Cleopatra and Antony (27 page)

Antony’s actions would have pleased Cleopatra politically as well as giving her the emotional reassurance that she was indeed the only woman in his life. Any reconciliation with Octavian that might threaten their eastern plans was becoming ever more unlikely. The divorce, unsurprisingly, increased Cleopatra’s confidence and perhaps also her hauteur. According to Plutarch, she treated two former consuls, Plancus and his nephew Titius, who had spoken out against her staying with the headquarters, so insolently that they deserted to Octavian. There was probably behind their action more calculation over who would be the most likely victor than this report of Plutarch suggests. Plancus had previously been quite willing to forget his consular dignity and be painted blue, dance, and fawn in other unbecoming ways before Cleopatra. Even historians favorable to Octavian saw him as “diseased with desertion.”

The two ex-consuls certainly would have brought news to Rome of the dissension that surrounded Cleopatra’s position in Antony’s camp. They may also have told Octavian that Antony had entrusted his will to the care of the Vestal Virgins in Rome. Octavian knew that the Roman people and their legions were tired of civil wars and had welcomed his declaration in 36, after his victory over Sextus Pompey, that they were at an end. Furthermore, Antony was respected as Caesar’s trusted lieutenant and avenger. Therefore, if Octavian wished to gain the support of the country to move against Antony he needed to show that Cleopatra had so besotted him that he was a mere puppet in her scheming foreign hands. The news of his divorce from Octavia would certainly help, but Octavian believed that judicious use—or misuse—of Antony’s will might aid his efforts. Therefore he seized the document from the sacred care of the Vestals, illegally entering their temple to do so. He did not publish the will but carefully marked it up, then convened the Senate and read to them what he claimed were extracts, some of which at least he may have fabricated.

The passages he quoted reiterated Antony’s claim that Caesarion was Caesar’s son and detailed legacies to his own children by Cleopatra. But, most important and most suspect, Octavian reported that Antony had given instructions that, even if he died in Rome, his body should be ceremonially escorted through the Forum and then sent to Cleopatra in Egypt for burial in Alexandria. Octavian used the latter provision to emphasize that Antony’s heart now metaphorically lay in Alexandria, as it would do physically in death, and to give credence to the rumors circulating that if Antony was victorious, he and Cleopatra would move the empire’s capital to that city.

Octavian could contrast Antony’s love for Alexandria with his own efforts and those of his supporters to beautify Rome and to improve its public facilities. They had restored public buildings, built public parks, repaired the ancient sewers and constructed the first new aqueducts in generations, as well as new bathhouses. At least for a while, use of the latter was made free, as was the olive oil used to cleanse the skin.

From the content of the surviving propaganda exchanges, from the work produced by Octavian’s court poets such as Horace, Propertius and Vergil shortly after Antony’s defeat and from the writings of the ancient historians, it is clear that Octavian now concentrated his propaganda fire on Cleopatra. He encouraged the Roman people to see the coming conflict as one in which, according to one of his historians, he and Cleopatra would fight respectively “one to save and one to ruin the world.”

Octavian’s first step had to be to show that Antony was indeed entirely subservient to Cleopatra and had thus abandoned even the last shred of the dignity and sense of duty that were the birthright of every Roman. To this end, one of Octavian’s propagandists circulated stories that Antony had publicly massaged Cleopatra’s feet, placing himself in an obviously subordinate position. He also alleged that in the middle of hearing legal pleas from his seat on the podium, Antony had received billets-doux from Cleopatra scratched on tablets of onyx and crystal and had read them immediately.

Additionally, on one occasion, while listening to a speech by a highly respected Roman, Antony had suddenly seen Cleopatra passing by in a litter and had leapt to his feet, quitting the court in midsession to accompany her while clinging to the litter. He was in any case said regularly to follow behind Cleopatra’s litter on foot among the company of her eunuchs.
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Other writers described how Antony became “the Egyptian woman’s slave and devoted his time to his passion for her, causing him to do many outrageous things.” Sometimes Cleopatra was credited with bewitching Antony so that he became “a slave to passion and the sorcery of Cleopatra.”

Octavian’s propaganda purported to show how, under Cleopatra’s influence, Antony had been led into the self-indulgence that was such a serious and disabling vice in Roman eyes and “degenerated into a monster.” Egyptian court life had so corrupted him that he had assumed the trappings of royalty, another ready trigger for Roman disdain, by appearing in a purple jeweled robe with a golden scepter; all he had needed was “a crown to make him a king dallying with a queen.” Others went so far as to say Antony had become so effete as to use a golden chamber pot, “an enormity of which even Cleopatra would have been ashamed,” and, equally decadently, a mosquito net, something that no hardy Roman should ever contemplate. Octavian even criticized Antony’s florid speechmaking, suggesting he was a madman for wanting “to be admired rather than understood” and for bringing into “our language the wordy and meaningless gush of Asiatic orators.”

Octavian summed up his view of Antony:

Misogynism was another easy totem to excite the crowd. Just as Fulvia’s behavior had been put down to sexual frustration, so Octavian and his propagandists condemned Cleopatra’s domination of Antony as unnatural. They alleged that, in her thrall, “he plays the woman and has worn himself out with lust.” Cleopatra was at fault for using her wiles on Antony, not Antony for, Adam-like, succumbing to them. Cleopatra’s “unchastity cost Rome dear.” Writings and illustrations of the period often compare Antony under Cleopatra’s rule to his hero Heracles under the thumb of Omphale, queen of Lydia. Plutarch captured this thread of Octavian’s propaganda when he wrote, “Antony like Heracles in paintings where Omphale is seen removing his club and stripping off his lionskin was frequently disarmed by Cleopatra, subdued by her spells and persuaded to let slip from his hands great tasks and necessary campaigns only to roam and disport with her on the seashores by the Nile.”

Octavian was implicitly encouraging his soldiers to suppress Cleopatra to ensure that no woman made herself the equal of a man, nudging them to think what this might mean in more domestic contexts. Cleopatra was both a head of state and a commander in chief, positions to which no Roman woman could aspire, despite the political influence some wielded behind the scenes. In Octavian’s eyes, in proclaiming Cleopatra “Queen of Kings,” Antony was simultaneously disregarding not one but two Roman tenets—those of men’s superiority to women and the immorality of monarchy. In portraying Cleopatra and the east as a real threat to Rome, Octavian suggested that she and Antony wished to rule Italy, that her favorite oath was “as surely as I shall dispense justice on the Capitol” and that she regularly boasted that she and her eunuchs would dine on the Capitol, Rome’s most sacred place. He could use Antony’s insistence on Caesarion’s paternity to suggest that the two wished to found a ruling Roman–Egyptian dynasty. However, he had to be careful not to prompt questions as to why, if Cleopatra was such a witch, his adoptive father had not only been seduced by her but invited her to Rome and placed her statue in one of the city’s holy temples, where it still remained.

In conjuring this eastern menace, Octavian was able to call on any number of anti-Roman prophecies of considerable age. One such, that of the so-called mad praetor, known to have circulated for at least a century, foretold how a mighty army would come from the east to enslave Rome. Others, related to the Sibylline prophecies, were frankly millennial and apocalyptic and spoke of a woman’s rule, after which would come damnation:

While this torrent of propaganda may have engulfed some of the waver-ers in Italy and convinced them that in fighting against Cleopatra they would be fighting to protect the Roman way of life, others remained more concerned with practical, parochial matters. Octavian was desperate for funds. First he compelled freedmen to pay a tax of one eighth of their capital assets. When this failed to yield enough, he imposed a kind of income tax of some 25 percent on the free population, including those same unfortunate freedmen.
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Unsurprisingly, the Italian public grew resentful—a resentment that sporadically boiled over into rioting and arson, quickly suppressed by Octavian’s troops.

As part of his pretense of unity, Octavian induced the population to take an oath of loyalty to him, later boasting that “the whole of Italy of its own free will swore loyalty to me, and asked me to take charge of the war that I won at Ac-tium. The provinces of the Gauls, the Spains, Africa, Sicily and Sardinia swore in the same way.” Surviving records do not reveal how the idea of the oath was instigated or promulgated or indeed relate its formal wording, although, clearly and tellingly, it referred to personal loyalty to Octavian, not to the Senate or other apparatus of the Roman republic. However much Octavian’s propagandists railed against Antony’s pretensions to monarchy, Rome was pledging loyalty to another autocrat. The shrewd political skill underlying the oath was that to refuse to make such a relatively anodyne pledge would single out a man for special surveillance if not immediate attention.

Even discounting the inevitable bias of the histories, it is hard not to see Octavian as setting the agenda throughout this period and Antony reacting to it. Antony, in turn, tried to bolster his diverse coalition by administering oaths of his own to his supporters and allies. Cut off from Rome, he had recruited many of his legions from the east by offering the men Roman citizenship, with its advantages such as immunity from torture and the right to trial in Rome—a right taken advantage of by Saint Paul a century later. Now, to reinforce the legions’ status, Antony had minted a series of silver and gold coins—enough to celebrate each of his thirty legions, his bodyguard and his scout unit individually. Each coin displayed the appropriate eagle, standards and name or number on one side, while the other showed a warship from Antony’s fleet.

Despite the mutual oath swearing, there were still those who hoped for reconciliation. Some of Antony’s friends in Italy, sensing that the damage that Octavian’s propaganda against Cleopatra was doing was being aggravated by her presence at the heart of Antony’s headquarters, sent an envoy to Antony. Named Gaius Geminius, the envoy’s remit was to urge Antony again to dismiss Cleopatra from his presence and to focus more effort on outmaneuvering Octavian’s attempt to isolate him politically. Plutarch recounted what happened: