John Williams: Augustus

VI. Letter: Marcus Tullius Cicero to Marcus Junius Brutus (44 B. c.)

The briefest of notes. He is ours-I am sure of it. He has gone to Rome, and he has spoken to the people, but only to claim his inheritance. I am told that he does not speak ill of you, or of Cassius, or of any of the others. He praises Caesar in the gentlest of terms, and lets it be known that he takes the inheritance out of duty and the name out of reverence, and that he intends to retire to private life once he has done with the matter at hand. Can we believe him? We must, we must! I shall court him when I return to Rome; for his name may still have value to us.

VII. Letter: Marcus Antonius to Gaius Sentius Tavus,

Military Commander of Macedonia (44 B. c.)

Sentius, you gamesome old cock, Antonius sends you greetings, and a report upon the latest triviality-an example of the kind ofthing I am daily faced with, now that the burden of administration is upon me. I don't know how Caesar could endure it, day after day; he was a strange man.

That whey-faced little bastard, Octavius, came around to see me yesterday morning. He has been in Rome for the past week or so, acting like a bereaved widow, calling himself Caesar, all manner of nonsense. It seems that Gnaeus and Lucius, my idiot brothers, without consulting me, gave him permission to address the crowd in the Forum, if he would assure them that the speech would not be political. Did you ever hear of a speech that was not political? Well, at least he didn't try to stir them up; so he's not altogether a fool. He got some sympathy from the crowd, I'm sure, but that's about all.

But if not altogether, he certainly is something oi a fool; for he gives himself airs that are damned presumptuous in a boy, especially in a boy whose grandfather was a thief and whose only name of any account is a borrowed one. He came to my house late in the morning, without an appointment, while half-a-dozen other people were waiting, and he had three of his retinue with him, as if he were a bloody magistrate and they were his lictors. I guess he supposed I would drop everything and come running out to him, which of course I did not do. I told my secretary to inform him that he had to await his turn; I half-expected and half-wanted him to walk out on me. But he didn't, so I kept him waiting for most of the rest of the morning, and finally let him come in.

I must confess that, despite the game I played with him, I was a little curious. I had only seen him a couple of times before-once, six or seven years ago, when he was about twelve, and Caesar let him give the panegyric at his grandmother Julia's funeral; and again, two years ago, at Caesar's Triumphal March after Africa, when I rode in the carriage with Caesar and the boy rode behind us. At one time, Caesar had talked to me a great deal about him; and I wondered if I had missed something.

Well, I hadn't. I shall never understand how the "great" Caesar could have made this boy the inheritor of his name, his power, and his fortune. I swear to the gods, if the will hadn't first been received and recorded in the Temple of the Vestal Virgins, I would have taken a chance on altering it myself.

I don't think I would have been so annoyed if he had left his airs in the reception room and had come into my office like anybody else. But he didn't. He came in flanked by his three friends, whom he presented to me as if I gave a damn about any of them. He addressed me with the proper amount of civility, and then waited for me to say something. I looked at him for a long time and didn't speak. I'll say this for him: he's a cool one. He didn't break and didn't say anything, and I couldn't even tell whether or not he was angry at having been made to wait. So finally I said:

"Well? What do you want?"

And even then he didn't blink. He said: "I have come to pay my respects to you, who were my father's friend, and to inquire about the steps that may be taken to settle his will. "Your uncle,"I said, "left his affairs in a mess. I would advise you not to wait around in Rome until they're straightened out."

He didn't say anything. I tell you, Sentius, there's something about that boy that rubs me the wrong way. I can't keep my temper around him. I said: "I would also advise you not to use his name quite so freely, as if it were your own. It's not your own, as you well know, and it won't be until the adoption is confirmed by the Senate."

He nodded. "I am grateful for the advice. I use the name as a sign of my reverence, not my ambition. But leaving the question of my name aside, and even my share of the inheritance, there is the matter of the bequest that Caesar made to the citizens. I judge that their temper is such that-"

I laughed at him. "Boy," I said, "this is the last bit of advice I'll give you this morning. Why don't you go back to Apollonia and read your books? It's much safer there. I'll take care of your uncle's affairs in my own way and in my own time."

You can't insult the fellow. He smiled that cold little smile at me and said, "I am pleased to know that my uncle's affairs are in such hands."

I got up from my table and patted him on the shoulder. "That's the boy," I said. "Now you fellows had better get running. I have a busy afternoon ahead of me."

And that was the end of that. I think he knows where he stands, and I don't think he's going to make any very large plans. He's a pompous, unimpressive little fellow, and he would be of no account at all-if only he didn't have some right to the use of that name. That alone won't get him very far, but it has proved annoying.

Enough ofthat. Come to Rome, Sentius, and I promise you that I'll not give you a word of politics. We'll see a mime at Aemelia's house (where, by special permission of a consul who will not be named here, the actresses are allowed to perform without the encumbrance of clothing), and we'll drink as much wine as we can, and contest among the girls which is the better man.

But I do wish the little bastard would leave Rome and take his friends with him.

VIII. Quintus Salvidienus Rufus: Notes for ajournai (44 B. c.)

We have seen Antonius. Apprehensive; enormity of our task. He's against us, clearly; will use whatever means he has to stop us. Clever. Made us feel our youth.

But a most impressive man. Vain, yet boldly so. Cloud-white toga (heavy-muscled brown arms gleaming against it) with bright purple band delicately edged with gold; as big as Agrippa but moves like a cat rather than a bull; big-boned, dark handsome face, tiny white slashes of scars here and there; thin southern nose broken at one time; full lips turned up at corners; large, soft brown eyes that can flash in anger; booming voice that would overwhelm one with affection or force.

Maecenas and Agrippa, each in his way, furious. Maecenas deadly, cold (when he is serious, drops all mannerisms and even his body seems to harden); sees no possibility of conciliation, wants none. Agrippa, usually so stolid, trembles with rage, face flushed, huge fists clenched. But Octavius (we must now call him Caesar in public) seems oddly cheerful, not angry at all. He smiles, talks animatedly, even laughs. (It is the first time he has laughed since Caesar's death.) In his most difficult moment, he seems to have no cares at all. Was his uncle like this in danger? We have heard stories.

Octavius will not talk about our morning. We usually take our baths at one of the public places, but today we go to Octavius's home on the hill; he does not want to talk to strangers about our morning until we have discussed it, he says. We toss a ball among us for a while (note: Agrippa and Maecenas so angry they play badly, dropping the ball, throwing it carelessly, etc. Octavius plays coolly, laughing, with great skill and grace; I catch his mood; we dance around the other two, until they do not know whether they are angry at Antonius or us.) Maecenas flings the ball away and shouts at Octavius: "Fool! Don't you know what we have to face?" Octavius stops dancing about, tries to look contrite, laughs again, goes to him and Agrippa, puts his arms around their shoulders. He says: "I'm sorry; but I can't stop thinking ofthat game we played this morning with Antonius."