Chapter XVIII
XVIII
Augustus’s health continued to be poor. He remained outside Rome for month after month.
He had not been seen in the city since he left on his Spanish expedition nearly three years earlier.
Finally he decided he simply had to make an appearance at the annual elections at the end of the summer, whatever the risk.
It was vital to put a stop to the widespread belief that he was now a permanent invalid.
On polling day, to loud applause, he was carried on a litter into the new voting arena.
Clenching his jaw, and supported on the arm of Marcellus, he somehow mustered the strength to take a few stiff steps from the litter to his throne.
Sitting in the shaded portico in his purple toga, his outstretched feet in their red slippers resting on a stool, his wreath of oak leaves upon his head, he must have looked from a distance entirely like his old self.
Only a few of us knew that beneath his toga his wasted legs were fixed by splints, and his unhealthy pallor was disguised with make-up.
Marcellus was duly voted in as aedile, although his opponent – a man hand-picked for his utter obscurity – ran the golden boy close. Augustus frowned when he was handed the results. It was the first warning that the people were unhappy at the way the rules were being bent.
As a sop to Livia, Tiberius was elected quaestor, which would give him a seat in the Senate.
Augustus himself was elected consul for the eleventh time, unopposed, with Aulus Terentius Murena as his partner. The two men shook hands, and Augustus gave Murena a vague nod of congratulation. I am not sure he even recognised him.
I barely knew him either. He had enjoyed some recent success in putting down a local rebellion in the Aosta Valley.
I assumed he was just another of the usual mediocrities Augustus selected to preside over the Senate in his absence, who could be relied upon to cause no trouble.
I had not realised he was the brother of Maecenas’s wife, Terentia.
Even if I had realised it, I would not have been surprised.
This was how Maecenas operated. He was never a member of the Senate.
The shadows were where he preferred to operate, extending his influence by constant patronage.
Magistrates, ambassadors, tax collectors, priests, poets – the network of men who owed him favours reached into every aspect of the state like a giant spider’s web.
At the end of the long, hot day, when the voting was over and the electors had begun to disperse, Augustus beckoned me over. He was pleased with the applause he had received. He said it was a better cure than any medicine, and announced he would like to see the new buildings on the Field of Mars.
– Having come this far, I might as well show myself to the people for another hour.
I helped him into his litter. The curtains were tied open, he was hoisted up onto the shoulders of his slaves and I walked alongside him, surrounded by his guards.
As we made our way through the complex of buildings, he sat back on his cushions, waving limply to the crowds who thronged around him, stopping the litter occasionally to admire what had been done.
He was especially delighted with the Pantheon. After viewing it from the outside, he was carried through the great bronze doors, followed by several hundred curious onlookers. But the covered roof of his litter made it hard for him to inspect the unsupported dome, the true glory of the building.
He asked for the litter to be set down and called to the nearest of his guards to help him get up.
I can see him now, standing directly beneath the apex of the cupola in the dusty summer light, head craned upwards in wonder, irritably shrugging off the supporting arm of his guard, shuffling painfully round in a circle with the aid of a couple of walking sticks.
He was unused to being on his feet. I guess turning must have made him dizzy.
At any rate, he suddenly swayed, his sticks slipped on the polished tiles of the mosaic and he fell heavily to the floor.
The spectators cried out in horror. To them, it must have seemed a terrible omen, like the moment the axle snapped on Julius Caesar’s chariot during his Gallic triumph and pitched him into the street. After an instant when all was frozen, I sprang forward together with his Praetorian Guard.
His head was lolling. He had fainted. As we lifted him, I noticed a small patch of blood on the tiles.
He was as light as a child after months of illness.
We laid him in his litter and drew the curtains, and the Praetorians roughly cleared the way for us – down the aisle, through the doors and out into the evening sunshine.
There was no question of risking the twelve-mile journey back to the Alban Hills. Instead, we carried him up the slope to his house on the Palatine, where Livia was celebrating with the newly elected Tiberius and her younger son, Drusus.
I remember very clearly the shock on Livia’s face as we carried him into the villa, although she quickly regained her composure and began issuing instructions – to prepare his bedroom, fetch his doctors, lay him down on the couch, undress him, bathe his wound, bandage his cracked head, remove his splints.
His make-up had run. His deathly white skin was streaked with black and red. He was still unconscious.
I was not sure he would survive the night.
By this time, word of his collapse had started to spread from the witnesses in the Pantheon.
A crowd soon formed outside. I ordered up a thousand men of his Praetorian Guard to clear the street, and asked Tiberius, a military tribune, to set up checkpoints around the Palatine.
I summoned another thousand Praetorians from their barracks outside Rome to secure the Forum, the Senate House and the main public buildings.
As night fell, Maecenas appeared, accompanied by Marcellus and Octavia.
They wanted to know what was happening. Livia received them with smiles and politeness.
She assured them Augustus was merely shaken, but otherwise fine; that he was sleeping and it would be better if they did not disturb him. Maecenas was naturally suspicious.
– Then may I ask why all the soldiers?
– Purely a precaution. Come back and see him when he has recovered.
She repeated the same formula to the consul, Flaccus, and the consul elect, Murena, when they came calling on behalf of the Senate.
After they had gone, we kept vigil together at Augustus’s bedside. It was a warm night. His breathing was shallow. His skull was wrapped in cold wet towels. Occasionally Livia leaned over to change the towels and mop his face.
A little before midnight, he opened his eyes and, with only the slightest movement of his head, glanced at us both. We each took one of his hands in ours, unsure if he even recognised us. I felt a faint pressure as he squeezed mine.
Soon afterwards, I went home. When Claudia asked about her uncle’s health, I lied and told her he was sitting up and talking. I knew that if I told her the truth, she would repeat it to Marcellus.
His condition improved slightly over the following days. He could talk, at least. But his voice was weak, his thoughts disjointed. There was no question of his appearing in public in such a state.
It quickly became impossible to conceal the gravity of his illness. Maecenas, Marcellus, Julia and Octavia all had to be allowed to see him, along with his fellow consul and some of the senior members of the Senate. Nearly all went away shaken and convinced he could not live much longer.
In the porticos around the Senate, in their gardens and in the privacy of their houses, men began to plot.
I visited him every day, and afterwards discussed his condition with Livia. Each time we spoke, she had gathered more intelligence of what was being said behind his back. She no longer trusted Maecenas and did not consult him.
One morning, after about a month or so of rumours and speculation, she took me into Augustus’s study and shared her conclusions.
– From what I gather, three factions have developed in the state.
There is the old guard in the Senate, who see in Augustus’s illness the opportunity to strip him of his powers and go back to how things were.
The other two factions both want to maintain the new settlement.
One is grouped around Marcellus, Maecenas and that wretched brother-in-law of his, Murena, who laughably is now consul elect.
Their strategy is to advance Marcellus to the consulship as quickly as possible, perhaps even as early as next year.
The other faction looks to you and me, with Tiberius as a potential successor to Augustus.
As long as we stand together, we are the most powerful of the three: I have physical custody of my husband, who retains his legal powers, and you are the man most respected by the legions.
She fixed me with her piercing eyes and waited for me to agree.
I would not have chosen to put it as categorically as that.
I did not share her high opinion of Tiberius for a start.
I agreed with Augustus: he was an awkward, raw young man, no leader.
On the other hand, almost anyone would be better from my point of view than Marcellus, and Tiberius at least was still betrothed to my eldest daughter, Agrippina.
Having observed the calibre of most politicians, I was not without ambition.
Once the marriage took place, I could find myself the father-in-law of Augustus’s successor.
That would further strengthen my position and make me, at least for a few years, the most powerful man in Rome.
It was time for me to put myself first.
I said she had my support.
Livia gave one of her rare smiles, as fleeting as a flash of sunshine on a stormy day.