The Horse Changer

by Craig Smith

  ‘Cornelius Dolabella is dead, General.’

  ‘Dead! How? When?’

  ‘Less than a month ago. We are told he took his own life rather than surrender to Cassius.’ I pressed for details but got very little more. Dolabella had been trapped in Laodicea, on the Syrian coast. When it was clear Cassius had taken the city, Dolabella ordered his legions to surrender. Before Cassius arrived at the citadel, Dolabella took his own life. What was left of Dolabella’s army now belonged to Cassius. While I still struggled with this news, Herod added, ‘There is more, I’m afraid.’ I stared at the man dumbly. Trapped in a hostile land with enemies before and behind me, my only ally dead, I could not imagine more bad news. ‘The legions of the new consuls of Rome, Pansa and Hirtius, have defeated Mark Antony in northern Italy.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I answered.

  ‘Neither did I, when I learned the news,’ Herod remarked. ‘Nonetheless, I’m afraid it is true. It seems Antony effected a brilliant manoeuvre in his first encounter with Pansa by coming at the consular forces from a swamp and striking a deadly blow at their flank. Then, as Antony’s army returned victoriously to its camp, Hirtius hit Antony’s column. Antony lost half his men before darkness ended the fight. A second battle some days later gave the consular armies complete victory.’

  ‘So Antony is dead as well?’

  ‘Actually,’ Phasael answered, ‘Hirtius and Pansa are dead. Antony has escaped into the Alps.’

  ‘Caesar now commands the consular armies,’ Herod added.

  ‘Caesar?’ I could not help myself. The named elicited an image of my Caesar. A moment later I knew he meant Caesar’s heir, the little twit.

  ‘We are told,’ Phasael added, ‘Caesar remains in the north with his army. He demands to be made consul when he returns to Rome.’

  ‘A consul? At nineteen? Perhaps I should seek a consul’s chair next year.’ My sarcasm failed to affect either man.

  ‘Cicero is urging the senate to accept the proposal,’ Phasael explained.

  ‘Cicero? Siding with Caesar?’

  ‘His support is on condition that Junius Decimus assumes the second chair.’ Decimus was the ousted governor of Cisalpine Gaul and one of the assassins of Julius Caesar.

  ‘At the moment,’ Phasael explained, ‘Caesar refuses any form of compromise. He claims he will not share power with one of the men who murdered his father. More than that no one knows.’

  I cannot describe the despair I experienced at learning these things. It was closest, I suppose, to the emotion one must experience as one falls from a great height; midway between heaven and earth the moment hangs without resolution. While it does, a man must certainly imagine there is something he can do, even as he knows he is doomed. Should Octavian – Caesar, as we were now calling him – consent to Cicero’s proposal, it would mean peace. Pleasant as that idea might be in the abstract, peace meant that Cassius and Brutus would become legitimate; by extension I could expect to be named an enemy of Rome.

  ‘May I be so bold as to offer my opinion, General?’ This from Herod.

  ‘By all means,’ I answered. ‘To tell you the truth, I am not sure what to make of any of this.’

  ‘Cassius believes Caesar will refuse any form of compromise with the assassins. Caesar has taken an oath to avenge his father’s murder. His army marches with him for the sake of that oath. If he now forms a political alliance with his sworn enemies, he risks losing the support of the very men who have elevated him.

  ‘Cassius may be wrong, of course,’ Herod continued, ‘but at the moment he prepares for war. He welcomes every nation to his army, but what he values most are Roman officers who know how to command his auxiliary forces.’

  ‘Matters with Cassius are more complicated than they appear,’ I answered.

  ‘You are worried that Cassius will want revenge for the murder of Gaius Trebonius?’ Phasael asked me.

  I looked at him in surprise, but I did not bother dissembling. He obviously knew the truth, or at least some part of it. ‘Even if Cassius pretends to accept my oath of loyalty,’ I answered, ‘I fear he will avenge Trebonius once I am in his power.’

  ‘If you imagine you can escape by ship to Caesar,’ Herod told me, ‘you should know Cleopatra has her navy patrolling our coast. They have orders to board all ships not in the service of Cassius or Brutus. They are looking for any officers involved in the assassination of Trebonius.’

  ‘As it seems Cleopatra affords me no opportunity of escape, perhaps I should turn around and march back into Egypt.’

  ‘Make an alliance with our father first,’ Phasael answered. ‘Once you do that, you can remain here on the Egyptian border, ready to attack.’

  ‘And where is my advantage in that?’ I asked.

  ‘Cassius desires tribute from Cleopatra,’ Herod answered. ‘So far, she has refused to send him anything. If allies of Antipater hold an army at her border, the queen may well discover some gold in her treasury after all. If she still refuses, Cassius will want to send a punitive expedition against her. All the better if the core of that invading army is already waiting here and ready to move quickly. Especially one commanded by a general she utterly despises.’

  ‘Can Antipater protect me from Cassius?’

  ‘Cassius treats Antipater’s allies as his own. He requires none of them to swear an oath of loyalty to him but is content if they are sworn to Antipater.’

  ‘But sooner or later,’ I answered, ‘Cassius will want revenge.’

  ‘Deliver Egyptian gold to him in enough quantity,’ Herod answered, ‘and I promise you Cassius will soon forget the name Gaius Trebonius.’

  Jerusalem: Summer, 43 BC

  Before I committed myself to their proposal, I returned to my camp. I called together those officers who had participated in the murder of Trebonius and explained the situation. There was considerable consternation, and I let them talk through it. Eventually, they came to my conclusion. We ought to turn around and attack Egypt but only with the support of Antipater. With reinforcements, even a few mercenaries recruited from the Greek cities in Judaea, I thought we could sack Alexandria; even the possibility of it would inspire Cleopatra to hand over enough gold to buy the favour of Cassius. I gave any officer who wanted it the chance to escape by sea, but no one doubted Cleopatra’s determination to capture and punish us.

  Once they had finally embraced the idea, I proposed that every officer guilty of breaking his oath at Smyrna ride with me to Jerusalem. There we would swear our allegiance to the Roman procurator of Judaea and by doing so enjoy protection from Cassius. When all had finally approved the plan, I sent word to Phasael and Herod that we would be ready to ride to Jerusalem at dawn.

  I left Allienus in command of the camp, taking with me only a squad of mounted legionaries under the centurion Scaeva’s command. Herod and Phasael rode with a large escort of Celtic mercenaries from the region of the Black Sea. We made our way east forty miles, coming to the city of Hebron in late afternoon. At that point we were still some twenty miles from Jerusalem, but the horses were tired. We settled for the evening at Antipater’s palace; he of course had a fine house in every major city in Judaea. To our delight, Phasael offered us the use of a Roman bath. This was followed by an evening feast that would have satified even the discerning tastes of poor Dolabella.

  XII

  JUDAEA

  Jerusalem: Summer, 43 BC

  Only a few of us rose early next morning; most of the men were slow to leave their beds and the comfort of the slaves who slept with them. All the same, we were on the road to Jerusalem by midday. That put us inside the gates of Jerusalem before darkness fell. We entered the city from the south, well below the two mountains that form that ancient city, Zion to the west and Moriah to the north. At the Pool of Siloam, inside the City of David, we turned into the citadel of King David; this was the Jewish monarch who had captured the city a thousand years ago.

  We were treated to yet another Roman bath and, with the as
sistance of Antipater’s palace slaves, dressed ourselves in togas for a feast that commenced an hour before sunset. Our bodyguard of legionaries, also given residence inside the citadel, enjoyed their own banquet in the company of certain of Antipater’s Guard. Scaeva, as an eques entitled to wear the purple, joined Antipater’s feast.

  Before we lay down to our supper, Herod introduced me to Hyrcanus, Ethnarch and High Priest of the Jews. Hyrcanus was a greybeard of indeterminate antiquity, though not nearly as old as I guessed him to be. He played on his dignities and would not shake my hand, though he welcomed me with a courteous bow. When I met Antipater I discovered he was much more like Herod than Phasael. He gave me a cheerful salutation in Latin and shook my hand gamely. After this, Antipater took me around the room and introduced me to his civil magistrates and various generals, all of them old and dear friends, or so he declared.

  At this stage of the proceedings I met Malichus, Governor of Peraea and the only man to refuse to offer tribute to Cassius Longinus. As with many of the others that evening, Malichus did not offer his hand to me; instead, there was a quiet nod of his grey head and a murmured greeting spoken in Greek. I looked in vain for a light of recognition in his eyes as Antipater introduced us. Had he received my message? Given his cool manner I could not know. Perhaps, I thought, he was only a very good actor.

  As it happened, Phasael had intercepted my letter. But of course I only discovered this after it was too late.

  When it came time to dine, most of Antipater’s Jewish friends departed for business in the city. Hyrcanus and Malichus remained, as did Phasael and Herod. I joined Phasael and his father at the table of honour. I believe Herod insisted that Scaeva dine with him, for he was anxious to hear the untold stories of Caesar’s most famous battles. Those of Antipater’s party who remained for dinner were the senior officers in his army, all of them non-Jewish mercenaries of longstanding.

  I was curious that no other Jews had remained for the meal. I knew from interviewing my own Jewish auxiliaries that many of the more zealous Jews prefer a certain distance from those who do not share their faith, but as neither Phasael nor Herod had acted uneasily on this count I assumed the prejudice against foreigners was only practiced among the lower classes. Eventually, I learned that Antipater and his sons had long ago set aside the custom of avoiding foreigners. This made them politically potent outside Judaea. Within Judaea a great many of the Judaean Jews despised them for it.

  Antipater was a man of Julius Caesar’s generation. Unlike Caesar, who had still been vigorous in his final years, Antipater suffered a great many maladies, tender and swollen joints mostly, but weak eyes as well. In fact he was nearly blind. Nevertheless, he appeared indifferent to his failings – at least on the night I met him. ‘The process of getting old can be cruel,’ he remarked casually. ‘Even so there are also a great many delights to console a man.’

  Like any youth, I had trouble imagining what delights these might be. To my thinking, old age meant the loss of strength, a wandering mind, a lack of vitality. For such things there could be no compensation. I know better now. An old man may know serenity, where the young cannot. The old may enjoy the quieter passions; the young must always be about the business of earning. The old may enjoy the children of their children; the young must raise them up. Most prominently the old have earned the right to tell their stories.

  Antipater was no different from many others in advanced years; he loved to gab. Very few foreigners could claim the acquaintance of so many Roman commanders, and he was proud of this, especially in the presence of a young Roman legate. The whole evening through Antipater regaled me with recollections of his encounters with Pompey, Caesar, Mark Antony, Sulla, Crassus, and of course Cassius Longinus, to name only the more prominent Romans he had entertained. He spoke frankly of the virtues and moral failings of those men already claimed by history; he was more circumspect in his remarks about the living. He seemed especially fond of Antony, whom he had met in Antony’s youth. Antony had served as a senior tribune during a military campaign in Egypt, in the service of Ptolemy, Cleopatra’s father. Antipater, Phasael, and Herod had joined the legion to which Antony was attached and all three of them had come to appreciate Antony’s magnetism.

  From that experience Antipater claimed he could not believe Pansa and Hirtius might outwit Antony with a fatal ambush. ‘I expect it was more likely an accident, one army stumbling into the other.’ Then with a shrug, ‘Of course Antony fights at his best when the odds are against him. Much like Julius Caesar in that respect. Antony’s problem, as it has always seemed to me, is that when things go well he grows lax. After an easy victory against one army, I can imagine him drunk with success.’

  Phasael took a delicate sip of wine, interjecting quietly, ‘Or simply drunk.’ Antipater smiled but said nothing more on the subject.

  Late in the evening, Antipater suddenly began a story he had already related. As this is a common malady with old men, I thought nothing of it, but then he forgot a famous name. Phasael supplied it for him. Pompey, as it turned out. After that he began slurring his words. I thought this curious; Antipater appeared to be a careful drinker. Then sweat broke across his brow. At that point Phasael called to his father’s secretary, who was close by. Together they lifted the old man to his feet. I stood as well. I recall Antipater resisted being pulled away at once. ‘I am suddenly not feeling well,’ he said to me. ‘I don’t understand it. Tomorrow, Dellius, tomorrow we shall…’

  There was no more. Antipater collapsed.

  ‘We need to get to the legionary barracks, General.’ I looked at Scaeva without comprehending his concern; then he added, ‘Romans are always the first to be slaughtered in a general uprising.’

  Taking his point, I gathered my officers with a signal. We made our way from the banquet hall to the outer perimeter of the citadel. Once we had joined the rest of the men, we got about the business of arming ourselves and fortifying a somewhat tenuous position inside the citadel. Then, like everyone that night, we waited. At dawn a servant came to inform us Antipater had died. He offered nothing about the cause of death.

  An hour afterwards, I was composing a note of condolence for Phasael when one of his servants came to tell me his master desired to see me. Phasael wasted no time listening to my condolences. He only wanted to know what I had witnessed after his father’s collapse. This meant he thought his father’s death was murder, and I took a moment to recall exactly what I had seen. My only distinct memory was that Hyrcanus and Malichus had been the first to depart the hall. ‘Others followed them, though not at once. Most of the men,’ I said, ‘were anxious to know what had happened to your father.’

  ‘Malichus did not seem curious?’

  I hesitated. ‘I do not mean to accuse anyone.’

  ‘Of course not. A simple question.’

  ‘My sense was that Malichus and Hyrcanus were eager to inform others of the event.’

  ‘Would you say they left together or at the same time?’

  ‘I am not sure.’ As I said this, it dawned on me that they had left together. This detail I kept to myself.

  Phasael now pressed with a series of questions. Had they seemed worried? Was there urgency in their departure? Stealth? Did it seem they were involved in a conspiracy?

  ‘They spoke to some men,’ I said, but when he pressed for details I shook my head. ‘I heard them without comprehending the language they spoke.’

  ‘With whom did they speak?’

  I could not tell him, which was curious because of all the men I met that evening I recalled only Hyrcanus, the ethnarch of the Jews, and one governor, who happened also to be the very man I had contacted by letter before entering Judaea. The others were a blur, and though I could not be sure, I feared Phasael noticed this detail.

  ‘I apologise for asking about such matters,’ Phasael remarked at last. ‘It was not your responsibility after all to keep watch over my dinner guests. I ought never to have let my father’s health distract me
.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable in the circumstances,’ I answered. I was not really sure I believed his apology. Phasael did not strike me as a man who might lose his wits in a crisis. I even feared he questioned me about these peripheral matters because he actually suspected my involvement.

  ‘Herod believes Malichus bribed the wine steward to poison our father.’

  ‘Malichus?’ I asked. I knew as I spoke that I ought not to have an opinion about who might or might not want to harm Antipater, but I could not help myself. The idea that Malichus had murdered Antipater frightened me; if it were so, I was sure to be dragged into it eventually. From the look in Phasael’s eyes I thought he must know about the letter.

  ‘The governor of Peraea,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know the man,’ I answered guiltily. ‘Your father introduced us. I am only surprised to hear that he is suspected of murder. I was under the impression he and your father were cousins by marriage. Has Herod found any proof against him?’

  ‘The steward has confessed to the murder. Of course a man will admit anything when he is being tortured. That is what bothers me. The steward claims to have received a bribe for delivering the poison, but he cannot produce the money. He tells Herod he used poison but he cannot identify its type or even the vial that contained it.’

  ‘He confesses so the pain will stop?’

  ‘One supposes so, but the fact remains that he was the only person with access to our table.’

  ‘Does he implicate Malichus with his confession?’

  ‘He does, but once again what he tells us does not conform with what we know. He changes his story every time he is pressed for details. First, a man came to him. Next, the man was Malichus. Nothing at all about what he tells us is credible.’