Page 47 of Agrippa

Mine to him are constant pleas for money, to pay the legionaries who were toiling on the aqueduct and to compensate the landowners for the smallholdings I had promised to each man. He must have found them boring, for he hardly bothers to mention them.

His to me recount his leisurely winter and spring in Athens, founding colonies for his veterans and erecting victory monuments, and then his landing outside Alexandria in July, where he laid siege to the city to which Antony and Cleopatra had retreated.

To begin with, his tone is confident – I have brought up ballistae and scorpios close to the walls, and our blockade of the harbour is complete – but then several weeks passed without any report of progress, and I started to become concerned. Eventually a letter dated the end of the month described a ferocious struggle in the outskirts of the city that ended in a pitched battle around the hippodrome. He claimed to have killed ten thousand of the enemy but owned up to similar losses on our side. Although he did not say so, I inferred he had been obliged to break off the attack.

Our forces so greatly outnumbered Antony’s that I knew we could sustain a level of casualties he could not. Sure enough, a more optimistic message reached me a few days later – Antony has challenged me to settle our dispute by a duel man-to-man to spare our armies further bloodshed! Can you imagine anything so stupid? He must be worried. I did not even trouble to reply.

And then comes a longer letter.

To: Agrippa

From: Caesar

Antony is dead. I know this for a fact because I have stood over his body. He even managed to make a mess of his suicide by all accounts, stabbing himself but failing to inflict a fatal wound. He was carried on his bed to Cleopatra and died in her arms a few hours later. I had expected to feel exultant, but oddly I felt mostly sadness. He was a great man, ruined by an excess of passion. I have given permission for him to be buried in Alexandria with all due honours, as he wished.

The queen herself pleads for mercy, and even tried to seduce me. But she must be nearly forty and I was not tempted. I made it clear that Egypt henceforth will be a Roman province, and there was no question of my allowing her to remain on the throne, although I am reluctant to have her killed. What do you think? I would like to bring her back to Rome and parade her in my triumph. But then the question arises, what to do with her afterwards? I send you greetings, my friend. Victory is sweet. I have all her treasure secured, so you can tell the veterans they will be paid.

A week later, another.

Cleopatra is dead. It is said she put a poisonous snake between her breasts. Her lips were blue, but the doctors could find no puncture marks on her skin, so perhaps that is a myth. At any rate, there is no word on the health of the snake.

And finally:

We caught Caesarion hiding just outside Alexandria. I had him brought before me. An intelligent, handsome lad aged sixteen. We had some talk. I could see my great-uncle in his features. But I fear he could not be allowed to live – he would have been one Caesar too many. I had him struck from behind when his back was turned so at least he had no warning of the blow, and then gave orders for his body to be thrown to the crocodiles in the Nile to obliterate every trace of him.

I do not recall shedding any tears at the time, but this morning I wept at the cruelty of Caesarion’s fate. The same blood was in our veins. I ask myself, had I been there, might I have tried to save him? He was my half-brother, after all. The truth is, I would not. There was nothing I could have done. My gaze returns repeatedly to that pitiless phrase, he would have been one Caesar too many.

Power makes monsters of us all.

XVI

The task of absorbing Egypt into the empire delayed Caesar’s return to Italy for nearly a year. It was not until the following summer that he sent word to the Senate that he was on his way home to Brundisium.

All the most prominent men in Rome immediately hastened south to welcome him.

I remember the day of his arrival was ferociously hot, even for that part of Italy in July. A grandstand with benches for several hundred senators and knights had been erected along the waterfront, with a canopy to protect us from the sun. Before we were allowed to take our places, we were frisked for concealed weapons. Soldiers stood nearby.

Exactly at the appointed hour, Caesar’s flagship appeared in the entrance of the harbour, with its escort of triremes. At once, the low murmur of conversation among the senators gave way to silence. Most were nervous at the prospect of his arrival. All were aware of his reputation for vindictive cruelty. None was sure what he might do. Even his adopted father the dictator had not risen so high above his peers, and then at least there had been powerful Republicans – Brutus, Cassius, Decimus and others – willing to band together in the name of liberty and bring him down. Now there were no statesmen left of equal stature. All lay dead upon the battlefields or at the bottom of the sea.

The flagship, instead of mooring at the quayside in front of us, dropped anchor in the middle of the harbour. Presently a small tender was lowered, and a slight figure in a wide-brimmed straw hat was helped into it by a couple of soldiers. As he came closer, he doffed his hat to the waiting senators, who abruptly rose as one and broke out in loud applause.

And with this ostentatious display of modesty, Caesar returned to claim his destiny.

He went down the line shaking hands, acknowledging compliments, exchanging a few words here and there. He lingered longest with Cicero Minor, a couple of years younger than us, whose two months in office had coincided with the victory over Antony, and who had therefore had the satisfaction of announcing the death of his father’s mortal enemy to the Senate.

I was standing with Maecenas. Together we watched Caesar’s progress. I noticed he was wearing shoes with built-up heels to increase his height. When he reached us, he embraced us both and kissed our cheeks. His were rough with bristle and white from seasickness. Beneath his prominent brows his grey eyes were bloodshot. He looked less than ever like his official statues. He whispered in my ear that he wanted me to join him for dinner that evening.

I wondered what the future held for me.

His staff had requisitioned a small house on the outskirts of the town, somewhat isolated, and therefore easier to protect. It was heavily guarded. In the vestibule, I was once again checked for weapons. By chance, at that moment Caesar appeared with one of his secretaries and angrily told the guards to stop.

– Never do that again, not to this man, not if you want to live another day.

He led me into a room where a meal for two had been laid out.

– I’m sorry to have to take such precautions, but I’m determined not to repeat the mistakes of my adopted father. I shan’t expose myself to assassination if I can help it. Neither will I strut around like a king and have myself declared dictator for life or any nonsense like that.

I said he now had so much power he had no need to flaunt it.