Allan Massie: Augustus

He marched against Decimus Brutus, determined to dislodge him from Cisalpine Gaul. I sighed in relief; he had turned to his true work. Meanwhile the IVth legion followed the example of the Martian and crossed to my side. I had got myself the most formidable army in Italy: five legions, two of Campanian veterans and one recruited in Etruria by Agrippa, as well as the IVth and the Martian. Now, with deliberation, hoping to avoid battle, ready to make a show of it, I marched northward, in Antony's wake.

It was blue-cold in the mountains, a biting north wind. For a few days I felt I had no control over this force which I had called into being, and which was growing every day. (Two more legions were on their way to join me from Macedonia.) I caught a chill, fell into fever, was carried two days in a litter over the mountains, lay sweating and shivering in a mountain hut, while my disordered mind replayed the events of the last half-year. Yet, even so deranged by wild fancies and feverish dreams, I never doubted my future. The star I had seen rise over the mountains of Illyria beckoned me on. No man can hope to triumph unless he is willing to be the instrument of the divine powers that shape this world. Julius appeared to me in delirium, in a bloody and torn toga. He urged me on, applauded what I had achieved, and commended my decision (which Agrippa had so fiercely opposed) to acquiesce in the election of his vilest assassin, Casca, to the tribunate. 'Revenge is a meal to be eaten cold.' Casca's hour would strike when he felt more secure.

In Rome, as one year passed into another, Cicero addressed the Senate, unwearied. The body of his speech was devoted to my praise. The honey with which I had coated his vanity was well worth what it cost me.

'I know intimately the young man's every feeling,' he said, lying. 'Nothing is dearer to him than the Free State, nothing has more weight with him than your influence, nothing is more desired by him than the good opinion of virtuous men, nothing more delightful to him than true glory… I will venture even to pledge my word that Gaius Caesar will always be as loyal a citizen as he is to-day, and as our most fervent wishes and prayers desire.'

In the midst of his self-deception he spoke truth. I have always been a loyal citizen.

Cicero had lost all the discretion with which he had guarded his person for the last fifty years. He upbraided Antony in language that only victory could justify. He spoke warmly of me, but his praise was as insincere as his invective was heart-felt. My own heart responded less than it would now – youth is more impervious to approbation, which it takes as its due, than old age is – and my mind stood detached. But what Cicero said worked. The Senate clamoured to be permitted to honour me. They babbled in echo of Cicero: 'What godlike youth has come to save the Republic!' Maecenas said to me: 'There's not a man there would not slit your throat with a smile on his face.' I played my hand on his. They voted me a senator. (It is therefore, my sons, now forty years that I have been a member of the Conscript Fathers, the most noble assembly in the history of the world, even if its conduct and collective wisdom sometimes fall short of what they should be; never neglect to honour the Senate.) They associated me with the consuls Hirtius and Pansa in command of the army against Antony; they granted me the imperium of a pro-praetor.

'So far, so good,' Maecenas said. 'We are no longer adventurers, my dear.' He poured me a cup of wine – I added water. 'Let us drink to what we have been.' 'Let us drink rather to where we have arrived,' I said. Agrippa raised his goblet: 'The future'.

('Oh dear,' Maecenas sighed, 'crowsfeet, the failure of performance before the death of desire, yes, ducky, the future.')

'To our glorious leader', said P. Salvidienus Rufus. Is it hindsight that lets me believe I cast him a look pregnant with scepticism and irony?

Antony sent me a letter:

Octavius: what fool's game are you playing? I don't know whether to be more amazed by your rash folly or by your ability to persuade these deluded half-witted soldiers to follow you. I don't ask for gratitude, but I must point out to you that you have chosen to associate yourself with those who murdered Julius (whom you now call your father) in the vilest way imaginable, against me, who served Julius loyally and serve his memory and his cause still. Don't you realize, you poor boy, that your new chums are as twisted as a dragon's tail? They approached Caesar pretending to be friends; I have held his blood-stained toga in my hand. Some of them owed everything, including their lives, to Caesar. Yet they did for him. They owe nothing to you. What sort of fate do you imagine they are cooking up? Haven't you heard what the old verbal balloon Cicero is crowing? The kid must be flattered, decorated… and bumped off? And I hear you address that old goat as Father too, you must be out of your mind. If you don't get yourself out of that galley bloody well straightaway, I'll think you a half-wit yourself and will offer thanks to Mars and Bacchus that I had sense enough to have nothing to do with you. But if you do get shot of them and bring your legions back to me, I'll see you're all right. As it is, laddie, you're in the minestrone, and it's beginning to bubble.

'In character,' I said, 'spluttering, bombastic and on edge.' 'What'll you say to him?' 'Oh, I shan't reply.'

War engages the full faculties of man, but in memory only odd discordant moments emerge. Of that sharp scrambling campaign to which historians give the name Mutina, I remember very little. Decimus Brutus was shut up in the town. He sent us news, by carrier-pigeon, that his garrison was near exhaustion… it behoved us therefore to force the passes to relieve him. Hirtius and Pansa met me to dictate the strategy; I listened, impressed by neither. I had only one fear and generals could not alleviate it. I therefore called Maco to my tent. I gave him wine, to set him at ease and persuade him to speak the truth, not what he thought I might wish to hear.

'We have come a long way,' I said, 'in a short time, and I don't suppose either of us thought it would come to this.' 'No sir, can't say as I did, sir.' 'This army, these allies, they must seem an odd mixture to a veteran like yourself. You can't have bargained for it.' 'Well, no, sir.'

I drew my fur cloak about me. The candle sputtered in a gust of wind. A screech-owl cried out, hunting in the valley.

'That cloak, sir,' Maco said, 'pardon my asking, was it his…?' 'Yes,' I said.

He put out his hand and touched it. 'Do you mind, sir? I remember him wearing it, that dawn we crossed the river into Italy. You've heard tell of that morning, I'm sure, sir, how we were drawn down to the river bank by this figure that was piping. Some said it was the God Pan, sir. I wouldn't know. I just know we felt – well – obliged somehow. Sir.'

His hand rested on the cloak. 'Sit down,' I said, 'and have some wine… tell me, Maco, how do the men feel about our friends… and enemy?'

'Some of them trust you, sir. We're none of us that happy, but that's not exactly because of just who they each are. Fact is, sir, we none of us like fighting fellow-citizens. Well, you never know which old mates may be marking you in the other side's line-up. Mind you, if it was my brother-in-law I wouldn't mind taking a swing at him. Proper little bugger he is, sir, if you don't mind me saying so, excuse my language. But in general, sir, it's awkward and makes the men uneasy. Himself understood that, sir. He knew it wasn't like lining us up against Gauls. The more of those painted buggers you can bump off, the better, but fellow-citizens, that's a different kettle of fish.' 'And when my father's legions are on either side?'