Letter 121

When I disembarked at the Piraeus on the day before the Ides of October, I received your letter at once from my slave Acastus. I had been expecting it for a long time and was surprised, when I saw the sealed letter, at its brevity, and when I opened it, at the confused scrawl of the little letters — for your letters are usually most neatly composed and perfectly clear. In short, I learned from what you had written that you had arrived in Rome on the twelfth day before the Kalends of October with a fever. I was deeply shaken, and no more than I should have been. I immediately asked Acastus about it. He told me that it had seemed so both to you and to him, and that he had heard from your household that there was nothing seriously wrong. This seemed to be confirmed by what you had written at the end — that you had a slight fever when you wrote. But I loved you all the more and admired that you had written to me in your own hand nonetheless. So enough on this subject. I hope, given your good sense and moderation — and by Hercules, as Acastus assures me — I trust that you are now in the health we wish. [2] I am glad you received my letter from Turranius. Watch out, if you love me, for Philotimus's self-serving — for soon enough the consequences will appear. Handle this matter — the Precian inheritance, which by Hercules causes me great distress (for I was fond of the man) — see to it that Philotimus absolutely does not touch it, small as it is. You will say I need money for the expenses of my triumph. In that matter, as you advise, you will find me neither vainglorious in pursuing it nor ungracious in abandoning it. [3] I understood from your letter that you heard from Turranius that I had handed over the province to my brother. Had I really failed to perceive the subtlety of your letter? You wrote that you were withholding judgment. What was there worthy of deliberation, if there were any reason to approve of leaving my brother, and such a brother, behind? Your position seemed to me not mere suspension of judgment but outright rejection. You warned me about young Quintus, that I should by no means leave him behind. My dream was truly mine. We saw the same things in every respect, as if we had conferred together. It could not have been done otherwise, and your long-delayed suspension of judgment freed me from doubt. But I think you have received a more carefully written letter on this subject. [4] I was planning to send messengers to you the following day; they will arrive, I think, before our friend Saufeius. But it was hardly right for him to come to you without a letter from me. Please write to me, as you promise, about my dear Tullia — that is, about Dolabella — and about the political situation, which I foresee to be in the gravest danger, and about the censors, and especially about what is happening with the statues and paintings, whether they will be returned. I have given this letter on the Ides of October, the day on which, as you write, Caesar has four legions at Placentia. Tell me, what will become of us? For now my posting at the citadel of Athens suits me.