Читать книгу Antony and Cleopatra - Колин Маккалоу, Colleen McCullough - Страница 12

FIVE

When Antony arrived in Athens in May, the governor Censorinus was very busy in the far north of Macedonia fighting barbarian incursions, therefore not present to greet his superior. Antony was not in a good mood; his friend Barbatius had turned out to be no friend. The moment Barbatius heard that Antony was having a wonderful time in Egypt, he quit his post with the legions in Ephesus and went to Italia. Where, as Antony now discovered, he had further muddied the waters that Antony had neglected to clear. What Barbatius said to Pollio and Ventidius had caused the one to retreat to the Padus marshes and the other to dither ineffectually just out of range of Octavian, Agrippa and Salvidienus.

The source of most of this extremely unpalatable news from Italia was Lucius Munatius Plancus, whom Antony found occupying the chief legate’s apartment in the Athens residence.

‘Lucius Antonius’s whole enterprise was a disaster,’ Plancus said, choosing his words. Somehow he had to deliver an accurate report without putting himself in a bad light, for at the moment he could see no opportunity to switch to Octavian’s side, his only other option. ‘On New Year’s Eve the Perusians tried to break through Agrippa’s siege walls – no luck. Neither Pollio nor Ventidius would move to engage Octavianus’s armies, though Octavianus was badly outnumbered. Pollio kept insisting that – ah – he wasn’t sure what you wanted him to do, and Ventidius would follow no one’s lead except Pollio’s. After Barbatius spun his tales of your – ah – debaucheries – his word, not mine!, Pollio was so disgusted that he refused to commit himself or his legions to getting your brother out of Perusia. The city fell not long into the new year.’

‘And where were you and your legions, Plancus?’ Antony asked, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

‘Closer to Perusia than Pollio or Ventidius! I went to ground in Spoletium to form the southern jaw of a pincer strategy that never happened.’ He sighed, shrugged. ‘I also had Fulvia in my camp, and she was being very difficult.’ He loved her, yes, but he loved his own skin more. Antonius wouldn’t execute Fulvia for treason, after all. ‘Agrippa had the gall to steal my best two legions, can you believe that? I had sent them to help Claudius Nero in Campania, then Agrippa appeared and offered the men better terms. Yes, Agrippa defeated Nero with my two legions! Nero had to flee to Sicilia and Sextus Pompeius. Apparently some elements in Rome were talking of killing wives and families, because Nero’s wife, Livia Drusilla, took her small son and joined Nero.’ At which point Plancus frowned, looked uncertain how to proceed.

‘Out with it, Plancus, out with it!’

‘Ah – your revered mother, Julia, fled with Livia Drusilla to Sextus Pompeius.’

‘If I had stopped to think about her, which I didn’t because I try not to, that is exactly the sort of thing she’d do. Oh, what a wonderful world we live in!’ Antony clenched his fists. ‘Wives and mothers living in army camps, behaving as if they knew which end of a sword was which – pah!’ A visible effort, and he simmered down. ‘My brother – I suppose he’s dead, but you haven’t yet managed to screw up the courage to tell me, Plancus?’

Finally he could convey a piece of good news! ‘No, no, my dear Marcus! Far from it! When Perusia opened its gates, some local magnate got overenthusiastic about the size and splendor of his funeral pyre, and the whole city burned to the ground. A worse disaster than the siege. Octavianus executed twenty prominent citizens, but exacted no revenge on Lucius’s troops. They were incorporated into Agrippa’s legions. Lucius begged pardon, and was granted it freely. Octavianus gave him Further Spain to govern, and he left for it at once. He was, I think, a happy man.’

‘And was this dictatorial appointment sanctioned by the Senate and People of Rome?’ Antony asked, part relieved, part outraged. Curse Lucius! Always trying to outdo his big brother Marcus, never succeeding.

‘It was,’ said Plancus. ‘Some objected to it—’

‘Favored treatment for the bald-headed Forum demagogue?’

‘Er – well, yes, the phrase was used. I can give you the names. However, Lucius was consul last year and your uncle Hybrida is censor, so most people felt that Lucius deserved his pardon and appointment. He should be able to have a nice little war with the Lusitani and triumph when he comes home.’

Antony grunted. ‘Then he’s wriggled out of things better than he deserves. Utter idiocy from start to finish! Though I’d be willing to bet that Lucius just followed orders. This was Fulvia’s war. Where is she?’

Plancus opened his brown eyes wide. ‘Here, in Athens. She and I fled together. At first we didn’t think that Brundisium would let us – it’s passionately for Octavianus, as always; but I gather Octavianus sent word that we were to be allowed to leave Italia, provided we took no troops with us.’

‘So we have established that Fulvia is in Athens, but whereabouts in Athens?’

‘Atticus gave her the use of his domus here.’

‘Big of him! Always likes to have a foot in both camps, does our Atticus. But what makes him think I’m going to be glad to see Fulvia?’

Plancus sat mute, unsure what answer Antony wanted to hear.

‘And what else has happened?’

‘Don’t you call that enough?’

‘Not unless it’s a full report.’

‘Well, Octavianus got no money out of Perusia to fund his activities, though from somewhere he manages to pay his legions sufficient to keep their men on his side.’

‘Caesar’s war chest must be emptying fast.’

‘Do you really think he took it?’

‘Of course he took it! What’s Sextus Pompeius doing?’

‘Blocking the sea lanes and pirating all the grain from Africa. His admiral Menodorus invaded Sardinia and threw Lurius out, which means Octavianus has no source of grain left, save what he can buy from Sextus at grossly inflated rates – up to twenty-five or thirty sesterces the modius.’ Plancus gave a small mew of envy. ‘That’s where all the money is – in Sextus Pompeius’s coffers. What does he intend to do with it: take over Rome and Italia? Daydreams! The legions love big bonuses, but they’d not fight for the man who starves their grannies to death. Which is why, I daresay,’ Plancus went on in a reflective voice, ‘he has to enlist slaves and make freedmen admirals. Still, one day you’re going to have to wrest the money off him, Antonius. If you don’t, perhaps Octavianus will – and you need the money more.’

Antony sneered. ‘Octavianus win a sea battle against a man as experienced as Sextus Pompeius? With Murcus and Ahenobarbus as allies? I’ll deal with Sextus Pompeius when the time comes, but not yet. He spells failure for Octavianus.’

Knowing she looked her best, Fulvia waited eagerly for her husband. Though the few grey hairs didn’t show in her mop of ice-brown hair, she had made her woman painstakingly pluck every one before dressing it in the latest fashion. Her dark red gown hugged the curves of her breasts before falling in a straight sheet that showed no hint of a protruding belly or thickened waist. Yes, thought Fulvia, preening, I carry my age very well. I am still one of Rome’s most beautiful women.

Of course she knew about Antony’s merry little winter in Alexandria; Barbatius had tattled far and wide. But that was a man’s thing, and none of her business. Did he philander with a Roman woman of high estate, it would be different. Her claws would be out in a moment. But when a man was away for months, sometimes years on end, no sensible wife stuck in Rome would think the worse of him for getting rid of his dirty water. And darling Antonius had a penchant for queens, princesses, women of the high foreign nobility. To bed one of them made him feel as much like a king as any republican Roman could tolerate. Having met Cleopatra when she stayed in Rome before Caesar’s assassination, Fulvia understood that it was her title and her power that had attracted Antony. Physically she was far from the lusty, strapping women he preferred. Also, she was enormously wealthy, and Fulvia knew her husband; he would have been after her money.

So when Atticus’s steward appeared to tell her that Marcus Antonius was in the atrium, Fulvia gave a shudder to settle her draperies and flew down the long, austere corridor from her rooms to where Antony was waiting.

‘Antonius! Oh, meum mel, how wonderful to see you!’ she cried from the doorway.

He had been studying a magnificent painting of Achilles sulking by his ships, and turned at the sound of her voice.

After that, Fulvia didn’t know what exactly happened, his movements were so fast. What she felt was a crashing slap to the side of her face that knocked her sprawling. Then he was looming over her, his fingers locked in her hair, and dragging her to her feet. The open-handed blows rained on her face, no less huge and hurtful than another man’s fist; teeth loosened, her nose broke.

‘You stupid cunnus!’ he roared, still striking her. ‘You stupid, stupid cunnus! Who do you think you are, Gaius Caesar?’

Blood was gushing from her mouth and nose, and she, who had met every challenge of an eventful life with fierce fire, was helpless, shattered. Someone was screaming, and it must have been her, for servants came running from all directions, took one look, and fled.

‘Idiot! Strumpet! What do you mean, going to war against Octavianus in my name? Frittering away what money I had left in Rome, Bononia, Mutina? Buying legions for the likes of Plancus to lose? Living in a war camp? Who do you think you are, to assume that men like Pollio would take orders from you? A woman? Bullying and bluffing my brother in my name? He’s a moron! He always was a moron! If I needed any further proof of that, his throwing in with a woman is it! You’re beneath contempt!’

Spitting with rage, he pushed her roughly to the floor; still screaming, she scrambled away like a crippled beast, tears flowing now faster than the blood.

‘Antonius, Antonius! I thought to please you! Manius said it would please you!’ she cried thickly. ‘I was continuing your fight in Italia while you were busy with the East! Manius said!’

It came out in mumbled snatches; hearing ‘Manius’, suddenly his temper died. Her Greek freedman, a serpent. In truth, he hadn’t known until he saw her how angry he was, how the fury had festered in him throughout his voyage from Ephesus. Perhaps had he done as he had originally planned and sailed straight from Antioch to Athens, he might not have been so enraged.

More men than Barbatius were talking in Ephesus, and not all about his winter with Cleopatra. Some joked that, in his family, he wore the dresses while Fulvia wore the armor. Others sniggered that at least one Antonian had waged a war, even if a female. He had had to pretend he didn’t overhear any of these remarks, but his temper built. Learning the full story from Plancus had not helped, nor the grief that had consumed him until he found out that Lucius was safe and well. Their brother, Gaius, had been murdered in Macedonia, and only the execution of his killer had assuaged the pain. He, their big brother, loved them.

Love for Fulvia, he thought, looking down at her scornfully, was gone forever. Stupid, stupid cunnus! Wearing the armor and publicly emasculating him.

‘I want you gone from this house by tomorrow,’ he said, her right wrist in his hold, dragging her into a sitting position under Achilles. ‘Let Atticus keep his charity for the deserving. I’ll be writing to him today to tell him that, and he can’t afford to offend me, no matter how much money he has. You’re a disgrace as a wife and a woman, Fulvia! I want nothing more to do with you. I will send you notice of divorce immediately.’

‘But,’ she said, sobbing, ‘I fled without money or property, Marcus! I need money to live!’

‘Apply to your bankers. You’re a rich woman and sui iuris.’ He began yelling for the servants. ‘Clean her up and then kick her out!’ he said to the steward, who was almost fainting in fear. He turned on his heel and was gone.

Fulvia sat against the wall for a long time, hardly conscious of the terrified girls who bathed her face, tried to staunch the bleeding and the tears. Once she had laughed at hearing of this or that woman and her broken heart, believing that no heart could break. Now she knew differently. Marcus Antonius had broken her heart beyond mending.

Word flew around Athens of how Antony had treated his wife, but few who heard had much sympathy for Fulvia, who had done the unforgivable: usurped men’s prerogatives. The tales of her exploits in the Forum when married to Publius Clodius came out for an airing, together with the scenes she created outside the Senate House doors, and her possible collaboration with Clodius when he had profaned the rites of the Bona Dea.

Not that Antony cared what Athens said. He, a Roman man, knew that the city’s Roman men would think no worse of him.

Besides, he was busy writing letters, an arduous task. His first was curt and short, to Titus Pomponius Atticus, informing him that Imperator Marcus Antonius, Triumvir, would thank him if he kept his nose out of Marcus Antonius’s affairs, and have nothing to do with Fulvia. His second was to Fulvia, informing her that she was hereby divorced for unwomanly conduct, and that she was forbidden to see her two sons by him. His third was to Gnaeus Asinius Pollio, asking him what on earth was going on in Italia, and would he kindly keep his legions ready to march south in case he, Marcus Antonius, was denied entry to the country by the Octavianus-loving populace of Brundisium? His fourth was to the ethnarch of Athens, thanking that worthy for his city’s kindness and loyalty to (implied) the right Romans; therefore it pleased Imperator Marcus Antonius, Triumvir, to gift Athens with the island of Aegina and some other minor isles associated with it. That ought to make the Athenians happy, he thought.

He might have written more letters, were it not for the arrival of Tiberius Claudius Nero, who paid him a formal call the moment he had installed his wife and toddling son in good lodgings nearby.

‘Faugh!’ Nero exclaimed, nostrils flaring. ‘Sextus Pompeius is a barbarian! Though what else could one expect from a member of an upstart clan from Picenum? You can have no idea what kind of headquarters he keeps – rats, mice, rotting garbage. I didn’t dare expose my family to the filth and disease, though they weren’t the worst Pompeius had to offer. We hadn’t unpacked our belongings before some of his dandified “admiral” freedmen were sniffing around my wife – I had to chop a slice out of some low fellow’s arm! And would you believe it, Pompeius actually sided with the cur? I told him what I thought, then I put Livia Drusilla and my son on the next ship for Athens.’

Antony listened to this with dreamy memories in his head of how Caesar felt about Nero – ‘inepte’ was the kindest word Caesar could find to describe him. Gaining more from what Nero didn’t say, Antony decided that Nero had arrived at Sextus Pompeius’s lair, strutted around it like a cockerel, carped and criticized, and finally made himself so intolerable that Sextus had thrown him out. A more insufferable snob than Nero would be hard to find, and the Pompeii were very sensitive about their Picentine origins.

‘So what do you intend to do now, Nero?’ he asked.

‘Live within my means, which are not limitless,’ Nero said stiffly, his dark, saturnine countenance growing even prouder.

‘And your wife?’ Antony asked slyly.

‘Livia Drusilla is a good wife. She does as she’s told, which is more than you can say about your wife!’

A typical Neronian statement; he seemed to have no inbuilt monitor to warn him that some things were best left unsaid. I ought, thought Antony savagely, to seduce her! What a life she must lead, married to this inepte!

‘Bring her to dinner this afternoon, Nero,’ he said jovially. ‘Think of it as money saved – no need to send your cook to the market until tomorrow.’

‘I thank you,’ Nero said, unwinding to his full, spindling height. Left arm cuddling folds of toga, he stalked out, leaving Antony chuckling softly.

Plancus came in, horror written large upon his face. ‘Oh, Edepol, Antonius! What’s Nero doing here?’

‘Apart from insulting everyone he meets? I suspect that he made himself so unwelcome in Sextus Pompeius’s headquarters that he was told to leave. You can come to dinner this afternoon and share the joys of his company. He’s bringing his wife, who must be a terrible bore to put up with him. Just who is she?’

‘His cousin – fairly close, actually. Her father was a Claudius Nero adopted by the famous tribune of the plebs, Livius Drusus, hence her name, Livia Drusilla. Nero is the son of Drusus’s blood brother, Tiberius Nero. Of course she’s an heiress – a lot of money in the Livius Drusus family. Once, Cicero hoped Nero would marry his Tullia, but she preferred Dolabella. A worse husband in most ways, but at least he was a merry fellow. Didn’t you move in those circles when Clodius was alive, Antonius?’

‘I did. And you’re right, Dolabella was good company. But it’s not Nero gives your face that look, Plancus. What’s up?’

‘A packet from Ephesus. I had one too, but yours is from your cousin Caninius, so it ought to say more.’ Plancus sat in the client’s chair facing Antony across the desk, eyes bright.

Antony broke the seal, unrolled his cousin’s epistle and mumbled his way through it, a long business accompanied by frowns and curses. ‘I wish,’ he complained, ‘that more men had taken Caesar’s hint and put a dot over the beginning of a new word. I do it now, so do Pollio, Ventidius and – though I hate to say it – Octavianus. Turns a continuous scrawl into something a man can read almost at a glance.’ He went back to his mumbling, finally sighed and put the scroll down.

‘How can I be in two places at once?’ he asked Plancus. ‘By rights I should be in Asia Province shoring it up against attack from Labienus, instead I’m forced to sit closer to Italia and keep my legions within call. Pacorus has overrun Syria and all the petty princelings have thrown in their lot with the Parthians, even Amblichus. Caninius says that Saxa’s legions defected to Pacorus – Saxa was forced to flee to Apamaea, then took ship for Cilicia. No one has heard from him since, but rumor has it that his brother was killed in Syria. Labienus is busy overrunning Cilicia Pedia and eastern Cappadocia.’

‘And of course there are no legions east of Ephesus.’

‘Nor will there be in Ephesus, I’m afraid. Asia Province will have to fend for itself until I can sort out the mess in Italia. I’ve already sent to Caninius to bring the legions to Macedonia,’ said Antony, sounding grim.

‘Is that your only course?’ Plancus asked, paling.

‘Definitely. I’ve given myself the rest of this year to deal with Rome, Italia and Octavianus, so for the rest of this year the legions will be camped around Apollonia. If they’re known to be on the Adriatic, that will tell Octavianus that I mean to squash him like a bug.’

‘Marcus,’ Plancus wailed, ‘everyone is fed up with civil war, and what you’re talking is civil war! The legions won’t fight!’

‘My legions will fight for me,’ said Antony.

Livia Drusilla entered the governor’s residence with all her usual composure, creamy lids lowered over her eyes, which she knew were her best feature. Hide them! As always, she walked a little behind Nero because a good wife did, and Livia Drusilla had vowed to be a good wife. Never, she had sworn, hearing what Antony had done to Fulvia, would she put herself in that position! To don armor and wave a sword about, one would have to be a Hortensia, who had only done it to demonstrate to the leaders of the Roman state that the women of Rome from highest to lowest would never consent to being taxed when they didn’t have the right to vote. Hortensia won the encounter, a bloodless victory, at considerable embarrassment to the Triumvirs Antony, Octavian and Lepidus.

Not that Livia Drusilla intended to be a mouse; she simply masqueraded as someone small and meek and a trifle timid. Huge ambition burned in her, inchoate because she had no idea how she was going to seize that ambition, turn it into a productive thing. Certainly it was shaped in an absolutely Roman mold, which meant no unfeminine behavior, no putting herself forward, no unsubtle manipulating. Not that she wanted to be another Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi, worshipped by some women as a truly Roman goddess because she had suffered, borne children, seen them die, never complained of her lot. No, Livia Drusilla sensed that there had to be another way to reach the heights.

The trouble was that three years of marriage had shown her beyond all doubt that the way was not through Tiberius Claudius Nero. Like most girls of her exalted station, she hadn’t known Nero very well before they married, for all that he was her close cousin. Nothing in him, on the few occasions when they had met, had inspired anything in her save contempt for his stupidity and an instinctive detestation of his person. Dark herself, she admired men with golden hair and light eyes. Intelligent herself, she admired men with great intelligence. On neither count could Nero qualify. She had been fifteen when her father Drusus had married her to his first cousin Nero, and in the house where she grew up there had been no priapic wall paintings or phallic lamps whereby a girl might learn something about physical love. So union with Nero had revolted her. He too preferred golden-haired, light-eyed lovers; what pleased him in his wife were her noble ancestry and her fortune.

Only how to be shriven of Tiberius Claudius Nero when she was determined to be a good wife? It didn’t seem possible unless someone offered him a better marriage, and that was highly unlikely. Her cleverness had shown her very early in their marriage that people disliked Nero, tolerated him only because of his patrician status and his consequent right to occupy all the offices that Rome offered her nobility. And oh, he bored her! Many were the tales she had heard about Cato Uticensis, Caesar’s greatest enemy, and his tactless, prating personality, but to Livia Drusilla he seemed an ecstatic god compared to Nero. Nor could she like the son she had borne Nero ten months after their wedding; little Tiberius was dark, skinny, tall, solemn and a trifle sanctimonious, even at two years of age. He had fallen into the habit of criticizing his mother because he heard his father do so and, unlike most small children, he had spent his life thus far in his father’s company. Livia Drusilla suspected that Nero preferred to keep her and little Tiberius close in case some pretty fellow with Caesarean charm tampered with his wife’s virtue. What an irritation that was! Didn’t the fool know that she would never demean herself in that way?

The housebound existence she had led until Nero embarked upon his disastrous Campanian venture in Lucius Antonius’s cause had not allowed her as much as a glimpse of any of the famous men all Rome talked about; she hadn’t laid eyes on Marcus Antonius, Lepidus, Servilius Vatia, Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus, Octavianus, or even Caesar, dead in her fifteenth year. Therefore today was exciting, though nothing in her demeanor showed that: she was going to dine with Marcus Antonius, the most powerful man in the world!

A pleasure that almost didn’t happen when Nero discovered that Antony was one of those disgracefully fast fellows who let women recline on the men’s couches.

‘Unless my wife has a chair, I am leaving!’ Nero said with his customary tact.

Had Antony not already found the little oval face of Nero’s wife bewitching, the upshot of that remark would have been a roar and expulsion; as it was, Antony grinned and commanded that a chair be brought for Livia Drusilla. When the chair came he had it placed opposite his own position on the couch, but as there were only the three male diners, Nero couldn’t very well object to that. It wasn’t as if she was around a corner from him, though Nero did think it more evidence of Antony’s uncouth nature that he had relegated him to the end of the couch and put a puffed-up nobody like Plancus in the middle.

Removal of her wrap revealed that Livia Drusilla wore a fawn dress with long sleeves and a high neck, but nothing could disguise the charms of her figure or her flawless ivory skin. As thick and black as night, with the same indigo tinge to its lustre, her hair was done plainly, drawn back to cover her ears and knotted on the nape of her neck. And her face was exquisite! A small, lush red mouth, enormous eyes fringed with long black lashes like fans, pink cheeks, a small but aquiline nose, all combined to form perfection. Just when Antony became annoyed at not being able to decide what color her eyes were, she moved her chair and a thin ray of sun lit them. Oh, amazing! They were a very dark blue, but striated in a magical way with strands of whitish fawn. Like no eyes he had ever seen before, and – eerie. Livia Drusilla, I could eat you up! he said to himself, and set out to make her fall in love with him.

But it wasn’t possible. She was not shy, answered all of his questions frankly yet demurely, wasn’t afraid to add a tiny comment when it was called for. However, she would introduce no topic of conversation of her own volition, and said or did nothing that Nero, watching suspiciously, could fault. None of that would have mattered to Antony had a single spark of interest flared in her eyes, but it didn’t. If he had been a more perceptive man, he would have known that the faint moue crossing her face from time to time spoke of distaste.

Yes, he would beat a wife who grossly erred, she decided, but not as Nero would, coldly, with total calculation. Antonius would do it in a terrible temper, though afterward, cooled down, he wouldn’t rue the deed, for her crime would be unpardonable. Most men would like him, be drawn to him, and most women desire him. Life during those few days in Sextus Pompeius’s lair at Agrigentum had exposed Livia Drusilla to low women, and she had learned a lot about love, and men, and the sexual act. It seemed that women preferred men with large penises because a large penis made it easier for them to achieve climax, whatever that was (she had not found out, afraid to ask for fear of being laughed at). But she did find out that Marcus Antonius was famous for the immensity of his procreative equipment. Well, that was as maybe, when now she could discover nothing in Antonius to like or admire. Especially after she realized that he was trying his hardest to elicit a response from her. It gave her tremendous satisfaction to deny him that response, which taught her a little about how a woman might acquire power. Only not intriguing with an Antonius, whose lusts were transient, unimportant even.

‘What did you think of the Great Man?’ Nero asked as they walked home in the brief, fiery twilight.

Livia Drusilla blinked; her husband didn’t usually ask her what she thought about anyone or anything. ‘High in birth, low in character,’ she said. ‘A vulgar boor.’

‘Emphatic,’ he said, sounding pleased.

For the first time in their relationship, she dared to ask him a political question. ‘Husband, why do you cleave to a vulgar boor like Marcus Antonius? Why not to Caesar Octavianus, who by all descriptions is not a boor, nor vulgar either?’

For a moment he stopped absolutely still, then turned to look at her, more in surprise than irritation. ‘Birth outweighs both. Antonius is better born. Rome belongs to men with the proper ancestry. They and only they should be permitted to hold high offices, govern provinces, conduct wars.’

‘But Octavianus is Caesar’s nephew! Wasn’t Caesar’s birth unimpeachable?’

‘Oh, Caesar had it all – birth, brilliance, beauty. The most august of the august patricians. Even his plebeian blood was the best – mother Aurelian, grandmother Marcian, great-grandmother Popillian. Octavianus is an imposter! A tinge of Julian blood, the rest trash. Who are the Octavii of Velitrae? Utter nobodies! Some Octavii are fairly respectable, but not those from Velitrae. One of Octavianus’s great-grandfathers was a rope maker, another a baker. His grandfather was a banker. Low, low! His father made a lucky second marriage to Caesar’s niece. Though she was tainted – her father was a rich nobody who bought Caesar’s sister. In those days the Julii had no money, they had to sell daughters.’

‘Is a nephew not a quarter Julian?’ she ventured boldly.

‘Great-nephew, the little poseur! One-eighth Julian. The rest is abominable!’ barked Nero, getting worked up. ‘Whatever possessed the great Caesar to choose a low-born boy as his heir escapes me, but of one thing you may be sure, Livia Drusilla – I will never tie myself to the likes of Octavianus!’

Well, well, thought Livia Drusilla, saying no more. That is why so many of Rome’s aristocrats abhor Octavianus! As a person of the finest blood, I should abhor him too, but he intrigues me. He’s risen so far! I admire that in him because I understand it. Perhaps every so often Rome must create new aristocrats; it might even be that the great Caesar realized that when he made his will.

Livia Drusilla’s interpretation of Nero’s reasons for hewing to Mark Antony was a gross oversimplification – but then, so was Nero’s reasoning. His narrow intellect was undeveloped; no number of additional years could make him anymore than he had been when a young man serving under Caesar. Indeed, he was so dense that he had no idea Caesar had disliked him. Water off a duck’s back, as the Gauls said. When your blood is the very best, what possible fault could a fellow nobleman find in you?

To Mark Antony, it seemed as if his first month in Athens was littered with women, none of whom was worth his valuable time. Though was his time truly valuable, when nothing he did bore fruit? The only good news came from Apollonia with Quintus Dellius, who informed him that his legions had arrived on the west coast of Macedonia, and were happy to bivouack in a kinder climate.

Hard on Dellius’s heels came Lucius Scribonius Libo, escorting the woman surest to blight Antony’s mood: his mother.

She rushed into his study strewing hairpins, stray seed for the bird her servant girl carried in a cage, and strands from a long fringe some insane seamstress had attached to the edges of her stole. Her hair was coming adrift in wisps more grey than gold these days, but her eyes were exactly as her son remembered them: eternally cascading tears.

‘Marcus, Marcus!’ she cried, throwing herself at his chest. ‘Oh, my dearest boy, I thought I’d never see you again! Such a dreadful time of it I’ve had! A paltry little room in a villa that rang night and day with the sounds of unmentionable acts, streets slimed with spittle and the contents of chamber pots, a bed crawling with bugs, nowhere to have a proper bath—’

With many shushes and other soothing noises, Antony finally managed to put her in a chair and settle her down as much as anyone could ever settle Julia Antonia down. Only when the tears had diminished to something like their usual rate did he have the opportunity to see who had entered behind Julia Antonia. Ah! The sycophant to end all sycophants, Lucius Scribonius Libo. Not glued to Sextus Pompey – grafted to him to make a sour rootstock produce sweet grapes.

Short in height and meager in build, Libo had a face that reinforced the inadequacies of his size and betrayed the nature of the beast within: grasping, timid, ambitious, uncertain, selfish. His moment had come when Pompey the Great’s elder son had fallen in love with his daughter, divorced a Claudia Pulchra to marry her, and obliged Pompey the Great to elevate him as befitted his son’s father-in-law. Then when Gnaeus Pompey followed his father into death, Sextus, the younger son, had married his widow. With the result that Libo had commanded naval fleets and now acted as an unofficial ambassador for his master, Sextus. The Scribonian women had done well by their family; Libo’s sister had married two rich, influential men, one a patrician Cornelius, by whom she had borne a daughter. Though Scribonia the sister was now in her early thirties and deemed ill-omened – twice widowed was once too often – Libo did not despair of finding her a third husband. Comely to look at, proven fertile, a two-hundred-talent dowry – yes, Scribonia the sister would marry again.

However, Antony wasn’t interested in Libo’s women; it was his own bothering him. ‘Why on earth bring her to me?’ he asked.

Libo opened his fawn-colored eyes wide, spread his hands. ‘My dear Antonius, where else could I bring her?’

‘You could have sent her to her own domus in Rome.’

‘She refused with such hysteria that I was forced to push Sextus Pompeius out of the room – otherwise he would have killed her. Believe me, she wouldn’t go to Rome, kept screeching that Octavianus would execute her for treason.’

‘Execute Caesar’s cousin?’ Antony asked incredulously.

‘Why not?’ Libo asked, all innocence. ‘He proscribed Caesar’s cousin Lucius, your mother’s brother.’

‘Octavianus and I both proscribed Lucius!’ Antony snapped, goaded. ‘However, we did not execute him! We needed his money, that simple. My mother is penniless, she stands in no danger.’

‘Then you tell her that!’ said Libo with a snarl; it was he, after all, who had had to suffer Julia Antonia on a fairly long sea voyage.

Had either man thought to look her way – he did not – he might have seen that the drowned blue eyes held a certain cunning and that the profusely ornamented ears were picking up every word uttered. Monumentally silly Julia Antonia might be, but she had a healthy regard for her own wellbeing and was convinced that she would be much better off with her senior son than stranded in Rome without an income.

By this time the steward and several female servants had arrived, their faces displaying some trepidation. Unmoved by this evidence of servile fear that they were about to be burdened with a problem, Antony thankfully passed his mother over to them, all the while assuring her that he wasn’t going to send her to Rome. Finally the deed was done and peace descended on the study; Antony sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief.

‘Wine! I need wine!’ he cried, suddenly erupting out of the chair. ‘Red or white, Libo?’

‘A good strong red, I thank you. No water. I’ve seen enough water in the last three nundinae to last me half a lifetime.’

Antony grinned. ‘I fully understand. Chaperoning my mama is no picnic.’ He poured a large goblet almost to its brim. ‘Here, this should numb the pain – Chian, ten years old.’

Silence reigned for some time as the two bibbers buried their snouts in their goblets with appropriate sounds of content.

‘So what brings you to Athens, Libo?’ Antony asked, breaking the silence. ‘And don’t say my mother.’

‘You’re right. Your mother was convenient.’

‘Not for me,’ Antony growled.

‘I’d love to know how you can do that,’ Libo said brightly. ‘Your speaking voice is light and high, but in a trice you can turn it into a deep-throated growl or roar.’

‘Or bellow. You forgot the bellow. And don’t ask me how. I don’t know. It just happens. If you want to hear me bellow, keep on evading the subject, by all means.’

‘Er – no, that won’t be necessary. Though if I may continue about your mother for a moment longer, I suggest that you give her plenty of money and the run of the best shops in Athens. Do that, and you’ll never see or hear her.’ Libo smiled down at the bubbles beading the rim of his wine. ‘Once she learned that your brother Lucius was pardoned and sent to Further Spain with a proconsular imperium, she was easier to deal with.’

‘Why are you here?’ Antony said again.

‘Sextus Pompeius thought it a good idea for me to see you.’

‘Really? With a view to what end?’

‘Forming an alliance against Octavianus. The two of you united would crush Octavianus to pulp.’

The small full mouth pursed; Antony looked sideways. ‘An alliance against Octavianus … Pray tell me, Libo, why I, one of the three men appointed by the Senate and People of Rome to reconstitute the Republic, should form an alliance with a man who is no better than a pirate?’

Libo winced. ‘Sextus Pompeius is the governor of Sicilia in full accordance with the mos maiorum! He does not regard the Triumvirate as legal or proper, and he deplores the proscription edict that falsely outlawed him, not to mention stripped him of his property and inheritance! His activities on the high seas are purely to convince the Senate and People of Rome that he has been unjustly condemned. Lift the sentence of hostis, lift all the bans, embargoes and interdictions, and Sextus Pompeius will cease to be – er – a pirate.’

‘And he thinks I’ll move in the House that his status as a public enemy and all the bans, embargoes and interdictions be lifted if he aids me in ridding Rome of Octavianus?’

‘Quite so, yes.’

‘I take it he’s proposing outright war, tomorrow if possible?’

‘Come, come, Marcus Antonius, all the world can see that you and Octavianus must eventually come to blows! Since between you – I discount Lepidus – you have imperium maius over nine-tenths of the Roman world and you control its legions as well as its incomes, what else can happen when you collide than full-scale war? For over fifty years the history of the Roman Republic has been one civil war after another – do you honestly believe that Philippi was the end of the final civil war?’ Libo kept his tone gentle, his face serene. ‘Sextus Pompeius is tired of outlawry. He wants what is due to him – restoration of his citizenship, permission to inherit his father Magnus’s property, the restitution of said property, the consulship, and a proconsular imperium in Sicilia in perpetuity.’ Libo shrugged. ‘There is more, but that will do to go on with, I think.’

‘And in return for all this?’

‘He will control and sweep the seas as your ally. Include a pardon for Murcus and you will have his fleets too. Ahenobarbus says he’s independent, though as big a … pirate. Sextus Pompeius will also guarantee you free grain for your legions.’

‘He’s holding me to ransom.’

‘Is that a yea or a nay?’

‘I will not treat with pirates,’ Antony said in his usual light voice. ‘However, you can tell your master that if he and I should meet upon the water, I expect him to let me go wherever it is I’m going. If he does that, we shall see.’

‘More yea than nay.’

‘More nothing than anything – for the time being. I do not need Sextus Pompeius to squash Octavianus, Libo. If Sextus thinks I do, he’s mistaken.’

‘If you should decide to ship your troops across the Adriatic from Macedonia to Italia, Antonius, you won’t welcome fleets in the plural preventing you.’

‘The Adriatic is Ahenobarbus’s patch, and he’ll not hamper me. I am unimpressed.’

‘So Sextus Pompeius cannot call himself your ally? You will not undertake to speak for him in the House?’

‘Absolutely not, Libo. The most I’ll agree to do is not to hunt him down. If I did hunt him down, he’d be the one crushed to pulp. Tell him he can keep his free grain, but that I expect him to sell me grain for my legions at the usual wholesale price of five sesterces the modius, not a bronze farthing more.’

‘You drive a hard bargain.’

‘I’m in a position to do so. Sextus Pompeius is not.’

And how much of this obduracy, wondered Libo, is because he now has his mother around his neck? I told Sextus it was not a good idea, but he wouldn’t listen.

Quintus Dellius entered the room, arm in arm with yet another sycophant, Sentius Saturninus.

‘Look who’s just arrived from Agrigentum with Libo!’ Dellius cried delightedly. ‘Antonius, have you any of that Chian red?’

‘Pah!’ spat Antony. ‘Where’s Plancus?’

‘Here, Antonius!’ said Plancus, going to embrace Libo and Sentius Saturninus. ‘Isn’t this nice?’

Very nice, thought Antony sourly. Four servings of syrup.

Moving his army to the Adriatic coast of Macedonia hadn’t begun as anything more than an exercise designed to frighten Octavian; having abandoned all thought of contending with the Parthians until his income improved, Antony had at first wanted to leave his legions in Ephesus, but his visit to Ephesus had changed his mind. Caninius was too weak to control so many senior legates unless cousin Antony was nearby. Besides, the idea of frightening Octavian was too delicious to resist. But somehow everyone assumed that the war they expected to erupt between the two Triumvirs was finally going to push ahead, and Antony found himself in a dilemma. Ought he crush Octavian now? As campaigns went, it would be a cheap one, and he had plenty of transports to ferry his legions across a little sea to home territory, where he could pick up Octavian’s legions to supplement his own, and free up Pollio and Ventidius – fourteen extra legions from them alone! Ten more once Octavian was defeated. And whatever was in the Treasury to put in his war chest.

Still, he wasn’t sure … When Libo’s advice about Julia Antonia proved correct and he never saw her, Antony relaxed a little. His Athenian couch was comfortable and the army content in Apollonia – time would tell him what to do. It didn’t occur to him that in postponing this decision, he was telling his world that he lacked resolution about his future course of action.