinforcements from the East, recalled Rufus and his legions, entrusted another command to Agrippa, and placed Lepidus with two legions in charge of Rome—a charge where he signally failed, since he allowed Lucius to break into the city. Fulvia was tireless; she and Lucius had six legions of their own, she recruited two more which she gave to Plancus, she wrote for assistance to Bassus and Pollio; but the position of the three lieutenants of Antony was difficult, for no one knew what Antony really wanted, and Plancus succeeded in infecting the other two with much of his native caution. Lucius, closely pursued by Rufus and Agrippa, flung himself into Perusia: the old town with its Etruscan walls crowning a hill 1500 feet high was impregnable by assault but all the more easy to blockade. Octavian promptly drew great lines of circumvallation round it, and detached some forces to watch the movements of the three legates of Antony; in the end they retired and left the town to its fate. That could not be long; the investment was close and hunger—Perusina fames became a byword—soon drove the besieged to desperation; Lucius vainly attempted to break out on New Year’s Eve, some of his more notable supporters deserted, and by the end of February, 40 BC, he was forced to surrender. His excuses were bound to be accepted, for Octavian could not afford to offend Antony by harsh treatment of his brother; he was dismissed unharmed, his soldiers were pardoned. Pollio retired northwards, Bassus and Plancus towards Brundisium, and Agrippa succeeded in hanging over two of Plancus’ legions; but no serious obstacle to escape was offered, and at Brundisium Plancus and Fulvia took ship for Athens.

Far different was the fortune of Perusia; the city was given up as plunder to the soldiery, stripped and burnt; the ordinary citizens were allowed to go free, but to the senators and to the remnant of Republicans taken there Octavian was pitiless, and the last traces of opposition were stamped out. An attempt at a slave insurrection in Campania, led by the ardent Republican Tiberius, Claudius Nero, was soon crushed; with his wife Livia and son Tiberius he fled to Sicily, and Octavian by a strange irony expelled from Italy the woman who was to be his wife and the boy whom he was to choose as his successor.

But the twenty-two-year-old leader had other difficulties to face: uncertainty whether Antony would return as friend or enemy made it imperative to deal quickly with Sextus and Lepidus, for either, if unsatisfied, might combine with Antony against him. Calenus had not yet given up two legions in exchange for those Antony had borrowed after Philippi, and Octavian there­fore bent his steps towards Gaul. Opportunely enough Calenus died, his son was too young to be left in charge of the army there, and Octavian took control for the moment of the eleven legions. So large a force could only be given to a man whom he trusted implicitly, and so Salvidienus Rufus was placed in supreme charge of Gaul, though L. Antonius was made governor of Spain; in addition Octavian could now present Lepidus with the two provinces of Africa and six legions from Antony’s Gallic army wherewith to control them. The acting governor of Africa, T. Sextius, who had succeeded in eliminating Fango, surrendered his four legions to the triumvir, and for the next few years Lepidus remained there inactive, though not without schemes of his own.

There remained Sextus Pompeius; here Maecenas used his skill in negotiations of which the upshot was that Octavian married Scribonia, the sister of L. Scribonius Libo, whose daughter was the wife of Sextus. To modern eyes the connection seems remote enough, but such alliances were an accepted part of Roman political life, and this one might be taken as affording Octavian some hold upon Sextus. What Octavian could not know was that Sextus, equally anxious for security, had himself opened communications with Antony and offered his services. Antony was returning to Italy; the prestige of the victor at Philippi still counted for much; all would depend upon his attitude and will.