Antony didn’t hide his anger. “If you think I’ll stop watching my back for that serpent Octavian you’re very much mistaken, Agrippa. I’ll do it anyway because he’s the man I trust least in the world. But his offer deserves consideration. Of course, I’ll have to talk to Lepidus first: after all, we could crush you in a moment if we wanted to, and none would weep over your death, I’m sure…”
Agrippa nodded and struggled to hold back a smile. Antony and Lepidus had numerical superiority, but that didn’t necessarily mean tactical superiority. And it was precisely these unknown factors that were inducing Antony to keep an open mind.
“Very well then,” he said. “I’ll report to the consul that you’ll give him an answer shortly. Say by sunset tomorrow.” Antony nodded thoughtfully and continued to stare at the message, and Agrippa took it as a dismissal and turned to leave, nodding a quick goodbye to Fulvia. But just before exiting the tablinum, he heard the woman’s voice behind him.
“Wait a moment, you stripling.”
He clenched his fists in anger and turned around. “For our safety,” Fulvia continued, addressing her husband, “I’d suggest holding Agrippa as a hostage. Octavian cares greatly for him, my husband, and he won’t play any dirty tricks on us as long as Agrippa’s with us, both during your talks with Lepidus and in any negotiations that might follow.”
Antony nodded. “Excellent idea. Guard – arrest him and hold him until further orders,” he said, addressing the soldier who had been standing a pace behind Agrippa throughout the entire conversation.
The young man looked in dismay at Fulvia and the expression of triumph on her evil, beautiful face. Had she done it out of revenge or to resume their relationship?
He would soon find out.
V
Octavian tried not to feel overawed by the imposing line-up of forces Antony and Lepidus had assembled on the other side of the small tributary of the Po. Through the thinning early morning mist, the faint light of the rising sun sparkled off the armour of at least twenty-five thousand legionaries, who stood between the trees and the river bank in an eerie silence broken only by the sound of twittering birds, chirping crickets and croaking frogs. On the other hand, Octavian said to himself, his forces were no less significant: five legions deployed in battle formation a few hundred yards from the bank, as had been agreed in the preliminary contacts they’d had in the hours before the painstakingly prepared meeting.
He saw a detachment of Antony’s legionaries occupy the end of the bridge nearest the island. He signalled to Rufus, who nodded and, in turn, dispatched a cohort to defend the far part of their river bank. The more distant bridges had already been occupied by both armies to ward off any attempted outflanking manoeuvre by those still perceived as the enemy. Then he waited for Antony to make the next move: it had to be he who made it, because he was a fugitive and an exile. There had been a time, just a year before, when his opponent had demanded deference because he was older and held the post of consul. Well, Octavian was now chief magistrate of the Republic, and the fact that he was the younger counted for very little. This time it was the other man who should be showing deference.
But Antony didn’t emerge from the ranks of the five legions deployed on his side. Octavian pictured dramatic scenarios in which the strict procedure agreed upon for the tri-partite meeting fell apart and a battle broke out between the ten legions deployed along the river, gradually drawing in the units which had remained in their respective camps. On the other hand, the fact that the three of them had seen fit to bring fifty thousand men with them spoke volumes about the lack of trust between them.
Who would prevail? Probably, the first side that could establish a bridgehead on the opposite bank. There would be fierce fighting along the banks to establish solid fording points, and that wretched stream would turn red with blood and be choked with corpses. Octavian imagined columns of armed men pouring over the bridges as others arrived from a more distant crossing point to launch a rear attack on troops busy containing an attempted frontal breakthrough. He felt profound despair growing within him: Agrippa was being held prisoner by Antony, he didn’t rate Rufus’s ability, he himself certainly didn’t feel like a leader, and he really couldn’t aspire to be Antony’s equal as a commander, nor perhaps even Lepidus’s. He therefore felt that he had no chance of victory if things took a turn for the worse.
Consequently, he had to make sure things didn’t take a turn for the worse. He hoped that Rufus would keep control of his soldiers, many of whom would have preferred to cut things short and avoid any negotiations, proceeding directly to the election of a single commander, who could only have been Antony. For his part, he was considering the possibility of setting his pride aside and making the first move. But if he did that, Antony would be convinced he could get anything he wanted out of him, and the meeting would become even more of an uphill struggle for Octavian, the youngest and least skilled of the three participants.
The more time passed, the more willing he felt to make concessions on the ceremony the envoys had agreed upon to preserve the dignity of the three commanders. He didn’t want to give Antony any excuse to pick a fight, nor the opportunity to surprise him with some move he hadn’t considered. He hoped he’d thought of everything, and it comforted him to know that Maecenas and Rufus had also carefully considered every eventuality. Antony tended to decide everything himself, probably depriving Lepidus of authority even though he was a proconsul and had been magister equitum. And if his opponent hadn’t been so underhand as to take Agrippa hostage there would have been four minds preparing to forestall any possible risk instead of three.
But he couldn’t press too hard: Agrippa’s imprisonment gave Antony an advantage and limited his scope of action. Octavian had several times wondered if he’d be willing to lose his friend, or even just risk his life, to achieve his objectives, and had always answered himself that he wouldn’t. No matter how great his desire to avenge Caesar, reform Rome and become the most important Roman ever, he would do everything he could to avoid sacrificing Agrippa on the altar of his unrestrained ambition. It wasn’t just his friendship he had at heart: Agrippa had everything he lacked – military aptitude and courage in battle. Qualities without which he was sure he would never be able to attain his objectives.
The thought of his friend finally spurred him to make the first move. It would be even more difficult to obtain concessions from Antony if he realised just how much he cared about Agrippa, but never mind: nothing had been easy since he’d learned he was to be Caesar’s heir. He raised his arm to signal his bodyguards to move forward, but in that precise instant saw Antony’s plumed helmet emerge from the ranks, along with an escort of three hundred men. Breathing a sigh of relief, Octavian lowered his arm and stood and watched as Antony walked to the edge of the water. Only then did he raise his arm again and walk with his men to the river bank, where he, in turn, stopped near a small boat that had been prepared to carry him over to the islet.
At this point he expected to see Lepidus appear. In fact, the pro-consul emerged from the ranks straight afterwards, recognizable by his plumed helmet and large scarlet cloak, and climbed into a boat moored in the reeds, accompanied by his two bodyguards. It had been agreed that he would go to the island first to inspect it for any traps laid by the other two participants. The river wasn’t very deep at that point, and he could have walked across, but it was undignified for a general to wade through waist high water, so the use of boats had been agreed upon.
After a few oar strokes, Lepidus reached the isle. He walked up and down it – which, given its size, took only a few moments – and checked the top and even the underside of the table that the servants had placed there before dawn, as well as the three chairs they’d set around it. Next, he pulled several wax tablets and styluses out of his shoulder bag and told his bodyguards to position themselves to the side of one of the three chairs, then he turned towards the shore and signalled for Antony and Octavian to join him.
&n
bsp; It was time. The young consul looked around him, searching in vain for a comforting look from his ministers. But none were in sight. And besides, they had precise tasks to carry out to ensure that this difficult transition in their lives, as well as that of the Sect of Mars Ultor and Rome’s history, went as they hoped.
In that moment, and for as long as the meeting with Antony and Lepidus lasted, each member of the secret society had to give their all. Even Agrippa, although a prisoner, was aware of the need to turn his current situation to his advantage. Their every act, their every decision – everything would influence the way events developed. Had to influence the course of events. Even he, Octavian, must play his part, as Maecenas had reminded him. As he got into the boat that would carry him to within a hair’s breadth of Antony, after months of trading insults at a distance, he felt his legs tremble.
He was less than half their age, and if he wanted any chance of surviving he would have to prove himself more cunning and skilled than them in a negotiation that promised to be gruelling. He had to remind himself that if Caesar had chosen him to continue his work it was because he had seen in him something extraordinary, and it was this thought which gave him the courage to climb over the edge of the boat and set foot on the islet, walk up the short slope to the top, and take his place at the table. He stared into the eyes of Lepidus and Antony, who had arrived just a few moments before him.
*
Maecenas disembarked from the boat that had carried him over the river dividing Octavian’s army from that of Antony and Lepidus, and approached the camp where he assumed he’d find Agrippa. His friend wasn’t the only reason for his mission: pleading for his release was just a pretext for approaching the enemy troops. “Funny,” the Etruscan thought as he began to make out the shape of the rampart Antony’s legionaries had built: despite being a military tribune, he didn’t really know his men – men with whom he’d only occasionally exchanged a few words on this campaign and the previous one in Modena – and yet now he was there to try and gain the confidence of soldiers from another army.
He was sure that his subalterns didn’t think much of him, even though they ought to at least respect him for being one of the consul’s closest confidants. On the other hand, he hadn’t proved himself particularly skilful and brave in the one campaign he’d participated in. But he wasn’t the first – and he wouldn’t be the last – of the many military tribunes to hold office for purely political reasons. The soldiers would understand, even if they continued to regard him as arrogant and distant, for he didn’t partake in the camaraderie and endure the hardships of the troops as Agrippa did – and as Rufus and Octavian did too, to a certain extent, though the latter simply to show himself worthy of Caesar.
In general, he didn’t like the close proximity of others or being subjected to the stench of sweaty, drunken people with rotten teeth and foul breath. He loved to drench himself in perfume and dreaded the idea of smelling bad. But the truth was that he kept away from the troops because he was scared of them. Or rather, he was afraid of himself and his reactions. And now, as he approached the sentries guarding the camp’s gate, he asked himself whether he would be able to curb the impulses to which he gave free rein with his young slaves, as he tried to attract the attention of Antony’s soldiers. He would never want to reveal what emotions a muscular, well-sculpted body caused in him, as to do so would only earn him the contempt of the soldiery: certain rumours were quick to spread…
He told the guard to announce him to the highest-ranking commander in the camp in the absence of Antony and Lepidus, then waited at the front gate, under the wary eye of the other sentry and the guard patrolling the ramparts. He knew that, despite being a military tribune, he didn’t have a particularly martial bearing, and he was slightly ashamed of the fact. Like Octavian, he just wasn’t cut out for war or physical exertion. His head was his best weapon. Had it not been for the sect’s highest goals he would never have allowed himself to be involved in these military campaigns.
The guard returned and invited Maecenas to follow him. Once inside the camp, Maecenas carefully scanned his surroundings, and immediately sensed the lax atmosphere that prevailed. The habits of the supreme commander, an unkempt pleasure-seeker, were reflected in his soldiers, many of whom wandered lazily between the tents, laughing and joking instead of dedicating themselves to physical exercise and daily training, as was good practice in every legion, including Octavian’s. It would seem that Antony demanded obedience, not discipline, from his troops, and his was the only Roman army where the two did not go hand in hand. For this reason, he was occasionally forced to resort to extreme solutions, like the decimation at Brindisi.
Consequently, there was fertile terrain for propaganda, as Maecenas had expected.
They took him before a laticlavius tribune who observed him with a surly, inquisitive look. Maecenas didn’t take much notice: he was used to the contempt of other officers. “What do you want, Tribune?” his colleague asked, without preamble.
“Just to make sure that Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who is being held in this camp, is in good health,” he replied, in a mellifluous tone.
The tribune’s expression became openly contemptuous. “Of course he’s in good health!” he replied indignantly. “Probably too good! What do you think, that we’re barbarians? We wouldn’t hurt one of your men when we’re in the middle of negotiations…”
Maecenas remained calm. “I do not doubt it. But I’d rather hear it from his lips, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t see why I should do as you ask,” the tribune replied, obstinately. It was clear that he was slow-witted, and perhaps even mercenary, Maecenas concluded, if it turned out that he couldn’t persuade him with legitimate arguments.
“Because, as you yourself said, we’re currently negotiating. And you wouldn’t want to antagonise a potential ally, especially since, as you’re holding captive a dear friend of his, you’re now in the wrong. We are not holding any of your men at the moment. Indeed, over the past few months we’ve returned several officers captured at Modena as a sign of good will. Furthermore, I doubt Antony would consider letting me see Agrippa dangerous – though he might find your behaviour regrettable. Just think: we could be allies by tonight, and then your conduct might be adjudged inappropriate,” he suggested. The tribune looked confused. After a few moments he nodded. “Very well. But only for a few minutes. You don’t need to hang around long.” He called a guard over and ordered him to take the visitor to the tent where the captive was being held. Maecenas nodded his thanks, and followed the soldier. As he went, he calculated that by now news of his visit must have spread throughout the camp.
“Never mind, soldier. I’ll take charge of our visitor,” he heard someone say behind him. He turned around, and there before him was the person he’d been hoping to see: one of the officers who’d been released after the Modena campaign.
The legionary gave his superior a puzzled look, then bowed his head and obeyed. He moved away promptly, happy to return to his game of dice with his fellow layabouts.
“Hail, Tribune,” the man greeted him, “was I fast enough?” Good, he wanted to appear zealous. He wasn’t a member of the sect, just someone who had joined the cause to earn some money. But that was fine.
Maecenas nodded with satisfaction. “We expected nothing less when we told you to keep yourself available” he replied. “We have little time, so I’ll give you your instructions immediately. Take me to Agrippa, but then let me evaluate the mood of the soldiers. I want to walk around the tents and explain why they all stand to gain if they support an alliance between Antony and Octavian. Then, when I’ve gone, you should discreetly continue the task of persuading them until the agreement is made. If everything goes as we hope, there’ll be a further, substantial reward for you.”
“I’m counting on it, Tribune. And you can tell the consul that he can rely on me,” the officer said, gesturing to the Etruscan to follow him. They quickly reached a tent guarded by tw
o sentries, to whom the officer signalled to be let through. They pushed aside the leather flap over the entrance and the officer went to enter, but Maecenas gave him a telling look, which was enough to make him stop by the entrance with a nod of assent.
The Etruscan entered a space dimly illuminated by two oil lamps and immediately saw the massive form of Agrippa lying on a couch in the corner. “Still in bed, eh?” he said, with a smile. “Do you think you’re here on holiday?”
His friend sat up, rubbing his face. His beard was unkempt and his tunic unfastened. “It’s about time you got here… I’m getting bored, and there’s nothing to do but sleep. And, if I’m not much mistaken, it’s just after dawn…” he said, standing up and going to shake his hand.
“Well then, my arrival can only be welcome,” Maecenas replied. “I must give you a little work to do.”
“Work? Aren’t you going to take me with you? This lot here might do something nasty to me. Plus, you know that Fulvia’s around, and I’m worried about what a woman like her might be capable of after being scorned… If you’d seen her face when I met them, her and Antony… I’m expecting her to visit today, and I don’t imagine it will be like her visit of a few months back…” He walked over to a chair and invited Maecenas to sit down in front of him.
But the Etruscan shook his head. “There’s no time. I’ve got other things to do in the camp. And don’t worry, you’re not running any risks: not with an agreement in sight. I’m just here to tell you that her visit should actually be like that of a few months ago. And you should do everything you can to make it so,” he declared, to an open-mouthed Agrippa.
*
“I want to pick up where Caesar was forced to leave off. I want to reform the State and make it more powerful. And to do that, I need to hold the same office as he: dictator. Not for life, but for at least five years.” After some unfriendly small talk, Octavian had decided to put his cards on the table, as Maecenas had suggested. It was possible that Antony and Lepidus might just get up and leave, but if they really wanted to benefit from the meeting it was more likely that they would negotiate. According to the Etruscan, manoeuvring them to where the sect wanted them would require playing for high stakes.
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