by Craig Smith
Rome: October, 40 BC
I have always marvelled that Herod insisted on arriving in Italy with his own ship, but I think he understood better than an Italian-born Roman that in Rome money is all. If a man has no money he had better pretend it isn’t so; no one assists a penniless exile, no matter what title he used to own. He was a beggar, like Ulysses after one of his shipwrecks. And like Ulysses, he carried on as if his flight from Judaea were only a minor inconvenience.
We sent a messenger ahead to Antony as we neared the city and Antony, in turn, sent an escort of friends to find us while we were still on the road. It would have been a finer gesture had he come in person, but no matter – we were received. And that is the first necessity of dignity.
Antony’s home had formerly been the residence of Pompey Magnus. It was the very largest house on the Palatine in those days and had been decorated with plunder from the orient, both Pompey’s and Antony’s. For all his show of wealth and power Antony seemed a changed man. He was, by then, already married to Caesar’s sister, Octavia. That alone might explain some of his docility. Octavia was a delicate flower like her brother, as cold and heartless, too. Quite contrary to custom, Octavia waited at Antony’s side to receive us. I could not help but recall the court of Cleopatra, where young Caesarion was honoured as Pharaoh alongside his mother but it was Cleopatra who made all the decisions. Antony was wretchedly sober and miserable on the morning we arrived. Every morning afterwards, for that matter. Gone were the louts he liked to keep at his side: dwarfs, actors, retired gladiators and certain ancient legionaries whose last skill was to drink until dawn without fading.
Missing too was Antony’s morning hangover. He looked flush with good health but chastened and mournful for the sake of it. Of course he had recently lost a wife for whom he had great affection and the second of his two brothers as well. Or maybe his sorrow was all about losing northern Gaul with its eleven legions. Or the companionship of Cleopatra. Then too it could not have been easy to leave behind the adoration he had so lately enjoyed in the orient; in Rome, after all, Antony was still the subject of several awful tales of debauchery. Defeat in Syria and the loss of the Jewish provinces weighed heavily too. But then Bacchus is nothing if not a creature of extremes: glorying in celebration one moment, wailing and broken the next.
He ordered wine and refreshments for us, but he would not taste more than a sip or two from his own cup. He permitted Herod to tell his tale, relishing the description of the battle against the Parthian cataphracts. And then Herod told him the bad news. Phasael had escaped crucifixion by killing himself; Hyrcanus lived but had been shamefully mutilated. And the worst of it: all of Herod’s loved ones were presently trapped atop Masada and under siege.
Hearing these reports Antony showed sympathy, but that was all he had to offer. Until Rome reclaimed Syria he was unable to help Judaea.
‘Surely there is something we can do,’ Octavia interjected.
We were all embarrassed by this outburst. Finally, Antony answered his new bride. ‘Our chief concern at the moment, dear, is holding the provinces of Asia Minor. If we succeed at that, we will turn our attention to regaining Syria. Only when that is accomplished, can we drive the Parthians out of Judaea.’
Octavia ignored this and looked at Herod with the bright optimism of an innocent, though she was anything but that. ‘Perhaps my brother can help you.’
‘If he has found legions who can fly,’ Antony snapped, ‘perhaps he can!’
‘Will it hurt to ask his opinion?’
I thought Antony might explode in rage as he would have against a man. Instead, he gave his new wife exactly what she asked for. It could not hurt to ask, he murmured. With that, Octavia sent word to Caesar that there was urgent business to discuss with respect to Judaea. Whether she wrote something more I cannot say, but Caesar soon answered her letter with one of his own. He invited Herod and Antony and his sister to dine with him that evening.
We departed Antony’s house and crossed the Tiber. There we found hospitality with Herod’s wealthy friends in the Jewish district. I might have joined men I knew in Rome, but I wanted to stay close to Herod. I thought he would have news after his dinner with Caesar. Fortunately, I did not have to gather the information second-hand. Later that afternoon a slave arrived with my invitation to join the party.
I assumed I had been overlooked because I lacked any political resource. I am still not sure why I was finally included, but perhaps Caesar’s wife, some distant relative of Sextus Pompey, became ill at the last moment and they had a vacancy. This I know: Caesar neither liked his wife nor trusted her; so her absence from an important dinner was not especially remarkable.
Naturally, I was unprepared for such an occasion. I scrambled about trying to arrange the loan of a toga that had the thin purple stripe of an eques. That was easier to acquire than a decent pair of slippers, but shortly before we departed for Caesar’s house someone came to me with a pair that fit, or nearly so at least. Since my arrival in Rome five-and-a-half years before, nothing I had experienced compared to an invitation to dine with the two most powerful men in the world. In a city where every important man was anxious to speak with Caesar and Antony, business to which I was intimately linked took pre-eminence. Even having to wear borrowed clothing could not spoil the occasion.
The fall of Syria and Judaea of course were not casual matters to be handled when the leadership got around to it. No, this was the fall of half an empire, presaging the political collapse of Rome’s leadership. So our meeting concerned not only the fate of Judaea but the fates of Caesar and Antony as well. For all of that no one seemed especially concerned.
Caesar was pleased to meet Herod. He knew of Herod’s friendship with his father, his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, I mean. He mentioned as well that all of the Jews in Rome had gone into mourning on the day they learned of Caesar’s murder. Herod answered this with the observation that his own father had counted no man a better friend than Julius Caesar. So the meeting was off to a good start.
There were only two tables set, with three diners at each. I lay beside Antony and his new bride, the only woman present at the meal. Caesar put Herod next to him; Caesar’s friend, Maecenas, lay to the other side of Herod. It was all quite intimate, which is the way real power is exercised.
After the warm welcome, I expected the men to get down to business, but Caesar insisted on music through the first course of our meal. This was lettuce, arugula, and dormice, as I recall. There was no time for political discourse but there was much talk about the Jewish reluctance to eat Roman cuisine. Herod ate the rodent without complaint but as he did he entertained Caesar with a full description of Jewish dietary prohibitions. After the music, we had a recitation of some poetry in Latin that seemed, even to my untrained ear, desperately eager to be grand. During this phase of the banquet we helped ourselves to various stews that had been set about, all in spicy sauces. I detected game bird, chicken, pork, beef, and the brains of some creature. Wine sweetened with honey kept the heat of the sauces bearable.
Maecenas was responsible for selecting the poet and apologised when the fool had departed. It was difficult to find any but Greek poets, he told Caesar. Of those the really good ones all refused to translate their creations into Latin. Caesar complained, for his Greek was practically non-existent. Why couldn’t Romans write poetry? ‘We own the world and have nothing to show for it but armies and ships? No! We have a culture that far surpasses anything the Greeks have accomplished; it’s time for us to take pride in that fact!’
Maecenas answered that any Roman youth wanting to pursue the study of poetry must live for a time in Athens, which spoiled his affection for his native tongue. Caesar stabbed his table with his dinner knife. I believe this was his first use of a weapon in anger, but I may be mistaken on that point. I know Antony blinked and looked at the young man for the first time that evening. ‘There is nothing at all the matter with Latin, Maecenas. It is the custom of worshiping all things
Greek that is the problem!’
I repeat so much of this silliness chiefly because I found it wildly improbable. The world was falling down around his ears and Caesar wanted poets to deliver their doggerel verse in Latin instead of Greek so he could understand it. More to the point, his chief advisor did not bother shifting the conversation back to matters of state but talked seriously about the problem of finding good poets. As the conversation continued I saw Antony watching the wine jar passing. He was on his best behaviour and had already refused a second cup, but that did not preclude desire.
I focused my attention on Octavia. She had arranged this dinner because, as it seemed to me, she had been touched by Herod’s affection for his family. Hoping to inspire her to introduce the topic of Judaea’s fall, I decided to entertain her with a story about Salome taking up a shovel and digging the fortifications for a battle line alongside the rest of her brother’s soldiers.
Octavia enjoyed this or pretended to, at least. Soon she began speaking of Roman women who wore swords. She named two or three from extreme antiquity, then added almost innocently, ‘And more recently Antony’s late wife Fulvia. Then too one cannot forget our other allied women. Cleopatra, for instance. I am told the queen really is a warrior at heart.’
Antony swirled the dregs of his wine in his cup, adding as he did, ‘This much I can tell you. She rides a horse as well as any man I’ve ever known.’
‘Antony is quite impressed with the queen’s athleticism; I imagine they played with swords when she was not riding him.’
‘The queen enjoyed archery, not sword fighting, and when she rode me, she did it as if she enjoyed it.’
‘So an actress as well. You know of course the queen is pregnant?’ Octavia asked me.
‘Unfounded rumour,’ Antony answered.
‘You saw her, Dellius. Rumour or fact?’
‘I have no idea,’ I answered.
‘Brother, you must go to Egypt and have this creature yourself. You can’t be the only man in Rome without her spawn.’
Caesar told his sister that he really did not care to visit a people who worshipped animals. As Antony snagged a passing servant and got his cup filled, Caesar talked at some length about the absurdity of praying to dogs and crocodiles.
Maecenas, who was considerably more sophisticated than his friend, agreed that there were strange aspects to Egyptian religion, but one could not deny their unsurpassed abilities when it came to astrology.
‘Astrology and witchcraft,’ Caesar answered. ‘But for all their occult powers they have proven themselves incapable of winning battles without Rome’s legions.’
Having brought the conversation back to national pride Caesar was soon discussing the need for a Roman culture in Rome, even a national epic to rival Homer’s. ‘Why always praise Greece and Egypt? They have nothing we do not possess in greater abundance. Except perhaps decadence.’
‘Bugger the poets!’ Antony exclaimed. ‘Herod’s wife, his mother, his son, and his sister are trapped on a mountaintop. He comes to us for aid and succour and all we can do is complain about the wretched state of poetry in our city. What can we do to help our friend?’
Octavia blushed at her husband’s outburst. Maecenas looked frightened. As for Caesar, he seemed to me vaguely irritated by the interruption. He blinked, considering the matter, and then said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, ‘Perhaps we should make Herod King of Judaea.’ Caesar thought about it for a moment more and then agreed with himself. ‘Yes, I think that is best. King Herod of Judaea. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘But I have no claim to a crown, Imperator,’ Herod protested. ‘Perhaps you ought to consider Hyrcanus, who is, after all, heir to the throne of Judaea.’
‘Hyrcanus is a mutilated old man. Besides, you will have the only claim you need once the senate has voted unanimously on the matter.’
‘He still needs an army,’ Antony answered drolly. ‘Have we any spare ones around that I don’t know about?’
‘A king can always find fighting men. The difficulty is raising the money to pay for them; as for that, I’m afraid I can’t help.’
Herod looked at Caesar as if he imagined the lad was making a joke at his expense. As for Antony, I believe he wondered quite seriously if Caesar had gone mad.
Of course Caesar was not mad at all. He simply had no notion of Judaean politics. If Rome made Herod a king, then he was a king. Like it or not, the king’s subjects were not really a factor worth considering.
In fact, neither were the opinions of Antony and Herod. Young Caesar had determined the best course and returned to his latest passion. ‘Latin poetry, Maecenas. Not always Greek, Greek, Greek!’
XXI
OLD FRIENDS
Rome: Late Autumn, 40 BC
Next morning, like old friends, Caesar and Antony walked at either side of Herod as they entered the Forum. An hour later Herod left the chambers of the senate a king, lacking only his kingdom. Antony proposed a celebration, but Herod had business in the city with several moneylenders, after which he meant to ride as quickly as possible to Brindisi. The seas would be closed to ships in a matter of days. He wanted to be in Cyprus before winter set in. Of course, he did not care to offend his patron and begged Antony’s forgiveness, but he must think of his family.
A day or two more or less did not seem worth so much concern, but Antony gave his blessing. While he was in such an agreeable mood, I took the opportunity to ask Antony’s permission to travel with Herod. In this matter, Antony was not nearly as obliging. ‘I need you in Rome,’ he told me simply. Like Herod, I had made promises to people. I told Antony the lives of the four hundred wounded Spartans I had sent to Masada depended on me. And there were also three hundred men in Egypt to whom I had promised to return; surely Antony could understand.
Antony did understand, far better than I, and cut off my complaints impatiently. ‘This fortress of Masada cannot possibly survive the winter, Dellius. Antigonus knows Herod’s family is there; he will soon enough learn that we have made Herod King of Judaea. Nothing will be more urgent for him than taking Masada. Herod must attempt the impossible because they are his family, but I will not waste your talents on lost causes. I am going to need you with me in Syria.’
‘And what of the officers and men I left in Egypt?’
‘They are at least safe. Let me worry about returning them to service, once Syria is ours again.’
So I remained in Rome while Herod went off to buy an army with borrowed funds. I was not officially engaged as Antony’s prefect of the Guard, not inside the city, but I was always the man closest to his person, and men under my patronage were always at the edge of Antony’s entourage, their gladii concealed under their cloaks.
Rome was uneasy, and that made a sudden attack on a Triumvir a very real possibility. The chief cause of complaint was Antony’s and Caesar’s inability to deal with Sextus Pompey’s naval blockade along Italy’s western coast. We were not starving, but neither had we sufficient grain for our population. Prices were rising at the very moment when fewer people had income. Antony was also worried that some radicals in Caesar’s faction might launch an assassination against him. So in addition to his person, I arranged for men to keep watch over Antony’s food and wine, lest he perish as Antipater had done.
With what little time I had to call my own I did manage to enquire about the new owner of my father’s estate in Tuscany. I knew the man’s name, he was a neighbour who had once possessed only a few hundred olive trees and some pastureland. His lack of fortune had let him avoid the proscriptions, but he did possess enough in his own right to provide surety for a loan, which allowed him to make the winning bid at auction for my father’s estate. He had then, rather cleverly, sold off parcels of my father’s pastureland at a profit. This allowed him to pay down his debt even as his income trebled from the produce of our orchards and vineyards.
When I wrote to ask him about the price he would take for all that remai
ned of my family’s estate, he did not play coy but gave me a fair price for it. Only then did I realise I could not earn the money I needed with an officer’s salary. I proceeded to speak with a few men in the city, but all of them required me to own property before they would loan money to me. Of course, if they had loaned me the money I would have owned property, but when I made that argument they were not swayed by its logic. I knew better than to ask Antony for a loan, but one evening, when he was not in an especially sour mood, I asked him about my father’s estate. Might I not petition that it be returned to me on condition that I pay back the present owner’s expenses?
It seemed a fair request, but Antony’s face turned hard as stone. We had all lost a great deal, he answered. Of course, he meant others had lost a great deal. For Antony our civil war had brought an end to his perpetual indebtedness. He was then the wealthiest man in the world – after Caesar, of course, who had recently come to enjoy the wealth of Gaul.
Some days after Herod departed for Cyprus, I sent a brief note to Maecenas. Reminding him of our dinner at Caesar’s house and Caesar’s concern for Roman culture, I suggested he investigate the talents of my friend Horace, who was presently living in Rome. I was sure Maecenas received names quite routinely, all the clever young fellows wanted to write verse in those days, and so in my note I added how much Antony had enjoyed Horace’s poetry. This was not exactly true, but of course nothing is sweeter than poaching a great talent from a jealous rival, and Maecenas soon invited Horace and me to his house.