The Sun of God, page 12
They did not talk about it afterward. After all, what was there to discuss?
“Caesar?” Balbus asked worriedly from the opposite couch. “Are you with us?”
It took a moment for Octavius to realize the address was for him, as he had only recently taken up the name of his great-uncle. He looked at Balbus, ignoring the watchful eyes beside him.
They had been debating the next steps in their plan while they dined at one of his family homes near the forum. Octavius was tired from a long day of courting senators and prominent elite families in Rome, hoping to gain their support and money for his cause. For they had returned to Rome to put on the games in honor of Caesar and Victory, and it had cost him quite a bit of money, though he hoped the result would be worth it.
“Yes, Balbus. What is it?”
“I said your tutor, Athenodorus, has landed in Italy,” Balbus said slowly. “He plans to join you here in Rome shortly.”
“Good. He will be useful to me.”
Octavius had sent a message to Athenodorus, requesting that he join him in Rome. Athenodorus had many valuable connections with certain senatorial families, and Octavius hoped he would speak with them on his behalf.
“We should run through the numbers once more before I return home,” Balbus said, sharing a concerned glance with Agrippa. A quiet companionship had grown between the two of them in the past few months, and Octavius wondered if it was on account of their similarly humble backgrounds.
Agrippa hardly mentioned his hometown, or his family, though Octavius knew that his father managed a modest farm somewhere in the countryside, while his mother had died when he was young. The only other thing Agrippa had said about his life before Rome was that he learned how to hunt in the untamed fields beyond his house, and that when he had killed his first bird, he had cried.
“Go on,” Octavius said with a sigh.
“We have successfully recruited over three thousand men, nearly all of them loyal veterans of your father’s cause. And the plebs have reacted well to Caesar’s donations. But due to the games, our funds have significantly depleted.”
“In other words,” Agrippa said, “we need more money.”
Octavius shook his head. They have had this conversation many times, and they always reached the same conclusion. “We need more support. People do not believe I can defeat Antonius, that is the problem. The people who have something to lose, at least, and those are the people who have the money to give.”
Bablus smiled apologetically. “You are young, Caesar. Antonius has years and years of experience.”
“I am not a child,” Octavius said in reproach.
“To a sixty-year-old senator, you might as well be,” Agrippa said, his voice chilly.
Octavius had not really looked at him this entire meeting. He did now and regretted it. Agrippa was staring at him intensely, his eyes cast in shade to a gray-green.
He nearly scowled. “Then I will not try to convince them otherwise. But when the time comes, they will wish I had.”
Octavius thought of Cicero, how easily he ate up his flattery, the gleam in his eyes when Octavius spoke of defeating Antonius. They so desperately desired someone foolish enough to go to war against him, in the hopes that Antonius would be taken care of and the Senate may once again secure ultimate authority over Rome.
He knew Cicero wished to use him to this end and then discard him. For his part, Octavius would not dissuade him from this plan, and in fact, he would encourage it whenever possible. For the more they underestimated his power, the less time they would have to prepare when Octavius fully unleashed it.
“Regardless of whether the Senate is deceiving you, or you are deceiving the Senate,” Balbus drawled in his thick accent, “you still have to defeat Antonius, and he has shown that a mere name will not be enough to oust him. A name, I might add, which he has continuously prevented you from adopting legally through the Curiate.”
“The people will turn against him with Cicero’s help. And my money,” Octavius argued, though he knew at the end of the day that Balbus was right. “Already his soldiers are defecting. As for my adoption, his refusal only makes my cause the more righteous.”
“That is not enough,” Balbus said urgently. “The Senate hates Antonius but they still fear him, especially after he granted himself governorship over the Gallic provinces and threatened to oust Decimus. He has even scared Brutus and Cassius from Italy with a mere charge of grain supplies.”
Agrippa snorted. “They will never accept that insult.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Balbus continued, waving his hand dismissively. “It does not matter. Antonius will easily defeat them in battle if he gets to Decimus in Gaul first. Your best hope at that point would be enough destruction on both sides to give you a fighting chance. If the Conspiratores defeat Antonius, then you must turn on your dear Cicero or give up your plans. But if not, and Antonius proves totally victorious, then the Senate will truly cower, and no one will dare go against him, not even for the son of a god.”
Silence. Octavius knew his greatest power lied in his new name, the fear it instilled in Cicero when he spoke of his divine father, how the people, the soldiers, all cried out to him as some kind of savior—no, a restorer—who would bring back the Republic for the people instead of the rich, and burn the dirty streets and rundown temples and build a city of marble, like a phoenix rising from its own ashes. But none of that mattered if Antonius took control and used that very name against him.
“What if we came to the aid of the Conspiratores?” Agrippa asked suddenly.
Balbus and Octavius exchanged an uneasy glance. He knew Agrippa had a keen grasp of military strategy, but Octavius could not see a world in which he aided the very men who killed Julius Caesar.
“You mean to suggest I openly support the assassins of my father?” Octavius asked doubtfully. “My soldiers would not stand for it.”
“They would stand for the right price.” Agrippa leaned forward intently. “Think. If you support the Conspiratores in defeating Antonius, just as Cicero wants you to do, then the Senate will gladly give you money and more troops. Legally. Your soldiers would be under your command.”
“But even if you and the Conspiratores defeat Antonius, the Senate will kill you the moment they regain power!” Balbus argued. He lowered his voice. “You would be walking into a trap, Caesar.”
Octavius saw it, then, like a rush running through his head, the future unraveling before him. He locked eyes with Agrippa, who smiled with him when he knew Octavius had understood.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he said, echoing Balbus’ own words with a grin. “Let the Senate think so. Let them underestimate my name, my men. But when the time comes, the people of Rome will answer to me, and with my army, they will be powerless to stop it.”
Agrippa nodded, smirking. “Brutus and Cassius will not stand a chance.”
“And if the Senate suspects this?” Balbus asked, though it was clear he was beginning to agree with their plan. “Will they so freely hand over their armies to another Caesar? Will they not fear that you will betray them too?”
“Do you not remember, Balbus?” Octavius asked mockingly. “Because to them, I am only a child.”
Agrippa held a blade in front of Octavius’ throat, the edge gleaming in the weak light of the morning. A slave held a large mirror in front of him so that Octavius could watch Agrippa shave his face. Agrippa’s reflection in the mirror raised a brow questioningly, and Octavius closed his eyes.
“I am sure,” Octavius whispered, careful not to swallow. “I must appear as youthful as possible.”
He felt the blade slide up his oiled neck, clearing the stubble he had grown since Apollonia. Usually, he had a barber come to the house and shave him, or else had one of his slaves do it, but nowadays enemies were easier to come by than friends, and he would not take his chances.
Octavius found it strange that Agrippa was one of the only people alive whom he could trust with his life, yet they could barely look each other in the eyes.
“Stay still,” Agrippa murmured from above him. Octavius could feel his fingertips pressed against his chin, steadying him.
Octavius focused on the blade instead as it shaved close to his lips in delicate, short strokes, followed by the light splashing of water from a bowl beside them. Next, the blade curved up his chin, stopping right below his jaw. A finger ghosted along his jawline where he had grown out his stubble these past few months. Octavius opened his eyes.
Agrippa was looking at him, his fingertip still tracing the edge of his face. “A shadow of mourning.”
“Or a shadow of revenge,” Octavius countered, looking back until Agrippa turned away, then in silence shaved the rest of his face, leaving it more round and youthful.
When he was done, he picked up a wet cloth and gently cleaned Octavius’ face. Then with palms damp with perfumed oil, Agrippa lightly patted his skin. Octavius breathed in the scent of roses, watching Agrippa’s hands around his face in the mirror.
They locked eyes again, and Agrippa blushed. “The parade will begin soon.” He collected the shaving supplies and avoided Octavius’ gaze. “I believe Rufus and Athenodorus will already be at the stadium. Maecenas cannot make it. Says he is traveling to Arretium. Oh, and the venationes will be the first games, as you wished.”
“Good,” Octavius said, standing up. He took one last look at himself in the mirror before gathering his things. “Will you walk beside me?”
Agrippa looked at him in surprise. “During the parade?”
“Yes.”
“I am hardly a priest,” Agrippa said cautiously.
Octavius could not help but smile. “And I am hardly a consul. But we paid for every cent of these games. It is only right that we hold a place of honor.”
Agrippa frowned, but before he could answer, one of his guardsmen approached, signaling that they must be on their way to the stadium. They rang to have their best togas wrapped around them before following the armed guard onto the street.
When they stepped out into the blazing summer sun, Octavius shared a glance with Agrippa. It had to be the hottest day of the year. The humid heat cloaked his skin like a second layer, reminding him of another festival years ago, and his mother warning him to cover his head. That day ended in dizziness, feverish cramping, and weeks recovering in bed. He could not afford another such moment of weakness today.
Agrippa seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Perhaps we can postpone the games for the evening when it is cooler.”
“I am perfectly capable of sitting in the heat,” Octavius said with a confidence he did not feel.
“The stadium does not have an awning.”
Octavius only smiled, waving at the crowds of people watching him go by and calling out his name. “I will be fine.”
He was saved from another argument by their arrival at the Capitolium, where sacrifices would be made before the parade began. The temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus loomed over them at the top of the hill.
Already crowds of people had swarmed around the temple, the lictors in their traditional garb, as well as the athletes and musicians performing during the games. Even soldiers and citizens had flocked nearby to witness the entire procession, trying to push past the guards that lined the vicinity.
Balbus was waiting for them at the base of the temple, and when he saw them, he approached hurriedly.
“Caesar,” Balbus said in a low voice, keeping stride with them. “I have bad news.”
“Naturally,” Octavius said.
Balbus gave him a hard look. “Antonius has blocked your request for displaying the throne and wreath of Caesar in the stadium.”
Octavius shrugged. “Good.”
“How so?” Balbus asked, exasperated, and also struggling to keep up with the fast pace as the parade goers moved to get in their positions.
“It makes it easier to name him the villain.”
“A war of words,” Balbus said, shaking his head, almost fondly. “You are truly your father’s son.”
Octavius did not react, but he noticed Agrippa glance at him curiously. He wondered what he saw in that glance. The ghost of Julius Caesar? A memory of a boy always falling ill? Or just someone he desired? Octavius did not know which he despised more.
Suddenly the crowd of trumpeters ahead of them began the commencement song, and the parade started to trudge a path of music and cheers down to the Circus Maximus. Octavius counted each inhale and exhale as he walked along the procession, the sun beating down on his neck. He felt a bead of sweat slide down his back, and he knew his cheeks must be flushed red.
Much to his annoyance, Agrippa kept a steady eye on him throughout, but he did not say anything, for which Octavius was grateful.
Soon they approached the stadium, which was already teeming with crowds of citizens donned in their nicest togas and tunics. The entrance never ceased allowing people into the stadium, the wooden bleachers straining under the weight of the crowds.
Octavius could hear someone calling out his name in a familiar voice. He turned around and ignored how the movement made his head feel faint.
In a nearby throng of people stood Athenodorus and Rufus, the former furrowing his bushy brows as he surveyed the rowdy citizens, looking hunched and frail beside the energetic, youthful figure of Rufus worming his way through the crowds of people to greet Octavius and Agrippa.
“Friends!” Rufus exclaimed, kissing Octavius and then Agrippa, who tried not to laugh at the unruly red-brown curls and wide eyes that sometimes made Rufus look like a startled puppy. “It feels as though I have not seen you in years.”
“It has only been a few weeks, Rufus,” Agrippa said lightly, though Octavius saw right through it.
Although the three of them were close friends, Agrippa had never quite gotten along with Rufus, and though they both pretended it was merely friendly competition, Octavius knew it was very serious to both of them.
Rufus ignored Agrippa’s comment, turning to Octavius with a smile. “I am glad you are back. Rome needs you.”
“Thank you, Rufus,” Octavius said. “It is good to see you.”
Then Athenodorus hobbled towards them. He grasped Octavius and Agrippa’s hands and spoke to them in Greek. “It is a blessing to see both of you again. I have sorely missed being your teacher.”
“I am sure you now have more competent students to teach,” Octavius replied warmly, also in Greek.
Ever since they had left so abruptly, Octavius found himself missing the long lectures while strolling in the gardens, the tricky questions in which his tutor had found pleasure testing them, and Agrippa’s silent presence beside him. Athenodorus was a symbol of a different time, however, and one which had forcibly come to an end.
“None shall ever be as bright as you,” Athenodorus replied, squeezing both their hands in his wrinkled ones before letting them fall.
Octavius thought he saw Rufus’ jaw clench at the words. He had always been a few steps behind in their tutoring, much better with the sword and shield than words. But even then, Agrippa had always managed to find the edge in their spars and win.
At that moment trumpets blared again, and Balbus appeared, calling his attention. Beside him was Gaius Matius, who partnered with Octavius to fund the games, as well as Gaius Oppius, a wealthy friend of Julius Caesar.
“The games are about to begin, Caesar. You ought to take your seat.”
His guardsmen escorted them all up into their seats, where they had the best view of the ring below. As Octavius walked along the pathway to his row, the stands erupted in applause, chanting his new name. He greeted them all with a smile, although he feared his step would falter at any moment.
They sat down side by side, Octavius between Rufus and Agrippa, while Balbus, Matius, and Oppius took the row behind them. They were surrounded by a sea of people, their voices raised and their shoulders jostling each other as they made their way into the bleachers.
The sun was now high above them in the sky, shining with more intensity, baking the stadium in its heat. The dirt of the track shimmered, and dust rose in clouds above the ground. They could hear an animal growling somewhere, and the banging of a metal cage.
A fading dizziness made Octavius grab Agrippa’s arm. He would not faint. “Do not let me fall.”
“What?”
Octavius stood, using all his strength to keep himself upright. He felt Agrippa’s hand hover nervously at his lower back. The people closest began chanting his name, so that soon the entire arena seemed to be looking at him, and Octavius had to raise his hands up to quiet them.
A wave of hushed whispers ran through the stadium until the entire arena was quiet, listening to what Octavius was about to say.
“People of Rome!” he cried out. “Today we honor my father’s death with games. He was murdered by the same men who claim to free us. What do we say to that?”
The crowd yelled their disapproval, the soldiers making crass gestures that only served to stir the people into greater hysterics.
“And to the man who calls himself a friend of Divus Iulius, who has not only yielded to my father’s assassins but even denies me the right to honor him properly. What do we say to him?”
Immediately the stadium shouted the name of Antonius, calling him a traitor and stamping their feet on the bleachers so that the arena shook as if with an earthquake.
He glanced at Rufus and Agrippa, who both nodded. Everything was set in place, everything was planned to the last word, the last pause.
“In honoring my father, I must do what he would have wanted to do if he were still alive!” The crowds began murmuring at this, wondering what he was going to do next. “My father would have wanted to reward each of you in coin for your loyalty and support!”
Before anyone could react, someone began shrieking in delight, pointing up at the sky. More people looked up, gasping and crying out in surprise. This had not been a part of the plan. At last, Octavius looked up too, his heart beating loudly.
