Augustus_ The Life of Rome's First Emperor - Anthony Everitt [57]
Antony at last had his battle. Although he understood the difficulties the triumvirs’ soldiers were facing in the plain, it was too risky to lead his troops back down the hill. So he pressed on. The best account of the engagement is written by Appian, but at this point his description goes out of focus. Antony easily and quickly broke through the palisade and stormed Cassius’ camp, which was lightly defended. He led the attack in person, but presumably did so with only a part of his army, the rest of which must have been fighting Cassius’ main force, drawn up (we may suppose) along the line of the palisade to the marsh. The republican legionaries were gradually pushed back, and then lost further heart when they saw their camp being taken and scattered in disorder. The cavalry galloped off in the direction of the sea.
It had been a bizarre day. Both sides had won—and both had lost. Brutus’ men were plundering Octavian’s camp, and Antony’s that of Cassius. As a further complicating factor, there had been little rain and tramping feet had raised great clouds of dust over the battlefield—the “fog of war” avant la lettre. The various victors and vanquished had no idea what had happened to their friends and colleagues. Having looted the camps, soldiers began to go back to find their units. In the gloom they did not know to which army other legionaries belonged. Appian writes that they “returned looking more like porters than soldiers, and even then they did not notice or see each other distinctly.”
This confusion had an unexpected and disastrous consequence. When Cassius had been driven back from his palisade, he retreated quickly with a few followers to the hill on which Philippi stood and from there looked down on the battle. Being nearsighted, he could hardly see the looting of his camp, while the dust prevented any of his entourage from determining how Brutus was doing at the far end of the battlefield.
A large body of cavalry was seen riding toward his position, and Cassius feared that it was the enemy. However, to make sure, he sent one of his staff, a certain Titinius, to reconnoitre. In fact, the horsemen had been sent by Brutus and when they recognized Titinius approaching, they shouted for joy. Some of them leaped off their horses, hugged Titinius, shook him by the hand, sang, and clashed their weapons as a sign of victory.
Cassius jumped to the wrong conclusion, thinking that Titinius had been taken prisoner and that Brutus had been defeated. He withdrew into an empty tent and made his armor-bearer, a freedman called Pindarus, accompany him. While Pindarus, guessing what would be asked of him, hesitated, a messenger ran up to say that Brutus was victorious and was sacking the enemy camp.
“Tell him I wish him total victory,” Cassius replied, according to Appian.
Then turning to Pindarus, he said:
“Hurry up. Why won’t you release me from my disgrace?”
He pulled his cloak over his head and bared his neck for the sword. Later Cassius’ head was found severed from his body. Pindarus, knowing better than to wait around for consequences, had vanished.
Cassius’ death is usually presented as the tragic result of a mistake. But if Appian is correct, he committed suicide after learning that the day had not been entirely lost. It seems that he died of shame. An experienced commander should have parried Antony’s eccentric and foolhardy onslaught. Cassius had not been able to do so; that Brutus, a lesser general, had succeeded when he had failed simply added to the disgrace.
The one commander of whom nothing had been seen or heard was Octavian. How did he pass the day of battle? This is rather hard to say. Still convalescent, he appears to have remained at the camp when