INFORME FINAL

44–38

BC

‘Later he assumed the name Caius Caesar . . . by the will of his great-uncle.’ – Suetonius, Augustus 7. 2.

heir

‘In Octavianus . . . there is plenty of sense and plenty of spirit, and it looks as if he will be as well disposed to our heroes [the conspira- tors] as we could wish. Yet how far can we trust anyone of such an age, such a name, such an inheritance, and such an upbringing. His stepfather, whom I saw at Astura, thinks he is not to be trusted at all. Even so we must keep an eye on him, and at the very least keep him away from Antony.’ Cicero, June 44 BC.1

J

ulius Caesar’s great-nephew was far from Rome on the Ides of March, for at the end of 45 bc the dictator had sent him abroad to further his education. It was common for young aristocrats to serve as ‘tent-companions’ to a relative or family friend given command of a province. They lived with the governor and his staff , observing what he did just as they accompanied relatives around the Forum at home. Julius Caesar planned to take Octavius with him on the Parthian expedition and so wanted him to prepare for the experi- ence. The young man was duly despatched to Macedonia, where six legions and substantial auxiliary forces were getting ready for the eastern war. This was only one part of the great army that Julius Caesar was mustering to avenge Crassus, but it was the most conven- iently placed to Italy, with the added advantage of being in Greece. While training for war, Octavius was not to neglect the skills of pol- itics, for these were the twin pillars of public life. Greek teachers of rhetoric were the most highly regarded, and young aristocrats often went to Greece to study.2

For four months Octavius and a party of friends and attendants lived at Apollonia on the western coast of Macedonia. The city was strategically placed on the Via Egnatia, the great Roman road built

in the second century bc to cross the Hellenic Peninsula all the way to the shores of the Aegean. Apollonia had benefi ted from Julius Caesar’s generosity and so readily welcomed his great-nephew. During the winter Octavius underwent voice training, practised ora- tory, and watched and joined army units in their drills and exercises. Apart from the legions, he trained with the non-citizen cavalry, for it was common for young aristocrats to be given command of such units. Mounted troops were also likely to play a vital role in opera- tions against the cavalry armies of the Parthian king.3

It took time for news to travel across the Adriatic, and so it was not until late in March that a letter arrived from Octavius’ mother, carried most likely by a member of her household or someone con- nected to the family in some way. Atia had probably written on the Ides of March itself, for she reported only the bare facts of the assas- sination. The written word was only ever part of the message, and it was normal for the messenger to add both detail and interpreta- tion, but in this case the man knew little more. He had left Rome immediately and travelled in haste, so had no knowledge of what had happened since the Ides. Like Atia, he could speak only of the shock and uncertainty, and fears of more violence to come in which the dead dictator’s relatives might well be targets. His mother urged Octavius to return to Italy as soon and as quietly as possible.

The youth responded to the news in a properly Roman way and sought advice from his companions in an ad hoc council or consilium of the sort which advised magistrates and provincial governors. Two of those present are known by name, Quintus Salvidienus Rufus and Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, and they would continue to be associ- ated with him for some time. Both came from similar backgrounds to Octavius’ father, belonging to the local gentry of Italian towns. Salvidienus may well have been somewhat older, but Agrippa was an almost exact contemporary of Octavius and was most likely edu- cated with him from a young age.4

As word of the dictator’s death spread, military tribunes and cen- turions from the legions camped nearby came to visit, expressing their sympathy, anger at the assassins, and off ering general support.

Claims that they were willing to put themselves under his command and march on Rome are probably later exaggerations, but there is no reason to doubt their goodwill. All six legions in Macedonia had been formed by Julius Caesar after Pharsalus in 48 bc, and every single offi cer owed his original commission and/or one or more steps in promotion to the approval of the dictator. Some may have served under him in diff erent legions before this. Past favours were reinforced by eager anticipation of lavish rewards in the future. Wars in the east were renowned for the immense hauls of plunder wait- ing to be snatched from the wealthy kingdoms of that region. Julius Caesar was known to be both a lucky general who had never lost a war and exceptionally generous when it came to sharing the spoils. Alongside the soldiers, representatives of the city came, expressing their sympathy and assuring Octavius of his safety.5

A Roman aristocrat was expected to seek advice from his consil-

ium, but then to weigh up the issues in his own mind and make a

decision. Octavius decided to sail across to Italy, rather than wait until more news arrived, and arranged for ships to carry his party and their attendants. He may have touched at a remote spot on the coast of Calabria, before landing properly at the great port of Brun- disium (modern Brindisi). Soon a picture began to emerge of the situation in Rome.6

After the initial shock at the assassination, some senators had praised the conspirators, but there was little enthusiasm from the wider population. Speeches by Brutus and others fell fl at, as did dis- tributions of money – later the historian Appian tartly noted the paradox of expecting an electorate who could be bribed to rally to a cry of liberty. The conspirators failed to act and lost the initiative, so that on 17 March it was Antony as consul who summoned the Senate. Brutus, Cassius and the others did not feel it safe to attend and re- mained up on the Capitol. After a long debate a motion framed by Cicero was passed overwhelmingly, granting amnesty to the conspir- ators, but confi rming all of Julius Caesar’s decisions and acts. The compromise was as illogical as it was necessary. The dictator had appointed most of the magistrates and if his decisions were invalid

then presumably none of these men legally held offi ce – includ- ing Brutus, Cassius and Antony. Similarly no provincial command would be legitimate, no recent law in force, and the land allocated to veterans and other settlers no longer their property. The restored Republic risked plunging into immediate chaos until new elections could be held, and every decree and law decided upon all over again.

Julius Caesar was also granted a public funeral on a motion put forward by his father-in-law. This was held in the heart of the Forum, most probably on 20 March, with Antony presiding and delivering the eulogy. Our sources diff er over how much and what he actu- ally said, but not about the result. Antony showed the crowd the dictator’s cloak, torn by knives and stained with his blood, while a wax effi gy of his body was hoisted up on a crane of the type used in theatres and rotated to display all twenty-three wounds. He read out the dictator’s will, which made his extensive gardens beside the Tiber into a public park, and left 75 denarii (or 300 sesterces) to every citizen, adding to his many benefactions in the past. There was re- vulsion when it was revealed that Decimus Brutus was named as a secondary heir. Anger quickly boiled over into attacks on the houses of the conspirators and their sympathisers. A tribune and close friend of Julius Caesar named Cinna was murdered by a mob who mistook him for one of the conspirators with the same name. Like that other popular hero, Clodius, Julius Caesar was cremated in the Forum itself, benches and anything else combustible being heaped up to form a pyre. Rome was no longer safe for the conspirators and in the coming days all of them would leave the City.7

The will also named Caius Octavius as the heir to three-quarters of the dictator’s vast personal estate, with the fairly common pro- viso that as legatee he take Julius Caesar’s name. It had been drawn up on 15 September 45 bc on the dictator’s return from the Spanish campaign and there is no indication that Octavius or any of his im- mediate family knew of its contents. The young man was clearly favoured by his great-uncle, who no doubt saw more talent in him than either of his nephews. Yet it is vital to remember that Julius Caesar did not plan on dying so soon. Cicero later declared that the

dictator would not have returned from his eastern wars, but there is no reason to believe that this view was widespread or likely. Nor was there any certainty that Octavius would outlive his great-uncle, for the youth had already suff ered a serious bout of illness that delayed his arrival in Spain in 45 bc and did not seem to have a robust con- stitution. If the teenager survived the rigours of the campaign and the arrows of the Parthians, and continued to show promise, then perhaps Julius Caesar would have given him more open recognition. Once again we return to the impossibility of knowing the dictator’s long-term plans.8

Adoption was taken very seriously by the Romans, and an adopted son became to all intents and purposes the same as a true son, keep- ing in addition any useful prior connections from his real family. Such full adoption could only occur in the father’s lifetime and could not be posthumous. This has prompted a prolonged and highly tech- nical scholarly debate on precisely what status Julius Caesar’s will gave to Octavius. To a great extent this misses the point. Octavius was the principal heir to his great-uncle’s property and was to take his name. Julius Caesar’s powers, offi ces and honours were each awarded to him personally and not possessions to bequeath. Yet he was a senator, who had revived the prestige of his family and taken it to unprecedented levels. A young man who received Julius Caesar’s wealth and name inevitably also took on the political expectations of continuing the family’s success. This need not be instant, but in due course and at a suitable age it would only be appropriate for him to enter public life and seek fresh distinction for the name of Caesar.

If Octavius accepted the legacy – and this was not compulsory, but a matter of choice, for we hear of individuals refusing to accept some bequests – then he inherited these political expectations as well as a name. The distinction between main heir and son was blurred even if it was clearly not full adoption. Some technical matters did make a real diff erence. A true or adopted son inherited rights over all of his father’s freedmen – and in Julius Caesar’s case these were both very numerous and often wealthy – who were obliged to support him as patron, voting for him and willingly placing their resources at

his disposal. Without formal adoption Octavius might fi nd it hard to enforce this legal right, although that did not mean that some or all of the dictator’s freedmen would not choose to see him as their patron.9

At Brundisium Octavius received a letter from Philippus and an- other from Atia, both of whom by this time knew of the terms of the will. They also saw that the popular anger against the conspirators persisted in spite of the amnesty and continued support of many senators. As yet there had been no bloodbath or vengeful attacks on Julius Caesar’s family. This did not mean that it would be safe for a young man to enter public life as the dictator’s heir. An eighteen- year-old was more than a decade too young to stand for offi ce and enter the Senate, but the name Caesar would attract attention and probably hostility which he might struggle to cope with – or indeed merely survive. His stepfather was already thinking about his own son’s campaign for the consulship for 41 bc, when he would be up against Brutus and Cassius, and was not keen to rush Octavius into a career. Philippus advised him to decline the legacy and keep his own name. His mother wavered a little, but was similarly cautious. Our sources may exaggerate, for all are later and most derive from Au- gustus’ own memoirs. The fi gure of the youthful hero refusing to be held back by the advice of experienced elders had a long literary tra- dition, stretching from Achilles to Alexander the Great. Appian even has the youth quote to Atia Achilles’ words to his mother Thetis from the Iliad.10

That does not mean that caution was not advisable, and at the very least the letters will have urged Octavius to do nothing hast- ily. Whatever the details of their advice, the decision was his, and nothing that followed makes any sense unless his own ambition, confi dence and self-esteem were the prime movers. Perhaps from the beginning he was convinced that he would win through against any rivals, no matter how much older and more experienced, even though no sensible observer could have predicted the events of the next few years and his part in them.11

If Octavius hesitated to accept the legacy and the name then he did so only briefl y. At eighteen he ceased to be Caius Octavius and

instead became Caius Julius Caesar. Convention expected that a man would retain a trace of his own name and add Octavianus to this formula. He never did this, although at times his enemies called him Octavianus to stress that his real family was obscure. As stated in the Introduction, we will ignore the modern convention to call him Oc- tavian and instead call him Caesar, for that is the name he used and how he is referred to in our sources. The power of this name had a lot to do with the course of events.12

rome

The young Caesar and his party set out from Brundisium for Rome – a journey that under normal circumstances took nine days or more. His friends already addressed him by his new name and it may have been as early as this that he sent a messenger to the province of Asia to secure some of the war chest Julius Caesar had prepared for the Parthian expedition. The group reached Rome in the early part of April, no doubt having forced the pace. Cicero was away from the City and on 10 April wrote to ask about the ‘arrival of Octavius, whether there was a rush to meet him, or any suspicion of revolu- tion’, but clearly did not expect that anything too signifi cant would have happened. In the event his visit proved brief and had little impact. Antony made the young Caesar wait for some time before granting him a brief and chilly meeting in the gardens of his house on the Palatine – formerly the home of Pompey. The consul was genuinely very busy dealing with a stream of petitioners, and there was no reason for him to consider the teenager politically useful or even relevant. The boy’s expectation of taking over all of Julius Cae- sar’s estate was deeply inconvenient for Antony when there was so much to do and all available funds were vital for building up his own position. On 12 April Cicero casually dismissed the requested report about Caesar as unimportant.13

Leaving Rome, the eighteen-year-old now travelled through Cam- pania, heading for Naples. On the way he took time to speak to some

of the many veterans from the dictator’s legions settled in the area. On 18 April he met Lucius Cornelius Balbus, a Spaniard from Gades (modern Cadiz) who had become a Roman citizen through his ser- vices to Pompey, before joining Julius Caesar’s staff . He had served him in Spain and Gaul, but increasingly took on a role as a political agent in Rome itself, easing many behind-the-scenes deals and acting as adviser. It was an important connection to renew and recognition by such an infl uential and rich political operator would be a consid- erable asset. Later in the same day, Balbus told Cicero that the youth was determined to accept his inheritance.14

A few days later Cicero met the young Caesar, who was staying at his stepfather’s villa at Puteoli in the Bay of Naples, adjacent to the orator’s own country house. He wrote to his friend Atticus: ‘Oc- tavius is with us and behaving with respect and warm friendship. His companions call him Caesar, but Philippus does not and so neither do I.’

This was a minor point in a letter concerned far more with threats to the conspirators and scorn for Antony’s decisions as consul. As yet Cicero simply did not see the eighteen-year-old as very important. Unlike her husband, Atia was calling her son Caesar. Philippus had never been one to take sides openly, but was certainly not actively hostile to his stepson’s ambitions and may quietly have begun to help him. The same was perhaps true of Octavia’s husband Marcellus, although he remained on good terms with the conspirators for the moment. Years of civil war had added to natural wastage – as had multiple consulships by Pompey and then Julius Caesar – so that there were only seventeen former consuls alive and several of these lacked the energy or desire for active politics. There were very few senior statesmen to guide the Republic and to control the networks of patronage that held the Roman world together. Julius Caesar’s death made matters worse, for he had stood at the centre of an un- precedentedly vast web of patronage and no one could readily fi ll

In document ANDERSSON OYOLA HEREDIA EDWIN ANDREY VALENCIA DIAZ HANDERSON PLAZAS CAMPO (página 73-81)