Augustus- Son of Rome

by Richard Foreman

  “This, as much as this, has carved out Rome’s progress,” Roscius then somewhat sagely announced as he held up a shovel, as well as his own razor sharp gladius. A dolobra (a military pick-axe), saw and bill-hook were also exhibited to Octavius as being the tools of the Roman legionary.

  Finally the veteran produced a scutum - decorated with the Bull emblem of Caesar’s famed Tenth Legion - and presented it to the youth. The shield stood four feet high and was as thick as a man’s palm. Rectangular and semi-cylindrical in shape, the shield was made from plywood and covered with a layer of canvas and calfskin - and was reinforced with a bronze central boss. The scutum was strong and flexible - and such was its weight that it had to be supported by both the hand and forearm through leather straps across the reverse. Within just a minute of holding the legionary’s shield Octavius’ arm ached and he felt again a wave of doubt that he would be able to live up to Roscius’ - and more importantly Caesar’s - expectations.

  During that first day Roscius took Octavius on a whirlwind tour of the camp and he immediately began to appreciate the scope and specialist nature to the make-up of the army. Caesar’s nephew was introduced to engineers, craftsmen, clerks, cooks, surveyors, farriers, artillerymen, surgeons and drill masters alike. Partly as an attempt to echo the virtues and manner of Caesar, Octavius was attentive and friendly towards everyone he met. He made a conscious effort to ask and remember everyone’s name - and was genuinely interested in certain facets of various tasks and trades.

  That evening Octavius listened avidly as Roscius told him more stories of their general’s exploits and achievements. He reported an anecdote of when Caesar was once invited to a meal by a friend, one Valerius Leo - and the asparagus somehow got accidentally dressed with myrrh instead of olive oil. Caesar however ate the dish, courteously ignoring the mistake. Others in his party though complained and composed snide comments. Before long however Caesar reprimanded the ungrateful - and ungracious - group. “If you didn’t like it there was no need to have eaten it. But if one reflects on one’s host’s lack of breeding it merely shows that one is ill-bred oneself,” Roscius reported Caesar as saying.

  Roscius had also been there in person when the army had been forced to stop marching one storm-filled night. The only real shelter that was available was a farmer’s hut. When offered to Caesar however he refused the accommodation, arguing that “honours should go to the strongest, but necessities should go to the weakest.’ He subsequently slept in the roofed doorway of the building, allowing the injured to take refuge inside the dwelling.

  “Soldiers respect Caesar, because Caesar respects us. Whether it be because of his ability, or his luck, we know that he will do his best by us. We are loyal to Caesar, rather than the Senate, because if and when we ever get discharged we know to look to our general, rather than some politician back in Rome, to look after us - and maybe provide us with a plot of land somewhere that we can call our own. Caesar rewards loyalty. The Senate, filled with over-weaned aristocrats who live off their family name - and who look down on the soldier class - would happily wash its hands of the legions after their service to the state though. And why do soldiers love Caesar? He doubled our pay to two hundred and twenty-five silver denarii per year,” Roscius finally said with a grin on his face, whilst raising a wine-filled cup to his absent commander.

  Realising how late the hour must have been though Roscius suddenly brought a close to their evening, for the legionary was all too aware of how long the following day (and following two weeks or so) would prove for the youth. For the remainder of Octavius’ stay within the bounds of the camp he received regular rudimentary weapons training and drill instruction. Moreover Roscius was conscious of developing Octavius’ physical condition - and although the youth could not justly claim to have attained the standards of fellow new recruits, Octavius brimmed with a sense of achievement in relation to the change in his constitution and abilities.

  12.

  Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa had woken early that morning - yet his father was still up and dressed before him, impatiently waiting to give his son his chores for the day. Summer was coming, if not with them already, and Domitius Agrippa wanted his eldest son to service the series of mini-aqueducts - that Marcus Vipsanius had himself designed - which helped irrigate some of his farmlands. Although the youth had plans for the day, Agrippa duly complied with his father’s request. Rather than completing the task by himself however, he quickly trained up half a dozen slaves to clean and service the matrix of stone and oak channels that provided water to a particularly arid corner of his family’s estate.

  And so by noon Marcus was racing across the olive groves of neighbouring properties in a shortcut to reach the Roman fort, situated just outside of the main town of Apollonia. The camp was a hive of activity and preparation in lieu of Caesar’s imminent arrival. The historic campaign could then begin in earnest. The talk was of glory, eastern riches, the retrieval of the standards that Crassus had lost - and the tits and virtues of Parthian women.

  Sweat dripped down his plain-looking and honest face and a smile seemed to brighten Agrippa’s features because, and not in spite of, his arduous run. The guards had now grown used to the tough but good natured youth turning up at the camp. His introduction to the fort had first come via Octavius. Yet while he had increasingly devoted less time to his martial education over the months - choosing to spend his time reading and in the company of Cleanthes - Agrippa received the training and conditioning that Octavius could and should have benefited from.

  When his schedule allowed him the time Oppius himself took the enthusiastic and fast-learning Agrippa under his wing, teaching him about basic tactics, swordsmanship and survival techniques. The centurion had first noticed the youth through overhearing a bunch of legionaries chattering during their evening meal of fish stew. Agrippa was among the group. They were discussing which god they’d offer up thanks to before entering a sea battle - Mars, Jove or Neptune?

  “I wouldn’t want to impress Neptune too much with my devotion, in case he took me down into the deep with him,” one legionary jokingly piped up.

  “And too many legionaries offer up prayers to Mars, so I’d worry if he could hear mine over the rest,” his comrade countered. “So who would you give thanks to, young’un?” the man, idly whittling away a piece of wood into nothingness, added.

  “I’d offer up thanks to the man who invented the corvus,” Agrippa drily posited.

  Oppius, hearing the unfamiliar voice and unconventional answer, abruptly turned his head. The centurion was amused and impressed to hear such a thing come from such a young recruit. The next day Oppius asked Casca about the would-be soldier. After hearing the old legionary’s report, the centurion invited the youth to train with his own cohort. With an air of confidence, rather than arrogance, Agrippa fought and bested many of his own men during combat practice. Before long Oppius was tutoring the recruit personally, imparting his knowledge and sharing his experiences with the lad. Agrippa’s rapid progress even infused in the stern and insular centurion a feeling which was something akin to paternal pride.

  *

  An open, contented expression could be found on Octavius’ face as if his sister were actually in the garden with him, rather than just a name upon the top of a letter.

  Dearest Octavia,

  I have missed you, and not just because you helped share the burden of mother’s dotage.

  Thank you for your last letter. I am well. I am sometimes afflicted with the ague of boredom, but thankfully I am keeping myself busy and, although one cannot perhaps totally remedy the mutating disease, prevention is as good as a permanent cure.

  Please pass on my thanks also to Athenobus for the copy of Plato’s Laws. You may wish to add that I said to you that he is a superior tutor to Cleanthes - and that I have remained a devotee of his Plato, rather than an adherent of Cleanthes’ Aristotle. I can forgive myself the lie, if you can - for the sun will be shining that much brighter for the old
librarian when you tell him.

  However, I cannot lie to you sister. You asked how I was progressing in my military training. My progress marches on like myself, slowly and out of step. I try, but I often also fail. I am perhaps still more versed in the conquests of Catullus than I am in the campaigns of Scipio. But I do not fear the rigours of military life as I once did, albeit I warrant that I’ll be about as useful in a battle to the army as a knife and fork would be to Tantalus.

  Marcus is also fine. I can’t help but admire him. I often think that I should perhaps envy or resent him, such are his virtues and accomplishments, but he possesses such a noble nature - and I love him so much - that I would rather part with all that I own than lose his friendship. Marcus is twice the soldier I am Octavia, but I would be perhaps half the soldier I am, if it were not for his instruction and encouragement. In return I have helped him with his other studies. Together we could perhaps take on the world. As I often write about him to you - and speak of you to him - I am very much looking forward to a time when I can introduce you. If nothing else it will save me both time and energy in acting as a go-between.

  Salvidienus is also doing well. He will make a marvellous advocate. He has perhaps been rehearsing for the role all his life, such are the lies he tells himself and others. I shall miss him when I depart for Parthia though. He has been a good friend. We are at present planning a day together and fishing trip so we can say our farewells properly.

  Should you receive this letter in time you might want to request to return with mother. I would dearly love us to spend some time together before I embark upon the campaign. You could also mediate between mother and me when we argue - it’ll be just like old times!

  Octavius loved his sister - and admired her. Her virtues were as plentiful as the summer harvest. She was patient, generous, loyal, kind and forgiving. He occasionally found himself having to invent flaws for his sister when describing her to people, for fear of his true opinion and portrait appearing too biased or unbelievable. She was perhaps as equally intelligent as him, yet Octavius himself could not be sure, as Octavia had spent half her life concealing the education she had given herself in private. For fear of earning people’s prejudice, or envy, she never flaunted her intellect or engaged men on their own level, except when conversing privately with her brother. Yet she was content, or seemed so. Octavia was far from beautiful in a classical sense - she was no Clodia or young Servilia - but yet she was pretty. Her hair was fair, straight and just shy of shoulder length. Her features were round and soft, her light brown eyes gentle and charming.

  Octavius had been sincere in his wish to want to see his sister again; if anything he had understated his desire. He hoped however that his brother-in-law, Marcus Marcellus, would be too busy to accompany his wife. Partly Octavius disliked and distrusted the eminent senator because of his initial siding with Pompey during the Civil War, as he had even been the one to hand Pompey the ceremonial sword to defend the Republic against the outlaw Caesar, but perhaps more so Octavius was jealous of his brother-in-law. Octavia - who he had shared so much with and loved more deeply than anyone else in the world - had to be now a wife first and sister second.

  For a minute or so Octavius chewed the end of his stylus and pondered whether to tell his sister about Briseis - and how and what he should say - but then he desisted. He did not want to come across as a lovesick poet, worthy of the satires they had both read when younger. So too Octavius was worried that his sister - who appreciated modesty and duty - might think less of him for bedding a servant girl.

  Despite his fondness and affection for Octavia though - and his intention to finish the letter quickly in order to dispatch it - the comely figure of the serving girl danced before his mind’s eye again and distracted the youth from his correspondence. Did he love her? He would never be allowed to marry her. Yet he would not ask permission. Octavius briefly imagined the scenario of what would happen should he declare his love for the serving girl to his family - and society. He would be ridiculed and shunned. Caesar perhaps might even turn his back on him. Yet the young romantic felt that he would sacrifice the entire world to spend just one more night with the girl, who had touched him in a way like no other. His heart beat faster just thinking of her. Pictures, both carnal and poetic, were painted in his mind’s eye. The afternoon sun baptised his face in apricot light and Gaius surrendered to his daydream. His was an affair to rival that of Paris and Helen, Catullus and Lesbia.

  Let’s live and love, my love,

  Ignore the snide talk

  Of all these crabbed old men.

  The sun sets, and rises:

  Once our candle’s snuffed

  We’re out for a long night.

  A thousand kisses, then,

  A hundred thousand thousand,

  Till we will lose count.

  Don’t keep score, for no

  Evil eye can blight us

  If our love seems infinite.

  The glowing expression across Octavius’ face suddenly altered however - and he wryly, or even scornfully, smiled to himself. Cynicism succeeded idealism, love. Cynicism should act as life’s strigil, scraping away unwanted and dead or dying material. The selfishness of Paris and Helen doomed Troy. Clodia was unfaithful - Catullus, conceited. Gaius was a victim of lust, not love - yet he would still surrender to it, he indulgently mused. Rather than Catullus, he now recalled Cleanthes. The brief cautionary tale that the tutor told to his hormonal student was originally composed by a satirical Jewish playwright who Cleanthes had once encountered in a brothel in Capua.

  “If Man was put on this earth to serve the Gods, then was not Woman created to serve the god in Man? Originally there was only one sex, Adam. Gloriously endowed was he, the personification of the gods. And, in the beginning, the gods were proud of their son. But when Man began to stand on his own two feet, not only did the gods start to envy his mortal magnificence, they also began to fear this spark that Adam burned autonomously of his origin. The gods did not want an heir. Adam was created for their amusement. But nevertheless the subject of Man became no laughing matter, for they feared that one day this zealous son might strike out at his father. So the High Council of the gods called a secret meeting to address what was to be done about this issue. Ere the hammer could crack upon the block to open the meeting the flame-haired Mars barged in and declared that “The gods should lift up the clouds and squash Man like the louse that he is!” But not only did the brash Mars underestimate the resilient pest of Man, more importantly he was not thinking that secret thought of the even prouder gods. If the deities compelled Man by force it would mean that they would be treating him as a worthy opponent, or equal; Cronos battling Neptune is a fair contest, but noble Achilles is in a no win situation if he defeats a lowly helot. Then Venus, lisping like an asp, spoke. She announced that she could concoct a potion to induce Man to fall vainly in love with himself, “he will do nothing but look in the mirror all day”. But Zeus objected and ruled that even perfect Apollo would get bored with such a fate after a time. “No”, proclaimed that god whose name I dare not mention, “we must subdue Man in such a way so he knows not he is being subdued; and even if he should discover that he is under the spell of such a force then its sweets will compel him anyway. This force must be weaker than Man, yet stronger. This diversion I shall create and call Eve,” He sagely ordered to much approval, obsequious or otherwise. “But what if Eve falls in love with Adam - and confesses the ruse?” an impish Pan called out from the back benches. “I have thought of that comrades. I will make Eve innocent of her attractions; her modesty will prove all the more alluring to Man. He will be possessed in possessing her - and in their contract he will be a slave to being her master.” “But if Man serves Woman he serves not the gods” Seth posited, his brow wrinkled in either worry or scepticism. “Then we cannot make Eve’s love as faithful as ours is,” He stolidly replied, “We must also drug Man with the tonic of boredom once in a while. He will adore Woman - and he will
praise us for creating her for him - but Man cannot make an idol out of just one of the creatures. He cannot live for her solely, else it will lead to bad faith and other blasphemies. We should prick him as such so that as soon as he has eaten of her fruit he’ll look to pick another. If he doesn’t, then either he is mad or then one of our Angels has escaped again.” Only when the gavel was struck to seal the motion did Tiresias know that there would be sufficient quiet for him to be heard. “But what if Eve should dare eat from the Tree of Knowledge?” But by then it was too late - and the rest is History.

  Octavius was duly amused by the story but also conscious of the lessons it tried to impart. Rather than a Helen he wanted to find his Penelope. Conscious of how much time and energy he was devoting to the self-serving girl, Octavius shifted the tone of his thoughts towards her, in order to denigrate and dismiss Briseis’ significance. His affair would not be, could not be, akin to some plot by Plautus - where obstacles are overcome and love conquers all. Reality always plays chaperone. She would not enchant him like Circe - and have him behave like some mere animal or lovesick slave. He was a Roman, a Caesar. As such Octavius turned again to his sister’s letter and read over the news concerning the city and its dictator.

  “The Games were as grand a spectacle as ever, with Caesar competing with himself - and winning. An artificial lake was created on the site of the Campus Martius and scaled down fleets of ships acted out battles, as well as gladiators and teams of Roman cavalry defeating British chariots ... Jaws dusted the ground and eyes were rubbed into the back of heads when a creature called a ‘giraffe’ was exhibited, which Caesar had imported from Africa. As you can see from the sketch I’ve done for you its neck is as long as Cato’s face - and the animal can run faster from danger than mother can to a shoe sale.”