047 - Octavius-Octavian

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 47, Octavius Octavian. Julius Caesar was dead. Upon hearing the news, the people of Rome shut themselves up in their homes. After years of civil war, peace had finally come to the turbulent capital. But now, Caesar's final settlement turned out to be little more than the eye of the hurricane. The people implicitly understood that the liberator's vision of a restored republic would mean little more than the return of violent chaos. So they did not rush to embrace Cassius. They did not cheer for Brutus. They simply turned their backs, resigning themselves to what was clearly this generation's lot in life, pain, sacrifice, and bloodshed. And not only did the people of Rome get it exactly right, that Caesar's murder would lead to renewed civil strife, but the liberators got it exactly wrong. Far from restoring the old republican order, the assassination of Julius Caesar hastened its demise.

The liberators made three basic intertwined mistakes. First and foremost, they had no plan for what to do after Caesar was dead. In a classic display of not thinking through the consequences of one's actions, they were so obsessed with removing the dictator that they did not think about who would fill the power vacuum when he was gone. It seems not to have occurred to them to make arrangements for someone, anyone, to assume executive power once the man who had consolidated nearly all executive power into his hands was gone. It was a palace coup without a replacement king waiting in the wings. And this exposed their second great mistake, focusing all their attention on Caesar. In the moments after the assassination, Mark Antony fled from Pompey's theater, disguised himself as a slave, and fled the city, convinced that he would be a target of assassination himself. When you depose a ruler, it's just common sense to purge his supporters at the same time, otherwise they come back and undo everything you were trying to accomplish by deposing the ruler in the first place, which is, of course, exactly what Antony did a few days later when he realized no one was out to get him. As consul for that year, an unharmed Mark Antony had every legitimate reason to step into the power vacuum left by Caesar's death. If the liberators thought they were going to restore the republic by letting Mark Antony anywhere near power, they were mistaken, ordering on Delusional. As Cicero later said, the Ides of March was a fine deed, but half done. Letting Antony live was incredibly short-sighted. Finally, the assassins completely miscalculated the people's reaction to the death of Caesar. The liberators, who were all high-born senators, seemed to have been living in something of a bubble. They saw Caesar as a dangerous tyrant, removing him from power was a self-evident good. But the lower and middle classes saw Caesar not as a dangerous tyrant, but as a powerful advocate of their interests, a man who had always gone to bat for them against the oligarchy of wealthy princes who never gave them the time of day, who gobbled up their land, hoarded the prophets of empire, and forced them to live wretched lives in urban slums. If the liberators thought murdering Caesar was going to make them heroes to the people, they understood nothing about how the average Roman lived. They would pay a price for their blindness. In just a matter of days, these men who thought themselves heroes, who believed they had just delivered Rome from one of history's greatest monsters, would find themselves on the run, their homes ransacked, and their heads called for by the enraged masses of Rome.

Perplexed and perhaps a bit offended that the liberators had not thought him worthy of assassination, Mark Antony returned to Rome a few days after the Ides of March, quietly re-assuming the consulship which, with Caesar now gone, was once again the highest office in the land. The first order of business was to open Caesar's will, and find out how the late dictator planned to allocate his power and fortune. Calpurnia had retrieved the documents from their deposit box at the Temple of the Vestas and turned them over to Antony as soon as he was back in the city. What Antony read disheartened him. Despite his years of service and loyalty, he was accorded no official place among Caesar's heirs. Instead, incredibly, Caesar left three quarters of his fortune to his practically unknown and certainly untested nineteen-year-old great-nephew, Gaius Octavius. Even more incredibly, Caesar stipulated in the will that he was adopting Octavius posthumously. Just like that, Antony was faced with a dangerous rival for power. He had assumed that with their old general dead, the loyalty of Caesar's legions would naturally pass to his chief lieutenant. But now, suddenly, there was a son of Caesar. Would the legions rally to this upstart, or would they stick with the man who had shared their barracks and mess tents through all these long years of war and hardship? It was not a rhetorical question. Across the empire, the legions who had pledged themselves personally to Caesar would now be faced with a choice. The son, or the best friend?

Gaius Octavius, the man who would become Caesar Augustus, was born during the consulship of Cicero in 63 B.C. He was the son of an up-and-coming novus homo, also named Gaius Octavius, who had been recognized as a rising star and married to Julius Caesar's niece, Attia. However, when young Gaius was only five, his father had died, and his mother remarried a cautious politician named Lucius Marcius Philippus. His early years were spent primarily in the care of his grandmother, Caesar's sister Julia, who oversaw his education until she died in 51 B.C. There did not seem to be anything particularly remarkable about the boy, certainly nothing to indicate that in a few years he would become, I don't know, the master of the known world. In fact, he seemed to lack all the qualities that mark young Roman boys for greatness. He was fragile, prone to sickness, not particularly strong, and forever hovered over by an overprotective mother. But he was an able student, showed promise in oratory, and most critically, seemed to attract the right kind of friends.

It was at school, for example, that he met Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, the low-born son of a nobody who was immediately drawn to the thoughtful, if frail, young aristocrat. Agrippa was everything that Octavius was not, a physically gifted natural athlete who impressed every old soldier he ever came across. As much as Caesar was eventually struck by the clever mind and solid character of his young nephew, he was never under any illusions about the boy's physical prowess. But in the friends Octavius surrounded himself with, Agrippa in particular, Caesar felt comforted that the boy was in good hands. Indeed, throughout the coming civil wars, when Octavian is described as having won this or that battle, what historians really mean to say is that Agrippa won this or that battle for Octavian. The childhood friends conquered the empire together, Octavian handling the politics, Agrippa the armies. It was one of the most successful partnerships in history.

Young Octavius did not come into regular contact with his famous uncle until Caesar returned triumphant from North Africa. He had been forbidden to join the campaign by his mother, who feared the boy would break under the stress of army life. But when Caesar emerged victorious from the civil war, Octavius found himself in the unique position of being related to the most powerful man in Rome. He was bombarded from all sides by people looking to use his special access to procure favors, appointments, and handouts. But at the time, he was basically just a kid and had no reason to think he had any pull whatsoever with his uncle, so what the heck were they bothering him for? Famously though, Octavius finally mustered the gumption to approach Caesar and ask a favor. Agrippa's brother had been on the losing side of the North African war, but having already been pardoned by Caesar once before, he had no hope of clemency, as it was well known that Caesar's generosity was extended one time only. Getting caught on the wrong side a second time meant death. Caesar granted the request of his young nephew without hesitation though, to the relief of both Octavius, who feared provoking the wrath of his uncle, and Agrippa, whose brother's life hung in the balance. That Octavius took such a personal risk for Agrippa cemented their bond forever and earned Octavius a well-deserved reputation for loyalty.

Without a legitimate male heir, Caesar had his eye on Octavius, and when the Pompey brothers started trouble in Spain, he intended to place the young man on his general staff and test his military mettle. But as the legions were preparing to march from Rome, Octavius was felled by one of his frequent sicknesses and had to be left behind. Unfortunately for Octavius, his early career would be riddled by these untimely sicknesses – you know, the kind of sicknesses that keep you confined to a tent when you should be out on the battlefield. So whether deserved or not, along with his reputation for loyalty, young Octavius will soon acquire a damaging reputation for cowardice as well. There is no indication that he was ever faking sick, but once too often the legions marched off and left him behind to mend from some new affliction. Eventually people started to notice a pattern. But Octavius was determined to make it to Spain, so when he recovered, he set out with a small cadre of friends, Agrippa included, to join Caesar at the front. But if he hoped to get his first taste of battle, he was too late. By the time he reached Spain, the war was already over. But it was not a total loss. Caesar had Octavius stay with him in his tent, and when the legions packed up and headed back to Rome, Octavius spent most of the journey in his uncle's carriage, picking the brain and having his brain picked by the great general. And despite his late arrival, he earned the respect of Caesar for having set out on his journey before knowing the outcome of the war, unlike the endless stream of politicians who waited to find out who won before pouring out of Rome to find Caesar and pay their respects.

Octavius, though, was eventually dislodged from his prime seat alongside Caesar when Mark Antony joined the caravan in Gaul. Octavius found himself in the next carriage back, seated alongside Decimus Brutus, one of Marcus Brutus's cousins, and a long-time supporter of Caesar, who would soon join the liberator conspiracy and then play a central role in the early stages of the post-Ides of March civil wars between the Senate, Octavius, and the man who had just taken Octavius's spot in Caesar's carriage, Mark Antony. At some point during the journey home from Spain, Caesar made up his mind about Octavius, and when they returned to Rome, one of the first things he did was rewrite his will, officially declaring that in the event of his death, Octavius was to be posthumously adopted and put in charge of the family and fortune of the Julii. As an ironic historical footnote, the will also stipulated that Octavius was dead or refused the inheritance, that everything should go to Marcus Brutus, the man Caesar had always loved and treated as his son. Et tu, Brute?

To prepare Octavius for a life at the forefront of war, politics, and empire, Caesar introduced his new heir, not that anyone, Octavius included, knew that Caesar had rewritten his will at this point, to the life of an all-powerful official. The young man acted as a sort of administrative assistant, serving as an intermediary between the hordes of men who wanted five minutes, just five minutes, with Caesar, and the man himself, who did not physically have time for them all. Octavius learned quickly how politics really worked, what was important, what could be left for another day, who should be flattered, and who could safely be ignored. After this crash course in practical administration, Caesar arranged for Octavius to complete his education in Apollonia, where he would learn oratory from the Greek masters and soldiering from the Macedonian legions. Then, in a few months, when Rome launched its invasion of Parthia, Octavius would serve alongside Caesar and learn his final, most valuable lessons, how to run an army, how to win a war. But of course, Octavius would never learn those final lessons from his uncle. Word came from his mother in a letter dated March 15, 44 BC, that Caesar was dead.

Even though she did not yet know the content of Caesar's will, simply by virtue of being a male relative of the murdered dictator, Adia knew that her son was in danger. She implored Octavius to return to Rome, but avoid getting entangled in the public fallout of the assassination. This request directly contradicted the advice Octavius received from his friends and mentors in Apollonia, who encouraged him to immediately take command of the five legions in Macedonia, march on Rome, and avenge his uncle. While making no commitment to a private life as his mother wished, Octavius rejected the notion that he could, or should, lead 25,000 men in an illegal invasion of Italy. He had never even witnessed a battle, let alone fought in one, and at this point, he had very real doubts about whether or not he was cut out to be a general. So he split the difference and decided to travel back to Italy with a small company of allies and figure out what his role would be in this new post-Caesar world. He arrived in Brundisium and carefully approached the legions that had been mustered there for the now-cancelled Parthian campaign. He found himself well-received by the soldiers and in no immediate danger from the anti-Caesar faction.

Apparently, back in Rome, Antony had delivered a funeral oration in the forum while Caesar lay in state, and had whipped the masses into an anti-liberator frenzy. He told them that Caesar had always held the people at the forefront of his mind, and that according to his recently opened will, the bulk of his property would be given to the citizens of Rome. Then he brought out Caesar's blood-stained toga and held it for all to see, pointing to each stab hole in the fabric and naming the assassin, here Cassius, here Brutus. The inflamed masses rioted, looting the shopping pavilions and building a massive funeral pyre for the body of Caesar. Then they turned on the liberators, who were forced to flee the city while the angry mobs overran their homes. Of course, Octavius soon learned that Antony's speech had been full of exaggerated showmanship. The bulk of the Caesar estate had not been left to the citizens of Rome, it had been left to him. Though the estate was not technically left to Gaius Octavius, it was instead left to Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, Caesar's posthumously adopted son.

What role would Octavius have in the new post-Caesar world? How about one right smack dab in the middle of everything? His mother begged him to refuse the adoption and inheritance. She understood perfectly well what it meant to be Caesar's sole heir, what would be expected of him, and what enemies he would immediately earn. If he took Caesar's name, in all likelihood he would share his uncle's fate. But weak and fragile Octavius revealed some of the steel lurking in his heart and rejected this advice. No, he would become Gaius Julius Caesar, avenge his late father, and guarantee the dictator's legacy. At this point, Octavius apparently dropped his old name altogether and henceforth went by simply Gaius Julius Caesar, the name that would rouse the passion and loyalty of his newly inherited allies. His old name Octavius, amended to Octavianus to denote that he had been adopted out of his biological family, was still officially attached to his identity, but in practice it disappeared. However, historians label the new Gaius Julius Caesar Octavian through this period simply to avoid confusing him with his dead uncle. So just to recap, before the adoption, we call him Octavius. After the adoption, but before he went to the Civil War, we call him Octavian. After the triumph over Marc Antony, we call him Augustus, a title conferred on him by the Senate in 27 BC. His friends however called him Gaius, while everyone else called him Julius Caesar. Got that? Good.

Octavian was hailed by Caesar's legions in Brundisium as their rightful new leader, much to the chagrin of Antony. But it was not just the name of Caesar that drew the legions to support Octavian so readily. Having run the assassins out of town, Antony's posture suddenly became conciliatory. He met with the Senate and appeared to be arranging a truce, amnesty for the liberators in exchange for the Senate's promise not to cancel any of Caesar's reforms or appointments. To the men of Caesar's legions though, this was nothing less than a betrayal. They didn't care about avoiding a new Civil War or the greater good of the state or Antony's personal ambition. They wanted revenge. Their honor demanded it. Antony's honor ought to have demanded it too. To see him meeting with the Senate and talking compromise was an outrage that Octavian immediately capitalized on.

The young Caesar made for the capital and blowing up his mother's dream of a quiet, safe, private life for her son, set about publicly destabilizing the shaky Trusan realm. Even at this early stage of the game, it was obvious that Octavian's ambitions were lofty and that he just maybe had the talent to pull it all off. But he was young and needed time to consolidate his position. He did not need any grand alliances leaving him isolated, the odd man out in what was shaping up to be a deadly game of political musical chairs. So he riled up Caesar's veterans, turning them against Antony and promising to do what the waffling consul would not, avenge Caesar's death. The campaign against Antony was designed to either alienate him from Caesar's old legions and thus deny him his most important power base or force him to abandon his possible alliance with the Senate in favor of a more radical position to mollify the troops. Antony predictably chose the latter. He knew he was nothing without the support of Caesar's legions. So he broke off talks with the Senate and embraced far more extreme positions. But his rage at the upstart Octavian knew no bounds and throughout the next few months while the two shared the spotlight in Rome, Antony took every opportunity to ignore and demean the young man, going so far as to withhold Octavian's rightful inheritance and stall the official adoption proceedings. But whatever personal slights were inflicted on him, Octavian was satisfied with having divorced Antony from the Senate.

As a part of Antony's political shift, he exchanged the offer of clemency for the liberators with forced exile. He pushed through obscure foreign appointments for a lot of them, forcing them out of Italy so they would not get in the way of the Caesarians as they re-entrenched. He also forced through a Cisalpine Gaul pro-consular appointment for himself to take effect as soon as he left office. This meant cutting short the term of the current governor, Decimus Brutus, who was not likely to give up his position without a fight. As one of the liberators, maintaining his strategic placement at the head of an army just north of Rome was of the utmost importance for the remaining Republicans, and Antony relished the opportunity not only to put himself in that all-important province, but to remove an obvious threat at the same time, hopefully regaining the trust of Caesar's legions by declaring war on one of the dictator's assassins along the way. Antony called in five legions stationed in Macedonia and ordered them to cross the Adriatic and meet him in Brindisium. When his term as consul ended, he would march them north and force Brutus to capitulate.

But as autumn gave way to winter, Antony's position began to deteriorate. In September of 44 BC, in retaliation for turning against the Senate, Cicero aimed his considerable rhetorical artillery directly at the consul and opened fire. Using as a model the attacks on Philip II, Alexander the Great's father, by the Greek order Demosthenes, Cicero delivered a series of scathing orations, collectively known as the Philippics, denouncing Antony. He asked the Senate to declare the dangerous consul an enemy of the state, while going out of his way to heap praise on Octavian, who he had clearly determined was the lesser of the two Caesarian evils. Cicero succeeded in turning public opinion against Antony, but the orations were probably the final nail in his coffin. In a few months, when a reconciled Antony and Octavian meet to discuss the fate of their enemies, Antony will be uncompromising on the question of Cicero. The old windbag was dead, dead, dead, dead. Even worse for Antony, though, word came in November that two of the five Macedonian legions were defecting to Octavian's banner. The young man was lucky to have spent the months leading up to Caesar's assassination in Greece and had become quite popular with the troops in Macedonia. For the first time, it wasn't just the name of Caesar, but the personal magnetism of Octavian himself that was having an effect on the balance of power.

With the army going to Octavian, and Cicero lining up the Senate to support the young Caesar and the people turning against him, Antony knew he had to act fast. Before his term as consul ended, he collected the three legions still loyal to him and marched for Cisalpine Gaul. He would dislodge the assassin Brutus and hold the rich and strategically important province for himself. Plus, no one had yet taken into account the tens of thousands of troops stationed in Gaul and Spain. The officers in charge of the legions of Western Europe were his personal friends and the soldiers his longtime comrades. Antony was confident that they would back him over the growing Octavian senatorial alliance. At the end of 44 BC, he marched out of Rome bloodied, but not beaten.

Next week, Antony will bottle up the governor of Cisalpine Gaul, Decimus Brutus, a nearly starved him into submission. But the new consuls for the year 43 BC will raise armies and march to Brutus' relief, having already followed Cicero's advice by declaring Antony an enemy of the state. Marching with them, headed towards his first battle, will be the newly appointed proprietor, Octavian. Though for the briefest of moments Antony and Octavian will find themselves on opposite sides, they will soon come to an agreement, forming an alliance along with Caesar's old consular colleague, Lepidus. And while the first triumvirate had been a powerful political force, it had nothing on the brutal ruthlessness of this new alliance, the second triumvirate.