Augustus (9 page)

Gaius then made his way up the winding road that led from the Forum to the Capitol, Rome’s citadel, where a great temple of Jupiter stood. Chief of the Olympian divinities, Jupiter was, above all, the god of the civic community, into which he welcomed the new citizen.

As an adult, Gaius was referred to as Octavius, the first of a number of name changes during his life, and that is what he will now be called.

Octavius had matured into a most attractive youth. He was not very tall, perhaps only five feet, six inches, but, writes Suetonius, “with body and limbs so beautifully proportioned, one did not realize how small a man he was, unless someone tall stood close to him.” He had near-blond, curly hair, small teeth, and clear, bright eyes. His eyebrows met above a Roman nose, and his ears were of average size. Birthmarks on his chest and stomach resembled the Big Dipper. His health was delicate and he was prone to illness, although the ancient sources do not reveal what sort.

Nicolaus writes: “He attracted many women because of his good looks and, as a member of the Julian clan, good birth.” Atia was well aware of her son’s charms and, alarmed at what uninvited attentions he might attract, from men as well as from women, continued to keep Octavius firmly under her thumb. Also, thanks to the fact that his great-uncle now held the Republic in his sole control, Octavius was a personality of some importance, who might be able to exert influence on Caesar. He could easily fall victim to every kind of blandishment from those eager to court his favor, and through him that of the all-powerful dictator.

So although Octavius was now officially an adult, his mother would not allow him to leave the house any more freely than he had as a child. She kept him under strict supervision and made him sleep in the same nursery apartment as before. A Roman’s life was circumscribed by numerous rituals, and Octavius attended the temples of the gods on the appropriate days, but he did so after dark to escape attention. According to Nicolaus, who knew him personally in later years, “he was of age only by law, and in other respects was taken care of as a child.” Atia’s fears were rational enough, but it is hard to escape the impression of a woman reluctant to see her son grow up.

Octavian was obedient, but he may have agreed with a friend of later years, the poet Horace, who observed in one of his Epistles:

The year

Drags for orphan boys in the strict care of their mothers.

Caesar had been mysteriously silent for more than six months until at long last, in the summer of 47
B.C.
, letters from him were delivered from Alexandria. He was safe and sound, but had a most curious story to tell, which had its roots in the past relationship between Egypt and Rome.

The once proud and still fabulously rich Ptolemaic kingdom had become one of the Republic’s client states, theoretically independent but subject to political interference by the Senate and leading politicians. Egypt was of special importance to Rome because it was a major exporter of grain.

The ruling dynasty was not of native stock, but descended from one of Alexander the Great’s Macedonian commanders, Ptolemy. When Alexander unexpectedly died at the early age of thirty-three, he had completed the conquest of the Persian empire but had made no effective arrangements for the succession. So a huge territory, stretching from Egypt to the gates of India, was divided up among his generals. Ptolemy grabbed Egypt; he also hijacked the dead king’s embalmed body on its long journey back to Macedon and installed it in a gold and glass coffin in the center of Alexandria, which the new pharaoh made his capital city. He and his successors saw themselves as Greek and showed little interest in their indigenous subjects, except as a source of wealth.

When Caesar arrived at Alexandria with a handful of troops in 48
B.C.
, a boy king, Ptolemy XIII, had succeeded to the throne. One of the conventions that the Macedonian Ptolemies picked up from their Egyptian predecessors was for pharaohs to marry their sisters. A habit of incest could in the long run be genetically damaging, but it had the great advantage of keeping power strictly within the family.

Ptolemy XIII was only eleven years old and not in a position to exercise power. He wedded his sister Cleopatra, who was twenty-one or twenty-two, clever, ambitious, and eager to take the reins. The court hierarchy in the palace at Alexandria was not so keen. They preferred to run the country themselves; the queen was driven out, and the pharaoh married another of his sisters, Arsinoe. Civil strife beckoned.

Caesar offered his impartial adjudication, and Cleopatra realized she needed to make her way into his presence through a ring of troops loyal to her brother if she was to influence his verdict. Together with a friend from Sicily, a merchant called Apollodorus, she embarked on a small boat and landed at the royal harbor when it was getting dark. She stretched herself out full-length inside a bed-linen sack; Apollodorus tied up the bag and carried it indoors to Caesar (in another version of the story she wrapped herself inside a carpet). According to Plutarch, “this little trick of Cleopatra’s, which first showed her provocative impudence, is said to have been the first thing about her which captivated Caesar.”

Caesar soon announced his judgment. Cleopatra and her brother were to reign jointly, with equal rights; while appearing equitable, in practice this shifted the balance of power from the latter to the former. Her opponents called in the royal army—an experienced force of twenty thousand soldiers—which laid siege to Caesar in the royal palace at Alexandria.

Eventually, long-expected reinforcements arrived, and on March 27 Caesar destroyed the royal army in a set-piece battle at the delta of the river Nile. The pharaoh boarded a boat to make his getaway, but the vessel was overturned by panicking soldiers trying to clamber aboard from the water. The hapless boy drowned.

It might have been supposed that, having extricated himself from a very difficult situation brought on by arrogance and carelessness, the dictator of Rome would immediately leave Egypt to conclude the civil war at home and establish his rule on a permanent basis. Nothing of the kind occurred.

Caesar, the fifty-two-year-old womanizer, had fallen for Cleopatra and they began an affair. The queen was attractive, although perhaps not conventionally beautiful. Plutarch reports:

As far as they say, her beauty was not in and for itself incomparable, nor such as to strike the person who was just looking at her; but her conversation had an irresistible charm; and from the one side her appearance, together with the seduction of her speech, from the other her character, which pervaded her actions in an inexplicable way when meeting people, was utterly spell-binding. The sound of her voice was sweet when she talked.

Her appearance on coins of the period ranges from the witchlike to the radiant but does little to confirm this account of a woman whose charm was at its most powerful when she was moving or talking. However, the eyes and lips of a fine marble bust in the Berlin State Museum, which has been identified as being a portrait of her, reveal a fresh, sensuous willfulness.

The queen was very much more than a pretty face. She was highly intelligent and must have received a good education, for she was fluent in many languages, among them Ethiopian, Hebrew, Arabic, Syrian, the languages of the Medes (who lived in Babylonia, or today’s Iraq) and Parthians, and (above all) Egyptian. In an interesting aside, which reveals how seriously Cleopatra took her role as queen, Plutarch notes: “Many rulers of Egypt before her had never even troubled to learn the Egyptian language, and some of them had even given up their native Macedonian dialect [in favor of regular Greek].”

Traveling with a flotilla of four hundred ships, Caesar went for a long cruise up the Nile in Cleopatra’s company to look at the country, and, writes Appian, he “enjoyed himself with her in other ways as well.”

Caesar left Egypt in June 47
B.C.
to deal with a revolt in Asia Minor a few weeks before Cleopatra gave birth to a son, Ptolemy Caesar, derisively nicknamed by the Alexandrian mob Caesarion, or Little Caesar.

By October he was back in Rome, having been away for nine months. Largely thanks to Mark Antony’s incompetence as an administrator, Italy was in disarray and the legions were in a mutinous frame of mind. Cato with fellow optimates had assembled a powerful force in Africa.

Caesar acted fast. First, he dismissed Antony and, with cold brilliance, faced down his troops. Caesar’s relationship with his men was almost that of a love affair. Although from time to time they had lovers’ tiffs, the soldiers adored him and he in turn was utterly loyal to them. Few deserted from his legions. This link of trust and affection to many thousands of soldiers was a political fact of the highest importance and a crucial guarantee of his power.

What is more, many of Caesar’s men came not from Roman Italy but from the provinces of Cisalpine Gaul and Transalpine Gaul. Mostly they were not Roman citizens (as in principle they should have been). They had no compunctions about invading Italy and fighting Romans. They might complain about their length of service, but never about where or against whom their commander was leading them.

It was during this visit to Rome that Octavius definitely met Caesar, if he had not already done so. Caesar made up his mind quickly about people. He was impressed by Octavius, who was growing into a thoughtful and prudent young man, and detected great promise in him. He arranged for the boy to be enrolled as a patrician. The patricians were Rome’s original aristocracy and were distinguished from the plebeians, who made up the rest of the population. They may originally have been the city’s founding citizens; or possibly an “aristocracy of invaders” who lorded it over the native population; or a grouping of royal appointees when Rome was a kingdom. Whatever the truth of the matter, patrician status became a nobility of birth.

The symbolism of Octavius’ promotion was significant. Caesar, as a Julius, was a patrician, but an Octavius, albeit connected through his mother to the Julii, was not. Without going so far as to adopt him, Octavius’ great-uncle was hinting that he regarded Octavius as an honorary member of the Julian clan.

Another signal honor was conferred on the teenager: appointment as
praefectus urbi
(city prefect) during the Feriae Latinae, the Latin Festival. This important ceremony was conducted at a shrine on the Alban Mount (today’s Monte Cavi) some twenty miles south of Rome. The Feriae was originally a celebration of the unity of the Latin League, an alliance of the Latin communities in Latium (Lazio); the Romans took it over for themselves when the league was incorporated into the Republic.

The festival was accompanied by a sacred truce: no battle could be fought while it was taking place. Both the consuls headed a procession from the city to the Alban Mount, on the top of which stood a very ancient shrine to Jupiter. An ox was sacrificed to the god and the victim’s flesh distributed among the towns and cities that made up the community of Latins. Individual towns also offered lambs, cheeses, milk, or cakes. A symbolic game, called
oscillatio,
or swinging, was played and, back in Rome, a four-horse chariot race took place on the Capitoline Hill, the winner of which received as his prize a drink called
absynthium,
or essence of wormwood (perhaps like the absinthe of modern times mixed with wine).

In theory, the
praefectus
was in charge of the city during the consuls’ absence, but the role was temporary and purely symbolic. Octavius presided over a ceremony in the Forum, where he sat on a speaker’s tribunal. According to Nicolaus, many people turned up “for a sight of the boy, for he was well worth looking at.”

Early in December, Caesar was to sail across to the province of Africa, where Cato and ten Pompeian legions were at large. The dictator hoped it would be his final campaign. Now in his seventeenth year, Octavius asked permission to accompany his great-uncle so that he could gain military experience. Atia opposed the idea. He said nothing by way of argument and dutifully agreed to remain at home. Caesar, too, was unwilling for him to take the field. He was worried about his great-nephew’s physical fitness and feared that “he might bring on illness to a weak body through such a sharp change of life-style and so permanently injure his health.”

The African campaign was by no means a walkover. Caesar quickly got into trouble, but fought his way out of it, decisively defeating the enemy near the port of Thapsus. Cato, standard-bearer of the Republic but no military man, had played little direct part in the campaign. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, he now decided to take his own life. In this way he would avoid the humiliation of falling into Caesar’s hands and, worse, having to endure a pardon. After spending the night reading the
Phaedo,
Plato’s great dialogue about the last days of Socrates, he stabbed himself.

For all his intransigence and incompetence when alive, Cato’s death had an enormous impact on public opinion. People remembered his principled incorruptibility, not his blunders. His shining example unforgivingly illuminated Caesar’s selfishness and ambition, which threatened to destroy the centuries-old Republic.

The modern reader may be intrigued by the elite Roman’s propensity to kill himself in adverse circumstances, and indeed, despite undercurrents of popular and religious disapproval, the classical world’s attitude toward suicide was very different from today’s.

People killed themselves in many different ways and for many different reasons, as they have done throughout history. But there was, at least among the upper classes and in military circles, what could be called a culture of suicide. In certain circumstances it was the honorable thing to do, and had about it a certain gloomy glamour.