The vote passed quickly and with very few opposed. It would have to be confirmed by the citizens of Rome, but if the new consuls returned victorious, it would be a formality. Hirtius turned to Pansa and raised his eyebrows.
‘It seems you and I are in for a long ride, Consul.’
Pansa grinned at the new title. Just the thought of getting away from the endless bickering of the Senate brought contentment. The prospect was invigorating. Pansa scrubbed a hand through the white bristle of his hair, wondering whether his armour would need polishing when he had it brought out of storage.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Arretium was a military town, barely a hundred miles north of Rome. Whatever Maecenas’ reasons for recommending it, it had the benefit of being within swift range of the capital, while far enough away to give the Senate the sense that they were not immediately threatened.
The Fabii property Maecenas owned was indeed a delight, a low complex of buildings and gardens that stretched up a hill on various levels, each host to a bewildering display of imported fruit trees and statues in white stone. It felt like a place to rest and enjoy the end of summer, with the struggle safely behind them. A banqueting hall led out onto the gardens and Maecenas had agreed to host the legates of four legions in rooms on the estate. Twenty thousand legionaries had descended on the town itself and doubled its population, so that prices went up and those who could not afford rooms camped in fields.
Legates Silva and Paulinius had welcomed Liburnius and Buccio like old friends. In fact, the four men had met before on campaigns, but they could all take comfort in knowing they had not risked the wrath of the Senate alone.
Octavian said a brief prayer to Ceres as he sat at the table, thanking the goddess for producing the meal that lay before them. Maecenas had produced the Falernian and Octavian had to admit it was superior to the sour wine Silva had served before.
‘So are you going to tell us?’ Maecenas asked, pulling a cooked goose apart with his fingers. He saw Octavian frown. ‘There are no surprises with twenty thousand men camped all around the town, Caesar. A messenger from Rome cannot be kept secret. Are we to be branded traitors, then? Have they sent a demand for our heads?’
‘I would know how to react to that,’ Octavian replied.
He looked around the table at the six men who had risked everything for him. Agrippa was watching every change of expression on his face, as if trying to read his thoughts. Liburnius kept his gaze on the food, still very aware of the change in their respective statuses since their last meeting. Yet he too had done what mattered and marched men north to follow Caesar. Octavian had welcomed the newly promoted legate with only a dry comment on the rising value of the favour he still carried. Presumably, Gracchus would catch up with him eventually, though Octavian was amused at the thought of the dour legionary still searching for his lost commander.
From his tunic, Octavian withdrew a scroll and unrolled it, ignoring the spots of grease his fingers left on the dry surface.
‘I have orders here,’ he said, ‘orders to report to consuls Hirtius and Pansa and to put myself under their authority.’ His eyes scanned the page yet again. ‘They are coming north with four legions and it seems I have been made a propraetor, by will of the Senate.’
The men around the table gaped at him in rising excitement. In just a few words, they had gone from standing outside the law to being welcomed back. Liburnius and Buccio looked up together, the same thought striking them both. It was Buccio who managed to speak first.
‘If they have appointed consuls before the year is up, it can only mean Mark Antony is out.’
Liburnius nodded as he speared a piece of slow-cooked lamb with his knife and chewed slowly.
‘Will you do it?’ Agrippa asked for all of them. ‘Will you accept Senate authority after all that has happened? Can you even trust them, Caesar? For all we know, this is some ruse to get close enough to attack.’
Octavian waved a hand, almost overturning his cup of wine and then gripping it to keep it steady.
‘How many legions could they have summoned at such short notice? Even if it is a trap, they would just smash themselves against our men. I am inclined to believe them, gentlemen, but that does not solve my problem, does it? Why would they make such an offer? Why would they even want my legions, if not to punish Mark Antony? Yet he should be fighting with me, not against me! He goes north to attack Decimus Junius, one of those who wielded knives on the Ides of March. Should I join the Senate and prevent him achieving exactly what I would like to see happen? By the gods, how can I join my enemies, to fight against my only ally?’
As he spoke, the sense of excitement drained from the men at the table. For just an instant, they had seen a way through the fear and chaos of their position, but Octavian’s anger snuffed out their hopes.
‘So you will not join the new consuls, Caesar?’ Legate Silva said.
‘No, I’ll join them. I’ll even march north against Mark Antony with them.’ Octavian hesitated, considering how much he could tell them. He had already made his decision. ‘Why would I resist marching north? Mark Antony is right – Decimus Junius is away from Rome, but still in reach. I would be following the same path before too long. Let these new consuls think whatever they like. Let them believe whatever they like. They are bringing me reinforcements.’
Maecenas rubbed his forehead, feeling the tension that would lead to a headache. To avert it, he drank a full cup of the Falernian, smacking his lips.
‘The men around this table came to follow Caesar,’ he said. ‘Heir to the divine Julius. Will you now tell them they must also accept orders from the Senate? From the very senators who voted an amnesty for his killers? They’ve mutinied before for less.’
His words prompted a furious response from Buccio and Paulinius, both men shouting over the other at the insult to their honour. Maecenas looked at them, his own anger simmering.
‘So we march to attack Mark Antony, to save that whore’s whelp Decimus Junius?’ Maecenas continued. ‘Have you all gone deaf, or can you hear me say that?’
Octavian glared at his friend, rising from the table and leaning on his knuckles. His eyes were cold as he stared and Maecenas had to look away as the silence swelled and became uncomfortable.
‘Ever since I came back from Greece,’ Octavian said, ‘my path has been strewn with rocks. I have suffered through fools and greedy men.’ His gaze fell on Liburnius then, who suddenly looked away. ‘I have had my rightful demands scorned by fat senators. I have seen plans turned on their head and ruined in front of my eyes – and yet, despite all that, I find myself here, with four legions sworn to me alone and another four on the way. Would you have me tell you all my plans, Maecenas? For friendship, I will, though it will make the task a thousand times harder. So I ask you this. Put aside the demands of friendship and act, for once, as an officer under my command. I will accept the rank of propraetor and if any man asks how I can put myself under Senate authority, tell that man that Caesar does not share his plans with every soldier under his command!’
Maecenas opened his mouth to reply, but Agrippa shoved his wooden trencher across the table, butting him in the chest.
‘Enough, Maecenas. You heard what he said.’
Maecenas nodded, rubbing his temples where an ache still throbbed.
‘I have no choice,’ Octavian said to them all, ‘but to be the very model of Roman humility and discipline. I will accept the command of Hirtius and Pansa because it suits my aims.’ His voice was hard as he went on. ‘I will have to show these new consuls more than just words and promises. We should expect to be sent first into battle, or any other situation where our loyalty can be tested. They are not fools, gentlemen. If we are to survive the coming year, we have to be sharper and faster than the consuls of Rome.’
Hirtius and Pansa rode on well-groomed geldings in the third rank of their new legions. Both men were in fine form as they trotted along the wide stone route of the Via Cassia. Hirtius looked
back over his shoulder at the trudging ranks, reliving old memories and seeing no flaw in the men he had been given. Their very solidity was a balm after the raving chaos they left behind. There were no arguments on the road, no riots. He and Pansa were of one mind, delighted that Mark Antony’s mistakes had raised them to the highest post in Rome six months early. It was clear to both of them that the man should have been quietly executed on the Ides of March, but there was no point in regrets. If Caesar had lived, Hirtius and Pansa both knew they would have become puppet consuls for the Father of Rome, able to act only at his bidding. Instead, they were free and in command of legions. There were worse fates.
‘Do you really think he will fall in line?’ Pansa asked suddenly. Hirtius did not have to ask whom he meant. The subject had come up at some point every day out of Rome.
‘It is a perfect solution, Pansa, as I’ve said. Octavian is just a youth. He reached too far and had his fingers burned. All he wants now is to salvage a little dignity.’ He patted his saddlebag, where the Senate orders rested in their pouch. ‘Making him propraetor gives him recognition, though you will notice it makes him governor in name, but without a place to govern. What a gift, that is worth so much and yet costs us nothing!’ Hirtius smiled modestly, hoping his colleague would remember who had suggested it.
‘He is too young, Pansa, and much too inexperienced to rule Rome. The ridiculous fiasco at the forum showed that. I suspect he will fall on our necks with gratitude, but if he doesn’t, we have both the rank and the men to enforce the Senate will. His men are not fanatics, remember, for all their talk of a new Caesar. They did not offer to fight to the death when they thought Mark Antony was returning to Rome. Not them! Instead, they charged away in the opposite direction. Legionaries are practical men, Pansa – and so am I.’
Arretium had grown up on the Via Cassia, a town made prosperous by the ease with which trade goods could reach it and travel from it to other regions. Neither Hirtius nor Pansa knew the area well, but their extraordinarii riders kept a wide ring around them as they went north, reporting back in a chain so that they were informed of all that lay ahead. Before the sun reached the western hills on their flank, their riders came back accompanied by strangers, seeking out the consuls and reporting with all the formality they might require. Hirtius accepted the messages of welcome and safe passage as if they had been expected all along, though he could not resist a smug glance at his co-consul.
‘It is too early to stop for the night,’ Hirtius said in an aside to his colleague. ‘I would rather take the legions into Arretium and make sure the Senate orders have been properly … understood.’
Pansa nodded immediately, already cheerful at the thought of a return to civilisation. Hirtius seemed to thrive on sleeping out, but at sixty years of age, Pansa’s bones ached each morning.
The legions had not stopped for their consuls to receive messages. They marched on without expression as the orders came down the line. It mattered little to them whether they slept in tents by the road or in tents by a Roman town. At the end of the day, they were the same tents.
Manoeuvring such large numbers required a fair level of skill and both consuls were happy to leave the deployment to their subordinates. As they came within a mile of the walled town, a dozen extraordinarii and three of Octavian’s tribunes came out to help them organise the halt without adding to the problems of the legions already in the vicinity. The best places were all taken, of course, but Hirtius and Pansa cared nothing for that. They accepted the invitation to meet Caesar in a fine provincial home outside the walls. Both men rode in with their lictors and personal guards, so that they made an impressive group. They had been offered a truce to approach and Hirtius did not expect treachery, but he still had enough men to fight his way out if necessary. In any case, his new rank demanded such a following and he enjoyed the sight of stern lictors watching for the slightest insult to his person.
The estate was small compared with those around Rome, but Hirtius approved of the taste and wealth that had gone into its creation. The main house was reached through open gates and a wide courtyard, where servants scurried to take their horses. Hirtius looked to the pillared entrance and saw Octavian waiting there. He stood with no sign of tension and Hirtius realised with prickling irritation that the young man was handsome, with broad shoulders and long hair tied into a club at his neck. It was the first time they had ever met, but there was no mistaking the confidence in the grey eyes watching the consuls.
Hirtius and Pansa walked up the steps together. The evening was soft and warm and the air smelled of cut hay. Hirtius took a deep breath of it, feeling some of his tension ease.
‘This is a splendid house, Caesar,’ Hirtius said. ‘Is it yours?’
‘It belongs to a friend, Consul,’ Octavian said. ‘You will meet him tonight and you can tell him then, though he is already too proud. You are welcome here. I give you my oath and my protection while you remain in Arretium. There are rooms for your lictors and followers if you wish. If you’ll follow me inside, I have had food laid out for you.’
Pansa stepped forward immediately at the thought of a meal. Hirtius looked askance at his companion but walked in behind, sending the waiting lictors away with a flick of his fingers. There were times when a man had to trust his host and constant suspicion insulted them both. He reminded himself that Octavian could have slaughtered the Senate but had not.
The legates had gathered in the banqueting hall to greet the consuls from Rome. When Hirtius and Pansa entered, all the men rose, including Maecenas and Agrippa. They stood like soldiers in the presence of senior officers and Hirtius nodded to them, accepting Octavian’s invitation to sit at their table. He and Pansa had been placed together at the head and he wasted no time in taking his seat. As nobody had been sure when the consuls would arrive, the meal was cold, but it was still much better than they had eaten on the road north.
‘Sit, sit, gentlemen,’ Hirtius said. ‘Your manners do you credit, but we have much to discuss.’ He hesitated at the sight of Pansa already heaping thin slices of cured ham onto his plate, but the other consul was oblivious.
A slave approached with a jug of wine and Hirtius noticed the delicate glass vessels on the table. He raised his eyebrows slightly, aware that he was being treated as an honoured guest. He sipped the wine and his eyebrows went further up.
‘Excellent,’ he pronounced. ‘I prefer the table to couches. It feels … delightfully barbaric. I take it, then, you have received the missive from the Senate?’
‘Yes, Consul,’ Octavian replied. ‘I can tell you it was something of a relief to be offered formal rank.’
Consul Pansa nodded, smacking his lips and draining his cup of wine.
‘I imagine it was, Caesar. Whatever our differences in the past, I’m sure the news of a true mutiny, by no less a name than Mark Antony, was as shocking to you as it was to the senators.’
‘As you say, Consul,’ Octavian replied, inclining his head to Pansa in agreement as the man began to work his way through a plate of melon slices sprinkled with ginger.
Hirtius spent a moment cleaning a fingernail with one of the others. He would have preferred outright command, of course, but Pansa was theoretically his equal and not easily dismissed. Either way, the young rebel seemed to bear no animosity towards his guests. Hirtius nodded stiffly, choosing dignity over rubbing Octavian’s face in his failures. He cleared his throat as Pansa dug in to the main dishes, spearing the carcasses of some small birds fried in olive oil.
‘Very well, then. To the task at hand. Mark Antony is perhaps a week on the march ahead of us. We know his path and his destination. We know his strengths very well – I believe some of you were with him in Brundisium?’ Buccio and Liburnius nodded uncomfortably. ‘Then you may have some insight worth hearing. I will send men to record your thoughts, though I doubt there is anything new to say. I have known Mark Antony for many years. He is an impressive speaker, but if you remember, Caesar did not trust him wit
h many men in Gaul. He is more suited to governing a city. I do not expect his four legions to cause us too much difficulty.’ Hirtius looked around the table as he spoke, drawing them all into his confidence.
‘Do we know what forces Decimus Junius has at his disposal?’ Flavius Silva asked.
Hirtius smiled at his contribution, sensing they were trying hard to work in the new structure his presence had created.
‘The region by the Alps is hardly bristling with soldiers. There are a dozen legions in Gaul, but up in the north, no more than a few thousand men. It is not an impossible obstacle for Mark Antony, if we were not here to oppose him. However, I think he will be unpleasantly surprised to see eight legions and new consuls to bring him to justice.’
Hirtius leaned forward, tapping a single knuckle on the table as if he did not already have their full attention.
‘My orders are simple enough, gentlemen. For a short time, you have all found yourself outside the law. This is your chance to wipe the slate clean. From this moment, this is a lawful assembly, under command of the Roman Senate.’ He paused, but when there was no reply from the men at the table, he nodded, satisfied. ‘We will march at dawn and make the best speed possible north. When we are in range of Mark Antony, we will engage and either force an immediate surrender or destroy his legions with superior numbers. I would prefer him to be brought back to Rome for trial and execution, but I will not complain if he fails to survive the fighting. Is all that understood?’
The men around the table nodded and Hirtius glanced at Octavian.
‘I hope it is as clear that Decimus Junius is our ally. His life is under the protection of Senate authority and he will not be touched. Those are my terms.’
‘I understand, Consul,’ Octavian said. ‘Though you have not said what part I will play in this. I accept my rank of propraetor, but it is a civil position. My legions will expect to see me command.’ His grey eyes glinted dangerously and Hirtius raised his palms, fending off the objection.
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