These are the maunderings of senility. Love could no more have held us together, than it was love that made Antony turn to Cleopatra. Nor was it merely ambition caused my break with Antony. We were divided by our different visions of Rome. For Antony the State existed to be plundered. I trust I have shown what my view has always been. Yet now, looking back, how full of regrets my memories of Antony are. What we regret most in life are not the crimes we have committed, but the opportunities which we let slip to be someone other than the person one has become. In a small secret tucked-away part of my nature, I have always desired to be Antony's lover and to have lived as such without responsibility.
Of course, when we came together again, it was too late. I had grown up, pushed Maecenas to the hinterland of my affection, formed other tastes. Moreover, Antony and I then did in concert that which made any intimacy impossible. The Proscriptions were a crime. My name is stained with the blood of those we pricked. They were necessary, an imperative imposed by the fact of civil war. I have never doubted that. Yet I have never been able to forget the children we made fatherless, the sons we slew who should have been the joy and stay of their fathers. Antony and I were divided by the deed that joined us together. On the one hand we were partners against a revengeful world. On the other I could not look him in the eye. And the Fates, which give so much, drawing out a long thread of promise and fulfilment, never fail to act without savage irony. The scissors cut the thread, promise is buried, fulfilment turns to smoky ash in the mouth. The crimes I committed on other unknown fathers have not gone unpunished. The mocking Fates have destroyed my own hopes and joy in living.
How little of that I foresaw as I gazed to the Alban Hills and dawn brought roses to the sky that would overlook our bloodless sacrifices to the deities of Light.
SEVEN
Yet the next years were the happiest of my life. I look back on them now as a man shivering in January wind may pine for the beneficent skies of June, hardly able to believe their reality. Well is it said, whom the Gods wish to destroy they first make mad. My euphoria these years now seems to have been an idiot's joy. It was as if I trusted that the laws of the world, the inexorable working of action and consequence, had been suspended for me. It was as if I was being rewarded for my struggles with happiness, and it did not occur to me that you are never allowed to pay for happiness in advance.
The Republic was calm and orderly. True, the Germans threatened on the Rhine, and even defeated Marcus Lollius, capturing an eagle of the Vth legion; but this defeat was more humiliating than serious. The following year I arrived in the province myself, with my stepsons Tiberius and Drusus, and taught the barbarians a sharp lesson. That brief campaign pleased me, for it showed that both the boys were ready to take their full part in the government of the Empire. Both revealed military talent. Tiberius was a stern disciplinarian, but unlike many such was admired and trusted by the soldiers; they knew he would never be prodigal of their lives, and he never has been. Every advance was meticulously planned. However, though prudent to the point of caution, he was never indecisive; he took time to brood over a decision. Once taken, he saw to it that execution was brisk and efficient. There has been no general of Rome, not even Agrippa, to whom I have more happily and confidently entrusted my soldiers. Drusus had more dashing qualities, and a charm of manner his brother lacked (though it is one of Tiberius' qualities that he has never felt this lack; he has been aware of it of course, but it has never perturbed him, and he was never jealous of his younger brother).
I was so impressed by their conduct in Gaul that I gave them joint command of the north-eastern part of our European frontier. Unrest was seemingly endemic there, especially among the mountain tribes of the Tyrol and Bavaria. The territory was of strategic importance, for only by commanding it could we obtain a satisfactory land route to Illyria and Macedonia. My stepsons conceived and carried out a brilliant pincer movement, defeating the Rhaeti and Vindelicae and pursuing them through the Alps. They drove forward to the Danube, and won territory for Rome and glory for themselves. I asked Horace to celebrate their achievement, which he did in noble lines. This was a supreme example of the ancient virtue of Rome. Livia burned with justified pride at what her sons had done, and was grateful to me for the confidence I had shown in the boys.
I myself passed two years in Gaul. I inaugurated the building of more than twenty towns, transferring the rude inhabitants of the old hill fortresses of Bibracte and Gergovia (both of which had offered stiff resistance to Julius Caesar) to new cities which they were proud to name in my honour, Augustodonum [Autun] and Augustonemetum [Clermont]. I made Lugdonum [Lyon] the centre of financial administration for the whole of Gaul and established a mint there. I encouraged the use of Latin, built roads and bridges and let it be known that I was always ready to act myself as a judge of appeal. I admired the noble bravery of the Gauls, and found them honest and frank in speech. No provincials appealed more to me. It gave me deep pleasure to foster the spread of civilization there. I had another reason for my tender care for the province. No one can read Julius Caesar's account of his Gallic wars without having his pride in Roman achievement corrupted by the shame he must experience at reading of Caesar's cruelty. I know nothing in the annals of warfare so horrible as his lapidary account of massacres, and I could never forget that Cato had proposed Caesar be handed over to the Gauls to be tried as a war criminal. As Caesar's heir, it was my duty to expunge the memory of these atrocities, to make the sufferings of the Gauls in some way worthwhile. I succeeded. I did not try to suppress local customs or even the Druid religion, of which all civilized men stand in awe, but I held out to them all the riches of Greece and Rome, and, because I did so in a generous and admiring spirit, the Gauls welcomed my gifts. My treatment of Gaul stands second in my estimation to my ending of the civil wars and restoration of the Republic in the catalogue of what I have done for Rome and mankind.
Meanwhile Agrippa was in the East. He established colonies for veterans in Syria. I may say in passing that this sort of colonization is the best means of stabilizing lands of uncertain loyalty. It provides a focus for what, to coin a word, I may call Romanization. He then visited Judaea and wrote to me from there: You are quite right about the oddity of the Jews. It seems to be true that they worship only one God. I could hardly believe this was possible, and made enquiries, but no, it seems to be the case. It is flying in the face of everyone's experience as well as common sense. What's more, it doesn't seem to do the one thing you might think useful. I mean of course, that there might be something to be said for asserting that there is only one God – monotheism is, Julia reminds me, the Greek word for this, and it's typical of the Greeks to have a word for a foreign concept – if it achieved some sort of tribal unity. I mean, we have our national Gods, don't we, and I could see some point in having a single deity for Rome. But it doesn't work out like that. No fear, not with the Jews. They squabble among themselves the whole time, just as if they were all adherents of different and hostile gods. They are divided into sects, and one thing I have understood quickly is that it is better for us to keep them in that condition, 'divide and rule' as Julia puts it.
I think however I have gained some credit by offering sacrifices to their 'one true god'. They wouldn't allow me in their Temple to do so. It seems they keep some sacred relic there which they call the Ark of the Covenant, and non-Jews may not set eyes on it. Sacrifice doesn't play an important part in their religion, which is odd too. However, they were pleased by my actions, though I am told that some extremists called Zealots thought it an act of what they call blasphemy. These Zealots are a wild bunch who totally reject everything Rome has to offer. Fortunately the dominant sect, who are called Pharisees – sounds Egyptian, doesn't it? And we both know where you can put the Gyppos – fear the Zealots themselves, and are very happy to see us smack them down.
We were invited here by King Herod. I can't remember how well you know him. I met him first years ago. He has an abundance of charm, of a rather slimy sort, but he doesn't improve with age or acquaintance. I don't like the way he keeps sniffing around Julia. Fortunately, his wife (who is his second wife and a cousin too) is what the soldiers call 'a tough cookie or ratbag' and your Jewish Majesty doesn't dare do more than sniff. Needless to say, Julia finds his attentions repulsive, but it would be undiplomatic to choke them off too abruptly.
Julia is in marvellous form and wins hearts wherever she goes. For all that, she is a loving and faithful wife to her middle-aged husband. For we are, alas, middle-aged, you and I. (I suppose Maecenas is still painting his face so as he can look young?) The boys are splendid. Little Lucius had a slight fever last week, but is better again. He keeps asking when is he going to see Grandpa. We would all like to do that, old friend. As for me, my gout is hellish painful. I sometimes wake up screaming with pain. I tried to read Virgil's poem -too deep for me – there was a bit though in the Sixth Book which Julia picked out about the horrors of the Underworld. They sounded a bit like gout. Not bad stuff that bit.
