We breakfasted on coarse bread and dates; Antonius complained of the simplicity of the fare; it was still raining. By noon the armies had been disposed, and in the transaction Octavius gained three legions that we had not had before, in addition to the eleven that we already commanded. The afternoon we were to devote to the choice of consuls.
It was an important negotiation, you understand; it was clear, though unspoken, that beyond the agreements we had made, there remained significant differences between the purposes of Marcus Antonius and Octavius Caesar. The consuls were the men who would represent the interests of the triumvirs, individually and collectively, in Rome; it was essential that we choose those whom we could trust, and yet those who were acceptable to the other parties. It was a rather delicate matter, as you can imagine; and it was not until late in the afternoon that we had proceeded to the fourth year.
And Octavius offered the name of Salvidienus Rufus.
I am sure that you have had, as we all have, that mysterious experience of prescience-a moment when, beyond reason and cause, at a word, or at the flicker of an eyelid, or at anything at all, one has a sudden foreboding-of what, one does not know. I am not a religious man; but I am sometimes nearly tempted to believe that the gods do speak to us, and that only in unguarded moments will we listen.
"Salvidienus Rufus," Octavius said; and I had within me that sudden sickening rise, as if I were falling from a great height.
For an instant Antonius did not move; then he yawned, and said sleepily: "Salvidienus Rufus… Are you sure he's your choice? "
"He is my choice," Octavius said. "You should have no objection to him. He would be with me now, as are Agrippa and Maecenas, were he not commanding the legions I left behind before I came here." Octavius added dryly, "You will remember, I believe, how well he fought against you at Mutina."
Antonius grinned. "I remember. Four years… Don't you think he might grow impatient in that time?"
"We will need him against Cassius and Brutus," Octavius said patiently. "We will need him against Sextus Pompeius. If we survive those battles, he shall have earned the office."
Antonius looked at him quizzically for a long moment; then he nodded, as if he had decided something. "All right," he said. "You can have him-either for the consulship or the proscription. Take your choice."
Octavius said: "I do not understand your joke."
"It's no joke." Antonius snapped his fingers; one of his attendants handed him a sheet of paper. Antonius dropped it negligently in front of Octavius. "I give him to you."
Octavius picked up the paper, unrolled it, and read. His face did not change expression. He read for a long time. He handed the paper to me.
"Is this Salvidienus's handwriting?" he asked quietly.
I read. I heard myself say, "It is Salvidienus's handwriting."
He took the letter from my fingers. He sat for a long time looking in front of him. I watched his face and heard the dull hiss of the rain as it fell on the thatched roof.
"It's not a great gift," Antonius said. "I have no use for him, now that we have our agreement. Now that you and I are together, I wouldn't be able to trust him. This kind of secret would do neither of us any good." He pointed to the letter. "He sent it to me just after I had joined Lepidus at Avignon. I must say I was tempted, but I decided to wait until I saw what came out of this meeting."
Octavius nodded.
"Shall we put his name on the list?" Antonius asked.
Octavius shook his head. "No," he said in a low voice.
"You have to get used to these things," Antonius said impatiently. "He's a danger to us now, or will be. His name goes on the list."
"No," Octavius said. He did not raise his voice, but the word filled the room. His eyes turned to Antonius, and they were like blue fire. "He is not to be proscribed." Then he turned away from Antonius, and his eyes dulled. He said in a whisper: "The matter is not negotiable." He was silent. Then he said to me: "You will write to Salvidienus and inform him that he is no longer a general of my armies, that he is no longer in my service, and-" he paused, "-that he is no longer my friend."
I did not look at the letter again; I did not have to. The words were in my mind, and they still are, after these more than twenty-five years, like an old scar. I give the words to you, as they were written:
"Quintus Salvidienus Rufus sends greetings to Marcus Antonius. I command three legions of Roman soldiers, and am constrained to remain inactive as Decimus Brutus Albinus organizes his forces for a probable pursuit of your army and yourself. Octavius Caesar has been betrayed by the Senate, and returns to Rome on a vain mission. I despair of his resolution, and I despair of our future. Only in you do I discern that purpose and will which may punish the murderers of Julius Caesar and rid Rome of the tyranny of an aristocracy. I will, therefore, put my legions at your disposal, if you will consent to honor me with a command equal to your own, and if you will agree to pursue the cause to which I committed myself with Octavius Caesar and which has been betrayed by ambition and compromise. I am ready to march to you at Avignon."
And so in my sorrow I sent the letter to him who had been our brother, using as messenger that Decimus Carfulenus who had jointly commanded at Mutina with Salvidienus. It was Carfulenus himself who told me of what ensued.
Salvidienus had had rumors of Carfulenus's mission, and waited for him alone in his tent. He was pale, Carfulenus said, but composed. He had been newly shaved, and in accordance with the necessity of the ritual his beard was deposited in the little silver box that lay open on his table.
"I have put away my boyhood," Salvidienus said, pointing to the box. "And now I may receive your message."
Carfulenus, so moved that he could not speak, gave him the letter. Salvidienus read it standing, nodded, and then sat down at his table, still facing Carfulenus.
"Do you wish to reply?" asked Carfulenus at last.
"No," Salvidienus said, and then he said: "Yes. I will reply." Slowly but without hesitation he removed a dagger from the folds of his toga, and with his strength and in Carfulenus's sight, he plunged it into his breast. Carfulenus leaped toward him, but Salvidienus raised his left hand to stay his advance. And in a low voice, only a little breathless, he said: "Tell Octavius that if I cannot remain his friend in life, I may do so in death."
He remained seated at his table until his eyes dulled, and he toppled to the dust.
XIII. Letter: Anonymous to Marens Tullius Cicero, at Rome (November, 43 B. c.)
One who cherishes for you the tranquillity and rest that you might have in your retirement, urges you to quit the country that you love. You are in mortal and immediate danger, so long as you stay in Italy A cruel necessity has forced one to go against his more humane and natural inclinations. You must act at once.
XIV. The History of Rome. Titus Livius: Fragment (A.D. 13)
Marcus Cicero, shortly before the arrival of the triumvirs, had left the city, rightly convinced that he could no more escape Antonius than Cassius and Brutus could escape Octavius Caesar: at first he had fled to his Tusculan villa, then he set out by crosscountry roads to his villa at Formia, intending to take ship from Gaeta. He put out to sea several times, but was driven back by contrary winds: and since there was a heavy ground swell and he could no longer endure the tossing of the ship, he at last became weary of flight and of life, and returned to his villa on the high ground, which was little more than a mile from the sea.