Killing Jesus: A History

immortal. 1 He is also fighting a very bad cold.
    Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, or Octavian, as he is also known, has been sick for what seems like forever. The fact that his army is camped next to an enormous swamp certainly hasn’t helped matters. This young man who has affected the title Divi Filius (“son of god”) now pulls his cloak tightly around his shoulders and intently studies the cloudless blue sky, hoping for some good news to offset the misery of his illness. Above him, two golden eagles fly in tight circles with talons extended, engaged in midair combat. The eagle is the symbol of the Roman legion, and to witness these great predators dueling on the eve of his own battle is surely an omen.

    But an omen for whom: Octavian or the Liberators who killed his uncle?
    Their two powerful armies, consisting of more than three dozen legions and two hundred thousand men combined, face each other across this flat Balkan plain. It is a broad expanse, anchored by low mountains on one side and the vast swamp behind Octavian on the other—a terrain best suited for either farming wheat or waging war. The smoke from a thousand cooking fires curls into the sky as both sides undertake last-minute preparations for the battle that will avenge the death of Julius Caesar, some eight hundred miles distant and two years past in Rome.
    The scrape of steel blades on sharpening stones rings through the air. The legionaries set aside javelins and arrows as they choose their weapons for today. The fighting promises to be hand to hand and personal. So instead of spears, which are less useful in close quarters, the legionaries slip daggers and swords into sheaths. Hundreds of thousands of hardened legionaries on both sides of the lines gird their loins by tucking the hems of their cloaks into their belts, so that they won’t trip while racing into combat. Cavalry horses stand patiently while saddles are thrown across their bare backs, knowing all too well what is about to transpire: mayhem.
    Octavian’s ally, the hard-drinking general, pedophile, and statesman Marc Antony, oversees the preparations, looking every bit the warrior: barrel-chested, gallant in appearance, and blessed with the thick, muscular thighs that are his one source of vanity. Unlike Octavian, who will remain behind in camp during the fight, Marc Antony relishes the prospect of entering the battlefield and engaging the enemy with the same ferocity as his legions.

Caesar Augustus, first ruler of the Roman Empire
    Octavian, on the other hand, is a sickly and pompous twenty-year-old with a large nose, a weak chin, and high, wide-set cheekbones framed by a mop of short hair and bangs that he compulsively brushes to one side. The adopted son of Caesar does not even command his own men. He has handed off that responsibility to another man his own age, a burly intellectual with an unlikely passion for geography named Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa.
    Yet what Octavian lacks in physical strength he more than makes up for in cunning and audacity. Since learning that Julius Caesar’s will named him the dictator’s legal heir, Octavian has misappropriated vast public sums of money for his personal use, raised taxes, and decreed himself to be Divi Filius. He has ensured that the Liberators Marcus Brutus and Cassius, whose legions stand waiting on the other side of the battlefield, were declared enemies of the state. Their property was confiscated, and they fled Rome for their lives and raised an army in the hope of returning to Rome in triumph. Octavian and Marc Antony gave chase with their own legions, meeting up with the Liberators on this plain five long months ago. Both armies camped here throughout the summer, building palisades and other fortifications as they stared across at one another, waiting for this day. It was a miserable time for Octavian, who nursed one illness after another during those long, cold months.
    Cassius was the first casualty, three weeks ago in the initial battle between the two forces. Fearing the campaign lost, he committed suicide rather than subject himself to the horrors of being taken prisoner. The cautionary tale of Marcus Licinius Crassus, a former general serving alongside Julius Caesar, would have made any man think twice about surrender. It was Crassus who, after being defeated by the Parthians at the Battle of Carrhae in 53 B.C. , was killed by having molten gold poured down his throat. 2
    So Cassius fell upon his sword, thinking