The Sun of God, page 11
Octavius’ eyelids fluttered shut as if against his will.
They were one dizzying breath apart. What would happen if Agrippa closed the space between them? What would happen if Agrippa were to lean down and kiss him?
You would be Patroclus. But it was always followed by endless laughter, cold and harsh.
“Octavius,” Agrippa started, as though he were about to say something, his voice hardly a whisper.
Octavius looked up in question, but nothing in his eyes gave him away, and he did not speak. The silence was stifling in the heat. Agrippa felt his throat close up, his head light.
He stepped away before it was too late, turning his heated face from Octavius’ dark eyes. “Done.”
“Thank you,” was the careless reply.
Agrippa heard him step out of the bath silently. He refused to look at him, to know for certain, lest it pain him even more.
Instead, he sank back into the water as the sound of Octavius’ footsteps receded into silence, hoping the heat would swallow him up into oblivion.
8
Gaius Cassius Longinus
JUNE 44 BC
Cassius had always loved philosophy.
Since he was young, he had fallen in love with it, the careful logic to explain the world, to give guidance to men in what was right and what was wrong. Cassius had even traveled to Rhodes in his youth and became fluent in Greek.
Philosophy made sense. Philosophy gave meaning to the world. Philosophy ensured that each man had certain basic rights. In a time when civil wars threatened the very foundations of their Republic, when dictators marched on Rome and proscribed thousands of citizens to their death, when tyrants pretended to be divine kings, Cassius looked to philosophy as a lit candle in the dark.
But he learned early on that not everyone cared for philosophy, much less lived by it.
Some men would see to their own power over others, would seek to cause evil upon their fellow men, and would even kill those who spoke against them.
Indeed, Cassius learned that most men were weak, their souls corrupted, and when it came to those men, not even philosophy could save them. Only violence defeated the violent, and only murder defeated tyranny.
These were the tenets he lived by, and he had seen it happen firsthand, beginning with Pompeius and now with Caesar. If it must happen again with Antonius, so be it. If it were up to Cassius, he would have been dead already.
Cassius could hear people arguing down the hall in the dining room, and he set his tablet and stylus down with a sigh. They were hosting a meeting of the Liberatores in his villa at Antium, a half-day’s ride from Rome.
He had been shut up in his office to answer some correspondence which he had put off since fleeing Rome. Too many people wished to know his whereabouts, and too many people wanted him dead.
After he finished his last response, Cassius decided it was time to join the meeting. The gods knew there were very few in that room with enough brains and courage to do the right thing. He strained his ears as terse words floated from the closed doors.
“...you should accept the grain commission in Asia!” Cicero was arguing, as always. Cassius had heard his voice the most clearly from his office.
He entered the dining room, and immediately all fell silent, turning towards him. Reclining on the couches were Cicero, Favonius, Brutus, his mother Servilia, his wife Porcia, and Cassius’ wife Tertia. The rest sitting around the room were either participants in the assassination or known supporters of it, but regardless, everyone was gathered here for one reason, and that was to know what happened next.
“Ah, Cassius, you have finally joined us!” Cicero said, though he eyed Cassius warily. “Please, sit down, we have been waiting for you.”
Cassius surveyed the room from the doorway, noting those who were present, as well as those who were absent. Many faces were filled with fear, others carefully concealed their true feelings, waiting perhaps for the conclusion of the meeting before making any judgments. Very few showed any bravery, and none spoke loudly save for Cicero.
“I was just telling our dear Brutus that he ought to accept the grain commission in Asia. And you, Cassius, should take up your post in Sicily. There is nothing left for us to do but to see to your safety,” Cicero said. He turned again towards Brutus. “You are the last defense of the Republic.”
Brutus frowned, and it aged his face. Cassius had known Brutus for a long time, but never before had he seen him so devitalized. It was as if all the passion and strong will he had before the murder had been drained from him along with the blood from Caesar’s body.
He shook his head, and at last, took his spot beside his wife. Tertia was ten years younger than he was, but she too, like her brother Brutus, looked much older, as though new lines had been drawn on her face in the last few months. In meetings such as these, she preferred to stay silent and listen, while her mother and brother did the talking.
“What say you, Cassius?” Cicero asked hesitantly.
“I will not go to Sicily,” Cassius said coldly. “Should I accept an insult as if it were a kindness?”
Ever since Antonius assigned Brutus and Cassius the commission of grain, which was an insulting office for various reasons, Cicero had been trying to convince him by letter not to do anything rashly, and to accept the degrading position of legate until it was safer to make their next move.
Cicero sighed. “What then will you do?”
Cassius shrugged. “Go to Greece.”
“And you Brutus?” Cicero asked, as if he cared more for his answer than Cassius’, which was probably true.
Most people favored Brutus, as he was the more approachable of the two of them. Cassius was told once that he had a burning look about him, as if at any moment he might burst into flames and declare war.
Brutus hesitated in replying and glanced at his mother, Servilia.
While the death of Caesar had been quite devastating for her, as it was widely known she had kept up an amorous affair with Caesar, her attention was now completely fixated on her son, whose wellbeing she obsessed over nearly as much as Cicero did. Brutus himself had lost that surety that initially made him the face of their cause, and his lack of confidence worried Cassius in the long run.
“To Rome, if you think it right,” Brutus said cautiously, addressing Cicero, whose eyes widened at his words.
“No, no, I don’t think it right at all.” Cicero shook his head. “You won’t be safe there.”
“But if it was safe, that is what you would want me to do, is it not?” Brutus asked.
Cassius knew Brutus desperately wished he could be in Rome however much he feared the city at the same time, and leaving had cost him much of his pride. Perhaps he hoped to make a martyr of himself, though Cassius doubted Servilia—or his wife Porica for that matter—would allow it.
“Of course,” Cicero said impatiently. “If it was safe I would not want you to leave for Asia now or after your praetorship. But as it is, I don’t advise you to put yourself at risk in Rome. If what they say is true about Antonius stirring the Macedonian legions that Caesar left behind, then you had best leave Italy altogether. He already has his sights on poor Decimus in Gaul.”
Cassius scoffed. “Poor Decimus? He commands Cisalpine Gaul and remains much safer than we. He is to blame for the position we are in. If it were not for Decimus, perhaps we would never have compromised with that brute Antonius.”
There were murmurs in the room, and many added on other complaints. Decimus, they knew, was one of the first to come up with the plan of assassination along with Cassius. But at the end of the day, Decimus had been one of Caesar’s men and was so loved by him that he was even named in his will like a son. It was not the first time someone suggested that Decimus had been too soft on his former comrades-in-arms.
Yet Cassius trusted Decimus, more than he trusted Brutus, while many turned rather to Brutus as a descendent of the kingslayers all those years ago. The more weeks that passed since their carefully planned execution, however, only proved that Caesar’s corruption reached far deeper than they had thought.
Cassius now obsessed over the past, wondering where they had gone wrong, what they could have done differently, and Decimus’ absence made him an easy target.
For, of course, he dared not speak of Brutus, who had begged them all to spare Antonius and Lepidus in the murder, and which had cost them dearly. Not with Servilia in the room, at least, who may as well be their best hope in removing the insulting grain commissions from the senatorial decree thanks to her influence with a few prominent senators.
“What is done hardly matters now,” Cicero said, though his long sigh said otherwise. “Besides, the mistakes of the past do not only lie on the head of Decimus. You both ought to have called a meeting of the Senate after the whole affair. Perhaps if you had simply stirred up the people with more vigor, more passion, then the entire Republic could have been yours.”
“Really!” Servilia mocked. “We have not heard that one before.”
Cicero fell silent at that, his face sullen. He would not argue with Servilia, especially not when she was right. They had already debated to death the mistakes they had made, and Cicero was not putting forth any new ones.
“If you think it right,” Brutus said at last in the silence, “I will go to Asia.”
“But what of the games you are to give?” This question came from Favonius, who reclined beside Cicero. “Would it not be a sign of weakness to surrender the games to Antonius?”
Favonius was notorious for his espousal of the Cynic philosophy, though most people called him an imitator of Cato the Younger behind his back. If Cassius could have helped it, Favonius would not have been involved in the assassination at all.
Servilia huffed. “Nonsense!”
“The games would still be given in my name,” Brutus said curtly. “I would merely be…absent.”
“So then you agree to go?” Cicero asked.
“Yes.” Brutus nodded firmly and looked at Cassius expectantly. He had made up his mind, apparently, and now wished Cassius to follow in his footsteps. The room waited for his reply, and Cassius knew the courage of many in this room hung upon a thread of hope.
“I will think about it,” Cassius said finally.
“Then there it is.” Servilia held her head aloft, as if daring anyone to go against her son’s plan. She was a formidable woman, but with a sensitive streak, like her son. Cassius had always admired her ability to work her influence in the Senate. “Yes, that is best. And I promise to make sure the grain commission is removed.”
“Then if I am to go, I had best leave directly,” Brutus said, his eyes lit with a new determination, but to Cassius it only heralded recklessness. A desperate man was often the most bold, though it did not always make him right.
“So soon?” Cicero asked, also troubled.
“You were the one who wished us to leave,” Cassius said, raising a brow.
He knew that Cicero would rather they lay low in Italy, though fearing at the same time that if they remained, they would attempt to confront Antonius in Rome.
But there was no more time to waste idling away in their countryside villas like Cicero. Either they surrendered to Antonius and returned to Rome, come what may, or they gathered a force large enough to defeat the Caesarian faction once and for all.
“Leave, yes, but not without a plan,” Cicero said reproachfully.
“Do not worry, old man.” Cassius grinned. “Leave that to me.”
“You know you do not have to listen to Cicero.”
Tertia stood in the doorway of his bedroom, her dark hair brushed into a long braid. She wore a white linen dress down to her ankles, and her pale face was free from any makeup.
Cassius always thought Tertia beautiful, from the day they met, and much more attractive than Brutus, though they shared an uncanny similarity with their dark, almost black hair and pale skin. Her brother, however, had a hungry look in his eyes, a desire to prove himself and his lineage, that Tertia never had.
“Are you already going to bed?” Cassius asked. “I should not stay up for much longer.”
“Did you hear me?” Tertia shook her head. “If you go to Greece, you will start a war.”
“Sometimes war is necessary.”
“It is dangerous,” Tertia said, her voice low. “If Antonius defeats Decimus, there is no telling what will happen.” She paused. “You may never be able to return to Italy.”
Cassius stood up and walked over to her, kissing the top of her hair. “Not without an army I won’t. But do not fret, mea Tertulla, I do not leave in vain. The Republic can still be saved.”
A shadow darkened Tertia’s eyes. “My mother says you and Brutus are the last hope we have.”
“That may be,” Cassius said sadly.
While he regretted having to leave his wife for such a long time, he knew it was the only way to ensure the safety of both their lives in Rome.
Besides, Tertia was a very independent woman, like her mother Servilia, and she would survive without him just fine. Cassius had always allowed her to do as she wished, to see whomever she liked, which sometimes caused rumors to float back to him. She had never confessed to any kind of infidelity, however, and Cassius had never sought to know for certain. Some things, he found, were better left to rest.
“I worry for Brutus,” Tertia said. “He puts so much of himself in these things. I doubt he will be left with much when all this is over.”
“Brutus is sensitive, that is all.” Cassius still remembered the look Brutus had on his face after the murder, as if he alone had struck the dagger into Caesar’s body those twenty-three times. Even weeks after the Ides of March, Cassius would catch Brutus glancing at his hands, like he was checking for stains of blood. “He and Caesar were rather close after all, almost like father and son.”
Tertia had a troubled look. “Yes, I suppose.”
One of the rumors that had reached his ears was that Servilia had arranged an affair between Tertia and Caesar while Cassius had been away, perhaps in the hopes of gaining his favor. The thought had struck him as ridiculous at the time given Servilia’s passion for Caesar, but every so often Cassius wondered.
As if to prove the rumor wrong, Cassius took hold of Tertia’s arm, pulling her closer. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It has been a long time since we slept together.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Cassius…”
Cassius felt a fire kindle inside at her resistance. It was the same feeling he got when Caesar had been named dictator for life, as if his heart were white hot iron in his breast. “Come, Tertia, I may not be here for much longer.”
Still, Tertia pulled away. “Really, Cassius, I cannot.”
“Why not? Shall we only have one child?” Cassius was only joking, but he went still when Tertia’s eyes filled with tears.
Her hands fell to her stomach, and she flattened her dress against her belly, which curved against her hands, undeniably pregnant.
Cassius could hardly think. “Since when?”
Tertia avoided his gaze. “I knew in April for certain.”
“Why did you not tell me?” Cassius placed a hand on her belly, the skin warm through the thin linen.
She shook her head, and tears fell down her cheeks. “I did not want to worry you.”
“Oh, mea Tertulla.” He kissed one of her tears as it slid down her cheek. “A life for a life. It is a good omen.”
After Tertia went to bed, Cassius returned to his office, where he found Brutus pouring over a map, carefully tracing the drawn lines and making a mark here and there with his pen. He looked up when Cassius entered.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, though he had a small smile on his face. He was looking more optimistic since their meeting, if only because now he had something to do.
“Tertia is pregnant,” Cassius said as a reply.
Brutus raised a brow. “She just told you now?”
“You knew?”
He laughed. “I’m her brother.”
“And I’m her husband. I had a hand in it, after all.”
“More than that, I’d reckon.”
“Careful, Brutus. That is my wife you speak of.”
They settled in their chairs, sensing that the times for joking were over. Brutus handed over his map, pointing out the cities of the East in which he thought they had the best chance of campaigning for soldiers. Cassius made a few marks of his own. It was not a plan, but it was a start.
Cassius smiled. “Let’s kill another king.”
9
Gaius Octavius
JULY 44 BC
War.
Octavius could taste it on the hot, summer breeze crawling through the windows of the house. The people in the city were restless in anticipation, as if there were a storm brewing on the horizon, which he supposed was not far from the truth.
In the east Marcus Antonius gathered the Macedonian troops that Julius Caesar had stationed before his death, while Octavius heavily recruited from Campania in the west, paying each soldier who would join his cause five hundred denarii. Lepidus held an army in Spain, Brutus and Cassius struggled to establish legions of their own, and senators were fleeing Rome with their tails tucked between their legs, not wishing to get caught in the crossfire of civil war.
He was walking a thin line himself, balancing on pure luck alone. Octavius was a step away from death at all times, where the only way to reach the other side safely was to look straight ahead.
Sea-green eyes caught the corner of his gaze.
Octavius felt his concentration stutter.
Nothing had been the same since Puteoli, the steaming waters of the baths and Agrippa’s smooth, firm palm clinging to his memory. Octavius had supposed he went too far, and he wondered if their friendship would ever recover from it. But who was he trying to deceive? Agrippa would never desert him. That was precisely why he had tested him in the first place, to see how far he could go and how long Agrippa would allow it.
