Revenge

by Andrew Frediani

  Antony screwed his face into a grimace of contempt, and Lepidus assumed an expression of shock. They were two men in their prime: the former highly vigorous and very good looking, albeit slightly overweight, and the latter decidedly corpulent, but charming – just beginning to go bald but without it ageing him much, and with the sort of elegant demeanour that came from belonging to one of Rome’s oldest and most illustrious dynasties, the Aemilia. And yet, as far as Octavian was concerned, it was time for them to step aside: they were old because they represented the past. They were the personification of the ills which had plagued the Republic and caused it to decline. Personal ambition, debauchery, the inability to look far and think big. They were mediocre politicians, and the causes of a state’s ruin always lay in the mediocrity of its ruling class: those holding the sceptre of command could make all the excuses they wanted and blame everyone but themselves, but the truth was that responsibility for the decline was theirs alone.

  “Dictator? It was I who made them abolish the dictatorship! You’re the same little shit as always! Isn’t it enough that you’ve managed to extort the title of consul from the Senate!” exclaimed Antony, pounding his fist on the table so forcefully that the entire surface vibrated.

  “Why? How did you get the title of consul, by regular elections?” Octavian answered promptly. “Caesar had it given to you, and so far you have not shown sufficient gratitude to him. Even if, thanks to me, people will now know that you’ve decided to execute at least one of his murderers…” He didn’t give him time to reply and pressed on. “In any case, what Rome needs is order and prosperity, and I cannot provide those as a consul: there are too many constraints, too many opponents, too much institutional bureaucracy and the tenures are too short… Things will stay the same unless we change them. And you have to help me change them, if you care about Rome and not just yourselves.”

  “Just listen to him!” Lepidus interrupted, sarcastically. “Now setting yourself above everyone else means doing what’s best for Rome.”

  “Discovering you were Caesar’s heir has really gone to your head!” put in Antony. “You’re not half the man he was, and never will be!”

  Octavian had convinced himself that he could not only match his father, at least in some respects, but that he could even surpass him. But he was careful not to say so. Now that he was aiming so high, he could allow himself to flatter them and be humble. “There are many who think that I am. Especially among the soldiers, if you’ve noticed,” he pointed out. “And you know very well that if you keep attacking me, you will not win their support. If you’re here, it’s because you too have finally realised that it’s in your interests to co-operate. I’ve been trying to come to terms with you since the Ides of March, but you’ve constantly slammed the door in my face. How exactly did that help you, given that you’re now a fugitive and an exile?” He deliberately ignored Lepidus, as it was clear that he simply followed Antony’s lead. Antony was the one to convince. However, with Lepidus in a secondary position, he hoped to pique his sense of rivalry and encourage him to make proposals which would play into the sect’s hands, albeit unwittingly. Or at least, that’s how Maecenas hoped things would go.

  Antony snorted. He couldn’t deny anything that Octavian had said and it annoyed him. “Assuming I’m resigned to the idea of collaborating with a snake like you, I’d rather die than put myself under your command.”

  Octavian was silent. It was now that he needed Lepidus’s co-operation. He looked at him, giving him his full attention for the first time since the discussion had started. And Lepidus felt compelled to speak.

  “Young Octavian, it seems clear to me that we are currently the three most powerful men in Rome. It would be useless to deny that, and foolish to belittle one another out of pure vexation,” he said with his familiar, affable tone. Lepidus was someone who tried to get on with everybody. “That’s why I do not think it would work to have one of the three of us rule over the others. If, however, we could find a way to hold positions and powers of equal importance and power…”

  This was precisely what Octavian had hoped to hear him say, and he could barely conceal his satisfaction. He was ready to raise his bid. “You mean like the triumvirate of Caesar, Pompey and Crassus?” he exclaimed, immediately.

  “Why not?” Lepidus insisted. “After all, for as long as they got on with each other, for as long as Caesar and Pompey were related and everyone had what they wanted – Caesar in Gaul, Pompey in Italy and Crassus in the East – Rome benefited and there was a certain degree of political stability.”

  Octavian deliberately looked impressed by Lepidus’s intuition. He looked at Antony and saw that he was thinking about it. Of course, the idea appealed to him: it would facilitate an instant return to the institutional fold and would give him power and influence, both of which had become increasingly precarious since he’d moved against the Senate. However, the young consul didn’t want to appear too compliant, having earlier expressed ambitions of a far greater magnitude. “Hmm … I am not sure that we share the same vision of what Rome needs. The risk would be that we would end up arguing all the time, and I’d feel as though my hands were tied…”

  “All three of us have Rome’s welfare at heart, don’t we?” Lepidus continued. “So what’s the problem? If those three, who couldn’t stand each other, managed, why shouldn’t we?”

  Octavian had to keep putting up opposition for a little while longer. “For example, we don’t see eye to eye about Caesar’s killers. I don’t think that administering justice is one of your priorities. And yet you haven’t lacked for opportunity. And with Caesar’s killers at large, a triumvirate would be seen by those fanatics as an attack on democracy and we would never be left in peace. Whatever happens, they must be taken out of circulation. In a word, it’s a case of us or them.”

  “Enough of this!” snapped Antony. “I did what had to be done at the time to avoid bloodshed! They had so many powerful supporters that they would have started a civil war and all Caesar’s men would have been killed. I even saved you, you stupid little idiot! And I sometimes wish I hadn’t!”

  “And what about me? What could I have done with so few means at my disposal? But I’ve never intended to let those traitors get away with it!” said Lepidus – he, who in the days after the Ides of March, had slipped off to wait and see how events played out, probably with the intention of backing the party that eventually prevailed.

  “Then prove once and for all that you want to avenge Caesar!” said Octavian, attempting to shame them. “Thanks to your inaction, his killers have become even stronger: they’ve managed to take over Roman territories with impunity, governing them as they wish without answering to anyone. They’ve stripped cities of their resources and put together vast armies which will force us to embark on a difficult and expensive war if we really want to see justice done! Do you know that Brutus and Cassius have at least twenty legions, thanks to their possession of Syria and Macedonia? And that Cassius is trying to get his hands on Egypt? We don’t know how long Cleopatra will be able to resist the pressure: she’s already lost four of the legions allocated to her.”

  “I know that very well…” Antony interrupted testily.

  Octavian didn’t allow himself to be intimidated. “And do you know that Cassius’s nephew has killed Ariobarzanes of Cappadocia and seized his country’s immense wealth? And that Marcus Brutus has his sights set on the coast of Cilicia and Rhodes? Not to mention the friendly relations Cassius has with the Parthians: apparently, he’s receiving help from their king. If we wait any longer, they’ll take over all of Rome’s eastern possessions. In practice, half the empire…”

  “Alright, alright,” Antony cut him off impatiently. “If – and I say ‘if’ – we form a triumvirate, we’ll need to define our roles, responsibilities and spheres of influence. And we should also respect the hierarchies and prestige we’ve acquired over the years: you are young and inexperienced compared to the two of us, lad. Most importantl
y, it should be up to me and Lepidus to decide who gets the most important posts. You can take responsibility for building works and the quaestors, if anything. And we should be given control of the major provinces: for example, I was assigned Gaul, and woe betide anyone who tries to touch it.”

  The discussion was going in the direction Octavian had hoped, so he kept his calm. He’d expected Antony to play the bully, and was even willing to concede him more: the important thing was that they formed a triumvirate, an important step in the sect’s ascent to power, as well as his own. “You’re talking to someone who became a consul at the age of twenty, and against your wishes, dear Antony,” he replied calmly, “so I can’t be all that incompetent. I have no intention of playing a junior role in any eventual triumvirate: I wouldn’t be able to contribute to Rome in the way I’ve promised myself out of respect for the memory of my father Caesar. Each of us must receive an equal share, and this is a fundamental prerequisite for these negotiations to continue. Otherwise I’ll go back to my initial request for the dictatorship, with or without your support.”

  Antony was seething with rage. Lepidus tried to keep his cool, but it was clear that he too was annoyed by the young man’s attitude. Of course, Octavian said to himself with satisfaction, they hadn’t expected such a determined approach. Indeed, they must have thought they would have been able to walk all over this young man who had presumed to negotiate with them as an equal. In short, they’d been caught unprepared, with no alternative strategy to the one they’d studied to crush him and render him harmless.

  “Well, we can talk about the details of how to share the duties and provinces later,” Antony said finally, without looking him in the eye. “But if we do create an alliance, I don’t want you remaining a consul: people will always see you as my superior.”

  This he could concede him. In Rome, power didn’t lie in the office you held but in the following you enjoyed, above all in the army. But he couldn’t remain without an office. “Don’t fool yourself that I will agree not to hold an institutional office. It could even be that of triumvir, just to prove that I’m willing to meet you half way,” he replied. “The agreement between Caesar, Pompey and Crassus was private in nature, without actual defined offices other than those they held as part of their normal cursus honorum. We, however, should legally establish a new magistracy – an institutional triarchy whose duration we should decide, for the protection and preservation of the Republic in these exceptional circumstances. I always work by the rules of the institutions and the Senate, and the people are re-assured by being governed by a legally sanctioned body. This way, we’ll have a greater consensus.”

  They were totally astonished, he could tell. They hadn’t been in any way prepared for a proposal like this. And that was precisely what would defeat them: they hadn’t prepared for the meeting the way he had with his ministers. He couldn’t wait for the day to end so he could tell Maecenas that his strategy had once again proved to be a winner.

  VI

  She appeared suddenly. Maecenas had only just left, and even if he’d been expecting Fulvia to visit him at some point, he certainly hadn’t been expecting her to come so soon after dawn. However, without warning her sinuous and sensual form materialized in the tent and she loomed up silently before him with that provocative expression he knew so well.

  And which excited him so much.

  Fulvia continued to say nothing, and Agrippa, who had decided to stay sitting at the table where he was eating breakfast, said nothing either. To stand up would have been a sign of deference and respect, and respect was the last thing she wanted…

  And besides, she was quite something to look up at: majestic, imposing, proud…

  And fierce. He must forget that. For ever. Being around her was like playing with fire: you ran the constant risk of getting burned. Yet even if the sect hadn’t ordered him to, Agrippa would have done the same thing: he loved taking risks, whatever form they took.

  He restricted himself to pushing aside the bowl of porridge they’d brought for him and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, as he continued to look her up and down. She liked to be desired, and he desired her – very much. He had never stopped craving her, and had hated himself for it when he’d been trying to save his relationship with Etain. Fulvia was like a disease that he hadn’t quite shaken off, and of which he didn’t know whether he would ever be free.

  He waited a long time, caught up in that psychological duel where the loser was the one who gave in first. For a few moments, Agrippa feared that she might leave like that, without doing or saying anything, having just eyed her prey closely – whether he was useful to Antony alive or dead, Fulvia was crazed enough to go against her husband’s orders out of pure vindictiveness. But when she opened her mouth, he knew he’d won: he’d gained the upper hand.

  Until the next wrong move, of course.

  “You hurt me, Agrippa,” she said finally, without moving from where she was.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he replied. “I suffered too, I can assure you.”

  “I have never suffered because of a man before. If anything, it was me who made them suffer.”

  “There’s always a first time.” Never bow your head in front of her, unless you wanted to end up like the many people she enjoyed harming.

  “I liked it.”

  Agrippa jumped. She always managed to surprise him. So he was right; there were no half measures with Fulvia. She either made you suffer or suffered herself, so you always had to attack, and keep the pressure on. You could never lower your guard. Just like in battle.

  “But I didn’t do it on purpose…” was all he said.

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you make me suffer – as long as you’re mine. If you fall in love with another woman again, I swear by all the gods I’ll have her killed. You can fuck whoever you like if you want, with or without me, but woe betide them if I see that you care about them. And you can’t keep it hidden.”

  The threat was real, he knew only too well. However, Agrippa also knew that he would never love another woman like he’d loved Etain. And Etain was no longer his, so there was no problem: no one would be in danger because of Fulvia.

  “For you to control me like that, it will be necessary for Octavian and Antony to get along and work together. Otherwise our paths will inevitably go their separate ways,” he said. He must never forget that he was serving the sect.

  She moved towards him. Now Agrippa could smell the penetrating scent of her perfume. “Don’t worry about that. Antony knows that it’s in his best interests to come to an agreement with Octavian, for as long as it suits him. And as long as your friend isn’t too arrogant, you’ll see that they’ll find some common ground.”

  “If they don’t manage to, I hope you’ll play your part,” Agrippa went on. “If we are to continue seeing each other, such an agreement is necessary. You don’t have a daughter you could marry off, do you? Matrimonial alliances are the best…” he added, following Maecenas’s suggestion.

  Fulvia made a disdainful gesture with her hand. “Just listen to him! If I couldn’t see the lust in your eyes, I’d say that you were my lover simply to help your little friend.”

  Agrippa realised that he must be careful not to overplay his hand. He had to remember that with her you were always dancing on the razor’s edge. “Try me, and see for yourself whether I find it a sacrifice,” he said, standing and raising his tunic, beneath which his excitement was more than evident. With her you had be bold: it was part of the perpetual challenge in which they were engaged.

  Fulvia took a step forward, putting her face close to his and straightaway shoving her hand under his thong. As their lips began to brush together, Agrippa felt her breath upon him, hot and intense, and she suddenly dropped to her knees, seeking his sex. The young man found himself with her face between his legs, her panting breath enveloping him as it reverberated around the tent. He’d thought about her groans and whimpers at least as much as he’d th
ought about Etain’s sweet smile.

  When he felt her wet tongue tickle his member, he felt like he was about to burst. He wanted to pick her up, slam her onto the table and have her in that wild, brutish way they both liked. And he was just about to do so, when Fulvia suddenly began to use her teeth instead of her tongue – she gave him a quick but intense bite, gripping his member fiercely before releasing it just in time to avoid Agrippa’s reaction – he instinctively lashed out with his arm, striking where he thought her head would be.

  The young man looked at his now limp penis, dripping with blood.

  “And don’t think it’s finished here, boy,” she said, wiping her red blood-stained lips on the back of her hand. “You’ve got to earn your forgiveness. See you tomorrow, Agrippa!” she said, turning round and pulling aside the tent flaps before disappearing from sight.

  *

  “Anyway, irrespective of any other discussion, nothing is more important to me than revenge for my father,” Octavian pointed out, when he saw that the negotiations were beginning to run aground over the division of territories under their control. Antony and Lepidus picked at the provisions their bodyguards continued to put on the table every time they saw an empty bowl, seemingly in no hurry to work out the details of the agreement. “It must be clear to you and the people of Rome and the provinces that the ultimate goal of this triumvirate, presuming it’s ever formed, will be to return the Republic to a normal state of affairs. But its primary objective will be justice. And if necessary, war, against any of the murderers who aren’t yet dead.”