Chapter 4 "Legion, the Collegium of Rogues"

Chapterr 4 from my novel "Legion, the Collegium of Rogues"  

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4

The braziers seemed to burn brighter than they had an hour ago, and beyond the glimmering dance of their flames, the sun’s fiery yellow orb darkened as it slipped towards the cape like a crucible of molten bronze spilling across the horizon, glowing white hot through a forest of masts rising from Agrippa’s mighty fleet.

Octavian stared at the sunset, but he did not seem to see it, as his thoughts returned to Rome and the senate. That feeling of uncertainty had returned and the cold chill of fear. ‘When they see those grain ships sailing into Ostia, and the people can eat until their bellies pop, then all Rome and beyond will know that I am no tyrant.’ He looked a Calvinus standing next to him. ‘I think,’ he added after a moment of pause, ‘that I have a greater destiny than just this.’

Calvinus nodded. ‘Then why are you asking for reassurance from me? Have you been wrong thus far? The last great enemy and his whore are dead,’ he said. ‘Rome now waits for you as her saviour.’

Marcus Antonius hadn’t simply committed sacrilege by declaring himself a god – he had plunged the Empire into another bloody war and insulted Octavian’s family by divorcing his sister Octavia for Cleopatra Ptolemy. And when Octavian revealed the treasonous contents of Antonius’ will to the senate, which he had obtained through dubious means from the Temple of the Vesta, its content had unleashed such a furor against Marcus Antonius in Rome, the Senate had no choice but to declare him an enemy of the state, making it the duty of every Roman to kill him on sight.

The will had been a gift from the Goddess herself as far as Octavian was concerned. A shocking document that enraged decent Romans everywhere, even many of Marcus Antonius’ most loyal friends and allies turned against him after the contents the will had been revealed by the praecones, the town criers in every town in Italy. Their beloved rogue and Triumvir had willed his provinces to his and Cleopatra’s bastards in the form of kingdoms, as though they were his own realms to dispose of as he pleased. It was treason, plain and simple, and it had been the excuse Octavian had been waiting for to eliminate his nemesis.

Octavian and Antonius had always known it would come down to the two of them in the end, like some great Homeric tragedy played out to the whim of the gods, the gravest threat is always encountered last in an epic war – Pompeius, Cicero, Cassius, Brutus and all the others were but preludes to the final conflict between Octavian and Marcus Antonius, and as is always the case in these matters, only one of them would be living afterwards, and in this instance, it was Caesar Octavian.

He turned his attention to the more pressing problems of securing Rome’s European frontiers against the Germanic and Celtic barbarians. Rome’s defences were quite simply put: inadequate, often undefended and undefined. His father, Julius Caesar had warned of the dangers, but his assassination and the civil wars that followed got in the way of resolution, now it was for him to finish what his father had begun – it would make a useful distraction too, a good old fashioned war of conquest to keep those dangerously idle minds back in the Eternal City too busy thinking of faraway places to concern themselves with conspiracies and plots at home. Rome will never be at peace, he will make certain of that, but there will be peace at Rome – he was determined to make certain of that too.

But there was conspiracy against him at home, Calvinus knew that, even if, at this moment, it was unthinkable to the victorious dux. There was a seed of secretive dissenters in the Senate. They were inert and powerless for now, but Calvinus knew they were a simmering threat beneath the political ether, plotting and biding their time. He slipped his hands behind his back and folded his fingers together and pondered the dangers still ahead of them.

Back inside, Octavian and Calvinus were quickly joined by the legates and administrators, gathering around like sheep around their shepherd, standing aside as Octavian and his officers moved through Cleopatra’s immense palace, sprawling over Antirhodos Island like a city within a city; everywhere glittering with gold and marble, the alabaster walls bathed in the setting sun’s golden hue spilling through numerous windows and colonnaded porticoes.

The sweet fragrant smoke of frankincense rolled weightlessly like wispy mist between the forest of columns in the great hall, where Octavian’s commanders were gathered, as well as a number of Egyptian nobles and high priests and priestesses, and Greek aristocrats, their fates now entirely in Octavian’s hands. Blind fear in their faces as they watched the precocious young dux stride through the fragrant mist, followed by Agrippa, Calvinus and Faustus, magnificent in their armour, their plumed helmets tucked under their arms, their cloaks draping their backs.

Agrippa eyed the cowed Egyptians with a victorious general’s contempt.

Octavian spoke – he told them of greatness and wisdom, of free men and peace, of brotherhood and new beginnings. He said, now is the time for Roman to embrace Roman, and though yesterday they were enemies, today they are brothers again.

His voice carried through the great hall like the voice of God to every attendant ear, and nobody spoke.

He told them the Republic is safe, and he promised them it would remain so. He would make Rome great again, and every Roman, highborn or low, will control his own destiny. A country can only prosper in peace, he told them.

He pointed to the floor, stained with Marcus Antonius’s blood at the foot of the pharaonic thrones, where he and Cleopatra sat as gods over all in their realm… ‘There lies the shadow of tyranny!’ he declared. ‘Behold the mark of a traitor, and the blemish of his arrogance! Egypt! You are liberated from tyranny! I have not come to put chains on you.’

A heady silence followed his short speech, and then Agrippa cheered: ‘Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!’

The great hall suddenly echoed to the chants of: ‘Caesar! Caesar! Caesar…’

It had been a master stroke, after the Battle of Actium, when he decided not to pursue Antonius across the sea or attack Alexandria directly as everyone had expected him to, but instead had decided to inflict a slow and lingering death on the pharaonic order, bringing his legions by land and by sea in a pincer round Alexandria from the east and west through Asia, cutting Antonius’ forces in half, and through Agrippa’s superb admiralship, had sent Antonius’ fleet scurrying in disarray.

As Octavian’s land forces advanced, he secured Antonius’ provinces and client kingdoms in Asia, isolating Egypt, and so sealing Cleopatra and Antonius’ doom.

Antonius’ legions disintegrated into panic and chaos, retreating wherever they met Octavian’s legions. Many defected to Octavian, who, it was clear by then, was going to win the war, and like a wind carrying the breath of plague, he advanced irresistibly on Alexandria, leaving a wake of death behind him, annihilating the Egyptian armies wherever he met them.

Antonius was like a cornered fox, running in every direction for support, but found chaos and treachery on too vast a scale to consolidate an effective defence. Octavian was on his way and everyone was shitting themselves. Even Antonius’ loyal general Lucius Pinarius deserted him at Cyrenaica.

Octavian was now the most powerful man on earth; and as if to punctuate the fact, four Egyptian high priests with painted faces, and gowned in their ceremonial fineries, prostrated themselves on their bellies in front of him and declared him Pharaoh…

Agrippa and Calvinus exchanged glances.

Octavian’s servant, Demosthenes, fearing his dominus might forget he had blood and not fire running in his veins, stepped forwards and quietly reminded him: ‘Dominus. Respice post te! Hominem te esse memento! Memento mori! – Master. Look behind thee! Remember that thou arte but a man! Remember that you will die!’

Octavian looked at him. ‘You encompass all the virtues of the cynic, like your namesake did before you, Demosthenes.’

‘Thank you, dominus.’

‘And one day,’ said Octavian as he swept across the court, ‘your sarcasm will get you in a lot of trouble.’

‘Yes, dominus,’ he said as he skittered after him, followed by the legates and administrators, and a sundry of other pinch faced officers liveried in their dusty armour…

‘It is fortunate for you that I am in a good mood today.’

‘I am as devoted to the gods of good moods, as I am devoted to you, my dominus.’

‘Hmm…’

The priests scattered on all fours like terrified rats as Octavian and his entourage passed.

‘What shall we do with the arrested courtesans, Caesar?’

‘What do you think we should do with them, Faustus?’ Octavian responded. He stopped and turned to his friend.

‘Execute those who pose a threat, and enslave the rest.’

‘Then that is what we shall do. But not the Romans. I’ve a mind for leniency.’ He looked at Calvinus, reading his thoughts, he said: ‘Sometimes, in politics, it is a necessity to take a risk. Many of these men are from the noblest families in Rome, to kill them will simply sire another generation of hatred. My father knew this, and he took that risk for the greater good of Rome. The pay and privileges of Antonius’ legions will be honoured.’ He looked at Agrippa. ‘Only the Romans on the lists are to be put to death.’ He looked at Calvinus.

‘Dominus! Dominus!’ cried a priest, grovelling on his knees at Octavian’s feet.

Octavian stopped and looked down at the priest, who represented Horus the sky god.

‘What will become of Egypt?’

Yes, thought the Octavian, what will become of Egypt?