The Chapter of Augustus
The man who inherited Caesar’s power was his adopted son, Octavian.
He would later become the first emperor of Rome, Augustus.
These two lines of history have been stretched into a story.
The Chapter of Augustus
1.
Several decades before the birth of Christ, in Italy--
a vast realm that would one day be called the Roman Empire was beginning to take shape.
At its center stood a young man named Octavian,
the man who would later become the first emperor of Rome.
South of Italy--
across the sea from the toe of the boot--lay the great island of Sicily.
Pebbles polished by the waves glimmered with a faint reddish hue.
Perhaps the blood of countless generations had returned to this shore, carried back by the sea.
Raising his eyes from the map, the seasoned general Lepidus met the gaze of the envoy head-on.
“I shall convey Lord Octavian’s words exactly as spoken--”
The envoy’s voice, calm and measured, filled the silent chamber with a heavy clarity.
For a single breath, it seemed as though time itself had stopped.
“The territories under your governance, Lord Lepidus--beginning with North Africa--
would, I believe, better serve the stability of Rome
if they were placed under my direct administration.
That is all.”
Lepidus was once one of the Three Allies who had divided Rome among themselves.
But now, his sword had long since grown dull.
The words of the envoy, Agrippa, seemed to sink into the cold stone floor.
He did not move.
Only his eyes--reflecting the flicker of the flames--quietly measured the man before him.
The battle-hardened general sat slumped before his desk, but slowly raised his face.
“…I see. So that is how it is.”
His voice was flat, yet his clenched fist trembled faintly.
A sensation washed over him--the same one he had felt the first time he laid eyes on Octavian:
the unsettling illusion that his own fate had already been seen through.
Ridiculous--
that whelp, to have come this far!
Since the assassination of Caesar--who had once wielded unrivaled influence over Rome--more than a decade earlier, the state had fallen back into chaos.
The one named as Caesar’s heir was, at the time, an unknown youth--Octavian.
(No… I sensed this day would come, didn’t I?)
Even then, Lepidus had instinctively feared the abyss lurking behind the boy’s eyes.
“I am merely the messenger,” Agrippa said softly.
“You must already see it, my lord… the wind is now blowing in a settled direction.”
Though gentle, his words carried an irrevocable weight.
Lepidus opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Shall I repeat the message?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. I understand. I am of the same opinion.”
“Your clarity of judgment does you credit.”
“Agrippa--would you tell him this for me? At the very least, allow me to retain the office of Pontifex Maximus.”
“Understood.”
“Ah--wait. At least let me offer something to ease his mind… Yes! That Greek vase. The one young Octavian wanted!”
“…Young Octavian?” Agrippa echoed.
“…Ah--no, I mean--Lord Octavian,” Lepidus hastily corrected himself.
His own voice sounded painfully old to his ears.
“I will relay the message.”
With a quiet exhale, the young envoy withdrew.
The sound of the closing door seemed strangely distant to the aged general.
Left alone, Lepidus muttered to himself.
“So… this is as far as I go.”
He exhaled deeply and lowered his gaze, closing his eyes for a long while.
“Heh… Pontifex Maximus. Supreme servant of the gods--an honorific without real power.
Still, with this, at least he will not kill me.”
(Yet someday… even that hood will pass to the head of that young man--Octavian.)
The balance among the three men who guided Rome had shifted.
Octavian had surpassed Lepidus, and was now gathering strength that even rivaled Antony.
…
My friend Octavian--when did he first set his eyes upon this future?
Silence filled the space.
Whenever Agrippa pondered that question, one memory inevitably resurfaced--
--It was over a decade ago.
Back when his friend was no more than a boy, merely a relative of Caesar.
Though his mother tried to stop him, citing his frail constitution, young Octavian resolved to join his great-uncle Caesar’s campaign.
“Agrippa, my friend--will you come with me? I need your strength.”
When his friend spoke those words, Agrippa felt a strange stirring in his chest--
a pride, as though he had been personally summoned by a great general.
(Sickly, small of build, lacking strength, still so young--
what was it about this man that made me see the makings of a commander?)
That memory still burned in his heart.
The battlefield provided the answer.
When Octavian pushed too far forward and was surrounded by enemy soldiers, I barely managed to rescue him.
Yet what shocked me was his next action.
As though he had already forgotten that he had nearly been killed, he leapt to his feet and roared across the battlefield.
“Now is the time, men! Swing your blades!”
(No one would have believed that voice belonged to a boy.)
“Strike down the enemy and seize victory!
Advance! Advanceee!!”
His thunderous cry tore through the field, reigniting the soldiers’ spirits.
Strength surged into allied spears, and their war cries drove back the enemy ranks.
Later, upon hearing of the incident, Caesar himself was said to have broken into a broad smile, clapping his hands in delight.
The episode had exceeded even his expectations.
I, Agrippa, know myself well.
Battlefield command, formation shifts, the eye to seize the moment of assault--I fear no rival in these.
But in cunning, insight, political skill, and above all, the resolve he displays when cornered, I do not even reach my closest friend’s feet.
That is why I chose to serve him without hesitation.
Not merely as a friend--but as a general, in service to the conqueror of the future.
That same friend now holds Rome’s chaos in the palm of his hand,
surveying the board and tracing countless paths to victory.
This man will one day be called a hero--without question.
Yet even as I believe that, something cold lingers deep within my chest.
…For a hero is often nothing more than a monster by another name.
2.
“Now then, I shall read the will of Caesar.”
Before several hundred senators, Antony raised his voice.
Outside the Senate House, the forum was already packed with Roman citizens.
Who would inherit Caesar’s immense fortune and authority?
Who would bear the name of Caesar itself?
(It will be me.)
He was certain of it.
(It was I, Marcus Antonius, who survived the fields of death at Caesar’s side.)
Confident, relaxed, and loud, he began to read the will.
“Er-- Caesar leaves such-and-such property to his wife, this portion to such-and-such relatives--”
As the reading continued, a faint unease spread across the senators’ faces.
The shares allotted to Caesar’s relatives were strikingly small--mere fragments of a vast inheritance.
“And-- to all Roman citizens, each shall be given three hundred sesterces
(an amount equal to half a year’s income for a commoner).”
The Senate chamber and the forum beyond erupted into noise.
“What?! E-every Roman citizen gets 300 sesterces?!”
“Wooooah!”
“Caesar truly was great!”
“He wasn’t a tyrant at all!”
“Caesar is a god!”
Some were so moved they burst into tears.
“Silence.”
When the hall finally settled, the moment everyone awaited arrived--the naming of the heir.
(Now-- it’s me.)
Antony’s anticipation swelled.
(It’s finally happening, Antonius.)
(Our leader.)
(We’re counting on you.)
The fiery gazes of his companions fixed upon him.
“The one who shall inherit the name of Caesar is-- Octavius! ……What?!”
The air in the chamber froze.
“Huh?”
“What?”
“Who did he say?”
“Octavius? Who’s that?”
“Just a boy-- seventeen, maybe eighteen.”
“A relative of Caesar, I hear.”
“His nephew?”
“No, his sister’s grandson.”
“Well… Caesar chose him.”
“Yes, Caesar’s judgment cannot be wrong.”
“I trust Caesar!”
“No, no, he must’ve lost his mind.”
“It’s just some favorite boy.”
“This is disappointing.”
“I back Antonius.”
Cheers and curses collided throughout Rome.
Antony’s fist tightened around the parchment until blood seeped from his palm.
His face flushed, his breathing ragged, his nostrils flaring.
Not a single senator spoke.
The silence was shattered only by the heavy footsteps of Antony as he stormed out.
--thud, thud, thud.
He said nothing.
(I could tear that name apart--parchment and all!)
But to do so would be to admit defeat.
Swallowing his words, compressing his rage into silence, General Antonius left the chamber, his boots striking the stone floor.
His billowing cloak cast a massive shadow behind him.
The doors closed, leaving only a suffocating aftertaste in the hall.
(Caesar-- I was your sword. Why would you discard your blade?)
Outside, the city’s uproar still had not subsided.
…
By the river at Apollonia.
The waters, swollen with snowmelt, shimmered with a cold light.
Budding willows trembled in the wind, and the air blowing down from the mountains cut sharp.
In the distance, soldiers at the training grounds shouted as they thrust their spears.
Octavian let his cloak flutter and quietly folded the letter in his hand.
The smile on his face was neither joy nor surprise.
It was the smile of one who had confirmed that the board was now set.
“My friend. Listen.”
“…What is it, all of a sudden?”
“I am to inherit Uncle Caesar’s name.”
“What?! You mean--”
“Prepare to depart.”
“Hey, wait--”
“We go to Rome at once. Let us set sail while the wind still favors us.”
Agrippa was momentarily overwhelmed by the speed of Octavian’s words.
To inherit Caesar’s name--
Agrippa struggled to grasp the enormous implications, while Octavian had already finished thinking and moved on to action.
In his eyes coexisted the innocence of youth and the cold clarity of a seasoned schemer.
“R-right! That hotheaded Antonius won’t stay quiet. He’ll be furious. It’s dangerous! Rome is dangerous!”
“I imagine so.”
“‘I imagine so’?! You’ll be killed!”
“Perhaps.”
“What?!”
Octavian glanced at the river.
Its flow led toward Rome--and so did his gaze, unwavering.
“Let us go home. Rome is calling me.”
The wind shifted, as if obeying his words.
There was no tremor in his voice, no excitement--only the calm of a future already decided.
The moment those words rode the wind, Agrippa understood.
This man--
He grasped his fate instantly, analyzed it, and acted upon it.
He was mastering destiny itself.
Even as he spoke, Octavian stepped forward.
His gaze was colder than the river’s current,
yet it seemed to behold a map of the future more certain than anyone else’s.
3.
“I truly thought we were finished!”
There was no one in Rome who did not know his name.
Cicero--the magician of rhetoric,
the man hailed as a giant of intellect.
The old man slammed a stack of parchment onto the desk.
They were copies of Caesar’s will.
“Lord Cicero?”
“Since Caesar’s time--no, even long before that--we Republicans have been pushed back again and again, like a lamp flickering in the wind…”
“Indeed.”
“And yet--now then!”
The old man’s eyes flashed.
“Caesar’s successor is some brat named Octa-something!”
“Octavius, sir. He is now called Octavian.”
“Names are irrelevant. An eighteen-year-old boy. The greatest opportunity to ever fall into our hands.”
“And how so?”
“Mm. Caesar’s name is a keen blade, but in untrained hands it cannot even cut paper. If we grip the hilt, we may choose the target and the cut as we please.”
“You mean… to tame him and pull the strings?”
“Precisely. To sever a knot one may need a blade, but knots may also be loosened with words. My tongue is sharper than any sword, you see. Heh-heh.”
“(…Even if most of your teeth are gone.)”
“It seems Octavian has already set sail from his place of study. He should reach Rome in a few days.”
Cicero, the de facto leader of the Republican faction, grinned.
“The time has come! Once the boy returns, bring him to me at once. A wise man wins wars with words before drawing a sword.”
…
Before long, Octavian was invited by the Republicans and appeared before them.
“Good day. I look forward to working with you.”
“Well now, you must be young Octavian--Caesar’s successor.”
“Yes. That is… correct.”
“You look young! How old are you again?”
“Eighteen.”
“Eighteen! How enviable.”
“I hear you were studying abroad?”
Octavian found himself surrounded by the Republicans.
“Yes. I was studying and training. To a reasonable extent.”
“To be honest, you must feel confused, no? Being named Caesar’s heir.”
“Yes… I was designated in my uncle’s will, and it has been… unsettling.”
“Of course, of course.”
“If things stay as they are, that hotheaded Antonius might have you eliminated, you know?”
“T-then I should go and renounce the succession at once.”
“Wait, wait, wait.”
“No need to rush to conclusions.”
“There’s nothing to worry about!”
“That’s right. Leave it to us and you’ll be safe.”
“Let us protect the peace of Rome together!”
“We’ll support you with everything we have. Think of yourself as aboard a great ship.”
“…Very well. Thank you.”
“Mm-hmm. You may rely on me as though I were your father, if you like. Heh-heh-heh.”
“…Yes. I look forward to your guidance.”
(So this is him--the ringleader.)
Octavian bowed politely and turned away.
“Hmph.”
The corner of his mouth shifted, ever so slightly.
Whether he smiled or merely exhaled through his nose--
the change was so faint that no one noticed it.
The door closed.
Outside the window, cypress branches swayed in the wind.
Their shadows passed across the desk, casting darkness over Rome on the map.
Old Cicero paid no heed to such shadows as he spoke.
“As expected, just a boy. To wrap him up with words was simplicity itself. That piece will move exactly as we wish. We’ve taken the first step ahead.”
4.
“I refuse to accept this!”
Bang.
The wooden desk thundered.
At yet another session of the Senate following the reading of the will,
Antonius, the general of brute strength, sprang to his feet.
Before everyone present, he openly rejected Octavian’s succession.
“What can a mere boy do? He can do nothing!”
“That’s right!”
“Exactly!”
His supporters roared in agreement.
“What does he have? Think about it. No experience. No achievements. Barely any troops to command.
He’s nothing more than Caesar’s relative.”
“That’s right!”
“Well, he is handsome.”
“Silence!”
“I declare it here and now. I will never recognize Octavian as Caesar’s successor!”
With that, he rose from his seat, swept his cloak about him, and stormed toward the exit.
Many of his allies and followers rose and followed.
“Listen well! I am the one who will protect Rome! Not some grandson of a freedman!
Those who truly care for Rome, follow me!”
Antonius strode through Rome, back straight, eyes fixed forward.
A great number of supporters marched behind him.
Young soldiers could not help but watch him go.
“…That presence. It sends shivers down your spine.”
“Yeah. He’s still someone to admire.”
Before long, Antonius and his faction fled north, gathering men and forming an army.
The sound of their march would soon shake all of Rome.
…
“Exactly as planned!”
The old men of the Senate smirked when they heard that Antonius had raised troops.
“Antonius is now a rebel who threatens the peace of Rome.”
“Indeed! An enemy of the state!”
“Naturally, he must be suppressed.”
“As a Roman army!”
“As a righteous army defending peace!”
“Octavian, my boy, can you do it?”
“Yes. I shall lead my forces to suppress him, and also…”
“And also?”
“My grandfather was not a freedman.”
“Oh? That bothered you, did it? Yes, yes, we know.”
“Then proceed north together with the two consuls who command the Senate’s army!”
“Understood.”
(By the way, what is a consul?
They are the two highest officials in the Senate.
Strange, perhaps, that there are two at the top--but that is Rome for you.)
…
Antonius’ army faced off against the combined forces of the Senate and Octavian.
“All units, forward!”
Octavian clenched his trembling lips, yet still shouted the order.
His youthful voice was unexpectedly clear, piercing through the clamor of the battlefield.
The soldiers exchanged glances, then advanced together at his command.
The two armies collided.
Spears struck spears. Shields groaned.
Warhorses neighed, swallowed by clouds of dust.
Sparks flew from clashing blades, and the earth was soaked red.
Amid the chaos, Octavian did not retreat a single step, continuing to issue commands beneath the standard.
He pressed his shaking fingers tightly against the hilt of his sword.
Yet the voice that left him remained strangely pure.
For an instant, it felt as though the sounds of the battlefield vanished.
From beyond the dust, the cry of a bloodstained boy shot straight into the sky.
“Do not falter! Push forward!”
At that shout, the soldiers drew out their strength and forced back the enemy’s front lines.
At last, the allied army managed to drive off Antonius’ forces.
However, during the battle, both consuls were killed.
The soldiers’ elation surged like a wave and swept toward Octavian, now the sole commander.
“Long live Rome!”
“Long live Octavian!”
The wind on the battlefield fell still.
The lingering echo of the cheers would soon reach the stone streets of Rome.
…
When news of the battle arrived in Rome--
“Our victory! Antonius’ army has fled west!”
“Oh, so he’s done it.”
“However, both consuls were killed in action.”
“What?!”
“Both consuls?”
“That’s even possible?”
“This was… unexpected. Both of them, dead.”
“The remaining troops have sworn loyalty to Octavian and follow him!”
“Wait, does that mean the army is now led by that boy alone?”
“A greenhorn as sole commander? Isn’t that bad?”
“H-hold on. That means…”
“That means our puppet plan…”
“The strings are gone.”
“The puppet’s walking on its own, isn’t it?”
“Then it’s not really a puppet anymore.”
“…This is bad.”
“No, no, no. It’s fine.”
“Yes, yes. On his own, he can do nothing! It’ll be fine!”
“…Will it?”
For a moment, the Senate chamber fell silent.
At that same time, beneath the northern sky--
a new banner had already begun to flutter.
5.
“I’ll neeeeeever forgi-ve yooooou!!”
BA-BOOOOM!
A barrel went flying, wine splashing across the floor.
“Y-yes, Antoni-”
“Never! Never! Never! Never! NEVER! I’ll never forgive you!!”
“P-please, Sir Antonius! Calm down!”
A drunken mass of muscle vented his rage on everything in sight.
His attendants hovered nervously, utterly lost.
“That punk is the heir?! Damn it! Bastard! I’ve been Caesar’s right-hand man since the Gallic Wars! I fought beside him-over and over and over again! Caesar trusted me the most! I was his number one subordinate-no, his partner-no, no, his true partner! Right?!”
“Indeed.”
“Without a doubt!”
“I was the one closest to Caesar! I’m the only possible successor! I’m the only one who can do it! Am I wrong?!”
“Y-yes, exactly.”
“Quite so.”
“AAAAAAAARGH!!”
Crash! Rumble! BOOM!
The room was utterly wrecked.
“…Doesn’t look like we can talk until he calms down.”
“Nope. He’s all muscle to begin with.”
“UOOOOOOO!!”
THUD! RATTLE!
A hole opened in the wall, dust filling the air.
A brief silence.
Then-
“Who the hell are you?!”
“My name is Agrippa. I come bearing the will of Octavian.”
“Huh?! Who the hell is that?!”
“My name is Agrippa. I am here on Octavian’s behalf.”
“O-o-o-Octavian, you say?!”
A mountain of muscle lunged forward.
“Ah… worst possible timing.”
“He’s gonna get killed. And he’s still young.”
“Still… kid’s got a solid build.”
The young Agrippa deftly sidestepped Antonius’s grab.
“!”
“Now then-let us all calm down. This will be beneficial for both of us.”
“The hell I care!!”
This time, the two locked together solidly.
“Grrrr-!”
Antonius’s arms creaked; cracks spread through the stone floor.
Their shoulders swelled, muscle against muscle, the air itself trembling.
-but the next instant.
“Hmph…”
The air suddenly settled.
Antonius’s arms wavered, just slightly.
Fatigue from the rampage-or perhaps age.
Either way, the balance broke.
“Tch!”
Antonius exhaled sharply.
“…May we speak now?”
Agrippa said calmly, his breathing perfectly steady.
“Haa… haa… haa… yeah.”
Antonius wiped the sweat from his brow and turned.
“So-what’s this ‘beneficial’ thing you mentioned?”
“…Octavian needs you.”
“What?!”
“Sir Antonius, you were listening after all.”
“Hey, I’m surprisingly calm!”
Antonius pointed at himself with his thumb-
his teeth flashed with a dramatic kiraaan! ?
6.
Antony and Octavian Finally Face Each Other
At last, Antony and Octavian stood face to face.
“I heard the gist of it from that fellow Agrippa!”
“Thank you. Marcus Antonius… or should I address you as Lord Antonius?”
“Huh?”
The unexpected courtesy took the edge off his anger.
“As you can see, I possess no power, no achievements, nothing at all. By my uncle’s--no, my father Caesar’s will, I was named his heir, but I am nothing more than an inexperienced youth.”
“Damn right!”
“Yes, sir!”
“But you did beat us once, didn’t you?”
“That was the work of the two consuls. Not my own strength.”
“So what’s this about? You want me to take over as heir?”
“In time, that is my intention.”
“Hmph… so Agrippa wasn’t lying after all.”
Surprised, Antony slowly uncrossed his arms.
“However, the timing is poor. First, the Roman people are inflamed with enthusiasm for me. If I were to name you as heir right now--”
“Everyone would say I threatened you.”
“Yes. Even if I shouted myself hoarse that you are the true successor, no one would listen. And secondly--”
“The old men of the Senate, right?”
“They are approaching me desperately, trying to manipulate me.”
“So what then? Write a new will and kill yourself, huh?”
“Heh… that would only lead back to the same result. You would be suspected, and the Republicans would get exactly what they want.”
A brief silence followed.
“I…”
Octavian lowered his gaze slightly.
“I am truly an ignorant and talentless youth. I know that myself. That is why I thought of imitating Caesar--no, even a monkey’s imitation is still worth copying.”
“Monkey’s imitation? What are you talking about?”
“Once, Caesar bound Crassus and Pompey together, and the three ruled Rome. I will imitate that. …You, another man, and myself.”
“Hoh.”
“In time, the Roman people will recognize your greatness, and my incompetence will be laid bare.”
“Hoh hoh.”
“My authority as heir will be divided evenly among the three. I lack wisdom. I want you to guide me.”
“I see. That’s the ‘mutually beneficial deal,’ then.”
“Yes.”
“But the Senate won’t approve something like that.”
“If you stand with me, they surely will. Power is power.”
“Power is power, huh. Power is power! A fine saying! Hah ha… well, maybe you’re not as useless as you claim. Still, a talk like this needs wine! Hey, bring some wine!”
“Right away!”
“Haha… you honor me.”
“So, who’s the third man?”
“That would be--”
Octavian paused, then answered.
“That choice I leave to you, Antonius. Publicly, I may be Caesar’s heir, but in truth, you are the leader.”
“Hmph. Is that so? Heh heh… really? I see. Hah hah hah! Hah hah hah hah! So that’s it, so that’s it!”
The man who moments before had worn an expression filled with murderous intent now puffed out his chest, slapping Octavian on the back again and again, eager to appear the dependable elder brother.
“Your anger toward me is known throughout Rome.”
“Embarrassing, really. I made quite a scene.”
“The Senate… the Republican elders are hoping that you and I will destroy each other. Agrippa devised a plan to turn that expectation against them. I will explain it now.”
“Oh? You did?”
All eyes turned toward Agrippa.
“(Me? What? What are you talking about?)”
Caught off guard, Agrippa felt a chill run through him.
Then he realized.
The sharp gleam in the eyes of his friend, who stood before them pretending to be a harmless youth.
“(Ah… so I’m the one who ‘came up with it.’)”
Though his heart raced, Agrippa’s face betrayed nothing.
As Octavian began to explain the “plan” that was now credited to him, Antony and the others listened intently, forgetting even their wine.
“(…This man is truly terrifying.)”
While everyone focused on Octavian’s words, Agrippa swallowed emotions that were neither joy nor fear, but something in between.
“(I’ll follow this man for the rest of my life--but I may never fully understand him.)”
Night fell. Antony and his companions departed with a courtesy far removed from their earlier behavior.
Left alone, Octavian once again stared into an unseen future, deep in thought.
Agrippa relaxed his shoulders and asked,
“Hey… what does ‘power is power’ even mean?”
“Hm? Oh, I just reduced what I wanted to tell him to its simplest form. Simplicity is important, after all.”
Agrippa gave a wry smile.
“(…Indeed, clarity alone can sometimes move the world.)”
“…But it isn’t necessary that they understand it correctly.”
7.
“E e e emergency! This is serious, very serious!”
A messenger burst into the Senate chamber, accompanied by a wounded, dust-covered soldier bleeding from his injuries.
“What is it?”
“What happened? Was that young upstart beaten back?”
“No, th th th the matter is-- Octavian!”
“What about the brat? Did he defeat Antonius?”
“Or was he captured as a prisoner?”
“Is he dead?”
“A Ant Antonius!”
“What? Say it already. Stop stalling!”
“I will report exactly what has happened! The army of Octavian, which marched to suppress Antonius, has joined forces with Antonius’s army! They are advancing toward us!”
“Huh?”
“Joined?”
“Joined forces, you say?!”
“What does that mean?”
“Octavian and Antonius have made peace and formed an alliance!”
At that instant, the air in the chamber seemed to explode.
“W w what did you say???!!!”
A moment of silence followed.
Then time lurched back into motion.
Some senators smashed their fists against the desks.
Some toppled backward with their chairs.
Some clutched their heads and spun in circles.
Some froze, unable to move.
Some began praying to the gods.
And Cicero stared blankly into empty space.
“Impossible… that’s impossible…”
“This is… completely outside our calculations…”
“No, it isn’t even a variable that could exist in the equation…”
“It can’t be!”
“Yes, it must be false. A false report.”
“Indeed, indeed.”
“But they were smiling and shaking hands, sir.”
“Silence!”
At last, the Senate decided to declare the report “unreliable” and wait for more accurate and trustworthy news.
“Well… it should be fine… yes.”
Despite the words, not one of them truly believed things would be fine.
Unease gnawed at their restless hearts.
Among the agitated elders, only Cicero murmured quietly,
“…It’s over.”
The voice of the aged sage fell unheard upon the stone floor.
That night, in a shadowed corner of the city,
someone whispered the name of Caesar.
8.
“Comrades! Rome is trembling at this very moment!”
The assembly was held in the great hall of a temple.
Wooden chairs stood upon the stone floor, yet the rows were sparse, with conspicuous gaps where seats lay empty.
The Republican faction and other opponents had already fled.
Those who remained were neutrals and fair-weather men.
Cold light streamed through the tall, shuttered windows.
In the dimness, the shadows of the senators stretched long across the floor.
The creak of a chair sounded once, then twice.
And then, once more, a heavy silence settled.
Breaking that stillness, Antonius thrust out his chest and shouted,
“We three have sworn to join our strength, bearing Caesar’s will in our hearts!”
“Antonius, Lepidus, and Octavian hereby establish the Board of Three for the Restoration of the State!”
※Lepidus? Who was he again?
Ah yes, the seasoned general who appeared at the beginning of this tale.
So he was the third man.
Octavian stepped forward, wearing a gentle smile.
“We have one matter we wish you to approve. As previously announced, we ask that you formally and legally recognize the governing authority entrusted to us.”
(Bringing an army with you and saying that…)
(It’s you three who are shaking Rome, isn’t it?)
“You there. The two minor senators. Yes, you.”
Lepidus’s low voice echoed through the hall.
“Ah, well…”
“W we were just…”
Their faces drained of color in an instant.
After a brief pause, another senator rose.
“The authority is too great! This is nothing but dictatorship!”
Antonius’s sharp gaze pierced him.
The man swallowed hard and fell silent.
Still, a few voices spoke up.
“That’s right! We cannot approve this as it is!”
“What happens once the chaos is over!?”
“The authority must be divided among the three, as a condition!”
Octavian smiled.
Only his eyes did not smile.
(Good. That condition works in our favor. If it looks like a concession, our legitimacy only grows. Exactly as planned.)
“Very well. Let us discuss it. This is the Senate, after all.”
Octavian continued.
“Your concerns are entirely reasonable. We have no intention of using this authority for dictatorship. Power will be divided among the three of us, and it will be limited in time. Once order is restored, we solemnly promise to return Rome to the form a republic ought to have. This is a painful decision made only because of this emergency. We ask for your understanding. We inherit Caesar’s will, end this chaos, and surely restore peace and prosperity to Rome.”
Silence fell once more.
Somewhere in the distance, the flutter of pigeon wings echoed.
At last, one hand rose hesitantly.
“I will support the proposal of the three-man commission… under conditions.”
At that moment, the air in the chamber stirred.
Two, three ---- and then, like a wave, voices of assent spread.
The voices of opposition were swallowed up and vanished.
(This wave of approval… good. This is ‘legal power’.)
After months of debate, a compromise was reached, and at last the moment of enactment arrived.
Octavian’s proposal to “rule Rome together as three” became reality.
(Uncle Caesar… things like this must be done openly.)
Thus began the Second Triumvirate.
In time, two of these three men would be eliminated by Octavian.
The one who remained -- this young man -- would become Augustus, the first emperor of Rome.
Who could have known then?
That this was the dawn of an empire that would endure for over a thousand years.
The End
I realized that it is impossible to put all truth into words.
Even the feelings of those closest to us--
no, even our own feelings--
become not truth, but a story, the moment we turn them into writing.
