Chapter XXI #2
He conducted me around the harbour, which he had modelled on the Portus Julius, copying my techniques, importing shiploads of puteolanum from Campania and using it to make great wharfs and slipways out of hydraulic concrete.
Then he took us to Jerusalem, to show off the temple and the walls he was building.
The entire city turned out to greet us, dressed in their festive robes, and as before in Greece, it was Julia the people were most eager to see.
She was escorted by Herod’s third or fourth wife, whose name I cannot remember, and by all the women of the court.
I laid on a feast for the population and sacrificed a hundred cattle to their Jewish gods – or god, I should say, for they worship only one.
I liked the gentle tranquilness of Judaea, and would have stayed longer, but reports reached me of unrest on the northern shores of the Black Sea that needed my attention.
I apologised to Herod, who gave us expensive gifts then escorted us to the port, between lines of cheering crowds who scattered flowers across the road, and we set sail towards the east.
By the time we approached the Black Sea, it was almost winter.
Rather than risk a naval expedition through the straits in treacherous weather, I decided it would be prudent to spend a few months in nearby Lesbos until the spring, when more warships could be assembled.
I commandeered the finest villa on the island for us to live in.
News of my presence quickly spread through the streets of Mytilene. Soon I received a message from my former companion asking if we could meet. She was still in the house I had given her. Out of respect for Julia, I refused. But Julia discovered the letter.
She had no reason to be jealous, nor was she.
She had been married to Marcellus at the time when I was staying on the island, and jealousy was not in her nature.
But that letter changed something between us.
The idea that I had had an earlier lover seemed to rekindle our former passion, and in the spring, just as I was about to leave with the fleet for the Black Sea, she announced that she was yet again pregnant.
It was unthinkable that she might join me on the expedition.
But nor did she wish to be left alone on Lesbos.
As the baby was not due for many months and it was still quite safe for her to travel, she persuaded me to allow her to begin her return journey to Rome.
She would have the child in Athens, where she could be sure of receiving the best possible medical care.
We said a tender farewell – now I come to think of it, just like the one we shared a short while ago, before I had to leave for Illyricum – and I sailed off again to war.
At the port of Sinope, just inside the Black Sea, I was joined, to my surprise, by Herod, who had brought his warships all the way from Caesarea, and together our combined fleet of Roman and Jewish vessels headed towards the northern shore.
As so often, the news of my approach was sufficient to cause our enemies to sue for peace.
Herod and I stayed in the region for many months, settling the various tribes and kingdoms to our satisfaction.
Rather than return by sea, we toured the region overland.
I became fond of the old brute, who was not without charm and wisdom, and when he interceded on behalf of the local Jewish population, who were suffering from extensive persecution, I issued various edicts to guarantee their civil and religious freedom.
Towards the end of the year, I returned to Lesbos to find a letter from Julia, sent from Athens, to say that she had given birth to a girl in October, that she and the baby were in good health, and that the entire family were leaving shortly for Italy.
I dearly wished that I could follow her and try to catch her up, but I still had a great deal of administrative work to settle and delegations to receive that required me to remain in the east. I wrote to say that I would join her in Rome as soon as I could.
In January, among the latest batch of official documents from Rome, a letter came bearing the seal of Maecenas. I saved it as a reward to read last, knowing it would contain some entertaining gossip.
My dear Agrippa,
I have searched my heart before sending you this message, but our long friendship, so precious to me, and your position in the state compel me to do my duty, however unpleasant it may be – and believe me, my hand trembles as I write.
Your wife, now back in Rome, has returned with a reputation for wantonness.
Perhaps you know this and do not care. Marriages are often fraught with infidelity, as I know to my cost, and sometimes it is of no consequence to the parties involved.
But unfortunately this is no longer a private matter.
It is public knowledge. In particular, she has been flaunting her liaison with that shameless philanderer Sempronius Gracchus.
Augustus is still in Gaul. I am sure he does not know of it. I doubt anyone dares tell him. But he is strict about such failings in others, if not in himself, and I urge you to return to Rome and put your house in order before he gets back.
If you wish me to have a word with her, I shall. But knowing her character as I do, I fear such an intervention may have the opposite effect.
Forgive me for bearing bad news. Remember I am your friend, and do not hold it against me.
Accursed letter!
I dropped it as if it were a scorpion I had somehow picked up by accident, and stood staring at it lying on the carpet for a while until I steeled myself to retrieve it and read it through again.
I refused to believe it.
I did not – I could not – I would not – accept that Julia – my wife, the mother of our four children – would flaunt herself in such a fashion, knowing it was bound to get back to me.
I had never heard of this Sempronius Gracchus.
I told myself it was at least as likely that the rumours were false, perhaps part of some plot by Maecenas to undermine me.
I felt a great surge of hatred for him – that half-man, that eunuch, that feline and malicious purveyor of tittle-tattle!
I have searched my heart before sending you this message …
I sneered at the words. I did not trust for an instant his protestations of reluctance.
I was sure he would have relished writing such a letter.
Once I had calmed down, I recognised that whether the report was true or false, I could not remain on Lesbos any longer and allow such poisonous chatter to fester in my absence.
I appointed a legate to finish the work in the region on my behalf and made plans to return to Rome.
I reached Italy in March, a few weeks short of my fiftieth birthday.
As I travelled north from Brundisium, I sent messages ahead to Julia to alert her to my approach. I was anxious not to surprise her. Weak as it sounds, I wanted everything to be normal on my return.
And normal it was. She greeted me in some demure and shapeless grey woollen dress, the epitome of a modest Roman matron.
After we had embraced, she took my hand and led me into the nursery, where once again I found myself staring down at a baby born in my absence – my eighth child.
She had even set up a spindle next to the cot and told me she had been making infants’ clothes – a concept so improbable the memory of it makes me smile even now, despite everything.
She announced she had arranged a celebration for my birthday. I replied that I was not much in the mood for celebrating.
– Nonsense, Agrippa! Half a century is a milestone in anyone’s life. It must be marked. Why would you not want to celebrate it?
I braced myself and said that I had heard disturbing stories of her behaviour in my absence.
– What kind of stories?
– Of your infidelities.
– Infidelities? With whom?
– The name of Sempronius Gracchus has been mentioned, whoever he may be.
– Gracchus is a nothing, a nobody, a perfumed dandy. I can assure you if I were to take a lover it would not be Gracchus. Who told you such a tale?
I hesitated.
– Maecenas.
– But you cannot believe a word that comes out of Maecenas’s mouth! You have said so often enough yourself.
I had to concede the truth of this, and after a few more questions and scoffing denials there was little I could do except let the matter lie for a while.
The next day, I went to see Maecenas, and reported Julia’s insistence that the charges were false. If that was the case, I told him, I would never forgive him for passing on unfounded gossip.
He sighed and folded his arms and looked at me with something close to pity.
– I feel for you, my friend. I have been in a similar situation myself.
Can you imagine what it was like for me when Terentia took up with Augustus?
I could not eat. I could not sleep. There was nothing I could do, given his position, except wait for him to grow bored of her – which of course in time he did.
Like father, like daughter! Perhaps she has tired of Gracchus already.
But there have been others, and there will be more.
My agents can provide you with names if you like. For example …
And then he mentioned a couple of handsome young officers on my staff. That was when I realised he was probably telling me the truth, and my anger towards him began to evaporate.
I told him a full list of names would not be necessary.
– What is the point of torturing myself? I can hardly divorce her. Our marriage is integral to the stability of the state.
In truth, it was more than just a question of politics.
I could not bear the prospect of losing custody of my boys.
The two young Caesars, legally Augustus’s sons, would almost certainly be drawn further into his clutches if I parted from Julia.
I did not mention these fears to Maecenas, although he was shrewd enough to have guessed what was going through my mind.