Chapter XVIII #3
Musa was a confident, even arrogant man, not in the least awed by his powerful patient.
He stated bluntly that he was appalled at the way Augustus had been treated.
His malady was obviously seated in his liver.
Warm baths and hot compresses were the opposite of what was needed – these only increased the swelling.
He prescribed instead freezing baths and cold compresses to reduce the temperature of his body by drawing out its heat.
Livia was again resistant. After all, if what he said was true, it reflected badly on her. She said she did not believe a word of it. He shrugged.
– That is up to you, noble lady. I was brought here to give my opinion, which I have done. But I warn you, if you carry on like this, you will kill him.
Livia rose with such an angry expression I thought she might strike him. Somehow she mastered her temper.
– Very well, I shall suggest to him we try your method. But if his condition worsens, I shall hold you responsible – and be assured, you will suffer the consequences!
Augustus and Livia lived in great luxury.
Ice and snow were brought down often to the house from the mountains for use in the kitchen and for cooling certain rooms in summer.
She ordered her slaves to fetch a great quantity from the ice house and prepare a bath.
Then she went to tell Augustus what we wished to do.
She returned to say he was unconscious.
We agreed to go ahead without his permission.
Livia, Octavia and I gathered in the frigidarium.
We stood around the circular plunge pool, which was open to the gloomy sky, and watched as it was filled with barrowloads of ice.
Once Musa declared it cold enough, Augustus was carried in on a stretcher by his attendants.
His eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken. He appeared to be in a deep sleep.
At Musa’s direction, the slaves removed his clothes. His body was as limp as a rag doll. Hauling him up and supporting him by his thin arms, they ventured down the steps into the pool, on which a layer of ice was floating.
As soon as the water came into contact with his feet, Augustus’s head jerked back and his eyes blinked open. When it reached his knees, he began to struggle. His shout of protest when it was up to his waist was the loudest sound I had heard him make for months.
The attendants, plainly suffering themselves, looked to Musa for relief.
But with a doctor’s indifference to the pain he inflicted, he instructed them to keep on wading towards the centre, until only their heads were visible.
Beneath the surface, Augustus’s white body thrashed and twisted like a hooked fish.
Only when he had ceased his cries did the doctor tell them to bring him out.
His teeth were chattering, his lips blue, his eyes unfocused. He was rubbed dry, wrapped in towels and carried away on his stretcher, accompanied by Musa.
Livia, Octavia and I looked at one another. I am sure they thought as I did that we might have killed him. Instead, from that day onwards, he began to get better.
Augustus’s recovery was remarkable. Within a few days, he was sitting up and talking. Within a week, he was out of bed and doing exercises to restore his wasted legs.
At the beginning of May, he was well enough for me to announce in the Senate his return to full health.
Great was the celebration. A day of national thanksgiving was ordered. Musa was granted a large sum of money and exempted from taxation for life. A statue of him was set up in the Temple of Aesculapius, the god of healing, on Tiber Island.
Almost as dramatic as the restoration of Augustus’s body was the revival of his agile mind.
One afternoon in early summer, he sent me a message saying he wanted to discuss his return to public life.
I assumed it would just be the two of us.
But when I arrived, I found him sitting in the garden with Livia.
Not long afterwards, Calpurnius Piso turned up, followed quickly by Maecenas, who brought with him, to my dismay and I am sure to Livia’s, the strutting, smirking figure of Marcellus.
Recent events had done nothing to diminish our mutual animosity. Rather the reverse. But out of respect for Augustus, I greeted him civilly. For a man on the edge of bankruptcy, he seemed even more cocksure than usual, and I assumed his uncle must have paid off his debts.
I have an image in my mind of the six of us being served glasses of wine and honey in a shaded bower as the birds sang and the bees buzzed among the flowers. But perhaps that is a false memory, for I fear my mind is beginning to play games with me.
What I do remember clearly is how full of energy Augustus was, how crafty and creative were his thoughts.
He said he had been pondering the future as he did his exercises every day, and had concluded things could not continue as they were, even if his return to health was to prove permanent.
– It is absurd to think of my standing for the consulship for a twelfth term.
It undermines the whole conception of the office, which is that its power should be limited to a year.
And frankly, it is demeaning to my authority to keep having to go back to the people for their approval, even if there is no question of my ever losing the election.
He said he had decided therefore to resign as consul.
He had it in mind to take a different set of powers: those of a tribune for life.
This would give him continued membership of the Senate and the right to propose motions, but also the authority to summon public assemblies whenever he felt the need.
He would still control his provinces and most of the legions, but he would not need to be in Rome so often and would never have to stand for election again.
– I see myself as being part of the Senate, but above it, a permanent guardian of the people. Not their dictator, but the champion of their interests.
Maecenas was the first to respond. He clapped his hands and declared it a most brilliant manoeuvre. Augustus would appear to be giving up power at the same time as increasing it.
Livia was more sceptical. She asked Piso if he thought the Senate would agree.
He sucked his few remaining teeth and replied that before he could answer, he would have to consult his colleagues.
Augustus took his hand.
– My dear friend, I shall resign my office next month, at which point you will become senior consul, and then it will be entirely up to you whom you choose to replace me.
It can be the most diehard old supporter of Brutus and Cassius if that is who you want.
In many ways, I would welcome it. It would signal that the Republic is healed at last. Can you imagine what a glorious climax to your career such a stroke would be?
Put like that, it turned out Piso could imagine it. He could imagine it very well indeed. His whole demeanour changed. Yes, he said, now that he came to think of it, he believed the Senate would welcome this new arrangement.
As for Marcellus, when he was asked his opinion, he applied the flattery with a ladle – Uncle, this is a stroke of genius, blah blah blah – so much so that I became suspicious that he and Maecenas had been alerted to the scheme beforehand.
I said nothing, and when the time came for the meeting to end and the others were leaving, Augustus took me to one side.
– You were very silent. Is something troubling you?
– Only that I wonder what my part is to be in this new order. You will be tribune for life. Piso will be senior consul. Marcellus will remain as aedile. Am I to have any official role?
– You will continue to be my most trusted friend and adviser. Is that not enough? If it’s a title you want, I’m sure we can devise something.
– I’m not interested in a title. I want to know if I am still to take control in Rome should something happen to you.
– Of course you are.
– Then could you not make some public acknowledgement of the fact?
– You want me to disclose the contents of my will?
I could see he was suspicious of my ambition and starting to become annoyed. But I pressed on anyway.
– Yes, I suppose that is what I am asking.
– But that could create all manner of problems. It will look as though I fear my recovery is only temporary, and that I fancy myself a king, bequeathing my powers to a successor.
Factions will start to form around you, some supportive, some opposed.
Do you really want that? In politics, ambiguity can be very useful.
– No doubt. But factions are already forming. Around Marcellus.
– Ah, Marcellus! Is that who this is all about? I have heard that you two are constantly at one another’s throats, despite my request that you should make yourself his friend. You are jealous of my nephew!