Mark Antony was in a foul mood as his legions marched north, snapping at anyone foolish enough to address him. The Via Appia was a wonder: six paces wide and well drained for hundreds of miles. Only on such a smooth surface could the legions make twenty to thirty miles a day, the legionaries counting off each milestone as they reached it. The problem was that he had not intended to go anywhere near Rome. One dusty and exhausted messenger from the Senate had changed all his plans.
Mark Antony stared into the distance, as if he could see the Senate waiting for his triumphant return. He felt them there, like a nest of spiders twitching threads that ran under his feet. He shook his head free of the image, still struggling with sheer disbelief. Octavian had to be insane to have attempted such a rash move! What was the boy thinking? The anger he had caused was there to be read in the Senate orders. Bibilus, Hirtius and Pansa had sealed it with the Senate symbol, the visible sign of their authority over all legions. Mark Antony was ordered back with all speed and one purpose – to destroy the upstart in the forum.
The men ahead began to cheer and Mark Antony dug in his heels and trotted forward to see what had pleased them. The road had been rising gently for most of the morning, cutting through chalk hills in great clefts that represented years of labour. He knew before he saw it, catching a hint of salt on the cool breeze. The Mare Tyrrhenum came into sight at the head of the column, a dark blue vastness on his left shoulder. It meant Rome was no more than a hundred miles further along the road and he would have to decide soon where to rest the men and let the camp followers catch up.
The cheering rippled oddly down the lines of marching men, as each century caught the same view and hollered out for good luck, proud of the pace they had set. Mark Antony drew his mount aside for a time, watching them pass and nodding with stern satisfaction to anyone who sought out his gaze. He had not told them yet that they were going home.
Mark Antony thought in frowning silence, weighing the problems before him. Two full legions had broken their oaths and mutinied for a boy who called himself Caesar. If the name had that sort of effect, he could not trust that the Senate would be able to contain him. All Mark Antony’s instincts told him to strike north, to continue with his original plans against Decimus Junius. The legions of Brundisium had refused to answer orders once already. They’d come close to cutting Mark Antony to pieces when they thought he was one of those who had sanctioned Caesar’s murder. What would they do when they discovered he had been ordered to attack the man’s heir? Gods, it was impossible! The far north under Decimus Junius was ripe for plucking and he had the forces to do it. Yet he dared not leave Octavian with two legions answering to him. The real Caesar had achieved much with fewer men.
He looked back down the marching ranks, taking solace from the sight of thirty thousand soldiers. If they kept discipline, he knew he could force Octavian to surrender. Let the Senate worry about what to do with him after that, he thought. While men like Bibilus debated his fate, there would be no one watching Mark Antony. He could still take the legions north.
The walls of Rome were not as high as many of the buildings they contained. Even at night, looking inward, the dark masses of tenement blocks rose above the three men standing on the stone walkway above a gate. The poorest families lived as high as six or even seven storeys up, without running water and in the unhappy knowledge that they could not possibly escape a fire. To Octavian, the gleam of oil lamps at their open windows seemed like low stars in the distance, too high to be part of the city at his feet.
Agrippa and Maecenas leaned against the inner part of the wall. The city itself had not been threatened since the slave army of Spartacus, but the defences were still maintained, with an entire network of support buildings and access steps. In more normal times, it would be one of the duties of city guards to walk the walls, more often to remove gangs of children or pairs of young lovers than because of any threat to the city. Yet such mundane tasks had been ignored since the legions occupied the forum and the entire city waited in fear for the tension to break. The three friends were alone, with the empty walkway stretching in both directions. Even so, they kept their voices low, constantly aware that the Senate would love to overhear what they planned.
‘You don’t need to worry about Silva and Paulinius,’ Agrippa said. ‘They won’t change their loyalties again, no matter what the senators promise or threaten. It would cost them too much – the gods alone know what sort of punishment the Senate would impose. Execution of the senior ranks at the very least. Their lives are bound up with ours, as things stand.’
Octavian looked at him, nodding. The moon was approaching full and the stars were bright enough to wash the city in pale light. He felt exposed on the wall, but he had to admit it was more private than anywhere else. Idly, he kicked a small stone off the sandy surface, watching it vanish into the darkness below.
‘I’m not worried about their loyalty. What worries me is what we are going to do when the consul comes back from Brundisium with six legions.’
Agrippa looked away, reluctant to say what he had been thinking during the days of negotiation with the Senate. There had been a sense of progress before that afternoon, when the messenger to Mark Antony made it back to Rome. In just an hour, the Senate had regained some of their wavering confidence and the news of returning legions had spread across an already fearful city. Agrippa kicked irritably at a loose stone. The meeting on the wall was not to discuss how to turn the negotiations into a triumph, but how to prevent destruction and dishonour.
Maecenas cleared his throat, leaning back against the wall as he regarded both men.
‘So, gentlemen, we are in a difficult spot. Tell me if I have it wrong, won’t you? If we do nothing, we have the Senate’s legions just a few days’ march away. We don’t have enough men to hold the walls, not for long. If we use the time left to execute Gaius Trebonius, Suetonius, perhaps Bibilus and a few others, we will only anger the consul further and make him even less willing to keep us alive. You will not abandon the legions here and run for the hills …?’
‘No,’ Octavian muttered.
Maecenas blew out air, disappointed.
‘Then I think we are going to be killed in a few days and our heads put on this wall as a warning to others. At least, well, at least there is a view.’
‘There has to be a way out of this!’ Octavian said. ‘If I could make those whoreson senators grant me just one concession, I could withdraw the legions in something that would not be utter defeat.’
‘As soon as they understood you weren’t going to have them dragged out and slaughtered, they knew they had won,’ Maecenas went on. ‘There is still time for that, at least. You’ll get your concession – your Lex Curiata, say – then we can withdraw to somewhere Mark Antony won’t feel stung into attacking. Remaining in the forum is the problem. He has to respond to that!’
Octavian shook his head without reply. They had discussed it many times, but it was a line he would not cross. In his desperation, he had considered a few judicious murders, but such an action would destroy how he was seen in the city. If he ever faced the Liberatores in the field, it would be very different, but his entire position rested on him being a champion for the old Republic and the rule of law. Even Caesar had kept the Senate benches filled and refused to call himself a king. Octavian hawked phlegm into his throat and spat out his irritation. The amnesty could be overturned, he was certain, but he had not yet found the lever he needed to do it.
‘You haven’t tried bribery yet,’ Agrippa said, making them both turn towards him. In the moonlight, he shrugged. ‘What? You said you’d listen to anything.’
‘They think they have only to wait to see us crumple and fail,’ Octavian said, bitterness flooding his voice. ‘There’s nothing I can offer them that they won’t think they can have anyway when I am dead.’
Maecenas moved off the wall, looking up at the bright moon. After a time, he nodded.
‘Then we’re done. You can’t stay for a pointless gesture that will see us all killed and two legions destroyed. All you can do is march the men out of Rome and put this down to experience. It’s a loss, but you’ll learn from it if you survive.’
Octavian opened his mouth, but despair stole away any words. He could not shake the feeling that Caesar would see a way through. It was partly an echo of that man that had pushed him into occupying the forum in the first place, but since that day, nothing had worked out the way he’d hoped.
Agrippa saw the desolation in his friend and spoke, his deep voice rumbling.
‘You know, Caesar lost his first battle in the civil war. He was captured not too far from this gate and held for torture. He lost everything, his uncle, his position, his wealth, everything. It is not the end to fail and move on, is it? As long as you are alive, you can begin again.’
‘I have two legions in the centre of Rome and for the next few days, no one is close enough to stop me,’ Octavian snapped suddenly. ‘There must be some choices left. There must be!’
‘Only the ones you won’t consider,’ Maecenas replied. ‘At least let me send a century to take Suetonius. I could do it tonight, Octavian, while the pompous little shit is asleep. What does it matter now to talk of trials and formal execution? You don’t have the power for such things, not today. But you can do that much.’
Octavian looked south, to where the Via Appia stretched into the distance. It would not be too long before the consul’s legions came marching up that wide road. He could see them in his mind’s eye, bringing an end to all his hopes.
‘No,’ he said, his fists clenched. ‘I’ve told you. They are the ones who plotted and moved in secret. They are the murderers. If I am not the defender of the Republic, if I show so little respect for the law that I can butcher a senator in his house, I have no standing at all, no call on the people of Rome.’ He made a bitter decision, weighed down by impossible choices. ‘Get the legions ready to march. We have a few days still. Perhaps I can wring something from those theatre fools by then.’