Three's Company

by Alfred Duggan

  ‘Now don’t be spiteful. Marcus did it out of genuine family feeling. He believes in the gods, and the next world, and all that sort of thing; and he was truly fond of that scoundrelly brother of his. I don’t believe in anything in particular, though I’m all for encouraging the practice of religion as a reinforcement to morality; and I never knew my adoptive father until the last year of his life. I thought it prudent to kill a clutch of rebels, so I used them in a ceremony which will impress the whole world. At the same time I proved that I am not vindictive at heart, by sending off Lucius and Fulvia to join the head of their family. Perhaps Marcus won’t thank me for that.’

  ‘Very well. I accept your offer,’ said Lepidus, taking the plunge with a rush of words. ‘But, mind you, this must be a genuine proconsulship. I must have all Africa, with an adequate army; and in my own province I must be really supreme. If you try to make me your deputy I shall rebel against you. I’m no warrior. I know that. But I can administer a peaceful province; Africa will be the better for my rule. My other stipulation is – no hostages. I want my wife and sons with me in Utica, not living in Rome under open arrest.’

  ‘No hostages, I agree. My dear man, I trust you; and certainly after your last flight from Rome, I do not fear you. So there need be no precautions against treachery.’

  The lady Clodia halted her litter, peering out to read the programme of the forthcoming Games. ‘Caesar again,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘He always shows plenty of lions and elephants. So he should. The common people made him great, and in return he must be generous. But why does he still call himself Triumvir? I thought he ruled the west, and Antonius the east?’

  ‘There is a third ruler somewhere,’ said the young man in attendance. ‘Old Lepidus is the third Triumvir, in some barbarous place, Gaul or Spain or Africa or something.’

  ‘Dear me, I thought he was killed in the proscription, like everyone else. Once he did me a good turn. I’m glad he’s still alive, even though he doesn’t matter any more.’

  10. Africa

  37 BC

  The temple of Jupiter in Utica was not so splendid as that on the Capitol, the central shrine of the Roman People; but it was a fine stately building, worthy of an ancient citizen-colony. Today the forecourt and the Sacred Way leading to it were thronged with citizens in holiday dress. It was not often that the Romans of Africa had an opportunity to witness the sacrifice of a complete hecatomb by the Pontifex Maximus in person, with all the ritual of old Rome.

  First there had to be a good many speeches. Every town-councillor must say his piece, even though he were more practised in dictating business communications than in turning graceful compliments. But these speeches could not be omitted; by custom, each orator presented to the governor a bag of gold pieces, in theory sufficient gold to make a crown; and these compulsory free-will offerings were a valuable item of revenue. For three hours Lepidus stood, in full pontificals, while businessmen repeated over and over again the same compliments. Even the new town-council of Carthage had sent a representative; though that modern foundation, the pet of young Caesar in Italy, was perpetually at odds with the official headquarters of the province. Luckily the bulls chosen for sacrifice were well-fed and placid; they stood quietly in the forecourt, though sometimes their bellowing drowned the oratory.

  At last the time came for the Pontifex Maximus to sprinkle barley-meal, while the victimarii got on with their butchery. All the hundred livers were lined up for inspection, but the Pontifex gave them only a cursory glance before announcing satisfactory omens. How could the omens be anything else, on such an auspicious day? Besides, it was getting on for noon, and in this climate fresh meat must be cooked before sundown. Sacrificial beef was tough and stringy; but it was lucky, and it was free. The poorer citizens would be disappointed if it was not ready by supper-time.

  Lepidus was too experienced to exhibit Games in the afternoon, when he must sacrifice in the morning. That would mean at best a stampede from the temple to the amphitheatre, at worst that Jupiter would have no worshippers. The Games would begin at sunrise on the morrow; the afternoon, as was proper, could be devoted to dining and bathing.

  He came out into the strong African sun, to walk in procession the short distance to his official residence. An escort of praetorians, tall soldiers in splendid armour, surrounded him with drawn swords; for in the provinces it was fitting that a Roman magistrate should be accompanied by military force. Twenty-four lictors marched ahead, which was perhaps a little ostentatious. But the constitution of the ancestors had laid down no establishment for the attendants of a Triumvir, since the office was a novelty; and it was really only putting his power in the right perspective for him to assume all the majesty of a Dictator.

  When he reclined at the dinner-table, clad in a synthesis of specially thin material against the heat of midday, he could congratulate himself that all the intricate ceremonial had gone off without a hitch.

  Looking round the table, it was an added satisfaction to see himself as the paterfamilias of a true old Roman household. Only his family were present, as was fitting on such a personal anniversary; but there were enough of them to prove that he was a great man who could protect his relatives. On either side of him his sons reclined: Marcus a youth of seventeen, almost ready to put away his purple-bordered gown and assume the plain white toga of the young citizen; Quintus still a child, but old enough to behave himself when dining with the family.

  On three chairs before another small table sat the three ladies. In the centre Junia the matron; on her left her sister, the widow Tertulla, who long ago had left Servilia’s gay boudoir to marry the treacherous Cassius; on her right young Antonia, the well-behaved child of fourteen who by next year would be a beautiful woman and the bride of young Marcus. Tertulla had always been the beauty of her handsome family, attractive enough as a child to take the fancy of the great Caesar. She knew herself lucky to be living comfortably in this great household, instead of under police surveillance in Rome; she always did her best to flatter and amuse her brother-in-law and protector. The mere sight of her there, secure and at ease, gave Lepidus a comforting sensation of power.

  When the meal began Tertulla took the initiative. The subject was in everyone’s thoughts, but they might spend the evening sparing her feelings unless she was the first to broach it. She knew very well that she must sing for her supper, and, being an intelligent woman as well as a pretty one, she did it gracefully.

  ‘Aemilius Lepidus, you must lie there quietly, like a god at a ritual feast, while we pay you due worship. All the rest of you, fill your cups and drink to the renewal of the Triumvirate. Just think of it! We are dining with one of the three greatest men in the whole long history of the City! There was a Triumvirate before, and some of us can remember it. What happened to those Triumvirs? Crassus, defeated and killed by barbarians; Pompeius Maximus, killed by barbarians while in flight from his fellow-citizens; Caesar, struck down at the summit of his power. This second Triumvirate has stood the test of time. You have given the City five years of peace and prosperity, and still we can’t get on without you. Never before has a Triumvirate been renewed. I drink to Aemilius Lepidus, Triumvir iterum (again).’

  After that handsome declaration the rest could talk freely, without hurting the feelings of a lady whose husband had committed suicide at Philippi. Marcus and Quintus knelt to kiss their father’s hand, Junia crowned her husband with a special wreath of roses, and Antonia tactfully proposed the health of young Caesar; whereupon Lepidus himself must give the toast of Marcus Antonius, her father.

  ‘It doesn’t seem as long as five years,’ said Lepidus, half to himself, ‘and it’s not quite true that we brought peace to Rome. At the beginning we had to do a lot of fighting, and there are still more legions under arms than when I was a boy. But it’s true that our victory brought peace in the end. In Italy there has been no fighting since the fall of Perusia, and here in Africa the last tumult was finished before I took over.’

&
nbsp; ‘It’s more nearly six years than five since you joined forces with my father,’ said young Antonia. ‘I was in hiding at the time, with my horrid step-mother, and I remember well the relief we felt when we heard the good news from the Argenteus. Really, when I think of all the bother my family has caused you, I appreciate how kind it is of you to have me here.’

  ‘Where else could you be, my precious?’ Junia said kindly. ‘Your father keeps great state in the east, but it isn’t a suitable household for a young girl. The lady Octavia, your new stepmother, isn’t exactly what you need, is she?’

  ‘My mother means that she isn’t quite a lady,’ young Marcus said firmly, ‘and that is putting it mildly. How could she be a lady? Descended from a long line of money-lenders in Velitrae! Her brother is bad enough, in spite of the noble name he bears. But Octavia never knew the great Dictator, and no one has taught her how to behave in society.’

  ‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ said Tertulla, smiling gently in the cause of peace. ‘The lady Octavia is virtuous and sober. Perhaps she isn’t smart; some men prefer their wives to be dowdy.’

  ‘Yes, Marcus, we don’t discuss absent ladies,’ his father said ponderously. ‘It may be clever to speculate about them, but it isn’t good manners. I can remember when the highest praise of a lady was to say that she was unknown to her next-door neighbour. Nowadays no one seems to have any private life.’

  ‘We have a private life, here in Africa,’ said Junia, with a contented sigh. ‘Utica isn’t Rome, but it’s a decent old-fashioned town. The citizens behaved most piously at the sacrifice this morning, and now they leave us in peace. If we were in Rome there would be a crowd outside the door, shouting for the Triumvir to come out and make a speech.’

  ‘We are very lucky, Junia darling,’ cooed Tertulla. ‘When we were young we had all the excitement of politics, the cheering mobs and the fighting on election-day, the great Dictator discussing his plans in mother’s boudoir. Now that we are old enough to prefer quiet we live in this charming backwater, where we may decline into old age among customs that were old-fashioned when we were born.’

  ‘Don’t talk like the oldest inhabitant,’ her sister said sharply. ‘The whole family knows that you are younger than me. I don’t yet feel old enough to sit in a corner and watch the world go by.’

  ‘In one thing Tertulla is right,’ said Lepidus. ‘This is a good sound old-fashioned town, and a pleasant place to live in. But I wish it wasn’t so far from Rome. Since I never meet my colleagues I have to do everything by letter. This afternoon, on what ought to be a holiday, I must shut myself up with Eunomus to compose an answer to the official decree, and to the letters of congratulation from Caesar and Antonius.’

  ‘You would have prepared your speech of thanks to the Senate, even if you could walk across the street to deliver it in person,’ his wife pointed out. ‘In the old days you never addressed the Senate without spending at least an afternoon in preparation.’

  ‘In the old days I was trying to persuade the Senate, and sometimes they would vote against me. Now we three rule the City, and no one dares to speak against us. All the same, I like to polish any formal message that is likely to be preserved in the archives. The old patrician style is dying out. When the young men get into a tangle they take refuge in Greek, where you can invent new words as you go along and put them in any order you please. They excuse themselves by saying Cicero began it; so he did, but a man of his eloquence could afford to take liberties.’

  ‘Well, you need not polish your letters to father,’ Antonia said cheerfully. ‘They tell me he speaks well when he’s excited, but he knows absolutely nothing about style. I had a letter from him this morning, to say that uncle Lucius is dead. He forgot to tell me how or why he died, and the whole thing took up only two lines; though it’s on the most sumptuous Egyptian paper.’

  ‘Lucius Antonius dead? I hadn’t heard it, though of course in a day or two it will be in the official dispatches. I’m sorry for your sake, my dear, if you were fond of him. But I can’t really mourn him. Three years ago he did me a great deal of harm.’

  There was silence in the dining-room as the Triumvir fell into a reverie.

  That afternoon, lying cosily side by side in the privacy of the ladies’bath, Servilia’s two daughters discussed the events of the morning. ‘Poor dear Marcus,’ said Junia with a sigh that turned into a giggle. ‘I’m afraid Antonia spoiled his pleasure in these celebrations by bringing up the name of that odious uncle of hers. Marcus can’t live unless he has a good opinion of himself, as I expect you have noticed. He tries gallantly to persuade himself that he came out to Africa to govern a continent on behalf of the Roman People, because the work needed doing and there was no one else to do it. As a rule he manages to forget that he was sent here in disgrace. Now, as he composes his letters, he’ll be thinking of nothing but how he was chased out of Rome, and trying to discover what he ought to have done to stop his men changing sides. From that he’ll go on to plans for recovering his old power. Eunomus encourages every wild scheme. It may take me a month to get him back into a safe routine.’

  ‘I suppose you have always managed his career for him. Do you think he ought to end his days in Utica?’

  ‘I try to manage his career, when it’s anything political. I know what other people think of him, and that’s the last thing he ever guesses. But when he is in camp with his legions I can’t be with him. If you look back, all his mistakes have been made on campaign. If he had marched over the Alps to attack Antonius outside Mutina his men would have followed him. Young Caesar’s name would have been enough for the ardent Caesarians, and the others would have bowed to the prestige of the lawful government in the City. Then a loyal army would have made him the most respected Senator in a Senate of free men. He can speak very well, after I have put the right ideas into his head. As to ending his days in Utica, or in this new Colony of Carthage if they ever get it finished, what else can we do? We are safe here, among old-fashioned Romans who think along the same lines as my dear old-fashioned husband. What would we do in Italy, in competition with those wolves on their hind legs, Caesar and Antonius? Probably we would end up as human sacrifices, like the Senators who were butchered outside Perusia. Do you know that Lucius betrayed them? He could have held out much longer. When Caesar guaranteed his personal safety he surrendered, and made no terms for his Optimate allies. I hope he had a painful sickness and an agonizing death. But Lucius was no worse than the rest of the gang. Yet they dazzle my poor Marcus. Even Fulvia could impress him.’

  ‘Poor Junia, you have a lot to put up with. Of course you must stay in safe Africa. I for one never want to see Rome again. I wouldn’t know anybody there, apart from a few heads stuck up in the Forum.’

  Meanwhile the Triumvir was conscientiously enduring the afternoon heat of his office, talking over dispatches with Eunomus and drafting his replies.

  ‘I suppose the Triumvirate has in fact been renewed,’ he said querulously. ‘This proclamation has it in black and white, but there’s no mention of a law passed by the assembly, not even a decree of the Senate. I don’t see how it can be legally binding. Anyway, our powers expired more than three months ago, on the 1st of January last. Is the proclamation retrospective? If it purports to be, can a proclamation have retrospective effect?’

  ‘Perhaps not, my lord. I am not skilled in the forms of the Roman constitution, which is admitted to be a subject of great intricacy. But is any of this of the slightest importance? You command every soldier in Africa. Caesar commands every soldier in Italy. Antonius commands every soldier in the east. Between you, the Triumvirs command all the soldiers in the civilized world. When you speak, unarmed Senators and the mob in the assembly must obey your proclamation as though it had the force of law.’

  ‘That’s true enough, of course. But I wish Caesar would take a little more trouble. I don’t like ruling without a legal sanction, and there’s no reason why we should. Caesar sits in Rome, at peace with
all his neighbours and with very little to occupy his time. He could get a decree through the Senate and a law through the assembly at the cost of two formal speeches. Then we would be lawful rulers of the City, lawful in the eyes of posterity. Instead, to save himself one day’s work, he puts out this unsatisfactory proclamation. I’ve a good mind to send him a stiff reminder of his duty, instead of congratulations.’

  ‘That would be unwise, my lord. We don’t want trouble from Caesar. Though the boy has no military record, he commands a great many legions. If we have to put Africa on a war footing it will interfere with all your plans for development.’

  ‘Oh, very well. I shan’t bother to rebuke Caesar. It’s only another example of the sloppiness of modern youth, which you meet in every department of government. Nowadays no one does anything thoroughly. You compose my message of congratulation for me, Eunomus. You know the kind of thing to say. Make it flowery and fulsome, in the new Asiatic style. Patrician gravity would be wasted on young Caesar, and he might think. I was trying to be offensive. When you have something on paper I shall just skim through it and then put my signet at the bottom. Now what else have we today? Anything more besides routine business? Any other letters about the renewal of the Triumvirate?’

  ‘You ought to congratulate Antonius, my lord. I don’t know whether you should also send a notification to Sextus Pompeius. He’s not exactly your colleague, but he shares in the government of the Roman world.’

  ‘Marcus Antonius? Of course. I had nearly forgotten him. Stuck out there in the east he seems more like a foreigner than a colleague in the government of the City. Send him a duplicate of the letter to Caesar. He used to be a friend of mine, a close ally, much closer than Caesar. But we have been out of touch for years. I haven’t anything in particular that needs saying to him.’