"I was never at odds with him in the first place," I insisted, wondering even as I said it why I bothered explaining myself to this worm. It was just the sort of man he was. Sallustius could infuriate me by wishing me a good day.
"Didn't say you were, I assure you. It's just that lines are being drawn just now. A man must take sides."
"True. I've decided to side with young Octavian." I don't know why I said it. Perhaps I just wanted to see the expression on his ugly face change, which indeed it did.
"Octavian? He's a nobody!"
"Well, I've always liked long odds at the Circus," I told him.
"In this game, it's not chariots," he spat. "It's more like pitting a fifth-rate tyro against a champion of the arena."
This man Sallustius was an especially egregious specimen of the sort of senator we had in those days, the ones who contributed so much to the downfall of the Republic. He had served as an ineffective Tribune of the Plebs, been kicked out of the Senate by the censor Appius Claudius, wormed his way into Caesar's favour and got reinstated with his help. After that he clung to Caesar like a limpet and rode that man's fortunes to the top. He was given Africa to govern and plundered the place thoroughly and at that time was accounted one of the richest men in Rome. But in a time of contending warlords a man of no family only kept his wealth by adhering to a powerful man, and Sallustius had chosen Antonius. He also had pretensions to being an historian and man of letters.
"I'm here to see him on a legal matter," I said impatiently.
"Oh, well. I'll take you to see him." Apparently, he had appointed himself Antonius's steward or major-domo, an office usually occupied by a slave. But some men are slaves by nature, and love to ingratiate themselves by servile acts.
We found Antonius amidst his cronies, and the sight of him took me somewhat aback. They were in a courtyard, enjoying the sunshine, some of them wrestling or fencing with wooden weapons, as if this were the palaestra. In the midst of this athletic throng Antonius held forth, dressed in a brief tunic that appeared to be made largely of silk, a fabric so precious that it was forbidden by the censors from time to time, and forbidden to women at that. Men weren't even supposed to think of wearing the stuff.
Under pretext of mourning, he cultivated a full beard.
Antonius never needed much excuse to go bearded. He fancied that it increased his resemblance to Hercules, the supposed ancestor of his family. The name supposedly came from Anton, a son of Hercules. His hands gleamed with golden rings and he even wore a necklace of heavy gold links.
This whole rig would have been thought effeminate, had Antonius not been such a hulking brute of a man. He caught sight of me and waved me over. I complied and he draped a massive arm over my shoulder, making me a present of some of his manly sweat. He'd been wrestling despite his priceless clothing, and sand still clung to his limbs and dusted his beard and hair.
"Metellus!" he roared. "What an honour! I haven't seen you in far too long! Come to join me, have you? Well, there's work to be done! War with Parthia, for one thing!" As you may guess, he had a declamatory style. "Plenty of positions for experienced soldiers. Gallic cavalry's your specialty, Metellus. Do you want a command? I've recruited whole troops of Gallic horsemen."
"Decius Caecilius tells me he has decided to support Octavian," Sallustius said nastily. I expected Antonius to fly into a rage, but he shot me a calculating look instead. The rest of the men fell silent and some of them tried to put distance between themselves and me.
"And why not?" Antonius grumbled at last. "Octavian's his wife's cousin, and we all know Caesar thought the world of the boy." He glared around him and the rest shuffled about, uncertain how to react.
"Actually, I've come to confer with you on a legal matter, Marcus," I told him.
"Well, let's go inside. I'm sure these gentlemen can spare us for a few minutes." He swept the others with his gaze and they drew away to talk among themselves in little knots. Sallustius looked as if he wanted to follow us, but he held back as we went into the house, the sandy, sweaty arm still around my shoulders.
Antonius had a study of sorts, though I am not sure how he could reach his books, what with the great clutter of armour, swords, horse-gear and other masculine objects. His helmet sat on the head of a marble Apollo carved by Praxiteles and he kept daggers in a priceless Corinthian vase. The nearest thing to scholarly appurtenances close to hand were some maps, most of them depicting the east from Greece to Egypt. I noted a single desk with the usual honeycomb-style book holder with all but two or three of its cells empty. Its writing table was clear except for inkpots and a penholder.
Antonius bawled for wine. Then, unlike most arrogant men, he waited until the slaves had withdrawn before he spoke.
"The papers, right?" he said.
"Exactly. As Caesar's adopted son, they belong to Octavian."
"Adopted only provisionally. And the will was read publicly, everyone knows what was in it. Why should the boy want the document itself?"
"Why do you wish to retain it? And why the other papers as well?" I tried the wine, which was predictably splendid.
"I need them for research," he said. "I'm writing the life of Caesar."
It is greatly to my credit that my nose did not erupt with expensive wine.
He shook his head. "Listen, Metellus. I am doing all I can to avert another civil war. People take it ill that I haven't avenged Caesar as I should have. I've driven Brutus and Cassius and the others from the city. But they are alive, and they shouldn't be. The last thing we need is another contender for the loyalty of Caesar's men. You know perfectly well that is what the ambitious little monster wants the papers for."
This was true enough. "You know as well as I that he has no chance of gaining power," I assured him. "Why not let him have the will?"
"In time, in time," he said airily. "When I am through with it and the other items. There are projects to finish, alliances to be made and, eventually, wars to be fought."
"You mean the Parthian campaign?" I asked. Caesar had been about to depart for the war with Parthia when he was murdered. He wanted to avenge his old friend Crassus and take back the eagles lost at Carrhae. That defeat still rankled, though the whole war had been stupendously unpopular and most people thought Crassus got what he deserved. Still, the loss of the better part of seven legions was a humiliation hard to bear.
"Yes, that one- and others."
"Others?" This sounded ominous. "You don't mean another civil war, do you?"
"Not necessarily," he hedged. "Sextus Pompey is still active in Spain, you know." As if fighting yet another Roman army, led by a son of Pompey the Great, did not constitute civil war.
"Excellent," I said, "because you just said that you were trying to avoid one."
"It's not a good time for a civil war," he affirmed, meaning that he didn't feel himself strong enough just yet. Either he was less foolhardy than in his younger years, or he knew something I didn't. I suspected the latter. Nothing ever taught Antonius good sense but he could sometimes be impressed by bald facts.
Something had struck me. "Just what else is there, besides the will?"
"A great heap of paper," he said. "You know how Caesar was — you were practically his secretary for a while, in Gaul. Always scribbling stuff: campaign histories, observations of the natives and their customs, letters, even a few poems. It will take my librarian a while to go through it all."
"Librarian? I didn't know you had one."
"Sallustius volunteered to take care of my paperwork. He's arranging those things now."
This was more like it. "There is no way that you are going to give Octavian those papers?"