I Am Livia (39 page)

I hoped Antony would accept what had been sent as a token of friendly feeling and restore Octavia to her rightful place as his wife. No doubt he would expect more military support in time, and likely Tavius would be unable to refuse it. Such an outcome, conducive to future harmony, certainly seemed possible.

I was with Tavius when he received a letter from his sister, telling him how she, and all her bounty, had been received.
We sat in his study, discussing a small governmental matter.
When the travel-stained messenger entered, I could read disaster just in how he carried himself.

He said to Tavius, “Sir, my mistress is returning to Rome by easy stages, for she is rather tired. But she sent me on with this.” He handed over a sealed tablet.

My heart pounded. Tavius ripped the letter’s seal away, read it, and turned white. He dismissed the messenger in a voice of barely controlled fury.

I did not dare ask him what news the letter held. His whole body shook with rage. Those who would later say—as many did—that he was capable of dealing coldly with the matter of his sister’s marriage, using it as an excuse for doing what he wished to do anyway, ought to have seen him at that moment.

H
e could not bring himself to speak but just handed me the letter.
As I read it, I saw in every line Octavia’s effort to make what had occurred seem less awful than it was, and to soothe her brother.

I arrived in Athens and wrote to Antony in Alexandria, asking if he wished me to continue on and join him there, or to stay in our house in Athens and wait for him to come and join me. I told him of course about all the gifts you had generously sent and asked where he wished them delivered. He wrote me back that I should send the gifts to Alexandria, but I should return to his house in Rome.

Tavius, dear, I know this will upset you. But the wording of his letter was not harsh, but entirely courteous, and he did say I was to return to his house. I am still, of course, his wife. One of his soldiers whispered to me that Cleopatra said she would commit suicide if he received me, as he, at first, had every intention of doing. I think his passion for her is a kind of sickness, which will run its course, if I just wait it out. That is what I intend to do.

Naturally I will comply with my husband’s wishes. I am sending the gifts on, and I will soon be back in Rome. My sweet Tavius, please do not make more of this rather absurd matter than it is.

I raised my eyes from the tablet, a sinking feeling in my guts.

“He would not even see her.”
Tavius spoke as if he were trying to make himself believe it. “He just told her to send on the gifts.”

I did not think Antony was brain-sick with passion for Cleopatra. The two of them had come together before, had twin children, and then parted for over three years when Antony found it convenient. If he was now swept away by love, it was a late development in their long acquaintance. The queen of Egypt was the richest and most powerful woman in the world. She had personally funded Antony’s Parthian debacle. However love and lust figured in the mix, Antony’s actions surely reflected political calculation too. He would not receive his wife if it caused him problems with Cleopatra.

And yet he would not divorce Octavia either. He would keep her in his house in Rome, bound to him, dangling. How could he expect Tavius to acquiesce to this treatment of his sister?

Still,
I thought,
there must not be civil war again.

I knew it was not the moment to tell Tavius to put away his rage. I must tread carefully. “Beloved, I share your anger,” I said. “All I ask is that you not act precipitously. You are not a creature to be unmanned by passion, as Antony is.”

He said in a smothered voice, “Am I no
t
?”

“The only god he worships is Dionysus, but you are the son of Apollo. Reason, knowledge, and light guide your actions.”

“If he spat in my face before the whole world, it would be less of an insult than what he’s done. This affront to Octavia—no one can expect me to simply bear it.”

I could find no words to say that were not likely to exacerbate his anger
.
A
ntony’s treatment of Octavia was cruel by any standard. Beyond that, it was dishonoring to her family. Tavius could see it only as an expression of Antony’s contempt for him as a man—contempt that had always been there, underlying their relations with each other. That all the world must know of it made it doubly shaming.

Tavius let out a long, shuddering breath. “I won’t do anything foolish.”

Perhaps Octavia preferred a slow journey home because, as her messenger said, she felt weary. Perhaps she needed time to prepare herself to speak of what had happened. She would have had to have been made of steel not to take Antony’s rejection as a personal humiliation.

She finally arrived in Rome, and when she had rested, we—she, Tavius, and I—met in the garden of Antony’s house on the Palatine. The beautiful summer weather, the exquisitely landscaped garden, the sweet wine, the figs and nuts Octavia had served to us—these would have well suited a pleasant family occasion. But of course, we were all, in our different ways, profoundly upset. Tavius was livid at Antony’s actions, Octavia looked deeply sad, and I was filled with dread of what would happen next.

“You will not remain in that man’s house another day,”
Tavius told his sister. I knew he preferred that Octavia not bear the onus of initiating a divorce from Antony. But pride required that she at least take a step toward this severance. “I just bought two houses near mine. I intended to use them for governmental purposes, but you can have your choice of them.
While the house is being furnished, you’ll come and stay with us.”

“I know you mean that kindly,” Octavia said, “but I intend to stay here.”

“You will not stay here,”
Tavius said. “I forbid it. You’re not going to stay in this house and pretend you’re that man’s wife.”

“But I am his wife,” Octavia said.

“It’s true he hasn’t had the decency to send you a letter of divorce.”
Tavius’s cheek muscle quivered. “But you must know your marriage is over.”

I said softly, “Tavius, there are children to think of. You haven’t mentioned the children.”

Tavius nodded. “Yes, of course. Octavia, you will take Antonia and Antonilla with you. Livia and I will welcome them.” He spoke in a flat, stony way only, I think, because he was fighting to control himself.
Whatever he had expected when he sent his sister to Antony, he had been unprepared for the outcome. Unfortunately, he had so far not spoken one gentle word to Octavia, who certainly could have used his kindness and comfort. But he did say, though in the same stony voice, “Don’t fear separation from your children. I doubt if Antony even remembers they’re alive, but if he does, he’ll have to walk over my corpse to get them. Those girls are my flesh and blood, and I’ll always look after them, just as I’ll always look after you.”

Octavia acknowledged his words with a bleak half-smile. “That’s good of you. But I have other responsibilities that I must think of. To begin with, my stepsons. They are only twelve and eight years old. How can I abandon them?”

Antony’s sons by Fulvia? Tavius looked amazed that his sister should give them a thought at this juncture. But with hardly a pause, he said, “All right, I’ll take them into my home too, and you can look after them until their father makes provision for them.” He could not restrain himself from adding, “If he ever bothers to. He seems not to recollect he has any children but Cleopatra’s spawn.”

At the mention of Cleopatra, Octavia stiffened and looked away. She said in a low voice, “You’re kind to say you will accept the boys. But I have other responsibilities, just as important to me as the children’s welfare. I married Antony, for good or ill. I owe him something even now
.
A
t least I can wait and see if he comes to his senses
.
A
nd I owe Rome something.” Her eyes returned to Tavius. “You exalted me, beyond my merits. I have become a sort of symbol of peace, and people look to me to guarantee the peace between you and my husband. I can do that only as Antony’s wife.”

Tavius just stared at her, his eyes burning.

She reached over and touched his hand. “If you are set on war for motives that have nothing to do with me, there is little I can do. But you and Antony are the most powerful men in the world. How would it be if Rome is brought to civil war because one of you is besotted with a woman, and the other is carried away by protectiveness and resentment on a woman’s behalf—on my behal
f
? It would be both tragic and laughable.”

“I have not been speaking of war,
”
T
avius said between his teeth.

“But I sense you’re thinking of it. If there is to be war, please—don’t make any insult to me the pretext. I beg you. I couldn’t stand that.”

The three of us were silent. Then Tavius said in a taut voice, “I have no intention as of now of breaking the peace. But you’re to leave this house. I will not have you stay here.”

“Tavius, dearest, I can’t leave his house. The only right course for me is to continue on the path I’m on, to walk the very last mile to salvage my marriage.”

“For the love of heaven,”
Tavius said, caught between exasperation and pain for her, “do as I say.”

She smiled slightly and tried to speak in a light voice. “I’m afraid that you will have to call your soldiers and have me dragged out of here. Because I won’t leave of my own will.”

I understood at that moment Octavia’s true nobility. In face of the public shame Antony had inflicted on her, she eschewed anger but sought to act in the best interests of Rome and all of us. She was single-handedly making her stand, trying to avert war. It was how I would have wished to have acted in her place, but I did not know if I would have been capable of it.

Tavius did not say another word but rose and left the house.

So she stayed, tending Antony’s property, looking after Antony’s sons as if they were her own, and being a gracious hostess to any of his friends who visited the city. This earned her general admiration in Rome. But the fact that she continued, though at a distance, to be a loyal, serviceable wife to Antony was a stone in Tavius’s heart.

The peace held, a rancorous peace punctuated by angry letters from Antony to Tavius, and from Tavius to Antony, a raking up of old and present grievances. As this continued for month after month, it seemed possible we would go on this way forever. But the treaty of alliance between Tavius and Antony had a set term—which had less than two years left to it.

Despite the animosity, it was a very good time for Rome. Tavius wanted to solidify his rule. If it did come to war with Antony, he would need the people’s love. So the huge building program under Agrippa’s management proceeded at a rapid pace, and even expanded. One saw workmen and construction sites in every part of Rome. My good works expanded also.

Just as Tavius did, I set aside regular morning hours in which to receive ordinary people. By this time, I had acquired wealth in the form of commercial farms, granaries, and olive presses. I was not profligate with my money, but I was generous. If a decent, indigent girl found herself hard-pressed, she would, if she were wise, come to me. I would find her a way to survive other than selling her body. Often I made her a gift of a dowry, enough for her to attract some upstanding fellow to marry her. In return, I expected loyalty—and usually I got it, not only from the girl herself but from her immediate circle. I had many clients of my own, people bound to me by ties of mutual loyalty, who ranged from recipients of my charity to senators’ wives; in fact, I could even include some senators in that group. The small, daily exchanges of favors to create and nurture political bonds were as much a part of my life as they were of
Tavius’s.