Page 30 of Agrippa

As soon as the last play was over, I hurried back to my house and sent a message to Caesar, telling him what had happened and urging him to return at once with as many legions as he could muster.

Then I set off for the south with an army, accompanied by Maecenas.

It seemed almost unbelievable that we should be fighting a third civil war in less than four years. I pitied the long-suffering people of Italy as we passed through their derelict settlements – their property pillaged, livestock stolen, crops unharvested. War, which I had once so relished, was gouged into the countryside like an open wound. I vowed that if we emerged victorious, I would try to devote more of my life to building than destruction.

We marched to Campania, regrettably doing our share of damage, living off the land, taking men away from their farms, and then struck east across the mountains to the Adriatic.

While we were on the march, I learned that the garrison I had strengthened at Brundisium earlier in the year had held out manfully and prevented Antony from landing. He had been obliged to come ashore much further up the coast, at Sipontum. I stormed the town as soon as we reached it, and quickly subdued it, only to discover that Antony had departed a month earlier, leaving behind little more than a token force. He had headed back along the coastal road over a hundred miles south to Brundisium, intending to conquer it from the landward side.

I pursued him, force-marching the army down the same road, with the sea to our left, and to our right the land granted to the veterans of Philippi, many of whom had left their farms to join Antony.

A complicated situation now arose. Antony had enclosed Brundisium in a defensive wall and was besieging the harbour. We in turn began building a defensive wall around his positions and set about besieging him. The trenches and ramparts were strangely quiet. The soldiers did not have much stomach for a fight. There was constant fraternisation in no-man’s-land between old comrades, which the officers were powerless to prevent. We settled down for a long haul.

Sextus meanwhile had taken Sardinia, but his other attacks had been repulsed.

At the beginning of September, Caesar arrived at the head of his six Gallic legions, after a long and weary journey down almost the entire length of Italy. He looked even thinner than usual, and exhausted. Yet again his old illness had flared up, and he had transferred day-to-day command of the army to Salvidienus. His condition was not as serious as before, but he had been obliged to stop en route to recover and was in no condition to fight a battle.

We held a conference to decide what we should do – Caesar, me, Salvidienus, Maecenas and the legates of the legions.

After we had studied the map for a while, it was Maecenas who said frankly what was in all our hearts.

– You know this war is pointless? I have no doubt we will win it in the end. But if it goes on much longer, the country will be ruined. Everyone will lose.

And then he revealed his latest intelligence from the spies he had recruited in Antony’s camp – produced it like a conjuror whipping a rabbit from an empty sack, as it always pleased him to do.

– I can offer you one piece of good news at least, Caesar. Fulvia is dead.

Apparently she had got as far as Macedonia when she met Antony coming the other way from Egypt. According to Maecenas’s informants, he had treated her harshly, blamed her violent temper for bringing him to the edge of ruin and refused to allow her to return with him to Italy. She was already in poor health. Not long after he left, she had succumbed to her illness and died.

Caesar’s lethargy vanished in an instant.

– So, the old she-wolf is dead at last! Antony must be relieved.

– On the contrary. According to my informant, he is racked with guilt. I believe this offers us an opportunity. I am told Antony is as weary of this war as we are. In my opinion, Caesar, you should write to him and offer your condolences.

– But surely he knows I detested Fulvia?

– What does that matter? Hypocrisy is the essence of diplomacy. You should take this opportunity to point out that Fulvia’s death removes a major obstacle to a renewal of your friendship. Indeed, you should go further. You should propose he takes a new wife.

– And who might that poor unfortunate creature be?

– Well, there is one obvious candidate, newly available – your sister, Octavia.

There was a long silence. Caesar stared at him. I thought he might lose his temper. Instead, he was intrigued.

– But Antony is infatuated with Cleopatra. He even has a son by her.

– Obviously he would have to give her up.

– Yes, obviously. But would he?

– For all his excesses, Antony is no fool. In a choice between power and sentiment, a man like him will always choose power. Marriage to Octavia would guarantee an alliance with you. It would entirely restore his fortunes. He would never dare jeopardise that for a dalliance with another woman, not even the Queen of Egypt.

Caesar brooded on it.

– Agrippa, what do you think?

I thought of Octavia, honourable and noble. I thought of Antony, dangerous and impulsive. And I thought of Italy, burned and bleeding, crying out for peace. One had only to pose the question to know the answer.