The Horse Changer

by Craig Smith

  Curiously, neither Phasael nor Herod noticed me. I was one of those faceless creatures in an officer’s uniform who attends important men. Then too I stood purposely in the shadows that day because Antony had promised me I would have my chance to confront them. I intended to step forward as an accuser, and I looked forward to watching those two begin with their pathetic excuses.

  Antony took their presents as if not much pleased by the paltry offerings, though in comparison to what others had given they were wonderful: finely wrought silver for the banquet hall, a beautiful shield, and silk from the land beyond India. It was more than enough to make a common man wealthy, though insufficient to delight a man of Antony’s fortune. Antony set these gifts aside indifferently and said to the brothers, ‘My concern is that I counted you both as friends, yet you served Cassius as if he were the one who rode with you into Egypt so many years ago as a comrade-in-arms.’

  Herod was the first to speak. ‘We helped secure Rome’s eastern frontier, Imperator. Not one of our soldiers stood against you at Philippi.’

  ‘By that faithful service you allowed Cassius to bring his entire army against me at Philippi.’

  ‘If I may say so,’ Phasael remarked, ‘we were obliged to serve Cassius six days a week. On the Sabbath, however, it was Mark Antony for whom we prayed.’

  ‘Well, your prayers were answered. But what I want to know is what happened with Dolabella’s man, Quintus Dellius? Do you know the fellow I’m talking about?’ Phasael shook his head, though I believed he recognised the name. ‘Oh, surely you remember Dellius. He came into Judaea from Egypt with four of Caesar’s legions.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Dellius! Of course,’ Phasael answered. ‘What of him?’

  ‘I am told you imprisoned him.’

  ‘It is a lie. We did no such thing.’

  ‘Dellius, are you a liar?’

  I stepped happily out of the shadows intending to level my accusations at these two deceivers. ‘I am not, Imperator.’

  ‘Were you imprisoned by Phasael?’

  ‘I was indeed. In Samaria. I lay in chains in a dungeon for nearly a year of my life.’

  ‘If you will allow me to question your man?’ This from Phasael, who for all his confidence seemed a bit pale at that moment. Antony nodded his permission, and Phasael said to me, ‘Did I escort you to Samaria, Excellency?’

  ‘Not personally.’

  ‘Did my men escort you?’

  ‘You sent me.’

  ‘I sent you? Did you travel under my passport or is it more accurate to say that I merely suggested you travel to Samaria?’

  ‘You had no authority to send me, but you…’

  ‘No authority. Yes, I told you I had no authority to act. I suggested you might be able to keep the peace in the region. I said that could be accomplished if you went to Samaria?’

  ‘Well, yes, but…’

  ‘And while it proved inconvenient for you to remain in chains for so long, it did keep the peace, did it not?’

  Antony laughed, but I saw no humour in the joke and pressed my prosecution. ‘You told Cassius I was going to Samaria. You betrayed me!’

  ‘I betrayed no confidence. I informed you I would contact Cassius and explain your intentions to serve him.’

  ‘You deceived me with your offer of friendship.’

  ‘I told you what I planned to do, Excellency. You deceived yourself, if you imagined Cassius would not order your immediate arrest. Tell me, in Samaria, were my soldiers there to receive you and keep you imprisoned?’

  ‘Your slaves were there to lead me into a trap.’

  ‘They were not my slaves. The men at the palace in Samaria were acting on orders from a local magistrate. He had surrendered to the Roman prefect who arrested you. The fellow acted to save himself, not to satisfy me. I had no involvement with anything that happened to you in Samaria. I believe I informed you of this matter before you left, so that you might know I could not protect you. Is it so or do I only imagine it?’

  He waited for me to answer, but I could not respond. First to be tied up in chains, now to be tied up in a game of sophistry!

  ‘Please, Excellency. Tell me your complaint, if I have wronged you in any manner.’

  When I still could not answer him, Antony laughed again, as if he had witnessed a great comedy, which I suppose he had. ‘My friends, I have promised a delegation from Jerusalem that I mean to rid Judaea and Galilee of her Roman procurators. I must tell you their pleasure at the news disturbs me. I think they are already up to mischief and want only an incompetent to rule their land so they may start a revolt. But not to worry – my secretary has all their names and will give them to you after our meeting. I believe they hate you because you will not betray Rome; that is high praise for you by my calculations. Dellius here is a perfect example of your treatment of Romans. You might have resisted him with arms or arrested him and placed him in your own prison, but you took care to have no part in harming any Roman. What Romans do to Romans is their business. Rome must not lose such friends. So I am dissolving your positions in Galilee and Judaea as procurators. You will no longer monitor the civilian government but will now act as the absolute rulers of those two provinces, having the power of life and death over anyone, excepting only a Roman citizen. I should like the two of you to recommend two more men to rule in the same fashion over the provinces of Idumaea and Samaria. Four provinces, four rulers. Tetrarchs, if you will. We shall also dissolve the title of Ethnarch of the Jews. Hyrcanus may continue to serve as the High Priest of the Temple but only at the pleasure of the Tetrarch of Judaea. From this time forward that office will have no civil authority over the Jewish people.’

  So the sons of Antipater prospered, and I was left looking the fool. I expected consolation from Antony in the aftermath of that meeting, but he had no interest in my feelings. A few weeks after their interview with Antony, however, Phasael and Herod sent me two beautifully crafted gladii of the Spanish style. I carry them still. The pommel of each was formed of ivory and trimmed with steel, the guards were of ivory as well, though likewise trimmed with steel, for these were fighting weapons and not merely for show. The handles were made of a composite of hardwood and inlaid ivory with silver and gold braiding securing the grips. The sheaths were identical, each of Corinthian bronze – a glittering alloy of copper, gold, silver and tin – decorated with precious stones; the scabbards could be clipped tightly together, allowing me to hang both swords together under my right arm.

  I could not guess the value of such a gift, nor even consider selling such a prize had I needed the money, but this I can say: after that day I knew why Antipater and his sons were the eternal favourites of Rome.

  Tarsus: Summer, 41 BC

  Antony settled finally in the harbour town of Tarsus. Tarsus used to be a haven for pirates. It had been lately dressed up a bit. It was not the grandest city Antony might have chosen, but its location was advantageous. Situated between Syria and Asia Minor, it was secured by the sea before it and an impressive mountain range at its back. Antony had begun quarrelling with the Parthians over some principalities east of Syria. He had legions already positioned in Syria with an experienced commander taking the fight into the kingdom of Armenia. He did not expect the Parthians to answer with an invasion into Roman territory, but, in the worst case, if that did occur, Tarsus was well guarded by its mountain range and unlikely to be swiftly overrun.

  Antony’s interest in Parthia was the same interest all Roman commanders possessed. This was a land of fabled wealth not yet plundered by the Roman sword. The last westerner – which is to say the only westerner – to drive successfully through that great expanse was Alexander of Macedonia, three centuries ago when a Persian monarch ruled the land. To match the accomplishments of Alexander excited the ambition of every great general, Antony no less than Julius Caesar before him. There was also a political excuse. Two decades earlier Rome had lost several legionary standards to the Parthian king, this on an ill-fated campaign into P
arthia. The legionaries carrying these standards were long ago dead or utterly lost to lives of abject slavery, but Roman pride would not let their sacred eagles remain hostages forever. The eagles would be returned to Rome or there would never be peace between the two empires. Antony’s personal animosity with the Parthians came from the fact that the Parthians had supplied Cassius Longinus with a great many auxiliary troops, including Parthia’s famed mounted archers. The Parthians had been under no compulsion to provide men to Cassius. Since they had done so willingly, Antony thought retribution was due.

  In retrospect it seems foolish that Antony looked to the east for a fight when all that stood between him and total authority of Rome’s vast empire was a sickly coward in Rome. From Antony’s perspective, however, Caesar was not really a problem. He expected the young man to simmer slowly in Rome’s great cauldron of political and military troubles. No sensible individual gave the lad more than a year or two to live after Philippi. First, his health was precarious, though I had already detected a pattern: Caesar really only grew sick when he was travelling in the direction of a great battle. Second, there was no money in Italy. His legions were filled with aging veterans who were anxious for retirement. The trouble was there was no land to give them unless Caesar first confiscated it from others. Finally, and most critically, young Sextus Pompey, the last living son of Pompey Magnus, owned a fleet of ships and several legions loyal to him. He had lately come out of Spain and seized Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica as his own. His army might cross to the Italian mainland at any moment, but for the time being Pompey contented himself with a blockade of the western coast of Italy.

  I realise that in my discussion of the political state of the empire I have entirely neglected the existence of Lepidus, but that is for good reason. The third member of the Triumvirate and our Pontifex Maximus had lost Sicily and Sardinia without a fight. Rather than building an army and making some attempt at winning back what he had so ignobly lost, Lepidus contented himself with plundering western Africa of its wealth and playing no greater role in Rome’s destiny than a provincial governor would have done in other times.

  Antony hoped, in the best of circumstances, that his provocations against Parthia might bring about a moral victory at very little cost. The return of the legionary standards to Rome without a long and gruelling campaign would crown Antony with new praise for his wise diplomacy and surely turn public opinion against young Caesar, who hadn’t accomplished very much, for all the glory his name evoked.

  Failing a negotiated truce, Antony assumed he would have to fight, but for an extended campaign he needed a great deal more money than he possessed. To get it he turned his attention to Egypt. Egypt alone had not lost its wealth to Cassius, and though Cleopatra habitually pled great poverty Antony knew, from his visit to that country in his youth, that he might carry gold out of Egypt by the ton.

  Cleopatra liked to claim she had personally led a fleet of ships to Rome in the hope of supporting Caesar and Antony in the run-up to Philippi. This fleet, according to her ambassadors, had been nearly destroyed by storms. Eventually, even though she had wanted to press on, Cleopatra, the leader of that great armada, had been forced to return to Egypt.

  The trouble with Cleopatra’s tale was that she could offer no proof for any of it. And in fact nobody had even heard the story until after Philippi. Despite Cleopatra’s claim of support for the Triumvirs, she had not bothered sending any gifts to Antony, either before or after Philippi. Divine Antony, Bacchus incarnate, thought he deserved better from a girl who owed her very existence to Roman swords.

  Antony therefore decided to summon Cleopatra to Tarsus. He meant for her to answer for her insolence and bring gold by the talent, if not the ton. If she refused him or delayed her journey Antony knew he would have no recourse but to send his legions against her. That would do nothing to enhance his reputation and might, in the worst case, risk sending the queen into the arms of the Parthian king. It would be better, he thought, to sweeten his invitation with temptation, Cleopatra’s half-sister, Arsinoë. This sister was living in exile at the famed Temple of Artemis in the city of Ephesus. So long as Arsinoë remained alive, Cleopatra’s enemies might use the exiled princess to incite another Egyptian civil war. Rather than keep the girl as a threat to the queen, Antony decided he might gain greater advantage by giving Cleopatra what she wanted: the girl’s death. But only if Cleopatra came to Tarsus as a supplicant to Bacchus.

  I expected Antony to send a legate or senior magistrate to Egypt for the summoning of Cleopatra; instead he thought I would make the perfect ambassador. I can see his thinking at this remove; I had nearly burned the queen’s museum. What better message than a summons from the Tuscan barbarian Quintus Dellius? At the time I could only imagine Cleopatra would make me her prisoner if she did not murder me outright. When I protested to Antony that the queen hated me, he scoffed as if dealing with a child.

  ‘You flatter yourself, Dellius. Cleopatra gains nothing but my enmity by harming you.’

  ‘There is always a quiet death by poison.’

  ‘You are my man, Dellius. If the queen forgets it, she is a fool.’

  Alexandria, Egypt: Summer, 41 BC

  I sailed in the company of a single century of my men, though I had requested two cohorts. I had in addition to these several officers from my Guard. We went in military dress, though no one expected trouble – at least none from the queen. At the port of Alexandria I presented a passport bearing Antony’s signature. I expected delays, perhaps even the news that Cleopatra was travelling and unavailable. To my surprise, she invited me to visit her court on the very day I arrived. Perhaps she feared for her books and thought better than to play games with the likes of Quintus Dellius! More likely she was anxious to know how Antony intended to deal with her.

  Whatever her reason, I made my way into the palace with a full escort. The queen received me without remarking our previous encounter. She wore a black wig and dark makeup, Egyptian to the bone, but she could not disguise those pale blue Macedonian eyes. This was the skinny blonde actress I had met: the impertinent slave tossing scrolls into a cauldron and calling me Dominus. Cleopatra’s son, Caesarion, the purported offspring of her liaison with Julius Caesar, sat on a second throne. As the Egyptians require a husband and wife to rule them, Caesarion was also his mother’s husband. Such customs satisfy the Egyptians’ exotic taste, but of course marriages of parent and child leave Romans in a state of physical revulsion. Caesarion was still some years from puberty, so the marriage was, presumably, symbolic. But with that woman who can say? As for his authority, the boy took his orders from his mother, like everyone else.

  A great many counsellors and attendants surrounded the two thrones, but I found Nicolas, my former slave, close to Caesarion’s throne. As it happened, soon after Cleopatra had persuaded Nicolas to leave me, she had appointed him Caesarion’s tutor. Nicolas was only a few years older than the boy, but with his command of several languages he proved the perfect teacher. I had no hope of reclaiming my property at that moment, and I did not wish to give Cleopatra the satisfaction of listening to my complaints; so I said nothing about my ownership of the boy.

  I announced in the bluntest manner possible that the Imperator Mark Antony required Cleopatra’s presence in Tarsus at once. No flattering titles for the queen, not even Antony’s salutation and warm regards. I spoke to the queen as one addresses men who have dropped their swords.

  Her answer was in Greek. Practiced in that language by that point I hoped to understand her, but it was so nuanced with ambiguity I needed my secretary to repeat it to me in Latin. The gist of Cleopatra’s remark was that she would come in late autumn but if not then, surely sometime the following spring or summer. This was about what I expected, and I answered her promptly. ‘Princess Arsinoë will be delighted to learn of your delay.’

  This piqued the queen’s curiosity, and she said to me in Latin, ‘And why should my sister rejoice that I cannot immediately travel to Tarsus?
’

  ‘Once you arrive at Tarsus, Antony intends to ask you to decide her fate. As long as you remain in Alexandria the princess may still hope for life and perhaps even a throne.’

  Cleopatra’s blue eyes cut to one of her eunuch counsellors. He stepped forward at once, announcing in a high-pitched Latin so mellifluous it was nearly impossible to comprehend, ‘Her majesty may be able to arrange a journey somewhat sooner than the autumn, though of course there is much to do before she can depart.’

  Having accomplished my obligations, I turned without farewell and made for the harbour without seeming to be hasty. There I gave orders to set off at once. We were gone by late afternoon and rowed through two nights without stopping until we came to the Judaean harbour of Ashkelon.

  Rome: Summer, 4 BC

  A decade after I discovered Nicolas at the court of Cleopatra he joined King Herod’s court as counsellor to the king and tutor of his children. By the time I learned that Nicolas was living in Jerusalem a great many more years had passed. Herod was pleased with the man’s service, and my claims of ownership, though still justified, were by then quite ancient. I also lacked sufficient proof that he was my property. Not a soul still living knew Nicolas had ever been my slave, and of course I had no written evidence of it. I could have appealed to Herod’s belief in my integrity and so have won my property back, but I had enjoyed a great many gifts from Herod and judged that if I insisted he return my slave I risked the loss of his friendship, for Nicolas was one of his favourites. I was not financially harmed, I had paid nothing for him, and I had endured several years in Egypt in the presence of the fellow without ever complaining to Antony that he was my property. So I let it go. At the time, I congratulated myself on my self-restraint, but two decades afterwards I paid dearly for failing to return the scoundrel to slavery.