XI
PARTHIAN SHOTS
36–35 B.C.
Octavian accepted three honors from those that had been voted to him. The first was an annual festival to mark the victory at Naulochus, the second a gold-plated statue of himself in the Forum, dressed as he was when he entered Rome and standing on top of a column decorated with ships’ rams.
The third honor was by far the most important: tribunicia sacrosanctitas. This meant that his person was sacer, consecrated and inviolable on pain of outlawry. This protection was given to tribunes of the plebs, but Octavian did not have to hold the office of tribune, although he was additionally awarded the right to sit on the tribunes’ benches at meetings.
Of greater practical benefit to citizens, Octavian forgave unpaid installments of special taxes as well as debts owed by tax collectors. It was announced that documents relating to the civil wars would be burned. The administration of the state was returned to the regular magistrates, and Octavian agreed to hand back all his extraordinary triumviral powers when Antony returned from Parthia.
Octavian owed a great deal to his friends and supporters, and he made sure they were well rewarded. Agrippa, who had masterminded the Sicilian victory, was given a probably unprecedented honor—a corona rostrata, or golden crown decorated with ships’ beaks, which he was entitled to wear whenever a triumph was celebrated. Priesthoods were liberally distributed. Booty and land flowed into the hands of the triumvir’s friends; thus, Agrippa was granted large estates in Sicily and married one of Rome’s greatest heiresses, Caecilia, daughter of Cicero’s friend the multi-millionaire Titus Pomponius Atticus.
Some men did not know how to handle success with the expected decorum. Cornificius, awarded the consulship in 33, so prided himself on his Sicilian exploits that he had himself conveyed on the back of an elephant whenever he dined out.
It is hard to exaggerate the importance of the Sicilian victory. In his early years of struggle, Octavian had boasted of his connection to Julius Caesar; but from now on he no longer insisted on his rank as divi filius. He was who he was in his own right.
And what of Mark Antony? Octavian’s victory over Pompeius and his acquisition of Sicily and Africa (taken from the dismissed Lepidus) marked an important shift in the triumvirs’ respective positions. His two rivals for control of the west were now gone.
This simplification of the political scene had an important consequence. Despite the years of bloodshed, there was still a republican faction, an assorted group of diehards who were unwilling to accept what looked increasingly like the settled verdict of history.
With the end of Sextus Pompeius, the only remaining refuge was Mark Antony. In part, this was because, compared with Octavian, Antony was the lesser of two evils. But they could also detect in him a more relaxed approach to autocracy. In the last resort, he liked an easy life. He was no revolutionary and, provided that he could retain his dignitas and auctoritas, a preeminence of respect and influence, he had no difficulty in envisaging a return to the familiar rough-and-tumble of the Republic.
In the spring of 36, Antony launched his long-planned invasion of Parthia, leading an army of sixty thousand legionaries and other troops. His task was to settle an overdue piece of military business: to avenge the catastrophe of the battle of Carrhae in 53 B.C., the death of the Roman commander, Marcus Licinius Crassus, at the hands of the Parthians, and the loss of many Roman legionary standards. Few people doubted that Antony would score a great victory, which would set the seal on his predominance.
Information took time to filter back from the eastern deserts, and when the battle of Naulochus was fought nobody in Italy had any idea how the Parthian campaign was going. Then, sometime during the autumn, dispatches from Antony arrived announcing victory. Although it would have suited him very well if Antony had at least met with a setback, facts were facts and Octavian must needs rejoice.
It had taken Mark Antony years to prepare for his Parthian war. After the Treaty of Brundisium in October 40, he faced two challenges. The first was posed by the Parthini, an Illyrian tribe that occupied rough and mountainous country overlooking the port of Dyrrachium and the beginnings of the Via Egnatia, which, we remember, gave access to Greece and Rome’s eastern provinces. The Parthini, who had sided with Brutus and served in his army, were in a state of revolt. They invaded Macedonia and by moving south were able to cut one of the empire’s crucial communications links. They also captured the Illyrian port of Salonae in the north (Salon, near Split, in Croatia). Antony dispatched eleven legions, which efficiently suppressed the rebellion.
The second challenge concerned the Parthians, who posed a far more serious threat than an Illyrian hill tribe. They were well aware that once a senior Roman took time off from fighting other Romans, he would assemble all the forces of the empire to punish them for the Carrhae disaster. Would it not be sensible to launch a preemptive strike?
In the spring or summer of 40 B.C., Parthian horsemen, led by Pakûr, the brilliant son of King Urûd, swept across the province of Syria, killing the governor. The invasion was the greatest threat to Roman rule since the days of a rebel monarch, Mithridates of Pontus, half a century before.
Unfortunately, dealing with Octavian and the aftermath of the Perusian war distracted Antony for much of this year. He decided not to take the lead, perhaps wanting to hold himself in reserve for the full-scale Parthian invasion. Instead, he dispatched one of his best generals, Publius Ventidius, who had served under Julius Caesar and understood the need for celerity in war.
In a two-year campaign Ventidius won three great battles, the last of which was fought northeast of Antioch, the capital of Syria, on June 9, 38 B.C. Pakûr was killed. The Parthian prince had been well liked in the Syrian region; Ventidius sent his head around various cities to deter his sympathizers. Having smashed and dispersed the invaders, the general marched east and besieged the city of Samosata (now Samsat, in Turkey) on the Euphrates.
Time passed and rumors spread that Ventidius was accepting bribes to hold back from taking Samosata. Antony decided to come and conclude the campaign in person. He dismissed Ventidius and never employed him again. However, Samosata proved a tougher nut to crack than he had thought. Antony negotiated a settlement, and returned to Athens for the winter of 38–37 B.C. According to Plutarch, he received three hundred Greek talents, the equivalent of more than seven million sesterces, to pay for his departure. How did this price compare, one wonders, with what Ventidius received?
The thought of Antony assuming the moral high ground on account of a subordinate’s financial impropriety seems out of character. It is rather more likely that the triumvir was “jealous of [Ventidius] because he had gained the reputation of having carried out a brave exploit independently.” Whatever the truth of the matter, the jettisoning of a commander of Ventidius’ caliber combined arrogance with carelessness.
Octavian had little difficulty in keeping up-to-date with Mark Antony’s activities. Although communications were slow and could be difficult or even dangerous, individuals, whether businessmen or state officials, wrote home with news and gossip. The triumvir had plenipotentiary powers, but he was expected to send dispatches to the Senate and keep his colleague in the picture. Octavia, back in Rome while her husband was on campaign and looking after her large brood of six children and stepchildren, worked to promote his interests and to smooth relations between the two men in her life.