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My Dearest Valentina,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good health by the time it reaches you. There have been so many advancements since I last wrote to you nearly three months ago that it is hard to even consider what should be at the forefront of this epistle. I believe that there is much that must be recounted in person, where possible. My hope is to have you visit me on the Palatine Hill, where I have taken up residence amidst the anticipated formation of my newest and greatest political alliance with Mark Antony and Octavian Caesar.
As I am sure you have heard, Mark Antony and I have been waging war against Octavian in Northern Italy, which has drawn us all greatly weary as our sources and manpower had been notably depleted due to the ferocity of battle. I must say that for a man as lacking in time-granted wisdom as Octavian is, he makes up for his youthful naivete in tenacity and intelligence. His relationship with Mark Antony is strained from the several militant encounters they have had previously and I doubt that the current state of their personal relationship will change much in the future. I promise I shall do my best in mitigating their hostility as I know that is what you would suggest I do if I had the benefit of your counsel as I write this letter now.
To be completely honest, my sweetest daughter, aside from my everlasting desire to remind you of my undying love for you, your mother, and brother whenever the chance arises, there is another reason for my sudden correspondence. I recognize that my communication with our household has been nothing short of inconsistent for the last year that I have been away to conduct my duties so I understand if you are hesitant to welcome my sudden affections with open arms. However, Mark Antony, Octavian Caesar, and I have come to the decision, none too easily, that the formation of our alliance relies on you to establish a stable connection with the Caesar family, Octavian, specifically. I realize, my little duckling, that this is much to ask of you on such a short notice and that volunteering you for such a task would mean tearing you away from your commitments to academics, in which a recent letter from your mother tells me that you have been excelling. I know that there is little comfort that I can provide you through the limits of a letter, but I can assure you that marriage to Octavian Caesar would guarantee not only the stability of this alliance and our family, but most importantly, your future well-being.
I have already sent a letter to your mother, notifying her of the situation several days prior to yours, which may explain any sour mood she may have exhibited without explanation. A carriage should come for you within the fortnight. Please bring whatever you deem necessary for comfortable living as I cannot guarantee when you should find the opportunity to return to our family home for the foreseeable future.
I look forward to seeing your beautiful face soon, my dear. Expect some correspondence from the likeness of Octavian Caesar in the near future and please, for the love of Iuppiter, leave Cerberus at home.
Yours forever,
Father
P.S. Should this news not have deterred your mood as much as I believe it has your mother’s, please pass along my love to her. I am sure she will have many strong words lying in wait for me the next time we are able to meet again.
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Valentina,
I would like to offer my sincerest greetings and provide a formal written introduction before we have the opportunity to meet. I am of the understanding that your father has already taken the liberty of explaining the current situation and what is expected of you in regards to the development of our alliance. Your father has spoken very highly of you and I am hopeful that we will be able to develop a relatively amicable relationship, given enough time.
While I intend to provide more explanation for the provisions of our living arrangements upon your arrival, I will give at least some description here so that you have some time to grasp what reality shall welcome you here. You will be taking up residence in my own home, Domus Augusti on the Palatine Hill, though we have yet to determine in which quarters you will reside. I presume that that decision can be delayed until your arrival as I am sure you have preferences that are best communicated in person. I look forward to meeting you and I greatly anticipate your arrival.
Safe travels,
Gaius Iulius Caesar Octavianus
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Walking briskly through his home with several servants in tow, Octavian lifts his chin and feels his teeth grind in irritation as his servants bumble around him frantically in an attempt to straighten his toga and brush through his tousled locks.
There is a tense buzz that permeates throughout his spacious home and Octavian has no intention to calm it. As he stalks past the atrium, he notes that he is not the only one stiff with anticipation. While the house is generally busy with servants weaving to and fro, today is especially chaotic with the continuous preparations that come with the expected arrival of Valentina Lepidus, Marcus Lepidus’ daughter and Octavian's betrothed. Octavian furrows his eyebrows at the thought.
He had hoped to stray as far as possible from marriage and the civilities that came with it, keen on focusing his energy on the advancement of the Roman Republic. However, at the pestiferous insistence of Mark Antony and the Senate, Octavian found himself intertwined in exactly what he had hoped to avoid. He had scoffed when the idea of marriage had first been proposed. He saw little to gain from a civil union— what level of power and wealth marriage offered Octavian already possessed; his connection to Julius Caesar has ensured his well being, socially, politically and financially.
Taking a moment to pause at one of the many arches that line the east face of his home, Octavian stares out at the vast expanse of Roman land that lies out before him. The marble roof shades him from the sun now high above. The sky looks spacious and everlasting with a blanket of white clouds lining the horizon. He allows his servants to continue to fuss over his appearance for several more moments, unattentive as he stills himself to contemplate.
The recent assassination of his great-uncle, Julius Caesar, had left nothing but turmoil for the Republic, if it could even still be called that in its present state. The people are scared, rioting in the streets, and the Senate has been more demanding than ever, hounding him like starving lions whipped into a frenzy at the first scent of blood. Octavian can’t recall the last time he wasn’t jolted awake at sunrise by a sweating servant boy, nervously declaring the arrival of several members of the Populares, all of whom wished to discuss public policy and other political matters. Octavian lets out a sigh, hopefully the establishment of the Second Triumvirate —this marriage— would mean a bit more sleep.
“Gaius.”
Octavian turns, already aware of who to expect from the sound of the deep tenor voice.
“Marcus.”
Standing before him is Marcus Tullius Cicero, hands clasped behind his back as his steely, brown eyes assess the young man before him with a look that could have only been a product of thinly veiled amusement.
“Dressed to impress, I see.”
Octavian looks down, confused, only then realizing why his servants had frantically swarmed him like bees just a few moments earlier. Having come straight from his study after hours of policymaking, his toga is wrinkled and several splotches of black ink are smeared haphazardly on the white fabric. His appearance is laughable in comparison to Cicero, whose toga is stark white and freshly pressed. He must have just come from a meeting with the Senate.
Octavian clears his throat and runs his hands over his toga in a sad attempt to fix his current state. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Cicero is smirking. “I was not informed that you would be joining me to welcome Marcus Lepidus and his daughter today.” Octavian turns to look Cicero in the eye before accepting the beckoning calls of one of the female servants, who leads him towards an enclosed room to change his toga. Cicero follows close behind.
“There are many things that you are uninformed on, quite frankly.” Octavian scoffs. He doesn’t have to be reminded. Despite the Senate’s reliance on his leadership, there are still a considerable amount of matters that they have yet to divulge to the twenty-two year old. However, he doesn’t miss much according to Cicero, a peer of Octavian’s great-uncle. Although it peeved him greatly when he first ascended to the role of consul, Octavian quickly discovered that Senate assemblies weren’t all that the older senators made it out to be. Octavian had saved much time already these last few months by listening to Cicero’s faithful reports of what was discussed in a given day’s meeting—much to the distaste of some of the senators.
As Octavian follows the servant into the room, Cicero stops outside the door.
“There is a bet going on amongst some of the senators from what I have heard.” He calls into the room.
“Oh, really?” Octavian responds, “do tell.”
“It isn’t anything remarkable. Child’s play, really,” Cicero runs his thumb over the ivy that is climbing up a nearby column, “Titus Libienus thinks Valentina isn’t going to go through with the marriage. ‘Three days tops,’ he said.”
“What made him say that? Has he met Valentina before?”
Cicero scoffs. “No. Don’t let that man’s pettiness perturb you. I’m certain he is saying this only because of old resentment he has against your great uncle. He left on little good terms with the Optimates.”
Cicero can’t see it, but Octavian nods. The politics leading up to and after the Civil War had left the Senate extremely divided. The wealthy, conservative Optimates backed Pompey and the urban Populares supported Julius Caesar. With the way that Pompey had lost, it comes as no surprise to Octavian that certain members of the Optimates still harbor animosity towards Julius Caesar and his namesake.
There’s a pregnant pause before Cicero continues. “You and Valentina are going to manage. I met her once years ago when she was little. Junia brought her to see Marcus while they were visiting Rome. She was such an agreeable child. If she’s anything like she was then, I assure you that you have nothing to worry about.”
Octavian considers his words in silence as the servant finishes pinning his toga in place. He admits that his growing nerves were in no part thanks to the lack of correspondence from you, though he realizes that the brevity of his letter likely left little need or desire to reply. Octavian can feel his hands begin to sweat. He has no intention of romancing you, however he would appreciate any attempt on your part to make this union as painless as possible. With all of the attention that will be on the two of you, Octavian cannot help but wonder if you will be able to withstand the pressures that come with such an intense political sphere. If Titus Libienus’ poor attempt of provocation is indicative of anything, many eyes have already been caught by the mere announcement of the marriage.
As he walks out of the room, olive skin draped in freshly cleaned white wool, Octavian begins to consider his own knowledge of his soon-to-be-wife. What little he knows of you comes from your father, who has spoken very highly of you on multiple occasions. Truthfully, the only thing that can come to his mind is the fact that you have a passion for knowledge. Perhaps he could distract you with the books in the library if you proved to be too much of a nuisance.
As he reaches the threshold, Octavian allows himself one more pause to take a deep breath before stepping outside. He cannot allow anyone to see any sign of weakness.
The two guards stationed outside of the front entrance visibly stiffened at Octavian’ appearance, not daring to look him in the eye. Octavian walks past them without a second glance. Under normal circumstances he would have had a bit more to say, though he cannot be bothered at this point.
As he turns right to head towards the main road, Cicero saunters up next to the young man. “We still have a bit of time until Marcus Lepidus and Valentina are meant to arrive. Would you entertain me with a stroll through the imperial garden before we set out to meet them?”
Octavian notes the sparkle in the older man’s eyes, “Of course.” They turn left instead.
Rose bushes line the far side of the pathway towards the garden and Octavian notes how they bloom most excellently with the constant amount of sun that comes with this time of the year. They give off a gentle, sweet fragrance that is carried by a gentle summer breeze.
Unlike the atrium located in the center of the Domus Augusti, the imperial gardens lay behind the entire complex, hidden out of view from the prying public eye. The sight of the hedge arch greets the men as they round the corner of the building. Within the high hedges, a symphony of colors bloom wildly under the bright light. Octavian knows little of horticulture, however he is aware that his estate boasts several rare and exotic flowers.
The garden itself is confined within a large square of tall hedges, in the very middle of which lies a large pond, surrounded by towering pillars of marble covered in vines. A sculpture of Minerva, the goddess of strategy and wisdom, stands in the center of the pond , a small fountain bubbling at her feet. Octavian takes a moment to admire the statue; he ought to commission the same worksman from Phocaea for future works. The pond reflects a turquoise blue and offers a crystal clear view of golden arowana imported from the East that swim lazily through the lilypad vines.
Octavian continues his stroll, now several paces behind Cicero. The chirping of birds echo throughout the space and butterflies of various hues flutter about from flower to flower. Large trees offering various fruits sit at the back end of the garden, providing shade to the intricately carved benches below them.
“Your great uncle would be very proud of how far you have come in the last year.” Cicero turns to look at Octavian.
“What brings on such sudden praise?”
Cicero pauses, providing Octavian with the opportunity to match his pace to his mentor.
“I’m sure you’re aware,” Cicero’s voice has lowered noticeably, “that there will be many eyes on you now, not just because of your consummation to Valentina, but because of the establishment of the Second Triumvirate. However, I just want you to be wary of others, especially during this time of adjustment.” Cicero turns to look Octavian in the eye. “I realize that you are not the young boy that Julius used to bring to the Senate, but it would mean much to me to see the two of you safe.”
Cicero’s sudden proclamation takes Octavian off-guard. The old senator has never been one to go soft, even in relatively private moments like this.
“I understand, thank you for your concern.” Cicero nods and offers him a small smile. The crinkle in his eyes contrasts humorously with the deep frown marks etched into his forehead, though even Octavian would never dare to comment on it.
“Do you know when Marcus Agrippa returns?” Cicero asks casually as they round the fruit trees and begin their return back to the garden’s entrance.
Much to Cicero’s amusement, Octavian perks up slightly at the name of his best friend and main general.
“I believe he is currently tying up some loose ends in Philippi. I expect that he should return in the next several weeks.”
“I am sure his arrival is much anticipated for you. I look forward to seeing you two reunited once again.”
Octavian nods in agreement and the pair make their way out of the garden and towards the roadway, passing the front entrance and walking the opposite way.
Reaching the intersection, he can hear the carriage before he can see it, the sound of horses' hooves echoing off of the dull Roman concrete that paved the road leading up to his home, the Domus Augusti.
Cicero walks up to Octavian’s side, “I’ll stay out of your way. Let me know if you need assistance with anything.”
As he backs up, a carriage drawn by two white horses stops before the path’s entrance. Octavian watches as the door opens and feels his breath hitch when he meets your eyes.