Italian Gaul as Octavianus. Italian Gaul, incidentally, should become a part of Italia in all respects.’
‘Good man, Pollio!’ Maecenas exclaimed, smiling broadly. ‘I couldn’t begin to say it as well as you just have.’ He gave a mock shiver. ‘For one thing, I wouldn’t have dared be so hard on Antonius. Yes, my friend, very well said indeed! Now all we have to do is persuade Antonius to agree. I don’t foresee any arguments from Caesar Octavianus. He’s had a terrible time of it, and of course the journey from Rome brought on his asthma.’
Pollio looked amazed. ‘Asthma?’
‘Yes. He almost dies of it. That’s why he hid in the marshes at Philippi. So much dust and chaff in the air!’
‘I see,’ Pollio said slowly. ‘I see.’
‘It’s his secret, Pollio.’
‘Does Antonius know?’
‘Of course. They’re cousins, he’s always known.’
‘How does Octavianus feel about letting the exiles come home?’
‘He won’t object.’ Maecenas seemed to consider something, then spoke. ‘You ought to know that Octavianus will never go to war against Antonius, though I don’t know whether you can convince Antonius of that. No more civil wars. He’ll hew to it, Pollio. That’s really why we’re here. No matter what the provocation, he won’t go to war against a fellow Roman. His way is diplomacy, the conference table, negotiations.’
‘I didn’t realize he felt so strongly about it.’
‘He does, Pollio, he does.’
Persuading Antony to accept the terms Pollio had outlined to Maecenas took a full nundinum of ranting, punching holes in walls, tears and yells. Then he began to calm down; his rages were so devastating that even a man as strong as Antony couldn’t sustain that level of energy for more than a nundinum. From rage he plummeted to depression and finally to despair. The moment he landed at the bottom of his pit, Pollio struck; it was now or never. A Maecenas couldn’t have dealt with Antony, but a soldier like Pollio, a man Antony respected and loved, knew exactly what to do. He had, besides, the confidence of some stalwarts back in Rome who would, if necessary, reinforce his strictures.
‘All right, all right!’ Antony cried wretchedly, hands in his hair. ‘I’ll do it! You’re sure about the exiles?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I insist on some items you haven’t mentioned.’
‘Mention them now.’
‘I want five of Calenus’s eleven legions shipped to me.’
‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’
‘And I won’t agree to combining my forces with Octavianus’s to sweep Sextus Pompeius from the seas.’
‘That’s not wise, Antonius.’
‘Ask me do I care? I don’t care!’ Antony said savagely. ‘I had to appoint Ahenobarbus governor of Bithynia, he was so furious at the terms you’ve drawn up, and that means I don’t have enough fleets to fall back on without Sextus’s. He stays in case I need him, that has to be made clear.’
‘Octavianus will agree, but he won’t be happy.’
‘Anything that makes Octavianus unhappy makes me happy!’
‘Why did you conceal Octavianus’s asthma?’
‘Pah!’ spat Antony. ‘He’s a girl! Only girls get sick, no matter what the sickness. His asthma is an excuse.’
‘Not conceding Sextus Pompeius may cost you.’
‘Cost me what?’
‘I don’t quite know,’ Pollio said, frowning. ‘It just will.’
Octavian’s response to the terms Maecenas brought him was very different. Interesting, thought Maecenas, how much his face has changed over this last twelve-month. He’s grown out of his prettiness, though he’ll never not be beautiful. The mass of hair is shorter, he doesn’t care about his prominent ears anymore. But the major change is in his eyes, quite the most wonderful I have ever seen, so large, luminous and silvery-grey. They have always been opaque, he has never betrayed what he’s thinking or feeling with them, but now there’s a certain stony hardness behind their brilliance. And the mouth I’ve longed to kiss, knowing I will never be permitted to kiss it, has firmed, straightened. I suppose that means he’s grown up. Grown up? He was never a boy! Nine days before the Kalends of October, he turned a whole twenty-three. While Marcus Antonius is now forty-four. Truly a marvel.
‘If Antonius refuses to aid me in my battle against Sextus Pompeius,’ said Octavian, ‘he must pay a price.’
‘But what? You don’t have the leverage to exact one.’
‘Yes, I do, and Sextus Pompeius gave me my lever.’
‘And that is?’
‘A marriage,’ Octavian said, face tranquil.
‘Octavia!’ Maecenas breathed. ‘Octavia …’
‘Yes, my sister. She’s a widow, there’s no impediment.’
‘Her ten months of mourning aren’t over.’
‘Six of them are, and all of Rome knows she can’t be pregnant: Marcellus suffered a long, agonizing death. It won’t be hard to get a dispensation from the pontifical colleges and the seventeen tribes the lots throw up to vote in the religious comitium.’ Octavian smiled complacently. ‘They’ll be falling all over each other to do anything that might avert a war between Antonius and me. In fact, I predict that no marriage in the annals of Rome will prove so popular.’
‘He won’t agree.’
‘Antonius? He’d copulate with a cow.’
‘Can’t you hear what you’re saying, Caesar? I know how much you love your sister, yet you’d inflict Antonius upon her? He’s a drunkard and a wife beater! I beg you, think again! Octavia is the loveliest, sweetest, nicest woman in Rome. Even the Head Count adore her, just as they did Divus Julius’s daughter.’
‘It sounds as if you want to marry her yourself, Maecenas,’ Octavian said slyly.
Maecenas bridled. ‘How can you joke about something as – as serious as this? I like women, but I also pity them. They lead such uneventful lives, their only political importance lies in marriage – about the most you can say for Roman justice is that the majority of them control their own money. Relegation to the periphery of public affairs may irk the Hortensias and the Fulvias, but it doesn’t irk Octavia. If it did, you wouldn’t be sitting here so smug and certain of her obedience. Isn’t it time she was let wed a man she truly wants to wed?’
‘I won’t force her to it, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ said Octavian, unmoved. ‘I’m not a fool, you know, and I’ve attended enough family dinners since Pharsalus to have realized that Octavia is
