Antony chose an obscure location for his rendezvous with Cleopatra. Leuce Come – literally, ‘the white port’ – lay between Berytus (modern-day Beirut) and the old Phoenician city of Sidon. Both of the latter were substantial cities, but instead of going to them he waited in what was little more than a village. Perhaps he was afraid that the Parthians would take advantage of his retreat to counterattack into Syria and so felt the major cities were more attractive targets to the enemy. Yet it was probably December 36 BC or January 35 BC by the time he reached the coast and at such a season a major raid was unlikely. Apart from that, the walls of somewhere like Tyre were far more likely to offer safety than a small place like Leuce Come.
More probably he chose such a minor port because this was not to be a great occasion of ceremony and pomp, but a private reunion –or at least as private as was possible when a Roman triumvir met such an important client monarch. He instructed her to bring money and supplies for his troops, so that there was an element of business, but if that had been the main issue there was no need for him to summon the queen in person. That need was personal.
Antony was mentally and physically exhausted. In less than a year he had travelled well over 2,000 miles, prosecuted a siege and fought a succession of skirmishes and other engagements. During the retreat, he had driven himself hard to keep his army going and had at least once seriously contemplated suicide. As commander, he had made the key decisions and was responsible for their disastrous consequences. He had failed, and this failure would overshadow the rest of his life.
Cleopatra offered a chance to forget this for a while. Antony could rely on her to be lively, entertaining and uncritical company. She would listen when he wanted to talk and her comments would be plausibly encouraging. They could feast and celebrate, continuing to live ‘inimitable’ lives, as well as making love. The queen was a mistress who needed to keep his backing. It is also hard to believe that there was not at least a degree of genuine love on both sides. Most important of all, Cleopatra was not Roman. With her, Antony could pretend to be a Hellenistic ruler, or Hercules or Dionysus if he preferred. He did not have to be the Roman noble who had fallen short of the military prowess so important to his class.
Antony waited impatiently for his lover to arrive. Plutarch talks of him wandering restlessly and getting up in the middle of meals to go and look out to sea in the hope of spotting her ships. He began to drink even more heavily as the days stretched into weeks and Cleopatra had not arrived. There is no hint that she deliberately delayed. It was only a matter of months since she had given birth to their third child together, a boy given the name Ptolemy Philadelphus. The name was a reminder of the second king of her line, who had presided over the empire at its greatest extent. Perhaps Cleopatra had not yet recovered from the birth and did not feel immediately able to travel. As importantly, the summons was unexpectedly urgent and preparations needed to be made. Antony wanted money and clothes for his ragged army. Obtaining ten thousand or more tunics or pairs of boots inevitably took time, as did obtaining sufficient coin in the right sort of denomination to be issued as pay to the soldiers, and both were bulky to transport.
When Cleopatra eventually arrived, she brought considerable quantities of clothing, but less money than Antony had requested. It may not have been available in the time and, in any case, he still had substantial reserves of his own. The troops were paid – quite probably a generous bounty in addition to their normal salary, for the legions had become accustomed to such things in the last decade or so. Antony was accused of telling his men that the money was a generous gift from Cleopatra, even though it was not. His spirits certainly recovered now that the queen was with him. Soon, they both went back to Alexandria.1
AND THEN THERE WERE TWO
Much had changed since Antony had set out for Armenia. In 36 BC Octavian launched a major offensive against Sextus Pompey. Lepidus had helped, bringing his own forces from Africa to invade Sicily. Sextus showed some of his old skill, and his men their usual courage, but this time they were outclassed. Agrippa had spent a year creating a larger and very well-trained navy, which included the 120 warships loaned to his colleague by Antony. He won the first battle of the year. Sextus soon struck back, defeating Octavian. However, he could not prevent both Octavian and Lepidus from landing armies in Sicily. Much of the island was soon overrun. There were some 300 ships on each side at the decisive battle fought off Cape Naulochus. Octavian watched from the shore as Agrippa virtually destroyed the Pompeian fleet, making use of a newly invented device called the harpax, which made it easier to grapple the enemy vessels. Once held, they could be boarded and captured. Agrippa had bigger vessels carrying larger numbers of legionaries acting as marines and so was always likely to win such encounters.2
Sextus’ power was broken and he fled. Lepidus chose this moment to try and regain the power and prominence he had once enjoyed. Perhaps he hoped to dispose of Octavian altogether, or at least renegotiate their alliance. Lepidus assumed control of the combined armies in Sicily. The details are a little unclear and much clouded by propaganda, but there is no doubt that it was all quickly over. The young Caesar went into Lepidus’ camp in person. The legionaries now defected to him, just as they had flocked to join Antony’s men in 43 BC. Lepidus was stripped of his powers as triumvir, but allowed to live out the remainder of his life in comfortable retirement. It was a display of clemency reminiscent of Julius Caesar and unlike the savagery of the proscriptions. Lepidus remained Pontifex Maximus, although he cannot have actually performed the role in practice. Only when he died, more than twenty years later, did Octavian – by now having assumed the name Augustus – assume the priesthood. From then on, it remained the prerogative of the emperors until the collapse of the Western Empire in the fifth century AD, when it passed to the pope, who still holds the title.3
Octavian celebrated an ovation for the defeat of Sextus, just as Crassus had once performed this lesser ceremony to mark his victory over Spartacus. At one point, Octavian himself had freed large numbers of slaves to provide manpower for the fleet, but his propaganda painted Sextus as the leader of runaway slaves rebelling against the natural order. Thousands of prisoners were crucified in another reminder of Spartacus. It was claimed that they were former slaves whose previous owners could not be found. Perhaps this was true, although more important was the propaganda message denying that this was another civil war. Instead, it was a matter of restoring order, of dealing with a pirate and not the son of Pompey the Great.4
It was still a success, which contrasted strongly with Antony’s defeat in Media. The latter’s despatches to the Senate concealed the scale of the losses and painted some of the skirmishes as great victories. For the moment, at least in public, Octavian and his associates did not question the truth of Antony’s version. Rumour would have flourished anyway, for no doubt many of his officers wrote their own versions of events. At the very least, it was soon clear that the expedition had made few, if any, tangible gains.5
Octavia travelled to Athens in the spring of 35 BC, intent on joining her husband. She brought with her 2,000 praetorians and also a substantial quantity of money, supplies and draught animals. Appian also mentions a unit of cavalry. Around the same time, Octavian sent back to Antony the ships he had borrowed at Tarentum. Only seventy remained, reflecting the heavy losses in the struggle with Sextus. The promised legionaries – whether two legions or 20,000 men – were not included. Plutarch thought that Octavian sent his sister with less than the pledged aid as a deliberate provocation and modern commentators have been inclined to agree. If Antony welcomed his wife, then he could be seen to accept without question whatever assistance his triumviral colleague chose to grant. More probably he would be insulted and might rebuff the well-respected Octavia. Scorning a Roman wife in favour of a mistress who was not only foreign, but royal, was bound to damage Antony’s reputation.6
Yet it was natural enough for Octavia to go again to Athens, bringing aid to her husband, and everything she brought – including the praetorians – was presented as a personal gift from her, not from her brother. It would have been a strange thing to stop her. On the other hand, in the past she had never gone further east than Athens. Antony sent word telling her to remain in the city, since he planned to campaign once again. A Roman wife was not supposed to follow her husband to war itself. He accepted the gifts she brought, although he was understandably – and no doubt publicly – annoyed by the failure of her brother to fulfil his promises. Octavian’s lack of support was a convenient thing for Antony to blame as an excuse for his own mistakes. More soldiers are very unlikely to have made any major difference to the outcome of the expedition in 36 BC.
Nor would they have been of much immediate use in the following summer. The remnants of his army had not had enough time to recover from the hardships of the retreat. In particular, the cavalry mounts must have been in poor shape and the mounted arm was of vital importance in any operation against the Parthians. Even more serious were the losses in baggage animals and wagons, and those brought by Octavia are unlikely to have made up for these. Without transport a major offensive was simply impossible. Fortunately, the enemy had fallen to bickering over the spoils of their recent victory. Artavasdes of Media sent messengers to Antony offering alliance against the Parthian king.7
There seemed to be an opportunity for limited operations, suitable for his currently limited resources, when Antony was suddenly forced to deal with a wholly unexpected threat. Sextus Pompey had fled eastwards and landed in the province of Asia. At first he offered alliance with Antony against Octavian. Then, hearing of the disaster in Media, he seems to have decided either that the eastern triumvir was vulnerable or perhaps that it was better to negotiate from a position of strength. Sextus began enrolling legions of his own. After a brief campaign he was suppressed by the nearest governors and executed. It is unclear whether or not Antony himself gave this order. Octavian would later contrast his own generosity to Lepidus with his colleague’s summary killing of Sextus. Yet it is difficult to imagine that he would not have killed Pompey’s son if Sextus had fallen into his hands, and it would certainly have been hard to reconcile with the concerted effort to portray him as a pirate. Nor was there any real incentive for Antony to spare him. At the time Octavian publicly celebrated the execution in Rome.8
Faced with these distractions, and with the bulk of his army still exhausted, Antony achieved very little before the autumn made campaigning impractical. He may still have been very tired himself. Cleopatra was with him for much of the year, either in Alexandria or afterwards probably in Antioch. Plutarch says that she feared Octavia and was reluctant to let her lover spend the winter with his wife. Antony responded to affection and, although she was Octavian’s sister, Octavia was a similar age to the queen, was clever and widely considered beautiful. Her love for her husband may well also have been genuine and her sense of duty was clearly very strong. Therefore, Cleopatra was supposed to have worked on Antony, showing utter delight when he was with her and ‘letting’ him catch glimpses of her quickly hidden tears when he was not. She deliberately lost weight, while her courtiers, and quite possibly some of his Roman friends whom she had taken care to cultivate, spoke to him of her utter devotion.9
Cleopatra relied on Antony to hold on to power. Love may well have grown, whether or not it was there from the start. Together they had had three children, and there were very few men indeed whom Cleopatra could see as her equal and so a worthy companion as well as a lover. Genuine passion probably fuelled the political dependency. Antony had left her for years in 40BC, returning to Italy and a new wife. At some point he was bound to return to Rome and the heart of the Republic, which had given him power. If he joined Octavia, then this could well happen sooner rather than later and remove his direct support from the queen. The Roman wife was a dangerous rival.
She was also a reminder to her husband of his recent failure. If Antony joined her, then he renewed the close connection with her brother, but more than that would once again become fully the Roman senator. His administrative reorganisation of the east had generally been successful, renewing and sometimes improving on the work of Pompey. Yet unlike Pompey he could not boast of genuine victories. Nor was there any prospect of fighting another campaign on the same scale – and with as good a chance of success –for several years. His career had gone badly wrong and that was not a pleasant thought. This truth would have been much harder to ignore in the company of Octavia, and so would the knowledge that her brother was bound to capitalise on his weakness.
It was not a very attractive prospect, in contrast to staying with Cleopatra, who was a much more pleasant and encouraging companion. With her he could live pleasantly and try to forget about the future. Perhaps it was also easier to believe that he could do something to repair the damage of his defeat. Antony sent word to Octavia telling her to return to Rome. Like a good Roman wife she obeyed and returned to their house – the property once owned by Pompey the Great. She continued to use her influence on behalf of Antony’s friends. Rumour said that her brother suggested that she divorce her husband, but that she staunchly refused.10
It was probably a minor concern to Octavian, since he was very busy. From 35 to 33 BC he led three consecutive campaigns in the Balkans, fighting against several Illyrian tribes. Caesar had himself planned to campaign in the area, so perhaps there was an echo of the great commander in his choice. There were also defeats to avenge and lost standards to recapture, for Antony’s old commander Gabinius had lost an army there back in 47 BC. The region was also near the border with the territory governed by Antony, and so a useful place to demonstrate the strength of his forces against any potential rival, including his colleague. Yet the main reason was the same as the one that had led Antony to attack the Parthians. Octavian wanted to prove himself a proper servant of the Republic and win the glory of defeating foreign enemies. In his case, even his victories over other Romans were tainted by rumours of cowardice and weakness.
In the campaigns that followed he took good care now to appear as heroic as possible, managing to get injured during an assault on a town. (It was probably not through direct enemy action, but the enemy was certainly close.) Like Antony he ordered at least one cohort to be decimated. There are other stories of his exemplary punishments that may date to these operations – for instance, having centurions stand at attention outside his tent. Sometimes a man’s belt was undone, so that the long military tunic fell almost to his ankles and so looked unmartial and perhaps even feminine. They might also be made to hold up a piece of turf or a measuring pole. Barely thirty by the time the campaigns were over, Octavian wanted to establish a reputation as a stern commander in the traditional mould, a man who personified the virtus expected of a Roman aristocrat. Awarded a triumph, he chose to postpone it and busy himself with working on the Republic’s behalf.11
The spoils of victory were pumped into rebuilding Rome. Octavian began a series of major projects and others were undertaken by other successful generals, many of them close associates. There was a spate of temple building, and the Regia and several basilicas were restored. Rome also for the first time acquired a permanent stone amphitheatre, while Asinius Pollio gave it a public library – something Caesar had planned, but not had time to create. In later life Augustus would boast that he ‘found Rome brick, and left it marble’. (He did not mean the incredibly strong, oven-fired red bricks visible today in so many of Rome’s great monuments, for this was an innovation of the imperial period. Under the Republic cheap and simple mud bricks were one of the commonest building materials.)
The transformation of the city really began in these years. As important as the monuments themselves was the work and incomes provided for the inhabitants of Rome. Little construction work was ever done by slaves and these projects were important job creation schemes. A good deal of the improvements were highly practical. Agrippa became aedile in 33 BC, an extraordinarily junior post for a man who had been consul in 37 BC, but since he was technically still too young to hold either office this was a minor breach of tradition. He took on the task of improving the city’s water supply and drainage system, and was remembered for sailing through the sewers in a boat to inspect them properly. Inspection was followed by a long programme of work. Agrippa repaired existing aquaducts and added a new one, the Aqua Julia, and made ‘700 cisterns, 500 fountainheads… 130 water towers’. Rome was not only to be beautiful, but also functional and a better place in which to live. The spoils of victory were to benefit the Roman people.12
THE DONATIONS
In 34 BC Antony finally achieved a little revenge for the disaster in Media. He was still not in a position to seriously harm Phraates IV, and instead turned his attention to King Artavasdes of Armenia, the ally accused of letting the Romans down. In a limited operation Armenia was overrun and Artavasdes was taken prisoner, probably seized under cover of negotiations. Dellius had been the delegate chosen to negotiate with the king. The Romans found such methods acceptable if they helped to resolve a conflict, so in itself this was not too damaging an accusation. Yet in the end this was a minor operation, achieving victory over a recent ally with very little fighting. There was little glory in such a success, certainly nowhere near enough to balance the earlier failure. The operation was also not complete, since the Armenian nobility proclaimed the king’s son as king, who was able to escape to Parthia.
Antony strengthened Rome’s position in the border kingdoms by securing Armenia for the time being. Around this time the alliance with Artavasdes of Media was also strengthened, when Antony and Cleopatra’s son Alexander Helios was betrothed to the king’s daughter. Both were still young children, so the marriage could not meaningfully take place for at least a decade, but it was a pledge for the future. In many ways a more surprising wedding actually occurred a few years later when Antony married his eldest daughter Antonia to Pythodorus of Tralles, a wealthy and influential aristocrat from Asia Minor. Presumably he already had – or was given – Roman citizenship, but it remained an extremely unorthodox alliance for a senator’s daughter. It is generally assumed that this Antonia was the offspring of his second marriage to his own cousin, also named Antonia, although perhaps it is possible that she was the child of his first wife, the freedman’s daughter Fadia. Even more than his formal recognition of his children with Cleopatra, this went a stage further than previous emulation of Hellenistic royalty by Roman commanders. Antony is said to have boasted that founding dynasties from his own bloodline set him alongside his ancestor Hercules and that the best thing about Rome’s dominance was what they gave to the provincial peoples.13
The capture of Artavasdes was the biggest success Antony himself had enjoyed since Philippi seven years earlier. That in itself suggests his lack of personal focus on military adventures. Time and again he had felt called away to deal with crises in the west, as the triumvirate threatened to break apart. His visits to Italy and the need in the previous year to deal with Sextus Pompey were all important concerns, and yet it does contrast very strongly with the ruthlessly single-minded approach to campaigning of Pompey and Caesar, and indeed many less famous Roman commanders. These interruptions had certainly hindered preparations for the attack on Parthia and probably contributed to its rushed start and muddled conduct.
The Armenian victory was a small one, but it was all that he had had for such a long time and Antony decided to celebrate on a grand scale. What followed soon became deeply controversial and the reality of what happened smothered in hostile propaganda, so that the whole truth is probably impossible to establish. Antony had decided to spend another winter in Alexandria and entered into the city in a grand procession. Once again he appeared as Dionysus –Bacchus or Liber Pater, the ‘Free Father’ to the Romans. The triumvir rode in a Bacchic carriage and wore a wreath of ivy, a robe of saffron and gold, as well as the buckskins associated with the god, and carried his sacred wand, known as the thrystus. None of this was new, and it was a more tactful way of displaying power to a Hellenistic audience, appearing as a personification of the great god of celebration and victory and not as a blatantly Roman overlord.14
Artavasdes walked in the procession, along with many other prisoners. The king was in chains, but in deference to his rank these were symbolic and made of precious metal – silver or gold, depending on the source. The column followed a route into the city, past cheering crowds, and eventually was received by Cleopatra, sitting on a golden throne on a lavishly decorated platform within the traditions of Ptolemaic spectacle. This was probably in front of the Serapeion, the great temple to Serapis, the god created by the Ptolemies. Artavasdes and the Armenian nobles were said to have refused to salute or bow to the queen, in spite of every effort to persuade or intimidate them.15
Octavian’s allies soon painted the parade as a triumph in all but name and thus a mockery of one of the Romans’ most ancient and revered rituals. A triumph could only be held at Rome and end with a sacrifice to Capitoline Jupiter. The victory was for Rome and the Roman people, granted by Rome’s gods. It could not be transferred to a foreign city and marked with foreign rituals, worst of all centred around a foreign monarch.
Antony is very unlikely to have intended the ceremony to be a triumph. Some of the Roman rituals had their origin in Dionysiac processions, which added to the similarities and made it easier to criticise. It was surely intended for a Hellenistic audience, although it also reflected his own love of theatre. He could enjoy his success, before spending another pleasant winter in Alexandria. His continuing power would no doubt have secured him a real triumph had he returned to Rome, but everyone would have known that this was a sham. On top of that he had no intention of returning to Italy yet, before he had achieved a genuinely major victory, or at the very least further built up his wealth and the influence this gave him. A Hellenistic display, much like the formal entry of any great king into a city, advertised his power throughout the region and his sympathy for the local culture.
There seems to have been a similar motive behind the even more bizarre ceremony held a few days later. It occurred in the great gymnasium of Alexandria, that most Hellenistic institution of the largest Greek city in the world. Later it became known as the Donations of Alexandria, but it is unclear how Antony and Cleopatra would have described the event. It is not certain how he was dressed, but his lover appeared as the New Isis, so was probably clad in the black robes of the goddess. The Roman triumvir and Ptolemaic queen sat side by side on golden thrones. In front of them, and a little lower down, the thirteen-year-old Caesarion, the six-year-old twins Alexander and Cleopatra Selene and the two-year-old Ptolemy Philadelphus occupied smaller thrones. of Armenia, Media and Parthia, while his twin sister was given rule of Cyrenaica and Libya. Ptolemy was granted the rest of Syria, Phoenicia and Cilicia. The infant was dressed up in Macedonian military cloak and boots and wore a traditional hat topped by a royal diadem. Alexander Helios wore a version of Median royal costume, with a much more eastern royal tiara. Their mother was also named ‘Queen of Kings, whose sons are kings’ and variations of these slogans soon began to appear on coins and official documents.
Antony formally pronounced Cleopatra and Caesarion rulers of Egypt, Cyprus and part of Syria. Alexander Helios was named king
The Donations of Alexandria
Cleopatra’s superiority over her children was confirmed, for even her co-ruler Caesarion was seated below her and received no new titles. Dio claims that Antony formally proclaimed the boy as the son of Caesar. If this was so, then he made no attempt to have him made a citizen or legitimised in Roman law. The Ptolemaic tradition allowed the existing monarch to mark out any of his or her children as co-ruler and rightful successor, regardless of age or details of parentage. Therefore Caesarion did not need to have a declared father to hold power. However, the fame of Caesar as father could do no harm and, if it was rarely mentioned within Egypt, it is possible that it was more important in their other territories.16
Yet in practical terms the most striking thing about the Donations is how little difference they made to anything. Media remained an allied kingdom under its own monarch and the Parthians were not about to give up their independence to accept the rule of a small boy with no claim whatsoever to rule there. Roman provinces and allied communities given to the children continued to run their affairs as they had done before the ceremony. Alexander and Ptolemy were supposedly given bodyguards of Armenians and Macedonians respectively, at least for the day of the ceremony itself. They were not given guardians or regents, nor any machinery of government created around them.
The Donations were marvellous theatre, popular with the Alexandrian crowd who liked a good show and no doubt highly enjoyable for Antony and Cleopatra themselves. They were well within the traditions of Ptolemaic celebrations and demonstrated the queen’s dominance through the support of her Roman lover. What is much less clear is how Antony hoped to benefit from them. Perhaps he felt that the promise of future rule suggested long-term stability for the settlement he was creating in the eastern Mediterranean. Promise was the most it could be, since nothing was actually changed by the ceremony and, in any event, the inclusion of Parthia gave everything an air of fantasy. It was if Antony was pretending to be a real conqueror, so far taken in by his own propaganda to believe (or to want to believe) himself truly a Dionysus, Hercules or Alexander the Great.
For Octavian it provided splendid ammunition to blacken his colleague’s name. Antony appeared deluded and was acting like a monarch, freely giving provincial and allied territory won by the legions to his children at the behest of a foreign queen. Antony’s allies in the Senate are supposed to have suppressed his own report on the campaign and the ceremonies, since it was so discreditable to him. For little or no gain, he damaged himself badly in Rome and Italy in general. Even at the time, many people struggled to understand just what Antony planned for the future. He and Octavian were still triumvirs, although the second five-year term for the triumvirate was due to expire at the end of 33 BC. The big question was when and how did Antony plan to return home?
[XXVI]
‘Is SHE MY WIFE?’
On 1 January 34BC Antony had become consul for the second time. It was nine years since the end of his first consulship, so this was almost the decade that law decreed should pass before holding a magistracy again. That rule had anyway been breached so many times that it was scarcely worth comment. It was far rarer for a consul not to be in Rome when he assumed office, although Marius and Caesar had both done this. More disturbing was his resignation at the end of a single day, showing the minor importance of the Republic’s supreme magistracy to a man with Antony’s power. Consuls now rarely served for the entire year, but none had chosen to resign within twenty-four hours. In spite of his absence and the extreme brevity of his tenure, the year was still officially known as the consulship of Marcus Antonius and Lucius Scribonius Libo.1
In 39 BC Antony and Octavian had drawn up a list of consuls for the next eight years, including the suffect consuls who would replace them once they resigned. There were four such men in 34 BC, for the first pair also resigned before the year was complete. In this way more loyal followers were rewarded, receiving the dignity of consular status, the precedence this brought in senatorial debate and the prospect of a suitably important provincial command. Octavian would similarly take up and resign the consulship on 1 January 33 BC, and there were no fewer than six suffect consuls in the remainder of that year.
This figure was in turn dwarfed by the sixty-seven praetors the triumvirs had appointed in 38 BC. Their lack of respect for the traditional magistracies was blatant and yet it is equally clear that both the triumvirs and their followers still valued the prestige these posts brought. There were also numerous irregularities, ignoring age restrictions and other conventions. One praetor resigned his office in favour of his son. One quaestor was recognised as a runaway slave by his former master. Another escaped slave was discovered serving as praetor. Slaves were usually executed by crucifixion, but this terrible punishment was thought inappropriate for anyone who had served as a praetor, however illegally. Therefore the court decreed that the man should be given his freedom, and then be thrown to his death from the Tarpeian Rock. Antony and Octavian had awarded themselves a joint consulship for 31 BC. Interestingly, it was over a year after their triumviral power was supposed to lapse. Perhaps they planned that both of them would be in Rome by this time, so that their alliance could be renewed or renegotiated.2
Antony had certainly not turned his back on Rome, for all that he enjoyed the trappings of monarchy in the Greek world. He seems to have been genuinely fond of Alexandria and at some point he served as gymnasiarch there, just as he had done in Athens. Yet although he publicly acknowledged his children by Cleopatra, greater prominence was given to Marcus Antonius Antyllus, his teenage son by Fulvia. A series of silver coins was issued showing Antony on one side and the boy on the other.3
Although Octavia looked after his other Roman children, Antyllus seems to have been in the east with his father during these years. In Alexandria he enjoyed both the company of learned men and something of the lavish lifestyle of the royal court. Plutarch’s grandfather’s friend Philotas knew the boy during these years and told stories of his quick wit and generous nature. On one occasion Antyllus gave him the gold cups that they had just used for a feast – an interesting echo of Cleopatra’s visit to Tarsus. Philotas was worried that the lad might get into trouble for making such a costly gift. Yet when the servants came to present him with the vessels and get a receipt for them, they assured him that Mark Antony’s son could give away as much gold as he liked. They did replace the vessels with their value in money, since some were antiques and so might be missed by his father.4
Elsewhere, Plutarch tells another story of Antony’s own generosity, when he promised a man the gift of 250,000 denarii. One of his personal slaves was apparently concerned that his master did not realise how substantial a sum this was and so laid out all the coins to show their number. When informed what the money was for, Antony claimed to be shocked, since he had thought the gift was bigger, and immediately ordered the sum to be doubled.5
Antony’s taste for spectacular expenditure long pre-dated his years in the east, but was fully indulged while he was with Cleopatra. Grand wagers were a common feature of the royal court during these years. The most famous incident occurred some time between 34 and 32 BC, and centred on the famed luxury of the Ptolemaic court and Antony’s own obsession with expensively rare and exotic foods. The queen is supposed to have sneered at the fare he was serving and promised that on the next day she would show him a banquet costing no less than 2.5 million denarii. Yet when the meal came he was unimpressed by the food she gave her guests, for this seemed nothing unusual by their recent standards. Cleopatra – our source Pliny does not name her, but dismisses her as an ‘impertinent royal tart’-merely laughed when Antony claimed that he had won the wager. The food was a mere preliminary and she alone would consume the 2.5 million denarii feast. Enjoying his confusion, the queen ordered the final course to be served. This dessert was as lavish as the earlier courses, but she herself was given a single bowl, filled with acetum, the sour, vinegar-like wine issued to soldiers as part of their ration and usually a drink for the poor. Reaching up, Cleopatra took off one of her pearl earrings – the pair were famous for their size and quality – and dropped it into the bowl. The pearl dissolved into a slush and she drank the mixture. Lucius Munatius Plancus, who had the task of deciding who won the bet, quickly declared the queen the victor and stopped her from repeating the process with the other pearl.6
Pearls had become highly fashionable as jewellery at Rome in the last generation or so. In 59 BC Julius Caesar had given his mistress Servilia a pearl that cost 1.5 million denarii, and so was of similar quality to Cleopatra’s earrings. It was even rumoured that he had invaded Britain hoping to find a plentiful supply of good pearls. Nor was dissolving pearls in sour wine and drinking the mixture altogether unknown, for we hear of one wealthy young Roman doing the same, in a story spread by one of Horace’s poems. It is impossible to know whether Cleopatra was aware of this incident or came up with the idea on her own. In latter years the Emperor Caligula, a descendant of Antony, would copy the practice, a mark both of his eccentricity and extravagance.7
Most modern commentators have been sceptical about the possibility of dissolving a pearl in vinegar and attempts to repeat Cleopatra’s trick have invariably failed. The acid in the liquid does soften pearls and dissolve crushed pearls, but appears to take a very long time to do this. The value of such experiments is anyway limited, since we do not know the size or consistency of the pearl earrings. These may well have been smaller than modern expectation. Nor should we necessarily insist that Cleopatra’s bowl was filled only with sour wine. Other substances might accelerate the chemical reaction and the philosophers of the Museum had for generations specialised in using their knowledge to perform spectacular, apparently miraculous tricks to grace royal occasions. The pearl did not need to vanish altogether, but dissolve enough to be no longer of value and easy to both consume and keep down. Pliny does not suggest that she simply swallowed the earring to retrieve it later. The precious object had to be permanently destroyed to make the wager meaningful.8
Munatius Plancus is elsewhere described as one of the leading flatterers of the queen from amongst Antony’s Roman followers. He clearly felt that this would also win the triumvir’s favour. It is said that he went so far as to perform a dance during one of the feasts, acting the part of the sea god Glaucus, his naked skin painted blue and wearing a false fish’s tail. This was scarcely the behaviour expected of a former consul. A few aristocratic Roman men were known to be proud of their skill in dancing, but Cicero had probably reflected the general feeling when he said, ‘No sane man ever dances while sober.’9
Sobriety is unlikely to have been a conspicuous feature of Antony and Cleopatra’s intimates. Antony had always been a heavy drinker and it seems likely that this had only increased, especially after the disappointment and stress of the Parthian expedition. He may well have been an alcoholic and choosing to associate himself with Hercules and Dionysus meant revering deities famed for drink and festivities. The latter was important to the Ptolemies, and Cleopatra wore a ring carrying the inscription ‘Drunkenness’(Methe in Greek). The female attendants of Dionysus, the Maenads, were supposed to be in a permanent state of ecstatic frenzy, induced not by alcohol, but the mere presence of the god. Probably the ring celebrated this. We cannot say whether the sources accusing her of frequent inebriation were true or simply propaganda. It may well have been difficult to spend a lot of time in Antony’s company without sharing at least to some degree in his heavy drinking.10
The circle surrounding Antony and Cleopatra included performers from the Greek east. We hear of one man who seems to have specialised in erotic dances, and there was also the ‘Parasite’ mentioned earlier. Yet apart from the queen herself, only Romans were treated as close advisers by Antony, and certainly only Romans were given important commands as well as other major responsibilities. Plancus, Dellius and Canidius were just a few of the senators amongst the triumvir’s close companions and key agents.11
In 2000 a papyrus that contained an ordinance passed by Cleopatra in 33 BC (or ‘Year Nineteen which is also Year Four’) was identified, prompting considerable excitement because the last word may be in the queen’s own handwriting –ginestho (‘let it be so’ in Greek). The main content received little attention outside scholarly circles, but is highly instructive:
We have granted to Publius Canidius and his heirs the annual exportation of 10,000 artabas of wheat [approximately 300 tons] and the annual importation of 5,000 Coan amphoras of wine without anyone exacting anything in taxes from him or any other expense whatsoever. We have also granted tax exemption on all the land he owns in Egypt…. Let it be written to those to whom it may concern, so that knowing it they can act accordingly.12
Canidius had clearly been given extensive estates by the queen and the income he gained was to be free of any royal levy. His agents were also allowed to import and sell wine within Egypt without paying any duty. Antony’s other senior followers no doubt also did well from her generosity. Cleopatra needed Roman backing and for the last few years that had meant keeping Antony’s favour. To ensure this she exploited her kingdom for the benefit of the triumvir and his henchmen. Earlier Ptolemies had been just as generous in granting land and tax-free wealth to powerful aristocrats. Now the important beneficiaries were all Roman and there is no indication that any of these men planned to settle permanently within her realm. Their families, much of their property and their ultimate political ambitions all lay in Italy. There is no good indication that Antony felt any differently. He was in the east to build wealth and power to enhance his position within the Republic.
‘WHY HAVE YOU CHANGED? ‘
The stories of the excess and debauchery of Antony and Cleopatra’s inner circle no doubt grew with the telling as they travelled to Italy. The mood in Rome was usually uneasy while waiting for powerful men to return after a long spell in the provinces. People had been very nervous awaiting Pompey’s return from his eastern campaigns and similar fears over what Caesar might do had helped to create the civil war in 49 BC. Octavian managed to visit Rome on several occasions during his Illyrian wars and had been in Italy for most of the last decade. He bore the brunt of any discontent and resentment, for instance from dispossessed Italian farmers and dissatisfied veterans, but had managed to deal with each crisis in turn. The defeat of Sextus Pompey had ended the long sequence of civil war and there was cautious optimism that this might be permanent. There was certainly no appetite amongst the wider population for a renewal of conflict. Poets like Horace and Virgil helped to express this mood, encouraged by Octavian’s close associate Maecenas.13
Antony gained no fresh honours from the Senate after 37 BC, but his colleague was far more visible. A year later Octavian had been awarded the same sacrosanct status given to the tribunes of the plebs. This was a high honour. In 35 BC the same status was extended to Livia and Octavia, who were also given public statues and the right to run their own affairs and finances without the need for a male guardian. These were unprecedented honours for women. This made Antony’s curt instructions for his wife to return to Italy all the more shocking and rendered her obedience and continued care for his house, children and friends especially poignant.14
Octavian and Antony competed for prestige and dominance. It was natural for Roman aristocrats to behave in this way and perhaps inevitable that, once all other rivals had gone, the two most powerful men in the state would turn against each other. By 33 BC the rivalry was becoming steadily more open, although as yet neither side launched a direct attack on the other. Instead, it was a question of contrasts. Octavian had beaten Sextus Pompey. His successes in Illyria were small scale, but genuine, unlike Antony’s failure in Media. Antony countered, mainly through his supporters in Rome, but also it seems through letters that were readily made public, and spoke of Octavian’s personal failings. At Philippi he had been ‘ill’ and absent. In the final confrontation with Sextus Pompey, the young Caesar had again been prostrate with sickness – or was it fear?
Roman political invective had always been personally abusive and often obscene. As usual there was very little attention to specific policies and the heart of the matter was character. Both men had provided their rival with plenty of good material. Yet in the main the hostile stories about Octavian concerned the past – his cruelty during the proscriptions, or his dressing as Apollo at the notorious feast. A favourite target for the unquestionably aristocratic Antony was his rival’s family and time and again the alleged obscurity and demeaning professions of his father and grandfather were hurled at Octavian. It was only at this point that Caesarion began to matter in Rome. Here was a genuine son of Caesar, and it did not matter that he was a foreigner and a bastard, for there was no attempt to make the teenager a figurehead in Roman politics. It was merely a useful – and highly embarrassing – way of reminding everyone that the ‘son of the divine Julius’ was of humble birth and only one of the Julii Caesares by adoption. Adoption was taken seriously by the Romans, but Octavian’s position was vulnerable because he had not been adopted while Caesar was alive and posthumous adoption was legally very questionable. It was probably now that Octavian commissioned one of Caesar’s close associates to write a pamphlet denying that the boy was Caesar’s child, while Antony proclaimed that the dictator had publicly acknowledged the baby.15
Although Antony lost in the long run, many stories about Octavian were set down in these years and so survived to be repeated by later authors, giving him a small posthumous victory. Years before, Cicero’s Philippics had begun the blackening of Antony’s reputation and memory, and now these slurs were reinforced. Many of the attacks were exaggerated, but there were too many truths behind them to prevent serious damage. Attacked as a drunkard, Antony responded by publishing his only known work of literature, entitled On His Drinking (de sua ebrietate). It has not survived, but presumably he denied some of the excesses, or at least maintained that alcohol had never impaired his judgement or actions. Yet the fact that he felt it necessary to defend himself against the charge at all showed that the damage had already been done. (Caesar had been laughed at for taking a public oath denying his alleged affair with King Nicomedes. People mocked the dictator whether or not they believed the story.)16
Sexual excess accompanied the stories of Antony’s alcoholic excess. Too much of either was seen as weakness, betraying the stern virtus expected of a Roman senator. Praise of Octavia for her virtue, and also her beauty, highlighted her husband’s mistreatment of her. Yet the affair with Cleopatra was far too public to deny and so instead, Antony tried to pass it off lightly, writing an open letter to Octavian. The style was blunt, deliberately crude and overtly manly:
Why have you changed? Is it because I’m screwing the queen? Is she my wife? Have I just started this or has it been going on for nine years? How about you — is it only [Livia] Drusilla you screw? Congratulations, if when you read this letter you have not been inside Tertulla or Terentilla, Rufilla or Salvia Titiseniam, or all of them. Does it really matter where or in whom you dip your wick?17
‘Is she my wife?’ — the Latin uxor mea est could equally be the statement, ‘She is my wife.’ Only the context as part of a series of quick-fire questions suggests that it is not only a question, but that the implicit answer is also: ‘No, she is not.’ Yet Antony did not deny the affair, and indeed stressed that it had already lasted for nine years. His position was weak from the start, for the best he could hope for was the belief that Octavian’s behaviour was no better than his own. Octavian might be an enthusiastic adulterer, but he had no single mistress and at least his lovers were Roman. Antony circulated other stories, of how the young Caesar’s friends hunted out women for him, even stripping respectable girls and married women for inspection as if they were slaves. It was even claimed that at one dinner he had taken a senator’s wife into another room and when they rejoined her husband and the rest of the company, she was blushing and looking dishevelled.18
This was certainly not respectable behaviour for a Roman, although the cuckolding of other senators did match the exploits of Caesar. In addition, Octavian was still an adolescent, while Antony was in his fifties, by which time a man was expected to behave with more decorum. Taking many lovers was bad, but it was worse for a Roman man to have one mistress, worse still to appear to be dominated by her and unforgivable that she was foreign and royal. This was the most damning charge, that Antony had become so unmanned by his passion for Cleopatra that he obeyed her and made decisions on major issues according to her whims. The grants of land, the allegations of delaying the Parthian War to stay with her and, most of all, the Donations of Alexandria suggested an Antony manipulated by his lover to the point where he was no longer acting in the best interests of the Republic. Even his own propaganda could be turned against him. Hercules, too, had been brought low by a woman, when Omphale made him wear a dress and perform household tasks such as spinning. It is unlikely to be coincidental that depictions of this story appear in the art of the period.19
Octavian was in Rome, in a city enjoying peace and the visible signs of rebuilding and physical renewal, much of it undertaken by him or his close associates. He was far better placed to influence public opinion. Senators were one audience, but so were the local aristocracies of the towns and cities of Italy. It was difficult for a distant Antony to compete, especially since his achievements in the east were so limited. He does seem to have administered the region reasonably well, but such things were rarely a great source of popularity with a Roman audience. In the long run he could not hide the scale of the disaster in Media — especially when Octavian and his allies no longer helped to suppress the news — or the meagreness of his subsequent successes.
In the spring of 33 BC, Antony had concentrated the bulk of his legions on the Euphrates, ready for a fresh intervention in the affairs of Parthia and its neighbouring kingdoms. After some minor operations, he changed his mind. Once again, his eye was on Italy and the struggle with Parthia would take second place to defending his position in Rome itself. Canidius was ordered to march the army over 1,000 miles to the Ionian coast of Asia Minor, ready to cross the sea to Greece. There was no external threat to that region requiring such a large concentration of troops. Unless he was planning to return at last to Italy, bringing with him his soldiers, perhaps to march in a triumph, or at least to be discharged and given land, then this move can only be seen as a threat to Octavian. Antony did complain that Octavian was not providing sufficient land for his veterans and it may be that he had future distributions in mind. His colleague sent the ironic reply that surely he could give them land from his eastern ‘conquests’.20
At the very least, Antony escalated the conflict by transferring his legions westwards. The timing of this move is all too readily forgotten since it is easier to trace the build-up of Octavian’s propaganda towards the eventual war. Neither man seems to have been very reluctant to fight, but the wider population hated the thought of a renewal of civil war, so both were eager to let the other provoke the conflict. The triumvirate lapsed on 31 December 33 BC. Antony ignored this and continued to use the title. Octavian pretended to retire into private life. Both kept control of their armies and provinces.21
On 1 January 32 BC, Domitius Ahenobarbus became consul with Caius Sosius as colleague. Both men were supporters of Antony, a coincidence that may not have been significant when the triumvirs had nominated consuls back in 39 BC. The consuls took precedence in alternate months and Ahenobarbus began the year, presiding over meetings of the Senate. Antony had sent them an account of his reorganisation of the eastern provinces, which included the grants of land to Cleopatra and her children. He wanted the Senate’s endorsement, even though his powers as triumvir already conferred legality on his actions. Ahenobarbus thought the document too inflammatory, with its formal statement of the Donations, and so suppressed it.
In February, Sosius took over and immediately launched a direct attack on Octavian. The measures he proposed were vetoed by a tribune before a vote could be taken. It was an interesting survival of earlier politics, although it is unclear who inspired the veto. Sosius may have felt that simply making the statements was enough to damage Octavian. On the other hand, the latter may have been genuinely worried. Even if the measures were not passed, and it was unlikely that they would be, it was a considerable blow to his prestige and auctoritas to have them mentioned in the first place.22
The ‘retired’ triumvir was not present, but he summoned the Senate to another meeting, although legally he no longer had the power to do this. Octavian arrived, escorted by soldiers and guarded by friends whose ‘concealed’ daggers were visible. He took his seat between the two consuls, thus marking his superiority, and proceeded to defend himself. Ahenobarbus and Sosius fled from Rome after this meeting, going straight to Antony, who by this time was again in Athens. By letter, and the voices of a few adherents, he was able to continue the battle of accusations with Octavian. Apart from the personal denigration, he returned to familiar complaints. Octavian was blamed for both deposing Lepidus and then taking all of the latter’s troops and territory under his own control. His failure to deliver the promised soldiers was another charge. Octavian countered by saying that Antony had not shared the spoils of his own victories, but the main attack remained personal. The Roman commander had been corrupted by Cleopatra – there were even stories that she used magic potions to enslave him.23
Munatius Plancus chose this moment to defect from Antony and join Octavian. He was an ex-consul, and with him came his nephew who was a consul designate, but there are no other recorded defections by senators at this time. Plancus gave a speech in the Senate accusing Antony of a long list of crimes and abuses of power. Not everyone was impressed and an old rival drily commented, ‘Antony must have done a great many things to make you leave him!’ Far more damaging was the report that the two men had witnessed Antony’s will, now deposited in the Temple of Vesta at the heart of the Forum, and that its provisions were shocking.24
The six Vestal Virgins composed Rome’s only female priesthood and were figures of great respect. The head of the order refused Octavian’s demand to be given the will, since this would have been an unprecedented breach of law and custom. However, he went into the temple and read the document, before removing it and having it — or more probably, carefully chosen sections — read out at a public meeting. In it Antony formally recognised Caesarion as the dictator’s son and also gave legacies to his own children by Cleopatra. This last was illegal, since a citizen could not make a non-citizen his heir. There must have been mention of Antyllus and his other Roman children, but it suited Octavian’s purpose to ignore such normal clauses. Finally, even if Antony were to be in Rome when he died, his remains were to be sent to be interred alongside Cleopatra.
None of our ancient sources suggests that the will was a forgery, although plenty of modern scholars have assumed this. There was certainly a will, and the odds are that Octavian was simply selective in his use of it. Antony had already publicly acknowledged his children by Cleopatra and proclaimed Caesarion as Caesar’s son, so in that sense there was nothing new in repeating these statements. His legacies to the children raise many questions, since he could not have been unaware that these were illegal. Perhaps he planned to give them citizenship or simply assumed that as triumvir anything he did was legal. Yet it is notable that Antony could imagine dying in Rome, away from Cleopatra.25
That was not the impression people received. Octavian encouraged rumours that Antony and Cleopatra planned to rule the Republic as a personal empire, moving the capital to Alexandria — an echo of one of the accusations made against Caesar. The arrogance of the queen was stressed. She was said to have adopted a favoured oath, saying, ‘as surely as I shall dispense justice on the Capitol’. It did not matter that this contradicted the stories of Antony preferring Alexandria to Rome, wanting to rule from the Egyptian city and be buried there. The important thing was to convince Romans of Cleopatra’s pride and the danger she posed. Old prejudices against Greeks, easterners in general, royalty and powerful women interfering in the affairs of state all made the audience highly receptive to this message. To emphasise his own patriotism, Octavian began construction of a grand mausoleum on the Campus Martius.26
There was no enthusiasm for another civil war and so Octavian marginalised Antony. He was merely a dupe, a weak man who had ceased to be a Roman and could no longer refuse his mistress anything. Stories of him washing her feet to honour a bet, of reading love letters while conducting public business and of trailing after her litter like a puppy all reinforced the image, even if they were untrue. Cleopatra was the danger, hence the vitriol of poets directed against her, savaging her character and bemoaning that a Roman commander and Roman legionaries ‘served’such a mistress.27
Instead of a new civil war, Octavian gave Italy a great cause. Rome’s Republic faced the dire threat of a foreign ruler who wished to crush their freedom. It was a better pretext for war and people willingly chose to believe it as far as was necessary, since it was unrealistic to stop Antony and Octavian from fighting each other. Yet they would not fight against Antony but Cleopatra, not against Roman legions but an eastern host who worshipped strange, animal-headed gods. Communities throughout Italy took an oath of personal loyalty to Octavian. A few of Antony’s veteran colonies were exempted, but none showed any desire to fight on his behalf. Some senators fled to join him. Octavian later claimed that more than 700 chose to serve with him. The Senate was at most 1,000 strong at this time, and quite possibly smaller. Many of the remainder went to Antony, although it was most likely fewer than the 300 often alleged as having done. Some may have been too elderly to take an active role, while others chose neutrality. The most famous of these was Asinius Pollio, who said that he would stand apart from your quarrel and be a spoil of the victor’.28
Antony’s active supporters in the Senate were heavily outnumbered. Some were desperate, including the last survivors from Caesar’s murderers, who obviously could not hope for reconciliation with Octavian. One of these men, Cassius of Parma, produced a string of vitriolic pamphlets attacking the young Caesar. He was accused of planning to marry his only daughter Julia to the king of the Getae from the Balkans to cement his Illyrian victories — clearly a reaction to disapproval of Antonia’s marriage to Pythodorus of Tralles. Even wilder was the allegation that Octavian had planned to divorce Livia and marry the king’s daughter instead.29
What Antony had actually done was, or at least seemed, a lot more damaging than anything it could be claimed his rival had merely considered. By 32 BC, it was clear that Antony had lost the political struggle. The propaganda war would continue, but it had not gone well for him so far and things were unlikely to improve. His only hope was now to win the real war of armies and fleets.