by Peter Tonkin
Antony’s death. Or Cicero’s.
ii
Enobarbus sat and listened as Adonis performed Cicero’s latest speech attacking Antony. Things had changed for the worse in the last month, even though the ploy of presenting the black-clad family to the Senate had had some effect. Enobarbus and Piso had managed to convince Fulvia that she should make plans for the inevitable day that Cicero would convince the Senate to call Antony an enemy of the state. Something which must happen, if not in the next month, Mars, must certainly happen in Aprilis, the month after. For, if the Senate wavered indecisively, Antony remained adamant and unvarying in his purpose.
In the meantime, the Senate had sent a delegation through the icy winter weather to negotiate with Antony. Their proposals had fallen on deaf ears. Worse, one of the senators in the group, Cicero’s old friend Servius Sulpicious Rufus, had died on the way back. A sad coincidence that had somehow – in Cicero’s mind and speeches – become Antony’s fault. Along with everything else. Now, the great man’s every word, intonation and gesture rang out across the atrium of Quintus’ villa, continuing a debate as to whether Antony’s actions in Cisalpine Gaul actually constituted a state of war. Or merely a serious civil disorder. The one punishable by hostis. The other merely calling for continued negotiation.
‘As there is no middle ground between war and peace,’ declaimed Adonis in Cicero’s voice, ‘it is quite plain that civil disorder, if it is not a sort of war, must be a sort of peace. And what can be said or imagined which is more absurd than that? However, we have said too much about one single word. As we have all too often done in the past. Let us rather look to the facts. We are unwilling to admit that the civil disorder generated by Antony appears to be a state of war. If it is not war, then why are we giving authority to the local towns to close their gates against Antony and his men? Why are we authorizing their citizens to be enlisted at once into our legions? Permitting them to raise money for the assistance of the Republic in raising our own armies?
‘For if the name of war is taken away from the situation by our continued hesitancy, the zeal of those municipalities will be taken away too. And the unanimous enthusiasm of the Roman people which at present pours itself into our cause against Antony, if we appear to be hesitant, must inevitably run dry. But why do I need to say any more? Decimus Albinus is being attacked. Is that not war? The city of Mutina is being besieged. Is that not war? Cisalpine Gaul is being laid waste. What peace can be more obvious than that? Who on earth could even think of calling all these things a war?
‘But that thoroughly admirable young man Gaius Caesar, has not waited for our decrees. He has undertaken to wage war against Antony on our behalf even without our authority; for there was no time to pass a formal decree after all our hesitation and debate. And he sees all too clearly that, if he misses the opportunity of waging war on our behalf, then, when Antony inevitably crushes the Republic, it will be too late to pass any decrees at all.
‘Therefore, I demand the following: That anyone currently serving with Mark Antony, who deserts from his army and comes over either to Caius Pansa or Aulus Hirtius; or to Decimus Albinus or to Gaius Caesar, before the calends first day of Mars, shall not be liable to prosecution for having been with Antony in the first place. And that, after this resolution of the Senate, anyone who stays with Antony or goes to join his army shall be considered, with Antony himself, hostis – an enemy of the state.’
‘Did they pass that motion?’ asked Enobarbus, frowning with worry. The inevitable ruling of hostis was getting closer and closer day by day.
‘Not entirely,’ answered Adonis, becoming himself again. ‘They agreed to make any soldiers who stay with Lord Antony enemies of the state. But they haven’t decided about Lord Antony himself yet. In spite of Cicero’s demands. There’s gossip among the secretarial staff, many of whom are friends of Tiro’s, that Cicero is in correspondence with both Brutus and Cassius, who are raising armies in Macedonia and Arabia. As well as with Decimus Albinus.
‘Decimus Albinus sends messages out of Mutina by pigeon as well as by secret messenger, apparently. Most of them asking for help. From the Senate, of course. And from Caesar Octavius, who may not be as fully committed as Cicero says. And who is unwell in any case. Cicero is also writing to General Lepidus in Gallia Narbonenesis, trying to get him to back Decimus Albinus. And even to General Lucius Plancus Proconsul of Gallia Comata trying to get him involved. But I think he places most of his hopes on Caesar Octavius.’
‘That’s a relationship we must find a way of breaking down,’ said Enobarbus.
‘There might be a way of doing just that,’ said Venus quietly. ‘It may be nothing. It might just have been a slip of the tongue, but… Go on Adonis. Tell him what you were telling me last night.’
‘It could be nothing at all,’ emphasised Adonis. ‘And, as often happens with Cicero, it turns on the meaning of a single word. A pun. A joke.’
‘All right,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Tell me…’
‘Close your eyes and just listen, Tribune,’ suggested Venus. ‘Then say what you think.’
Enobarbus was used to Venus’ ways by now and had grown to respect her insights and her ideas. So he did as she requested. And listened.
‘Cicero was discussing young Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus,’ Adonis began. ‘The conversation went into debate of what the Senate should do about him after Antony is defeated. There’s a real worry that he’ll continue building his army and get too powerful for the Senate to control. He is a Caesar after all. So, in this particular exchange, Cicero said he understood their worries, although he does not share them. He thinks the boy – as he calls him – can easily be manipulated. Is, in fact, being manipulated very successfully by Cicero himself at the moment. But in the meantime Caesar is “Adolescens laudandus, ornandus, tollendus”: a young man we should celebrate, decorate and tolerate.’
Adonis fell silent. Enobarbus opened his eyes in some confusion. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ he asked.
‘Tollendus,’ said Venus. ‘Think about it. About all of the meanings that word has. Then listen again. With your eyes open.’
Tollendus thought Enobarbus. It was an ancient word that originally described a specific act; in time, drawing wider meanings and implications from that. The act of a father holding his newborn son for the first time. In a ceremony almost as old as time itself, the father would raise the child and either acknowledge him as son or throw him aside as unacceptable in some way. So the word could mean, at the same time, accept or reject. Raise or raze.
Adonis brought these thoughts to a halt by becoming Cicero once more. Puffing himself up, assuming the sly and knowing expression the orator put on when making one of his clever jokes. This time the words were accompanied by a smirk and a knowing wink. Which changed the impact of the words ‘Adolescens laudandus, ornandus, tollendus’ entirely.
From: ‘celebrate, decorate and tolerate’.
To: ‘celebrate, decorate and exterminate’.
Enobarbus was just beginning to see the implications of the phrase when there came a thunderous banging at the front door. Still deep in thought, the tribune went behind the ostiarius doorkeeper to see what the commotion was all about. The door opened to reveal a group of six weary-looking travellers. The leader stepped into the hall and raised a sack he was carrying. It contained something the size of a large cabbage. Heavy enough to make the material bulge and swing.
‘Here’s Trebonius’ head,’ he said. ‘Where’s the general?’
iii
‘This is no good to me,’ snapped Antony. They had ridden in with the last of the night. But as usual when he was on campaign the general was up and about early. And sober. If not sunny and smiling. ‘It’s no bloody good at all! It’s got no face! How is anyone ever going to recognise it? Even if I put a notice under it that evil bastard Cicero will only say it’s the head of some slave put up there for effect. Not Trebonius’ head at all!’
Artemidorus and Enobarbus ex
changed a look. The siege of Mutina was not going well. It would soon be Mars – hardly three weeks to the anniversary of Caesar’s murder – and it seemed that it was Antony rather than Decimus Albinus who was feeling trapped and frustrated here.
‘The rest of the body will arrive in Rome soon,’ said Artemidorus. ‘If it hasn’t done so already.’
‘Even so,’ snapped Antony. ‘This might just as well be a melon for all the use it is to me. When I put a head up in the Forum I want everyone to see precisely whose head it is. To know exactly whose body it once sat on top of – until I had them separated!’
‘Very well, General. What do you want us to do with it?’
‘If the body’s back in Rome then send this down to join it. It’s no bloody use to me!’
‘Omne mandatum quod praeceperat Dominus faciemus et erimus parati!’ said Artemidorus formally, angered that so much work and time seemed to have been simply wasted. ‘We will do what is ordered and at every command we will be ready.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Antony, waving his hand in dismissal of the formal reply. ‘I’m sure you are and will be.’ He looked up suddenly and his gaunt, exhausted face splitting in a broad, conspiratorial grin. ‘Give the monstrosity to one of the useless buggers from the Vth to take back to Rome and Trebonius’ grieving family. Don’t think I don’t appreciate what it’s taken in time and effort to get it! I do. And I have more important work for you and your spies here at Mutina, friend Septem. Starting with a detailed briefing on everything you found out while you were in Smyrna. And while you tell me all the gory details, let’s have some breakfast, shall we?’
*
‘Looks like someone’s been studying Aeneas Tacticus on Siege Warfare,’ said Enobarbus grimly an hour or so later.
‘Looks like they both have,’ said Quintus and Artemidorus nodded his agreement, ‘Maybe Polybius too.’
They were sitting astride three of the Gaulish cavalry unit’s best horses, looking up at the walled city of Mutina from a low ridge some five hundred paces away. Just out of range of bows, slings, ballistae and catapults. Assessing the position from an intelligence perspective as Antony had ordered. He himself had assessed things as a military man – and ordered his legates and tribunes to do the same. But all any of them could see was a stalemate in the short term, unless something radical changed. ‘I’m like Agamemnon at the siege of Troy, Septem,’ Antony said at the end of the breakfast briefing. ‘And I need you to be my Ulysses and come up with a wooden horse…’
The besieged town sat like a stone crown on the top of a hill. The hill itself was not particularly high or steep. But there was enough of a slope to discourage siege towers. Unless Antony decided to build special ramps for them. In their place, Antony was currently relying on ballista catapults and huge siege bows to hurl rocks and massive iron bolts, kegs of explosive Greek Fire and rotting, infested carcasses at and over the walls. Decimus Albinus in the besieged city was answering with much the same sort of artillery, but neither one seemed to be making much of an impression in the other. Though Antony had started hurling rotten carcases into the besieged garrison in the belief it was running low on food. But apparently not yet low enough to be forced into making a break for it. Or – as Antony no doubt hoped – to open the gates secretly and let the besiegers in. Laden with fresh food and drink.
‘I’d suggest he tries some mining,’ said Quintus. ‘If he hasn’t already done so. Unless that hill’s made of rock too solid to dig through.’
‘Or earth too soft to support a shaft,’ added Artemidorus. ‘And the lower slopes – outside artillery range – look as though whatever gets dug in them will flood almost immediately.’
Mutina had been built in an excellent defensive position. To the west of the fortified hill, a river wound down into an area of swampland that looked to be proof against soldiers and siege machinery alike. Then the river wound on out of the swamps to curl round the north side of the hill. At its narrowest point, a viaduct stepped over it, carrying the Via Aemilia on its arrow-straight way from Ariminium on the coast to Placentia at the foot of the Alps. Beyond the bridge the river all but met another stream that flowed down the east side. Thus three sides of the city were protected by water as well as hillsides and walls.
All of the waterways were swollen with spring rain, making them in themselves formidable barriers against attack by men or machines. Antony had drawn up the bulk of his army perforce to the south of the city – the only part unprotected by water. Here the Vth, the Alaude Larks, and the rest of his force were camped, using the southern section of the Via Aemilia as a solid base. ‘No way out and no way in,’ said Quintus approvingly. ‘Antony’s planning to starve Decimus Albinus out. At first glance, that looks like his only option. Unless you can come up with the wooden horse he wants, Septem.’
‘He’s running out of time, though,’ said Enobarbus. ‘And so are we. Caesar Octavius has his base down in Ariminium at the other end of the via. Three days’ march away. With at least four legions – including the Macedonian legions Antony decimated – who followed the IVth and the Martia in deserting him and going over to Caesar almost immediately afterwards. Cicero and the Senate want him to move against Antony’s rear.’
‘Bugger him in more ways than one.’ Quintus growled.
‘Caesar Octavius will probably wait until the consuls actually take to the field with whatever legions the Senate can scare up,’ said Artemidorus, who felt he knew the young man better than any of the others. ‘I think he still sees Antony as a more natural ally than Cicero. Especially as Cicero is starting to seriously underestimate his abilities. And take him for granted. I told you about the laudandus, ornandus, tollendus crack. Perhaps we should have sent Trebonius’ head to him. I just wish we had a clearer idea of his plans…’
Their conversation was interrupted by Puella who rode up towards them with Hercules at her side. She had a bow slung across her shoulders and was carrying a dead bird. ‘We saw this come out of the city,’ she said as she came closer. ‘I got in a lucky shot and brought it down. There’s a message strapped to its leg.’
‘Did the people in the city see it fall?’ asked Quintus at once.
‘Yes, they did. So we made a great show of riding away then we hid and waited. They sent another one when they were sure we had gone. Ferrata’s doing his best to follow it. Until he gets a clear idea of where it’s heading, at any rate.’
‘Good man!’ said Quintus. ‘Good work, all of you! So in a short while we’ll know where the message was headed.’
‘And therefore who it was for,’ added Artemidorus. ‘So all we need to do now is find out what it says.’
iv
The contubernium of spies and their spymaster sat round a table in the tent Antony had assigned to them. The dead pigeon lay discarded on the floor. The message it had carried was spread on the table in front of them. A series of Roman letters on a long, thin strip of papyrus. ‘It’s in code of course,’ said Kyros, who had been instrumental in breaking other codes Artemidorus and his spies had come up against. ‘I can try Caesar’s transposition code and see how we get on with that. It’s not a long message, but it may take some time. So you don’t need to hang around if you have anything better to do.’
The little group were just going back out of the tent when Ferrata rode up on a sweat-lathered horse. ‘It went down the via, straight as an arrow, he gasped. ‘Heading for Ariminium. I’d bet my life on it.’
‘Ariminium,’ said Artemidorus. ‘That means Caesar Octavius. I wonder if he’ll reply…’
‘Let’s assume he will,’ suggested Enobarbus. ‘Quintus, what’s the most likely method he’ll use?’
‘Well,’ said the legionary slowly. ‘Let’s start with the possibility Caesar like Decimus Albinus has a supply of trained pigeons ready to fly into Mutina. How likely is that?’
‘Not very,’ answered Artemidorus at once. ‘Decimus Albinus had a good deal of warning about this siege. Time to lay in supplies and so forth
, even if he’s running low now. Time to sort out some birds trained to home in on some of the nearest towns. Those like Ariminium and Bononia that might make good bases for anyone coming to his aid. Not so Caesar Octavius. He may have taken his time arriving at Ariminium. But not enough time to get a flock of birds trained to fly into Mutina. So if he wants to reply to Decimus Albinus’ message, he’ll have to send a messenger.’
‘Who will probably be coming up the via – or across country parallel to it on one side or the other.’
‘Where we can be waiting,’ said Ferrata, with some relish.
‘To do what?’ asked Puella.
‘We’ll know that when we get the messenger,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And get some idea of what the original message says.’
*
‘It uses a transposition code,’ said Kyros. ‘But it’s different from Caesar’s. Caesar moved the letters three spaces to the right and allowed an overlap. So A,B,C,D,E became X,Y,Z,A,B and so forth. But this one just moves the letters one place to the left. So A,B,C,D,E becomes B,C,D,E,F and so on. There are no Zs in the message so I don’t know whether Z is A or AA – or something else altogether. But I’ve deciphered it all right.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Artemidorus with just a trace of irony. ‘What does it say?’
‘Must have food or support. Must break out soon. But need your plans. Message. Pass Res Publica.’
‘Hmm,’ said Quintus. ‘Let’s hope the second pigeon carried the same message.’
‘Let’s assume it did,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Where does that get us?’
‘Quite a long way,’ said Artemidorus. ‘We can report to the general that Decimus Albinus is genuinely desperate for food and appears to be on the point of breaking out. But he needs to co-ordinate with Caesar Octavius – or Consuls Hirtius or Pansa if they have arrived yet – before he dares do so. And he wants a messenger to come in and confirm the plan. The password is Res Publica Republic.’