Chapter III #4
– Excellent, and you shall be a part of it! You, and you – my beloved nephew Octavius. And you will be able to tell your grandchildren you marched with Caesar when he conquered the world!
That was the first time I dined with him.
The second time was at the end of our voyage, the evening before we reached Italy.
The coast had come into view just as the sun was setting behind us.
I was standing on deck in the twilight, watching the shore lit up like a thread of gold, when I received a message that Caesar wanted to see me in his cabin.
I found him alone, without even a secretary or a bodyguard, seated by candlelight in the semi-darkness at a small table upon which a simple meal had been laid out.
He asked me to sit. He said he wanted to talk to me in confidence about Octavius.
He said that he believed he had great qualities of leadership – shrewdness, courage, willpower, self-control.
He had only two weaknesses – first, inexperience, and that would be cured by time. And secondly, frail health.
– And that can be conquered too. I was sickly myself until I trained my body into strength by sleeping outside on frosty nights and pushing myself beyond the limits of exhaustion.
Remember – the spirit must rule the body, never the other way round.
By joining us despite his illness, Octavius has shown he has the discipline to do that.
He said that he had been told by Atia of my devotion to her son and had wanted to observe it for himself.
That was one of the reasons why he had invited me on the voyage.
And having liked what he had seen of me, he had decided that Octavius and I should go together to Macedonia and train with the legions that would form part of the expedition to conquer Parthia.
– You will both be made officers and learn how to command men. In return, my dear Agrippa, I want you to swear that you will guard Octavius like a brother – protect him, counsel him, help him when he is sick, be loyal to him as long as you’re both alive.
He grasped my hand.
– Will you swear that to me now?
– I swear it, Caesar.
– Good.
He released my hand, and after that, he became the charming host. He poured me wine.
He cut up some food and served me himself.
He reminisced about Munda, and how sure he had been that he would be killed on the battlefield.
He said he would not have minded dying there.
It would have been a glorious way to depart the earth.
He asked after the health of my brother, whom he had rescued from slavery. He even spoke of my father.
– I knew him more than twenty years ago, before I went to Gaul, back in the days when I was still fighting elections in Rome.
Yes, yes, Lucius Vipsanius – he was a great supporter of my opponents, especially Cato, as you know.
But we were always civil to one another.
I knew your mother, too. She was a gracious lady. I was sorry to hear of her death.
I was astonished he even knew my parents.
I did not know how to reply. He stared at me intently.
I recall that stare. It still makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
It seemed to last a very long time. In the end, I had to look away.
At length, he stood. I did the same. He said goodnight.
And then – how could I ever forget this?
– he kissed me on the cheek, then pinched it again, in that way of his.
– Goodbye, my boy.
The following day, he disembarked very early and went off to spend the next few months with Cleopatra at one of his country villas, while Octavius and I made our way back to Rome.
I never spoke to him again.
Earlier this evening, the rain stopped. I went out on to the terrace to breathe some fresh air and stood for a while leaning on my stick.
I listened to the waves, stirred by the storm, crashing on the rocks, and to the wind moving at my back in the forest of Vesuvius, until the pain became too great.
I built this place seven years ago. My bedroom, where I write, is at the corner of the house closest to the sea.
Julia’s is next door. Our children sleep on the other side of the courtyard.
Gaius is seven, Lucius five, and our daughters, Julia and little Agrippina, are six and almost two.
I drew up the plans. Julia commissioned the decoration.
My engineering. Her good taste. It is a monument to our partnership.
I miss the sounds of my children.
I wonder if she has ever brought Tiberius here, or one of her other lovers.
O, unhappy man!
But what is the point of regretting what has passed?
It has never been my way. Even the gods cannot alter what has happened.
As I stood in the darkness just now, my emotions almost overcame me, a thing that has never happened before.
I even considered burning what I have written and letting it all be swallowed by oblivion.
Nevertheless, once I have set my hand to a task, I always see it through.
I have returned to my couch. My story will go on.