by Peter Tonkin
‘Conscript Fathers. Before I say anything about our Republic – which I think myself bound to say at the present time – I will explain to you briefly why I recently left the city and then why I returned.’ He paused for a heartbeat. Actor as much as orator, ensuring the rapt attention of his audience.
‘While I believed that the Republic at last was feeling proper respect for your wisdom and authority, I thought that it was my duty to remain as a sort of sentinel. A duty which was imposed upon me by my positions as a senator and an ex-consul. I did not go anywhere, nor did I ever stop watching out for the Republic, from the day on which we were summoned to meet in the Temple of Tellus; two days after the death of Gaius Julius Caesar. In that temple, as far as I could, I laid the foundations of peace, and renewed the ancient precedent set by the Athenians. I even used the Greek word meaning bear no malice, which that city employed in settling political disputes. And I gave my vote to the motion that all memory of the controversy that existed then ought to be wiped out forever…’
Sitting in his usual place among the Senate secretaries, Adonis recorded every word that the great orator declaimed, secretly thankful that the old man was clearly still unwell. And speaking, therefore, more slowly than usual. For his expertise with Tiro’s shorthand was enabling him to make one verbatim record for the Senate and another, secretly, for the Centurion Artemidorus and his Tribune Enobarbus. The second record to be elaborated more accurately still by his almost perfect memory of every tone and inflection in Cicero’s voice as he spoke.
Getting into his stride, now, the great lawyer took hold of the folds of his toga nearest his left shoulder with his left hand, drew himself up even further and continued as the gale raved outside, ‘The speech made by Marcus Antonius at that time was also a thoroughly admirable one.’ He gestured grandly, reasonably, forgivingly, with his right hand and continued…
But then, over the next hour as measured by the water clocks beside the secretaries, the tone of Cicero’s speech began to change. In content as well as in delivery. When Antony and his Co-consul Dolabella had behaved according to the wishes of the Senate as interpreted by Cicero himself, they had been good and upright leaders. But, little by little, they had altered. Lists of Caesar’s notes and plans as accepted by the Senate had been added to – he did not say forged – and unica by unica inch by inch the two consuls had begun to leech power away from the Senate and into their own grasp. Their focus had moved away from performing their constitutional duties and towards grasping more and more naked power. Where was Antony now? Not leading the debate as was his duty but hurrying towards Brundisium to make sure of the legions landing there! And so what had started out as a constitutional friendship between the two arms of government was now marred by growing distrust. And even fear.
Adonis felt his blood run cold as he recorded what the orator was saying: ‘I wish you could remember your grandfather, Antony. You have often heard me speak about him. Do you think that he would have been willing to seek even immortality at the price of being feared? What he considered life, what he considered prosperity, was being equal to the rest of we citizens in freedom. And first among equals only in worthiness. I should prefer that most bitter day of his death to the domination of Lucius Cinna which you are trying to reproduce yourself. Cinna, by whom your own grandfather was most barbarously murdered!’
The general’s not going to like this! thought Adonis, his stylus busily recording the words as his ears noted the sneering tone. This amounts to a declaration of war! What is the old man up to?
But then things got even worse as Cicero continued relentlessly, his voice echoing in the hushed, horror-stricken chamber.
‘But why should I try to make an impression on you by merely speaking? For, if the death of Gaius Caesar cannot scare you into choosing the love of the people rather than their fear, no speech of mine will do any good.’ The right hand made that sweeping gesture once again. Encompassing Dolabella and the tiers of Antony’s supporters sitting opposite. ‘And those men who think you are happy wielding power through fear are miserable themselves,’ he boomed. ‘No one is ever happy if he lives on such terms that he may be put to death not merely with impunity, but even to the great glory of his killer!’ Again that dramatic pause. The heartbeat of rhetoric as studied by every patrician boy. But rarely wielded as effectively as this.
‘Therefore, Antony, who I address even in your absence, change your mind, I beg you. Look back upon your ancestors. Govern the Republic in such a way that your fellow citizens may rejoice that you were born. No one can live a long life and be happy or famous otherwise.’
‘By Jupiter Optimus Maximus,’ said Adonis to himself, watching the point of his stylus write the words down twice. Faintly surprised that it wasn’t trembling more than it was. ‘The old man has just threatened Antony with the same fate as Caesar! In public. In front of the Senate!’
ix
‘Has he run mad?’ asked Artemidorus rhetorically, a little later in the office of Quintus’ villa. ‘You’re sure he said this, Adonis? And in the way you acted it out?’
Adonis nodded. Venus, at his, side nodded automatically. The mimicry of expression and movement between the almost identical twins was disturbing until you got used to it, thought Artemidorus. Which in his case was not yet. But it echoed the equally disturbing manner in which Adonis had brought Cicero and his bitter words to life. He leaned forward and continued.
‘Then we have a problem. Several, in fact. First, do we take this to Antony in Brundisium at once? Secondly, if we decide to do so, who should be the messenger? Because, thirdly, Cicero seems to have put the general on some kind of death list with these words. Therefore, fourthly, someone has to go through his villa checking the security. Seeing whether the other Praetorians are all they’re cracked up to be…’
‘You don’t need to worry about the first and second problems,’ said Quintus wisely. ‘Adonis, you said the Senate was full?’
Venus and Adonis nodded.
‘Then if Dolabella hasn’t sent word yet, someone else certainly will have.’
‘That’s true,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And, now I think of it, word will have gone to Caesar Octavius as well. I’ll check with Ferrata when I see him. That reminds me. Hercules. Can you relieve him? Keep an eye on Caesar and the comings and goings around him. And try to stay dry. There’s quite a storm…’
The giant nodded amenably and vanished. Though just how he was going to make his enormous frame both waterproof and unremarkable in the streets round Agrippa’s family home, the secret agent could hardly guess.
He caught Puella’s eye. But nothing in her gaze or expression moved away from the serious consideration she was giving their problem. It was as though she was two people, he thought. Out here she was a mixture of Athena and Artemis – the wise huntress. As focused as the light from one of Archimedes’ ship-burning mirrors. In the bed chamber, she was Aphrodite, astonishingly inventive and limitlessly wanton.
*
Later that afternoon, in a dry spell, Artemidorus and Quintus made their first assessment of the security at Antony’s villa. Possibly because the general was away in Brundisium, possibly because of the suddenly autumnal weather, the Praetorians were relaxed. The guards lined along the via were more interested in each other and their conversations than in the comings and goings of strangers. The pair of spies reached the door without being challenged. Even here, the password remained Hercules. Which was their second guess after Fulvia. The guard was not unduly worried by the first incorrect attempt. ‘That was yesterday’s,’ he explained amenably. ‘It’s one or the other. You just have to remember which.’
Neither the centurion nor his associate was impressed by any of this, but they made no fuss about it at the moment. Instead, having been admitted to the villa, they came back out again immediately and went down the side to the posticum servants’ entrance. Where they employed the keys they bought from the housebreakers in Pompeii. The second one unlocked the door and
they walked straight into the unguarded areas beside the culina kitchen.
‘We’d better start making a list,’ said Artemidorus. ‘I wonder whether the general has taken all his secretarial staff with him.’
Antony’s steward was called Promus. He and Artemidorus were well acquainted. And Promus knew precisely how the household stood at the moment. So he was able to produce one of Antony’s secretaries in short order. This one was called Livius. He seemed as keen to please as Adonis, but he had not been trained in Tyro’s shorthand techniques.
‘Let’s start with the posticum,’ decided Artemidorus. ‘Livius, note that we need more than just this old lock. Either a new lock or some secondary security. Claustrae bolts would be best. Top and bottom. Now, let’s have a look at the windows…’
After an hour or so they had completed their initial survey. And were much less than happy with the results that Livius had painstakingly recorded for them. ‘We found it easy enough to break into Minucius Basilus’ place in Pompeii,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And, with a little preparation, I was able to get into Brutus’ villa – and out again with Puella. This place is guarded while those were not, but the guards are useless. Even the passwords are obvious. We’d have to rebuild the villa or employ a crack cohort to stand a couple of men at every door or window. We don’t have time to do the first. And we don’t have the manpower for the second.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Quintus wisely, ‘perhaps we just need to think like a sicarius. Anyone trying to break in will certainly check out the possible entry points before they make their move. If we make it clear the main ones are going to be hard to get in through, then all we need to do is leave one avenue apparently unconsidered. And be fairly certain that that will be the way he’ll come…’
‘Right,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Then instead of guarding the villa and its grounds as a whole we’d just have to guard that one point. Like Leonidas and his Three Hundred Spartans stopping the Persian army at the Pass of Thermopylae.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Quintus. ‘Or like Publius Horatius Cocles holding the bridge against the army of Lars Porsena and Tarquin The Great after Brutus’ forefather had thrown him out of Rome.’
x
It took them several days before they were satisfied that the villa was secure, whether or not the Praetorians were keeping a proper guard on the place. Both main door and posticum not only had a lock but also several bolts. The windows were mostly small – but even the smallest also had bolts and a chain to limit how wide it could be opened. Glass was reinforced with metal grilles which also secured the window as a whole. For Artemidorus had been able to come and go through Brutus’ villa by using a ladder and a loosened window frame. Reaching back into his other experiences since The Ides of Mars, Artemidorus made sure that it was difficult to get over the roof into the peristyle. Something he had managed to do in Minucius Basilus’ villa by climbing up one pine tree then swinging across into another whose branches overhung the garden.
At last there was only one method of entry left. The least likely. The almost impossible. The one they chose to watch like Leoniodas at Thermopylae. Like Horatius at the bridge.
One of the villa’s greatest amenities – one of which Antony was most proud – was the bath. Ultra-modern, it consisted of frigidarium, tepidarium and caldarium. The tepidarium and the caldarium not only used warm – and hot – water, but they also had heated floors. These rooms were not the only ones with heated floors – and walls. The atrium and triclinium dining room were also heated, though the tablinum, office space, was not. The heating system was based on a series of columns almost three cubits high on which the floors sat. The culina kitchen was placed at the centre of this system. And here the big fire, which could roast a spitted ox, did double duty, supplying heat to the system as well as to the food. The hypocaust system, of necessity, reached from one side of the villa to the other. And, therefore, to outer walls as well as inner ones.
And that fact became relevant when Artemidorus was patrolling the streets around the villa. Looking for areas that were not covered by the Praetorian patrols. But which might give someone a chance of breaking in. Of course his main attention was directed high above his head as he wondered whether this or that wall could be scaled using a ladder. A rope and grappling hook. A bolt from a sôlênarion or anything similar with a knotted cord attached. Looking steadfastly upward, he stubbed his toe. And stopped. Stooped, frowning. A brick had come loose and fallen into the pathway between Antony’s villa and the next.
xi
‘What’s all this, Septem?’ demanded Antony five days later. They were in the atrium of Antony’s home. The general had returned to Rome in a dangerous mood. Which the sight of the new locks and bolts on his doors had done little to improve.
‘Securitas Security,’ answered Artemidorus.
‘I don’t need security! I have my Praetorians!’
‘Caesar had his Spanish Guard, General. Didn’t do him much good in the end.’
‘But Caesar dismissed them! As you should know better than most.’
‘They wouldn’t have been in Pompey’s Curia with him when the murderers struck, though, would they?’ insisted Artemidorus.
‘He has a point, Antony,’ said Fulvia, coming onto Artemidorus’ side unexpectedly. ‘If anyone manages to get in here, your precious Praetorians will all be outside. Useless. Think of the children if you won’t think of us.’
‘Oh, very well! Septem, take Enobarbus through the villa and explain this securitas to him. He can assess what’s worthwhile and what’s a waste of time. Most of all I don’t want people saying I’ve put all this security in place because I’m scared. Not after that old blowhard Cicero actually threatened to have me murdered like Divus Julius! And certainly not with that catulus whelp Octavian hanging around and sneering behind my back! I’m going to bathe, then eat and drink. Especially drink!’
‘How did things go in Brundisium?’ asked Artemidorus as he began the tribune’s tour of inspection.
‘Not too well. The legions are arriving slowly. Almost reluctantly. They blame the weather now it’s coming towards autumn. Making the passage across rough and dangerous. But that’s just an excuse. They’ve made it plain they don’t approve of the continuing rift between Antony and Caesar Octavius. Because they want Divus Julius avenged.’
‘I wonder who put that idea in their heads?’ asked Artemidorus cynically.
‘You know as well as I do that it’s young Caesar,’ answered Enobarbus wearily. ‘He has agitators moving covertly through all the legions persuading them of his point of view. Which even now seems to be that he and Antony should combine their forces and start collecting the Libertores’ heads at the earliest opportunity! And it’s not just the Macedonian legions he’s making disaffected. He has men all over the place working on the retired, resettled VIth and even the VIIth.’
‘Probably among the Praetorian Cohorts as well. Both Ferrata and Hercules have reported secret visits by the other Praetorian tribunes to Agrippa’s brother’s house, where Caesar has been staying most of the summer. Because he’s sold everything he owns to raise the money he’s bribing entire armies with. The other tribunes are making good use of your absence, I’d say. Because they know very well where your allegiance lies. They seem to be led by someone called Licinius. There’s been a lot of coming and going between Caesar and Balbus as well. I’m sure that Balbus is extending him almost limitless credit. As Divus Julius’ friend and secretary, Balbus wants to see heads in the Forum as much as any of Caesar’s faction. Instead of which, Cassius and Brutus are safe and sound on their way to Athens! There’s a nasty atmosphere brewing…’
‘Hence all these locks and bolts, I assume.’ The tribune nodded at the inside of the posticum door.
‘Those are just the start of it,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘Let me tell you what I’ve been planning…’
*
The blade of the gladius slammed into his ribs on the right side hard enough to knock th
e breath out of his body. He jumped back, falling into a defensive stance. Feet spread, knees bent. Arms wide. Leaning forward slightly from the waist. She came after him as he knew she would, closing in for the kill. Throwing the gladius from hand to hand so he would never be sure which side she would hit him from. Eyes narrow, nostrils flared. Clenched teeth revealed by her killing grimace. She swung again, with the left – aiming for the damaged spot on his right side. He stepped inside the blow and drove his own gladius up into her belly just above her pubic bone.
Had the sword not been heavily padded and her tunic likewise, he would have opened her up from her groin to her ribs. And the point of the sword would have spitted her heart. As it was, he winded her. She toppled onto her side, choking and gasping. He collapsed onto the grass beside her. ‘Never forget,’ he said, his words broken by his fight for breath. ‘No matter what hand holds it, the gladius is a stabbing sword. It has an edge, but be careful how you use it. Stab. Stab. Stab. Come up from under…’
She rolled onto her back. Her gasps became giggles. ‘Like when we make love,’ she said. ‘And you come up from under. Stab. Stab. Stab. With that big old gladius of yours?’
‘Do not make too much of a joke of it,’ advised Quintus severely, trying – as he had during all the recent training sessions – to keep the pair of them serious and focused on their work. ‘Septem is right. He uses his gladius better than any man I have seen. In battle…’
The last two words were lost as Puella went into another helpless fit of giggles.
She was still laughing and choking when Ferrata came running through into the peristyle of Quintus’ villa. Which had now become their headquarters, equipment centre and training ground. ‘Septem,’ he said. ‘There’s something going on down at Antony’s villa.’
The three men left Puella still helpless with hilarity and ran out of the villa, shoulder to shoulder. ‘Any idea what’s going on?’ asked Artemidorus.