‘I saw twelve,’ Quintina Fabia said loudly and clearly.
Octavian blinked. The birds were passing into the setting sun and he could not be sure. The number was echoed around him and he laughed at last.
‘It is a good omen,’ he said. He had Caesar’s luck, for all he was sure there had been only nine birds. They had gone into the sun, but it was enough. The sighting of twelve would send a message of rebirth to the people of Rome.
When the bull’s liver was cut out, the end of it was folded over and Quintina Fabia beamed. She held up the bloody organ, spattering her white robe with red life that ran down her arms. The omen-takers cheered and the scribes wrote down every detail on wax tablets, to be entered into the city records later that evening. The omens were superb and Octavian could only shake his head in pleasure and send a silent prayer of thanks to his mentor and namesake.
The bulk of the crowd had followed the new consuls to watch the sacrifice. As the omens were read and proclaimed across the Campus, Bibilus and his coterie of supporters remained by the voting baskets. Bibilus swept his hand through the polished wooden tokens, letting them fall back one by one. With a sour expression, he looked at Suetonius and Gaius Trebonius.
‘I have ordered horses brought for you,’ he said, ‘and arranged a ship. You will find it at the docks in Ostia. Go with my blessing.’
His tone was grim with dissatisfaction, but he could feel the tide turning as well as anyone. Octavian had won the highest post of the city and the Caesarians were rising with him. Clients in the Senate would no longer withhold their votes. Bibilus thanked his personal gods that the fleet was not in their grasp. There was at least that, slim straw though it was to ease his disgust.
Suetonius looked over the city and around at the Janiculum hill. He remembered a different election and another Caesar, but he had been younger then and more able to withstand the reverses of capricious fate. He shook his head, wiping a hand over the thinning hair that the breeze picked up and flicked over to reveal his baldness.
‘I will go to Cassius,’ he announced. ‘This is just a single day, Bibilus. Sextus Pompey has the fleet in the west. Cassius and Brutus hold the east. Rome will starve without grain by sea and this city will suffer, held on both sides until it is strangled. This vote, this obscenity today, is one small failure, nothing more. I will see this place again, I swear it.’
He turned to Gaius Trebonius, the one who had distracted Mark Antony during the assassination of Caesar. The younger man had been so proud to be named as one of the Liberatores, even though he had not wielded a blade. Now, the legacy of that decision haunted him and he looked ill.
‘This is not right,’ Trebonius said, his voice shaking. He had never left Rome before and the thought of foreign cities filled him with unease. ‘He had Decimus Junius hanged without a proper trial! How does he remain immune while we must run? We removed a tyrant, an enemy of the state. Why do they not see that?’
‘Because they are blinded by gold and names and foolish dreams,’ Suetonius snapped. ‘Believe me, I have seen more of it than I could ever tell you. Good men work in silence and what of their dignity, their honour? It is ignored for those who shout and prance and pander to the unwashed crowds.’
He reached out to grip Trebonius by the shoulder, but the younger man pulled away by instinct, his face flushing. For an instant, Suetonius clawed the empty air, then let his hand fall.
‘I have lived with Caesars. I have even killed one,’ he said. ‘But men like Cassius will not let this rest, believe me. There will be a price in blood and I will be there to see it paid.’
For the first time in many years, the new consuls would not enter the city proper. The senate house was still nothing more than a scorched foundation and Octavian and Pedius walked instead to the open doors of Pompey’s theatre. The crowd followed them right to the point where they passed behind a line of soldiers, there to guard the dignity of the Senate.
Octavian paused at the enormous pillars of white marble, looking at the flecks of bull’s blood on his hands as the senators streamed in around him. Many congratulated them both as they passed and he acknowledged them, knowing that he should begin the subtle web of alliances that he needed to pass even a simple vote. Yet the omens had given him a momentum that the senators would not resist.
Pedius stayed at his side, his mouth working constantly as if he tried to consume himself from within. He alone seemed to take no joy in the omens or the appointment, though it would place his name in the history of the city. Octavian stifled a grin at the older man’s nervousness. He had not chosen Pedius for ideals or a fiery intelligence, far from it. Pedius had been the best choice simply because he was not strong. Octavian had learned from his mistakes, particularly from the disaster of entering the forum with armed legionaries earlier that year. He knew by then that he could not ignore the importance of how he was seen. The people and the Senate would resist a crude grab for power in any form. Even as consul, he would tread warily. Pedius was his shield.
‘Consul,’ Octavian said to him. The older man started at the title, a tentative smile playing around his chewing mouth. ‘I am happy to propose the Lex Curiata myself. It would honour me if you would call the vote to overturn the amnesty.’
Pedius nodded immediately. Octavian had agreed to fund a new home for him in the sea town of Herculaneum, a place where only the richest men of Rome dwelled. Pedius appreciated the delicacy and politeness, but he knew his support had been bought and was nothing more than a formality. Yet he had known divine Caesar and admired him for years. The shame of failing to vote against the original amnesty still stung in him. Though Octavian did not know it, the house by the sea was just froth compared to that.
‘It would be a pleasure, Caesar,’ he said.
Octavian smiled. Rome was his. In the weeks of preparation, one man had never doubted he would become consul on a wave of public acclaim. Mark Antony had written to him, asking for a meeting in a neutral place where they might plan a campaign against the Liberatores. It would begin today.
PART THREE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The river Lavinius wandered across the north. Near Mutina, it had formed a dozen small islands in the water, ranging from rocky outcrops with a single tree to patches of dense woodland surrounded by the current and cut off from the world.
Octavian looked across the flowing waters to where Mark Antony waited for him. Neither man trusted the other completely, which made the island a perfect meeting place. On the other bank, two Gaul legions stood patiently in square formation, but they were helpless to intervene if Octavian planned treachery, just as the Seventh Victrix and Ninth Macedonia would not be able to help, if Mark Antony planned to kill him.
Simply reaching that point had been like an elaborate dance, with the two sides exchanging messages and promises as they came together. Both had guaranteed safe passage for the other, but the reality always involved a final gamble. Octavian looked at Agrippa and Maecenas. They had crossed once before to search the island for hidden soldiers or traps of any kind. It was impossible to be too cautious, Octavian thought. He took a deep breath, looking dubiously at the rocking boat.
‘I think, if we have missed something, if this does not go well, I would like to go to my death with the certain knowledge that Mark Antony will not be long behind me,’ he said. ‘Those are my orders. If I am killed, he is not to leave that island alive.’
He judged the distances, seeing that Mark Antony had picked a spot out of reach of legion spear-throwers.
‘Bring up the scorpion bows and have the teams aim out over the river,’ Octavian said.
His legions had been able to assemble the massive weapons over the previous day and it gave him some relief to watch them dragged up by teams of oxen and aimed at the island. On the far bank, he saw the same thing happening and wondered what it would be like to stand on that small isle and hear the snap of the bows as they sent iron bolts streaking across the water.
‘Ar
e you ready?’ he asked his friends.
Agrippa answered by clambering down into the boat and checking ropes with a tug. Maecenas shrugged, still staring out at the figures waiting for them.
‘You’ve done all you can. If it’s a plot, he won’t live through it, I can promise that much.’
‘Unless he isn’t even there,’ Agrippa said as he settled himself. ‘The big man with the armour could be just an officer to draw us in to a place he can strike with his own catapults and bows.’
‘Always the optimist, Agrippa,’ Maecenas said.
Even so, Maecenas climbed into the boat and took a grip on the tall prow, preferring to stand. There were four rowers already in place in the skiff, all veteran swordsmen with weapons at their feet that they could grab at a moment’s notice. As one, they looked up at Octavian and he nodded to them.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what he wants.’ He climbed in and sat against the wooden rail of the skiff, his gaze already focused on their destination. ‘Cast off, or row, or whatever the command is,’ he said.
Agrippa looked pained, but the rowers pushed away from the bank and the boat turned into the current. With four oars stroking through the water, it accelerated quickly towards the island. Octavian was surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Agrippa saw his expression change and smiled.
‘There is a magic to small boats,’ he said. ‘But galleys are better still.’
Octavian’s smile slipped at the reminder of the massive fleet that had vanished from Brundisium. His co-consul Pedius had pushed through a vote to remove the authority of Sextus Pompey, but that did not bring the ships back.
‘When I am finished here,’ Octavian said, ‘I will need my own fleet.’
‘You’re in your fleet at the moment,’ Maecenas replied blithely.
Octavian snorted. ‘I have been thinking about that. Sooner or later, I must take Sextus Pompey on. Without control of the seas, we will never be able to take legions against Cassius and Brutus.’
Agrippa rubbed his chin, nodding.
‘It will cost fortunes,’ he replied. ‘Sextus has, what, two hundred galleys? To build even half that number would cost tens of millions of sesterces – and the time to retrain legionaries.’
‘What good is a deal with Mark Antony if I can’t leave Rome for fear of pirates?’ Octavian said. ‘I will find the money – and the men. You have a free hand, Agrippa. Build me a fleet.’
When they reached the island, the three passengers climbed out. Without a word, the rowers began to pull on legionary armour that could have drowned them before. Octavian waited impatiently, his fingers rubbing the hilt of his gladius.
Mark Antony himself strolled down to the sandy landing place, watching their preparations with something like amusement. He looked healthy and strong, standing almost as tall as Agrippa and with the trim frame of a soldier despite his years.
‘Welcome, Consul,’ he said. ‘You’ve come a long way since I held the title you bear now. As I wrote to you, my honour guarantees your safety here. We meet under truce. I would like to introduce you to my companions, so will you walk with me?’
The man Octavian had last seen riding hard for Gaul seemed to have no fear of the armed soldiers with Octavian. He looked as relaxed as any noble Roman enjoying an afternoon on the river. Octavian smiled at his manner, playing along.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said. ‘We have a great deal to discuss.’
‘Now that he’s decided to listen,’ Maecenas muttered.
The group of six accompanied Mark Antony to where a tent and tables had been laid out on the grass. From that side of the island, Octavian could see the Gaul legions on the opposing bank much more clearly. It was almost certainly no accident that the river was narrower on that side. A dozen scorpion bows and two centuries of archers watched him in turn, ready for the first hint of treachery. Strangely, it pleased Octavian that he too was considered a threat. He did not want to be the only one tying himself into knots with worry.
Mark Antony was in an ebullient mood as host. He saw Octavian looking at the standing legionaries.
‘These are difficult days, Caesar, are they not? Lepidus here thought so, when I arrived in Gaul. I give thanks that he saw no conflict in handing over command to a consul of Rome.’
‘An ex-consul of Rome,’ Octavian said automatically. He saw Mark Antony begin to frown and went on quickly. ‘But still a man Julius Caesar called a friend and, I hope, an ally in these times.’
‘As you say. I find the more legions I have, the easier it is to find allies,’ Mark Antony replied with a booming laugh. ‘Lepidus? Let me introduce the new Caesar and the latest consul.’
The man he brought forward with a hand to his shoulder looked awestruck and out of place in that gathering. Octavian did not know Lepidus personally, only that he had been prefect of Gaul and appointed by Caesar after the Imperator’s return from the east. Lepidus was not an impressive figure at first glance. He had a slight stoop that made him look like a scholar rather than a senior officer, though his nose had been broken many times and one of his ears had been battered badly in some old conflict. It was little more than a flap of gristle, pink and without the usual curves. His hair was full but completely white. Against them, Octavian felt his youth as a strength rather than a weakness.
‘I am honoured to meet you, Caesar,’ Lepidus said. His voice was low and firm and gave some sense of the man behind the ageing exterior.
Octavian took his outstretched arm and gripped it.
‘As I am honoured to meet you both, gentlemen. As consul of Rome, I suppose I have the most senior rank. Shall we sit?’
He gestured to the long table, deliberately moving towards it rather than letting Mark Antony set the pace. Maecenas and Agrippa came smoothly with him, taking positions at his back as he chose a chair at the head of the table.
Mark Antony looked irritated, but he gave way with good grace and seated himself opposite Octavian, with Lepidus at his side. Four more of their men stood far enough back not to present an obvious threat, though their purpose was clear. Octavian glanced behind him to his rowers, who had taken position automatically, facing the others. They made two clear groups across from each other and the tension was suddenly present once more as Mark Antony rested his arms on the wood.
‘Shall I begin?’ Mark Antony said. He went on before anyone could reply. ‘My proposal is simple. I have fifteen legions at my command in Gaul, with Lepidus. You have eight, Caesar, as well as a consular year to come. You want the forces to bring down the Liberatores and I want rank and power in Rome, rather than as an outsider in Gaul. We should be able to come to an agreement, don’t you think?’
Octavian gave silent thanks for Roman bluntness. In that at least, he and Mark Antony shared a similar dislike for the games of the Senate.
‘Where does Prefect Lepidus stand in this?’ he asked, giving no sign of a reaction.
‘Lepidus and I speak as one,’ Mark Antony said before the man could reply. ‘Rome has known a triumvirate before. I propose that we share power between us, with the aim of breaking the Liberatores in the east. I do not think you can accomplish that without my legions, Caesar.’
Octavian felt his mind whirling. It was a good offer, if he could trust it. With Crassus and Pompey, Caesar himself had created the first triumvirate. He hardly had to mention how badly it had ended for two of them. He looked deeply into Mark Antony’s eyes, seeing the tension there. The ex-consul seemed to have a strong position, but there was something bothering him and Octavian searched for the right words to reveal it.
‘It would have to be recognised in the Senate, for it to be legal,’ he said. ‘I can offer that much, at least. I have enough clients there now to win any vote.’
As Mark Antony began to relax, Octavian looked past him to the legions encamped on the river bank.
‘Yet it strikes me that I gain very little from this. I am consul, with a Senate who do not dare to cross me. Yes, there are ene
mies to be faced, but I can raise new legions.’
Mark Antony shook his head. ‘I have reports from Syria and Greece that tell me you don’t have that kind of time, Caesar. If you wait much longer, Brutus and Cassius will be too strong. What I offer is the strength to break them before they reach that point.’
Octavian thought deeply as both men stared at him, waiting. Consuls were limited in authority, for all the semblance of power they wielded. Like a temporary dictatorship, what Mark Antony proposed would put him above the law, beyond its reach for crucial years while he built his fleet and his army. Yet he thought he had not yet found the weakness that had brought Mark Antony to negotiate and it nagged at him. He looked again past those at the table, to the legions on the river bank.
‘How are you paying your men?’ he asked idly.
To his surprise, Mark Antony flushed with something like embarrassment.
‘I’m not,’ he said, the words dragged out of him. ‘Part of our agreement must include funds to pay the legions I command.’
Octavian whistled softly to himself. Fifteen legions amounted to seventy-five thousand men, with perhaps another twenty thousand camp followers. Octavian wondered how long they had gone without silver. Poverty was a harsh mistress and Mark Antony needed him, or at least the funds in Rome and from Caesar’s will.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 198