Allan Massie: Caesar

"That went off very well," Markie said as the crowd thinned and made for home or tavern.

Such was his judgment on the sitting of the Senate at which Antony had secured his primacy in the Republic.

I did not attend the funeral. It would have been in poor taste. As things turned out, my life would have been in danger also. Trebonius who did attend, protesting that he had not actually struck Caesar, was recognised and pelted with mud. A coster-monger hurled a cabbage into his face, another landed him a blow with a stick, a third seized his toga and tore it, so that Trebonius fled, terrified and half-naked, to the nearest friendly house. The mob pursuing him was ready to set fire to the building if Lepidus had not despatched troops to prevent them.

Antony delivered the funeral oration. Cassius and Markie had agreed to that; they could have done nothing to prevent him. According to reports, he began by saying he had nothing against Caesar's murderers. They had acted, in their own opinion, for the good of the Republic. They were honourable men who feared Caesar's ambition. He made great play on the word "honour", and perjured himself when he denied Caesar's ambition. The sarcasm delighted the mob; they roared, demanding more of it.

Then — his masterstroke — he showed them Caesar's bloody toga. He pointed to every rent. He identified each dagger-thrust, pausing for emphasis. It was all acting, of course; we couldn't ourselves have claimed responsibility for particular gashes. But the crowd howled.

I heard the noise and ordered my slaves to set up barricades around my house and bolt the doors.

Then Antony read the will. He told them of Caesar's benefactions to the people, and none remembered that Caesar had lived for thirty years on borrowed money and soaring debts, until he became rich by the plunder of Rome's enemies. They didn't even recall that he had had charge of the State Treasury for five years now, a circumstance which had elicited some of Cicero's most acid jests.

The crowd surged forward, seized the body and burned it in the Forum. They cried out that Caesar was a god. Urged on by an agitator called Herophilus, who claimed to be a bastard grandson of old Gaius Marius, they set up an altar and a pillar in the Forum, offering prayers and sacrifices to Caesar's spirit.

"His bloody murderers would be the best sacrifice," Herophilus cried, and they shouted approval, then set off to fire the houses of those of us whom they could identify. The smoke filled my nostrils all night, but the precautions I had taken kept me safe, in spite of my slaves' terror.

Next morning reports came which convinced me that we had lost Rome and were in mortal danger.

Antony, maintaining the pretence of civility, even friendship, sent me a note to inform me that I was named in the will as guardian to Octavius.

Since you have been on such intimate terms with the boy, I trust you will use your influence to remind him he is still only a boy, unfit for public life. Do so, and I shall be in your debt; Rome also, more than ever.

Antony's unease, his evident fear that Octavius might challenge his leadership of the Caesarean party, did something to restore my hopes that all was not lost. I therefore wrote to Octavius in appropriate terms.

The flimsy unity of the Ides of March disintegrated. Markie's nerve broke with it. He fled the city, to seek support, Cassius said, in the municipalities of Latium. My father-in-law soon followed. We parted without regret, each reproaching the other for our mistakes and misfortunes. My accusations were justified. He had been the originator of our enterprise, and bore chief responsibility for its failure. "If you had listened to me…" I said. It was too much for him. Conscious that he was in the wrong, he left me without even seeking news of his daughter.

Two days later I set out for my province of Cisalpine Gaul. Civil war could not be long delayed. Word came that Octavius had landed at Brindisi and won the support of the legions there. Caesar's heir was on the march.

I would have gone to Aricia to see Longina. But I dared not delay. Wretched news from all quarters spurred me on. Poor Longina.

Careless of danger, Casca, alone among us, refused to alter his way of life. He was surprised in a brothel by a handful of Caesar's veterans. They broke into the chamber, thrusting the terrified master of the place aside. Casca was naked and defenceless, but for his fists. They stabbed him twenty-three times, the same number of wounds as Caesar had received. I believe that most of Casca's were inflicted after death. Then they mutilated the Syrian boy with whom he had been taking his pleasure, and dragged Casca's corpse into the alley where it was discovered by the watchmen towards dawn.

I wept for Casca. I feared for myself. Therefore I made all haste to my province. There I discovered puzzled and near-mutinous legions, discontented municipalities, few subordinates worthy of trust, fear and uncertainty everywhere.

I did not repine. Despondent letters came from Cassius and Markie, both of whom had now fled to the East, ostensibly to their respective provinces of Cyrene and Crete. Cassius declared civil war certain, no longer hoped for victory. Markie admitted that I had been correct in my assessment, and he mistaken: "I have trusted too much in virtue and benevolence; you, cousin, were wiser in your cynicism." I would have respected him if he had not contrived to combine his confession of error with a renewed claim to superior virtue. But I was too busy to brood on such matters.

My first business was to raise an army. The bulk of experienced legions adhered to Antony, though some might join Octavius. The boy had arrived at Brindisi and announced that, as Caesar's heir, he would now be known as Caesar Octavianus.

Cisalpine Gaul was good recruiting ground, and I soon commanded a sizeable force. Yet I could not delude myself, for I knew only too well the difference between raw recruits and the veterans of many wars. I was also compelled to dilute the quality of my best legion (the Ninth) by seconding centurions and veterans to new formations, both for training purposes and to stiffen morale.

Time was what I needed; time was denied me. First, Antony had himself appointed to Cisalpine Gaul in my place at the end of his consular year. Then, with unparalleled insolence, he held a plebiscite on the Kalends of June, to secure himself the authority to assume immediate command of my province. The proposal, unsanctioned by precedent, tore the mask of friendship from Antony's face. His ambition was now naked: to secure an absolute ascendancy in the Republic.

This alarmed Octavius, who wrote to me at last in friendly terms, offering a meeting. His letter reached me while I was making war on the Alpine tribes. The war, necessary in itself, was more valuable on account of the experience of combat it gave my troops. They performed better than I had dared to hope. It was therefore with a new optimism that I set out to meet Octavius at Orvieto, ignoring a peremptory demand from Antony that I should surrender my province to him within the month.

We met at a villa, belonging to his stepfather Philippus, in the hills outside the city.

"What a lot of soldiers you have brought, Mouse. I hope you have supplies for them. We certainly can't feed them."

He hesitated before accepting my kiss. Maecenas sniggered in the background. Young Marcus Agrippa, who had served under me in Greece and whom I respected as an efficient officer, glowered. I had hoped Octavius and I would be alone together.

"Oh no," he said, "I'm far too susceptible to your dangerous charm, my dear. Maecenas and Agrippa stay."

This time Maecenas smirked. He was dressed in the Greek fashion, his eyebrows were plucked, and he was drenched with a sweet, spicy scent.