things to do, and Sextus was not politically inclined, then or now. Whereas he had once met Octavian, in a little port on the Italian instep, and found a formidable foe in the guise of a sweet-faced boy, twenty to his own twenty-five. The first thing that had struck him about Octavian was that he beheld a natural outlaw who would never put himself in a position where he might be outlawed. They had done some dealing, then Octavian had resumed his march to Brundisium and Sextus had sailed away. Since then, allegiances had changed; Brutus and Cassius were defeated and dead; the world belonged to the Triumvirs.
He hadn’t been able to credit Antony’s short-sightedness in choosing to center himself in the East. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence could see that the East was a trap, gold the bait on its terrible barbed hook. Dominion over the world would go to the man who controlled Italia and the West, and that was Octavian. Of course it was the hardest job, the least popular, which was why Lepidus, given Lucius Antonius’s six legions, had scuttled off to Africa, there to play a waiting game and accumulate more troops. Another fool. Yes, Octavian was to be feared the most because he hadn’t balked at taking on the hardest task.
If he had consented to a formal alliance, Antony would have made Sextus’s grab for First Man in Rome status easier. But no, he refused to associate with a pirate!
‘So it goes on as it is,’ Sextus said to Libo, his dark blue eyes stony. ‘It will just take longer to wear Octavianus down.’
‘My dear Sextus, you will never wear Octavianus down,’ said Maecenas, turning up in Agrigentum a few days later. ‘He has no weaknesses for you to work on.’
‘Gerrae!’ Sextus snapped. ‘To start with, he has no ships and no admirals worthy of the name. Fancy sending an effete Greek freedman like Helenus to wrest Sardinia off me! I have the fellow here, by the way. He’s safe and unharmed. Ships and admirals – two weaknesses. He has no money, a third. Enemies in every walk of life – four. Shall I go on?’
‘They’re not weaknesses, they’re deficiencies,’ said Maecenas, savoring a mouthful of tiny shrimps. ‘Oh, these are delicious! Why are they so much tastier than the ones I eat in Rome?’
‘Muddier waters, better feeding grounds.’
‘You do know a lot about the sea.’
‘Enough to know that Octavianus can’t beat me on it, even if he did find some ships. Organizing a sea battle is an art all its own, and I happen to be the best at it in Rome’s entire span of history. My brother, Gnaeus, was superb, but not in my class.’ Sextus sat back and looked complacent.
What is it about this generation of young men? wondered the fascinated Maecenas. At school we learned that there would never be another Scipio Africanus, another Scipio Aemilianus, but each of them was a generation apart, unique in his time. Not so today. I suppose the young men have been given a chance to show what they can do because so many men in their forties and fifties have died or gone into permanent exile. This specimen isn’t thirty yet.
Sextus came out of his self-congratulatory reverie. ‘I must say, Maecenas, that I’m disappointed that your master didn’t come to see me in person. Too important, is he?’
‘No, I assure you,’ said Maecenas, at his oiliest. ‘He sends his profuse apologies, but something has come up in Further Gaul that made his presence there mandatory.’
‘Yes, I heard, probably before he did. Further Gaul! What a cornucopia of riches will become his! The best of the veteran legions, grain, hams and salt pork, sugar beets … Not to mention the land route to the Spains, though he doesn’t have Italian Gaul yet. No doubt he will when Pollio decides to don his consular regalia, though rumor has it that won’t be for some time. Rumor has it that Pollio is marching his seven legions down the Adriatic coast to assist Antonius when he lands at Brundisium.’
Maecenas looked surprised. ‘Why should Antonius need military help to land in Italia? As the senior of the Triumvirs, he’s free to come and go as he pleases.’
‘Not if Brundisium has anything to do with it. Why do the Brundisians hate Antonius so? They’d spit on his ashes.’
‘He was very hard on them when Divus Julius left him behind there to get the rest of the legions across the Adriatic the year before Pharsalus,’ said Maecenas, ignoring the darkening of Sextus’s face at mention of the battle that had seen his father crushed, the world changed. ‘Antonius can be unreasonable, never more so than at that time, with Divus Julius breathing down his neck. Besides, his military discipline was slack. He let the legionaries run wild – raping, looting. Then, when Divus Julius made him Master of the Horse, he took out a lot of his spleen at Brundisium on Brundisium.’
‘That would do it,’ said Sextus, grinning. ‘However, it does look a bit like an invasion when a Triumvir brings his entire army with him.’
‘A show of strength, a signal to Imperator Caesar—’
‘Who?’
‘Imperator Caesar. We don’t call him Octavianus. Nor does Rome.’ Maecenas looked demure. ‘Perhaps that’s why Pollio hasn’t come to Rome, even as her elected junior consul.’
‘Here’s some less palatable news for Imperator Caesar than Further Gaul,’ Sextus said waspishly. ‘Pollio has won Ahenobarbus over to Antonius’s side. Won’t Imperator Caesar love that!’
‘Oh, side, side,’ Maecenas exclaimed, but without passion. ‘The only side is Rome’s. Ahenobarbus is a hothead, Sextus, as you well know. He “belongs” to nobody save Ahenobarbus, and he revels in roaring up and down his little patch of sea playing at being Father Neptune. No doubt this means you’ll be having more to do with Ahenobarbus yourself in future?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sextus, looking inscrutable.
‘More to the point, that busy bird rumor says that you’re not getting on well with Lucius Staius Murcus these days.’
‘Murcus wants the co-command,’ Sextus said before he could put a brake on his tongue. That was the trouble with Maecenas, he lulled his listeners into a cosy rapport that somehow turned him from Octavian’s creature into a trusted friend. Annoyed at his indiscretion, Sextus tried to pass it off with a shrug. ‘Of course he can’t have the co-command, I don’t believe in them. I succeed because I make all the decisions myself. Murcus is an Apulian goatherder who thinks he’s a Roman nobleman.’
Look at who’s talking, thought Maecenas. So it’s goodbye to Murcus, eh? By this time next year he’ll be dead, accused of some transgression or other. This haughty young reprobate brooks no equals, hence his predilection for freedmen admirals. His romance with Ahenobarbus won’t last any longer than it takes Ahenobarbus to call him a Picentine upstart.
All useful information, but not why he was here. Abandoning the shrimps and the fishing for news, Maecenas got down to his real business, which was to make it clear to Sextus Pompey that he had to give Octavian and Italia a chance to survive. For Italia, that meant full bellies; for Octavian, that meant hanging on to what he had.
‘Sextus Pompeius,’ Maecenas said very earnestly two days later, ‘it is not my place to sit in judgement upon you, or upon anyone else. But you cannot deny that the rats of Sicilia eat better than the people of Italia, your own country from Picenum, Umbria and Etruria to Bruttium and Calabria. Home of your city, which your father adorned for such a long time. In the six years since Munda you’ve made thousands of millions of sesterces reselling wheat, so it isn’t money you’re after. But if, as you insist, it is to
