Colleen McCullough - 6. The October Horse - A Novel of Caesar and Cleopatra

"Come," said Caesar's voice when Octavius knocked. The face Caesar turned to the door was flinty, but softened when its eyes took in who stood there. The pen went down, he rose. "My dear nephew, you lasted the distance. I'm very glad." "I'm glad too, Caesar. I'm just sorry I missed the battle." "Don't be. It wasn't one of my tactical finest, and I lost too many men. Therefore I hope it isn't my last battle. You seem well, but I'll have Hapd'efan'e see you to make sure. Much snow in the passes?" "Mons Genava, yes, but the Pyreneae Pass was fairly good." Octavius sat down. "You were looking particularly grim when I came in, Uncle." "Have you read Cicero's 'Cato'?" "That piece of spiteful twaddle? Yes, it enlivened my sickbed in Rome. I hope you're answering it?" "That was what I was doing when you knocked." Caesar sighed. "People like Calvinus and Messala Rufus don't think I should deign to answer. They believe anything I write will be called petty." "They're probably right, but it still has to be answered. To ignore it is to admit there's truth in it. The people who will call it petty won't want to believe your side anyway. Cicero has charged you with permanently killing the democratic process a Roman's right to run his own life without interference of any kind and Cato's death. Later on, when I have the money, I'll deal with it by buying up every copy of the 'Cato' in existence and burning the lot," said Octavius. "What an interesting ploy! I could do that myself." "No, people would guess who was behind it. Let me do it at some time in the future, after the sensation has died down. How are you approaching your refutation?" "With a few well-aimed barbs at Cicero to begin with. From them, I pass to assassinating Cato's character better than Gaius Cassius did Marcus Crassus's. From the stinginess to the wine to the tame philosophers to the disgraceful way he treated his wives, it will all be there," said Caesar, a purr in his voice. "I am sure that Servilia will be happy to furnish me with the less well-known incidents that have dotted Cato's life."

Which was the commencement of a cadetship for Gaius Octavius that was far removed from the usual. Hoping that he would have an opportunity to further his acquaintance with the fascinating Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, Octavius discovered the day after he arrived that Caesar had other ideas than permitting this contubernalis to associate with his fellows. Once Fortuna landed Caesar in a place, he refused to quit it until it was properly organized. In the case of Further Spain, long a Roman province, the work Caesar undertook was mostly the establishment of Roman colonies. Save for the Fifth Alauda and the Tenth, all the legions he had brought with him to Spain were to be settled in the Further province on generous allotments of very good land taken from Spanish owners who had sided with the Republicans. A colony for Rome's urban poor was to be founded at Urso, rejoicing in the name Colonia Genetiva Julia Urbanorum, but the rest were for veteran soldiers. One was near Hispalis, one near Fidentia, two near Ucubi, and three near New Carthage. Four more were to the west in the lands of the Lusitani. Every colony was to have the full Roman citizenship, and freedmen were to be allowed to sit on the governing council, the latter provision very rare. It became Octavius's job to accompany Caesar in his galloping gig as he went from one site to the next, supervising the division of land, making sure that those who would carry on with the work knew how to do it, issuing the charters outlining colonial laws, bylaws and ordinances, and personally choosing the first lot of citizens who would sit on each governing council. Octavius understood that he was on trial: not only was his competence under review, so too was his health. "I hope," he said to Caesar as they returned from Hispalis, "that I'm of some help to you, Uncle." "Remarkably so," said Caesar, sounding a little surprised. "You have a mind for minutiae, Octavius, and a genuine pleasure in what many men would deem the more boring aspects of this work. If you were lethargic, I'd call you an ideal bureaucrat, but you aren't a scrap slothful. In ten years' time, you'll be able to run Rome for me while I do the things I'm better suited for than running Rome. I don't mind drafting the laws to make her a more functional and functioning place, but I fear I'm not really very suited for staying in one place for years at a time, even if the place is Rome. She rules my heart, but not my feet." By this time they stood on very comfortable terms, and had quite forgotten that more than thirty years lay between them. So Octavius's luminous grey eyes lit with laughter, and he said, "I know, Caesar. Your feet have to march. Can't you postpone the Parthian expedition until I'm a little further along the way to being of real use to you? Rome wouldn't lie down under a mere youth, but I doubt that those you'll have to depute to govern in your absence will lie down either." "Marcus Antonius," said Caesar. "Quite so. Or Dolabella. Calvinus perhaps, but he's not an ambitious enough man to want the job. And Hirtius, Pansa, Pollio and the rest don't have good enough ancestors to keep Antonius or Dolabella in their place. Must you cross the Euphrates so soon?" "There are only two places with the wealth to drag Rome out of her present precarious financial position, nephew Egypt and the Kingdom of the Parthians. For obvious reasons I can't touch Egypt, therefore it has to be the Kingdom of the Parthians." Octavius put his head back against the seat and turned his face toward the flying countryside, unwilling to let Caesar see it in case it betrayed his inner thoughts. "In that respect, I understand why it has to be the Kingdom of the Parthians. After all, Egypt's wealth can't possibly compete." A statement which caused Caesar to laugh until he wiped away tears of mirth. "If you'd seen what I've seen, Octavius, you couldn't say that." "What have you seen?" Octavius asked, looking like a boy. "The treasure vaults," said Caesar, still chuckling. And that would do for the moment. Hasten slowly.

"What a weird job you've got," said Marcus Agrippa to Octavius later that day. "More a secretary's than a cadet's, isn't it?" "To each his own," said Octavius, not resenting the comment. "My talents aren't military, but I think I do have some gifts for government, and working with Caesar so closely is an education in that respect. He talks to me about everything he does, and I why, I listen very hard." "You never told me he's your real uncle." "Strictly speaking, he isn't. He's my great-uncle." "Quintus Pedius says you're his favorite of favorites." "Then Quintus Pedius is indiscreet!" "I daresay he's your first cousin or something. He mutters to himself sometimes," Agrippa said, trying to patch up his own indiscretion. "Are you here for a while?" "Yes, for two nights." "Then come and mess with us tomorrow. We don't have any money, so the food's not much good, but you're welcome." "Us" turned out to be Agrippa and a military tribune named Quintus Salvidienus Rufus, a red-haired Picentine in his middle to late twenties. Salvidienus eyed Octavius curiously. "Everybody talks about you," he said, making room for the guest by shoving various bits of military impedimenta off a bench on to the floor. "Talks about me? Why?" asked Octavius, perching on the bench, an item of furniture he had had little acquaintance with before. "You're Caesar's favorite, for one thing. For another, our boss Pedius says you're delicate can't ride a horse or do proper military duty," Salvidienus explained. A noncombatant brought in the food, which consisted of a tough boiled fowl, a mush of chickpea and bacon, some reasonable bread and oil, and a big dish of superb Spanish olives. "You don't eat much," Salvidienus observed, wolfing food. "I'm delicate," said Octavius, a little waspishly. Agrippa grinned, slopped wine into Octavius's beaker. When the guest sipped it, then abandoned it, his grin grew wider. "No taste for our wine?" he asked. "I have no taste for wine at all. Nor does Caesar." "You're awfully like him in a funny way," Agrippa said. Octavius's face lit up. "Am I? Am I really?" "Yes. There's something of him in your face, which is more than I can say for Quintus Pedius. And you're slightly regal." "I've had a different upbringing," Octavius explained. "Old Pedius's father was a Campanian knight, so he grew up down there. Whereas I've been brought up in Rome. My father died some years ago. My stepfather is Lucius Marcius Philippus." A very well-known name; the other two looked impressed. "An Epicure," said Salvidienus, more knowledgeable than young Agrippa. "Consular too. No wonder you have enough gear for a senior legate." Octavius looked embarrassed. "Oh, that's my mother," he said. "She's always convinced I'm going to die, especially when I'm away from her. I don't honestly need it or use it. Philippus may be an Epicure of the Epicures, but I'm not." He gazed about at the untidy, impoverished room. "I envy you," he said simply, then sighed. "It's no fun being delicate."