Still, this time she was right, and though I try to refrain from self-admiration, I could not help being pleased with my perspicacity. What Piso chose to call my New Order – a phrase that subsequently became popular – was greatly strengthened by his adhesion. Of more immediate moment, the conspiracy was seen, when revealed, to be precisely as I had described it to Piso: the work of a few malcontents. They were arrested, questioned, tried and put to death. The execution of a consul caused me some trepidation; yet it hardly raised a tremor.
Paradoxically this distressed me. My fever returned. The night it came on again, Livia and I supped alone (I could hardly eat). I remember talking wildly. I said to her that I feared my enemies were right, that perhaps I had indeed imposed a despotism under which men feared to speak their mind on important matters. 'It must be so,' I said, 'or the execution of Terentius Murena would have aroused protest.'
'You're talking nonsense,' she said. 'Men knew what had to be done.'
'Catiline was no consul. His crime was even more brazen, for his conspiracy advanced further. Yet look how Cicero suffered from his suppression of Catiline.'
'Cicero suffered because he broke the law. He put Roman citizens to death without a trial, and without the authority of the Senate. You took care to obtain that authority. The two cases are quite different.'
'Oh Livia,' I said, 'how tired of it I am,' and I crossed the room and knelt beside her, laying my head on her breast. I remember little of the next weeks. My fever raged. My body alternately shivered and was bathed in sweat. Food was repugnant, and my only nourishment was a little wine, cooled in snow and squeezed from a sponge between my cracked lips. Worse however than the pain and discomfort of my body was the disorder of my mind. I lived between sleep and waking and my imagination, as fevered as my blood, summoned up before me horrid and distorted and frightening images. I was unable to distinguish what was memory and what was fantasy. Things I had thrust down into the depths of my spirit, banished from consciousness, rose, more luridly than the original actions they imitated, to oppress me. I saw again Antony as I had first known him in Spain stumble into my tent, mad with wine, as I lay reading. I felt again his reeking body thrust itself against me, felt his teeth dig into my neck, heard his laugh and shout of anger at my resistance, felt again, with a piercing horror that had lurked deep within me ever since and that time will never still, the last degradation as, calling forth all his strength, he hurled me across the room so that I came to rest bent over a table, and suffered, as he held me there (banging my head on the wood), while he had his way with me. Perhaps I fainted from pain and humiliation. I do not know. I woke while it was still dark, and heard the centurions' cries as the guard changed, but could not move being still clasped in his drunken and manacling embrace. Then he woke too, sighed deeply, as with the fullness of pleasure, and moved his sweaty face against mine. I felt the warmth of his pork-and-stale-wine breath, and I heard his muttered endearments and felt his fingers move, and I… but even now, sixty years after, cannot bring myself to recall more. It oppressed me in that fever, and I woke screaming, but I have never talked of it, and even now wonder that I can bring myself to write it… Yet the reality of that night of horror and degradation has never left me. I have never been clean of the defilement. It was never repeated, for I took good care to remain unavailable for the rest of my time in Spain, and Antony never recalled it, though I knew when he made those gibes that I had been Caesar's catamite (which I was never) what he had in mind, and what he could say if… Why was he silent? I have never understood that, for he was a man without shame, I would have thought.
That question rose in my mind when I gazed down on his body in the decorated gloom of Egypt.
How, with this memory, could I have had Octavia marry Antony? Curiously that did not perturb me at the time of their marriage. Was my tenderness to Marcellus an act of atonement? I do not think so.
In this illness I was assailed too by images of the horror of war. I recalled a battle in Sicily when some of our auxiliary troops were repulsed and panicked. They tried to flee through the ranks of the legions, whose commander, aware how easily panic might spread and lead to rout, ordered the legions not to let them pass. The wretched men – Balearic slingers for the most part – thus found themselves caught between two resolute enemies. All at once, one of them began to scream, in a high uncanny pitch. The others, infected, joined in, and the air was full of the clash of swords and this unearthly screaming. Not one of the auxiliaries survived; only their screams rang down the years.
In my memory now they mingle with the cries of Varus' legions, caught in the vile miasma of the German forest, the Teutoburger wood. One afternoon, the fever left me for a few hours, though my hands shook, my body shivered and I still saw strange shapes form and re-form themselves before my eyes; but my mind was clear: I knew them for fantasy. Yet my clarity was the clarity of despair. I felt a sense of being beyond everything, which I recognized as an intimation of death. I sipped a cup of Sabine wine, and sent for Livia. She could not be found. They said she was at the Temple of Vesta offering prayers and sacrifice for my life. I despatched slaves to fetch her, and also sent for my fellow-consul Piso, and Agrippa. These two came first, and I was perturbed at Livia's continued absence.
I raised myself on one elbow, but could not maintain the posture, finding myself weak as a new-born kitten.
'Piso,' I said, and heard my voice thin, as if it came from a great distance. 'You see me, as I think, in extremity. I have prepared, with Agrippa's help, a detailed statement of the military and financial state of the Republic. I entrust it to you as my colleague and I pray you to deliver it to the Senate. That is the last duty I can carry out for Rome.'
Piso said nothing in reply, held out his hand for the document which my secretary had ready, and seating himself on a bench in an alcove began to peruse it. Flies buzzed in the afternoon silence; I may have drifted into sleep.
'Comprehensive,' Piso said at last. 'Well, Caesar, I shall do as you ask, but I observe you make no recommendation to the Senate as to the future governance of the Empire.'
I could hardly fix my eyes on him; he seemed to sway before me, in half-shadow.
'How can I?' I said. 'What would it serve? I am no king to hand down the succession.'
'Very well,' he said, 'in this you have deserved well of Rome. Farewell, Caesar, I fear you will find but a cold welcome in the Shades…'
When I was sure he had gone, I beckoned to Agrippa, and held out my left hand to him.
'Take my ring,' I said, and felt him draw it from my finger. 'With that ring,' I sighed…
'I know,' he said, 'don't trouble to speak. I can command the legions and provincial governors. Letters patent, under the seal.' He held my hand…
'You won't die,' he said, 'your work's but half-done. Nevertheless…'
Livia entered. Even with my vision misty I could see that she immediately grasped what was happening. I knew her gaze had fixed itself on my ring. I heard a sharp intake of breath.
'Take care of it, Agrippa,' she said. 'My husband despairs too easily. He's not going to die. I've found a new physician…'
She was though relieved to find Agrippa there and not Marcellus, for though she never fully appreciated Agrippa, being prejudiced against him by her birth and manner, she trusted him. 'A loyal old dog,' was her description, and having said that, she thought she had him satisfactorily placed. Such confidence in her judgement was Livia's strength and her weakness. On the one hand, it meant that both decision and action came easily to her; being never doubtful she was rarely prey to that indecision which can afflict those who realize the subtleties and duality of the world. On the other hand, this speed of judgement and complete self-confidence made it impossible for her to have anything more than a rough-and-ready appreciation of character. She was no politician for she saw everything (and everybody) in black and white. So, for instance, she thought that because Agrippa had always seemed content to serve me, he had reached the summit of his ambition. She did not discern Agrippa's certainty of his own merit, which, in the years since Actium, had smouldered jealously. I knew it even before, without a moment's hesitation or a word of demur, he slipped the ring from my finger and eased it on to his, even while he told me that I wasn't going to die.
The new physician was a Greek freedman called Antonius Musa, and it was indeed Timotheus who had sought him out and recommended him to Livia. Had Timotheus, I have always wondered, affection for me, or was he merely protecting his position? Probably the latter, for a man such as Timotheus makes powerful enemies who can render transfer from a dead patron to a living one rather difficult.
'Your fever,' the man said, 'has been wrongly treated. They have wrapped you in rugs and bled you. Both these weaken the body rather than fortifying it.'
He prescribed a regime of cold baths (four a day) and beef and olives. I have never cared for beef, but very soon, I was eating two sizeable steaks a day.
