‘I did try to warn you, sir. I did not want to go sneaking off in the night.’ He took a deep breath. ‘My legion will not go further with you, sir.’
Mark Antony gaped at him, unable to understand at first what the legate was saying so calmly. When he took it in, the consul’s jaw firmed and he dropped his hand to the sword hilt sticking up by his right thigh.
‘I have four legions I can call back, Legate Buccio. Obey my orders or I will see you strung up.’
‘I regret, Consul, that I cannot obey that order,’ Buccio replied. To Mark Antony’s shock, the man smiled as he went on. ‘The Ninth Macedonia will not take arms against a Caesar.’
Mark Antony became aware that their conversation was being closely watched by Buccio’s men. As his gaze drifted over them, he saw they were standing like dogs on a rope, ready to lunge forward. Their fingers moved on the hafts of spears and they did not look away. He could not order his guards to take Buccio into custody. The barely checked aggression of the legionaries made clear what would happen if he tried.
Mark Antony leaned down from his saddle, dropping his voice so that it would not carry to the waiting men.
‘No matter how this turns out, Buccio, no matter what happens at the city, there is no force in Rome that does not punish mutiny and treason. You will not be trusted again. The Ninth Macedonia will be struck from the Senate rolls and disbanded, whether by me or by the Senate themselves. Will you have your men become brigands, homeless traitors unable to sleep anywhere without the fear of attack? Think about that before you go too far along the path and I can no longer save you from your own foolishness.’
The words struck Buccio like blows, but his mouth tightened to a pale line.
‘They and I are of one mind, Consul. They can be pushed only so far and then they must be led, just as you told me.’
Mark Antony glared to have his own words repeated to him.
‘Then I hope we meet again,’ he said, ‘in better times.’
The consul turned his horse and jerked his head for the guards to follow him. He had lost two legions and he could read the wind well enough. He clenched his jaw as he rode after the ones he still had left.
By the time Buccio’s legion marched up the Via Appia, some hours later, Mark Antony had left the road to head north, taking a wide line around the city. The legate halted briefly at the signs of their passing, a great swathe of trampled and muddy grass showing the tracks of twenty thousand men disappearing into the distance. Buccio nodded to himself, then summoned his own extraordinarii rider.
‘Ride ahead, to Caesar. Let him know the Ninth Macedonia are with him. Tell him Consul Mark Antony no longer comes to Rome. And if you see Legate Liburnius, tell him he owes me a drink.’
As the rider galloped off on the stone road, Buccio’s tribune came up. Patroclus was a young noble, barely twenty years of age, and from one of the better families in Rome. He watched the rider dwindling into the distance.
‘I hope Caesar appreciates what we’ve risked in his name,’ Patroclus said. The man had a pink lump with a white head on his eyelid that had swelled his eye almost closed. He scratched irritably at it as he spoke.
‘You can have that steamed out in Rome, Patroclus,’ Buccio said.
‘I am not worried about my eye, sir, just the rest of me. My mother will collapse when she hears I’ve mutinied.’
‘You have mutinied for Caesar,’ Buccio said softly. ‘You have placed your faith in him, for the man and his adopted son, over the Senate that murdered him. That is not the same thing at all.’
The atmosphere in Pompey’s theatre was sulphurous, filled with panicky anger as groups of opposing senators tried to shout over each other. The fragile truce that had existed while Octavian and the legions remained in the forum had cracked apart the moment they marched north. Without properly appointed consuls to keep order, the debates had deteriorated quickly and Bibilus had been challenged as speaker by a powerful group of senators that morning. Forced to give up his position, he sat back on the marble benches with Suetonius and his clique of supporters, watching and waiting for a weakness.
Hirtius and Pansa stood before the other senators. Every passing day brought their consular year closer and together they had bluffed that position into something like authority. It was Hirtius who picked speakers as it pleased him. He waited through the latest round of recrimination and argument before deciding to speak once again.
‘Senators, this clamour has no place here! We have all the facts we need to make a decision, brought in by men risking their lives. It is enough! Rome lies vulnerable until the legions from Ostia arrive. They have landed safely, but will we waste the day in pointless argument? Senators, be silent!’
Under his furious glare, they quietened in patches and then as a whole. It was the third meeting in as many days and the news had only worsened with each one. Every man there was aware of the ugly mood in the city. Without legions to keep order, crimes against citizens and property had risen tenfold and there were few present who did not have some story of theft or rape or murder to recount. They were frustrated and angry, but the lack of a clear path through only added to the chaos. Outside the theatre, almost a thousand mercenary guards waited for their employers to come out. Only in their presence could the senators return to their homes and even then crowds gathered quickly to shout and jeer and violence was constantly in the air. In all its centuries, Rome had never felt as close to a complete breakdown of order as it did then and Hirtius saw fear as much as anger in the ranks of robed men. It did not trouble him particularly. In such an atmosphere, he considered he might win far greater authority and advantages than any other year.
‘I have reports from a dozen men observing the movement of legions around this city,’ Hirtius said loudly. ‘I’m sure you can confirm it all from your own clients and informers. The situation is perilous, no doubt, but not beyond salvage, not if we act quickly.’ He waited through a sudden tirade by one of the more elderly senators, staring the man down until he subsided and took his seat once more.
‘Thank you for your courtesy, Senator,’ Hirtius said with as much acid as he could manage. ‘But the facts are simple enough. Mark Antony has taken four legions north. I had to waste a man who had been my client for a dozen years to bring me his destination. We know the consul’s intention to attack a loyal member of this Senate: Decimus Junius.’
Cries went up from the senators and Hirtius shouted over them.
‘Yes, Mark Antony flouts our authority! There is no point going over the same ground. Our response is the issue, not the crimes of the consul. Decimus Junius has no more than three thousand legionaries assigned as staff and guards for the region. He will fall and we will have another small king established there to scorn all we do. However, gentlemen, it may not come to that. I have discussed it with Senator Pansa and we have a potential solution.’
For the first time that morning, the men on the benches were properly silent and Hirtius smiled tightly. He was a stern man, with many years as tribune and legate of legions behind him.
‘I ask only that you hear me out before you begin baying once more. You do yourselves no service with this howling and gnashing of teeth.’
There was some muttering at being lectured in such a way, but he ignored it.
‘Four fresh legions are gathering at Ostia, drawn from Sicily and Sardinia. They will be here in two days. Apart from those, there is only one army of sufficient strength in range of the consul. There is only one other force capable of heading off the attack on Decimus Junius.’ He paused, expecting some sort of protest as they realised his drift, but to his surprise it did not come. The senators were truly afraid and for once they were listening.
‘Octavian, or Caesar as I suppose we must call him now, has four legions at full strength. Both the Fourth Ferrata and Ninth Macedonia have followed him north. We do not yet know his destination. With the four from Ostia coming here, those are all the legions on the mainland, senators. The ques
tion we must ask is how best to use them to sanction our rogue consul.’
He paused again, catching the eye of Senator Pansa at his side, who nodded.
‘I remind you that this new Caesar refrained from violence against this Senate when he had every opportunity to do so. It is my feeling that we have not lost the argument with him, if we were to grant at least some of his requests.’ He saw Suetonius and Bibilus rise to their feet and talked over them as they began to reply. ‘I have not forgotten his illegal occupation, senators, only that he carried it out without bloodshed or loss of honestas – integrity. Even so, I would not turn to him if he did not command the only force capable of taking on Mark Antony!
‘The choices come down to one, senators. Give me your authority. Confirm Senator Pansa and myself as consuls ahead of time. We will take four legions to Caesar and assume command of a unified army capable of bringing Mark Antony to heel. The consul has mutinied and must be stripped of his rank. Who else but consuls have the right to take the field against him – and the authority of the Senate to do it?’
Bibilus had been caught in mid-argument by the suggestion and he sat down to think it through. It was not lost on him that removing Hirtius and Pansa from the Senate would leave very few capable of challenging his own position. A thousand men from the legions at Ostia would be enough to keep Rome quiet for a little while longer. He began to think he could vote for such a course.
Suetonius felt the sudden space at his shoulder as Bibilus sat, but he did not resume his own seat.
‘What concessions will you give Octavian in exchange for his service?’ he called, then repeated himself even louder as the men around him told him to be quiet.
‘I do not intend to renounce the amnesty, Suetonius,’ Hirtius said dryly. ‘You don’t need to worry on that point.’ A chuckle went around the benches and Suetonius flushed as Hirtius continued. ‘This young Caesar has asked for a Lex Curiata, which we can grant. It is nothing more than his right and such a gesture costs us nothing. In addition, we will also win over good Romans who depend on that vote to take control of their own properties. I have entreaties from them every day. Finally, I propose to offer him the rank of propraetor, to welcome him back into society, where we can make use of him. He has no formal rank at present and I do not think his change of name will take him much further.’
Suetonius sat down, apparently satisfied. Hirtius breathed in relief. It was beginning to look as if he might get his way. The thought of a campaign against Mark Antony worried him not at all, not with the forces that would be at his disposal. He looked over the benches to where Bibilus was watching him. Hirtius smiled at the man’s obvious satisfaction. Men like Bibilus thought they ruled the city, but they could never lead a legion, or appreciate anything beyond their own sense of importance. When he returned with Pansa as consuls, he would deal with Bibilus as Caesar had once dealt with him. Hirtius smiled openly at the thought, nodding to the fat senator as if to an equal.
For once, no one rose to oppose or add to the debate. Hirtius waited, but when they remained in their seats, he cleared his throat.
‘If there is no dissent, I will call for a vote to bring our consular year in early and take our legions to command Caesar in the field.’
‘What if he refuses, even so?’ Suetonius called from the benches.
‘Then I will have him killed, though I do not think it will come to that. For all his faults, this new Caesar is a practical man. He will see his best chance lies with us.’
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 preven
t 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!’
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 193