by Peter Tonkin
‘We should take this to Antony at once,’ said Enobarbus. ‘He needs to know the potential it has.’
‘Yes,’ Artemidorus agreed. ‘If we can catch Caesar’s messenger and at least get an idea of what they plan to do, then the general can be prepared for whatever they have in mind. Perhaps lay a trap of his own. In fact,’ he added, ‘now that we have the password we might even be able to take things further still.’
v
‘This is excellent,’ said Antony. ‘I’ve been sitting here with the Vth and all the rest, banging my head against a brick wall, waiting to get pedicare shafted by the Senate at Cicero’s request or by that little shit Octavius, and within a couple of days you have given me the chance of breaking the stalemate. This is very good work. What do you propose to do next?’
‘Lay a trap for Caesar’s messenger and take it from there,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Do you need us to report to you stage by stage?’
‘No,’ answered Antony decisively. ‘Coming to me before every decision will only slow you down.’ He looked at them with a grin, then gave a chuckle and continued, ‘You’ve done more in that couple of days than I’ve managed to do so far this year. I should be coming to you…’
‘So,’ said Artemidorus as they came out of Antony’s tent. ‘We simply set up a line of spies – us – hidden on either side of the via tonight. And every night until we catch Caesar’s messenger. Or until it becomes clear that he hasn’t sent one.’
‘Or,’ said Quintus, ‘until it becomes clear that they’ve got another way in that we don’t know about.’
But when Artemidorus led them to the via itself and stood on the crest of the nine passus pace thirty-foot width of it, looking south-east towards Ariminium away down on the coast, several things soon became obvious to him. First, that the ditches on either side of the sloping road, awash with run-off though they were, would make good pathways for anyone wishing to approach Mutina in secret. Especially as they led directly to within a few paces of the main gate. Secondly that the land on the right of the road would almost certainly be closed to Caesar Octavius’ man because that was where Antony’s legions were encamped, their lines extended by the constantly manned and guarded siege weapons. Thirdly, therefore, that the best way to approach the beleaguered town in secret was to come up the ditch then strike north across the river on his left. Towards a small postern gate that was all too easily overlooked. The ground there was marshy – except for the ridge running up towards the village of Forum Gallorum. Too soft and wet for camps or heavy artillery. Perfect, therefore, for one man sneaking inwards.
‘Assuming that the pigeon got to Caesar Octavius within the turn or two of a water clock,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘Caesar could write a reply and give it to a messenger who could come up the via on horseback. It’s almost exactly one hundred miles. A legion would take two or three days to get here. A messenger on horseback could do it in an afternoon if the horse was strong enough. Tether his mount a mile or so away and come the rest of the way on foot in secret.’
‘So,’ said Enobarbus, ‘we’d better keep watch from sunset…’
*
The early spring weather was cold and wet. The line of spies huddled under cloaks within call of each other, trying to stay hidden, warm, dry and alert. Even staying awake was a challenge, thought Artemidorus. But he rather suspected that sleep would be dangerously close to death in these conditions. Which, oddly, were worsened as the drizzling overcast was swept away by a keen northerly that seemed to blow directly off the crest of the ice-clad Alps. But at least a low moon gave some welcome light.
Artemidorus was on point duty, furthest forward, and closest to the little gate he suspected would be the messenger’s target. Then Quintus ten paces on his right. Then, Hercules, Kyros, Ferrata and lastly Puella closest to the road. Ferrata was only five paces from Puella because they reckoned that if the messenger wasn’t coming across the open ground towards Artemidorus and the gate, then he would be coming up the ditch beside the road. Their plan was simple. Flexible. They would catch him with the minimum noise, stun him – not kill him. And take it from there.
As it chanced, Caesar’s secret messenger crawled straight into Hercules. So stunning him was not a problem. Nor was carrying his unconscious body to their tent. The gigantic tutor didn’t even need the help the others offered as they trooped together through the frosty night. The courier was wearing a dark cloak and had blackened his face, arms and legs with mud. But even so, the first thing Quintus said when they lit their lamps and got a good close look at him was, ‘I know this man. He’s from the old VIIth.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Artemidorus. ‘He’s not from my cohort, but I recognise him too.’
‘Does that mean we go easy on him when it comes to questioning and other carnifex work?’ mused Ferrata as he finished tying their prisoner to a solid chair. He was from the VIth and there was no love lost between the legions.
‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Kyros, get some water. We’ll wash him off and wake him up.’
Caesar’s go-between woke the moment the icy water splashed over his face. ‘He looked around, dazed and frowning. Confused. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I know you…’
‘We’re all from the old VIIth,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Except Ferrata here who’s from the Ironclads. But we’re a Praetorian unit on General Antony’s staff now. What are you doing with Caesar?’
‘Earning two thousand sestertii. Plus a bonus if we beat Antony and the Larks.’ All of them growled companionably. ‘There was no love lost between the VIIth, the VIth and the Vth Alaude either. ‘Antony settled me in that mud-pit north of Capua,’ continued the old soldier. ‘But I found out pretty quickly I wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. Or a husband. Or a paterfamilias. So I’m back doing the one thing I’m really good at.’
‘And in the meantime taking messages between Caesar and Decimus Albinus…’
‘I served with General Albinus in Gaul against Vercingetorex. Caesar thought that might make me a good contact. This is my first time, though. I have to be particularly careful with the password.’ The suspiciously detailed nature of his answer was explained by his next question. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘We’re going to take your message and copy it,’ said Artemidorus, entering into the spirit of openness between ex-colleagues. ‘Then I’m going to take your place and go into the city. I can risk that if this is, as you say, your first time. Then, when I come back we’ll talk further. If I don’t come back, of course, you will meet an incredibly unpleasant end. So if there’s anything else at this point…’
The go-between shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Well, I think I will risk it then.’
‘You’ll have several options to consider in the meantime,’ said Quintus as Artemidorus went off to change his clothing and blacken his face. He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. ‘Join Antony’s army and take your chances with us when Caesar finally gets off his culus arse and the war starts. Agree to return to Caesar but work for us as a double agent. Keep coming back and forth between Caesar and Albinus – but always via this tent. Both of those will involve you telling us anything else we want to know. The second option will also involve us offering you a certain amount of bribery.’
Ferrata took over. ‘The third option is that you refuse to tell us anything and so we kill you. And the fourth option is that you refuse to tell us anything and we turn our carnifex loose on you and you die screaming. Sometime far in a truly unpleasant future.’
‘Your choice,’ said Quintus accommodatingly.
vi
Artemidorus eased himself into the icy water of the swollen river east of Mutina and swam across as swiftly as he could. Carefully keeping his mud-blackened face clear of the water which was washing his arms and legs clean as he swam. Pushing a carefully wrapped waterproof bundle ahead of him. A bundle containing a dry – hopefully warm – cloak. Around his neck hung a tube made of thinly beaten lead.
In which was wrapped a piece of parchment. On which young Caesar Octavius’ message was written in code. The ends were sealed with wax to make it waterproof. The code was the same one as the pigeon’s message had been written in and Kyros had translated it almost as quickly as the messenger had decided to play double agent. His name was Felix but they had code-named him Mercurius Mercury the messenger. Quintus and Ferrata were still arguing through the precise nature of the bribe needed to keep him loyal to them as the secret agent went to take his place.
Artemidorus paused on the bank and slipped his dry cloak over his wet shoulders. Then he jogged up the slope to the little gate that stood half-hidden behind a buttress in the wall. He tapped on the wood lightly. ‘Res Publica,’ he said.
A small door in the corner of the larger one opened. ‘You’re late,’ said a low voice.
‘They have guards out. I was nearly captured.’
The door opened wider. There was light inside. A flambeau was burning. ‘But they didn’t suspect?’ demanded a hoarse voice.
‘No. I went out of my way but I got past without them noticing.’
‘Good enough.’ The guard officer gave him a cursory glance. Not that there was much to see in the shadows immediately outside the postern. ‘I’ll take you straight to General Albinus and you can deliver the message to him yourself. Come on in.’
Immediately inside the door was a squad of heavily armed legionaries. And, although it was night, the streets through which they escorted Artemidorus were well lit and bustling. Most of the activity was by soldiers making repairs to buildings smashed or burned by Antony’s barrage. But there were squads replenishing the ammunition beside the massive slings, catapults – ballistas and onagers – as well as scorpions looking like gigantic crossbows on wheels. Many of which – but by no means all – were up on the walls. Especially on the extra buttressing and in the towers guarding the main gate. The one area where besiegers had easy access to the city walls. Here there were also cauldrons and fires. Though, thought the spy, there would be no need to heat water, oil or sand for the moment. Not until Antony decided to deploy siege ladders or battering rams by bringing them straight up the via itself.
The air of the town stank. The men all around him stank. The odour was more than one of fear – though these were frightened men in a dangerous trap, he reckoned. It was the stench of corpses going unburied. Of disease threatening. Of bodies going unwashed as the garrison fought to preserve water. And – in the face of the rain of rotting carcases Antony was sending them – food.
But there was no doubt in Artemidorus’ mind that Decimus Albinus was going to hold this place unless Antony came up with something truly unexpected. And if the general was really relying on Artemidorus to mimic Ulysses at Troy and develop a plan equal to the wooden horse, then he was going to be disappointed.
The governor’s palace was as closely guarded as everywhere else. Artemidorus had to repeat the password several more times before he was shown into the general’s quarters. Brought face to face with the commander of the besieged garrison. If Antony was pale, exhausted, his features gaunt and his eyes dark-ringed, this was as nothing to the way Decimus Albinus looked. But he was still sharp. ‘Do I know you?’ he demanded at once. His tone of voice made everyone else in the tablinum office area look at the newcomer. Most of them just glanced up and then down. The only one whose gaze lingered was Pontius Aquila. The deep-set eyes beneath that one straight eyebrow stayed on his face for a few heart-stopping moments. Then turned away. Clearly Aquila had been too preoccupied on the day Artemidorus saw him at Brutus’ villa in Antium to register the identity of the Senate’s messenger. Artemidorus relaxed infinitesimally. He felt he had passed the test at least.
Apart from Pontius Aquila, there were a couple of legates, judging by their badges. A couple of tribunes. Two secretaries with piles of papyrus and wax tablets in front of them. Some blank and some already covered with writing. Servants holding amphorae of wine and water. Trays of bread, oil and honey. Very small amphorae. Very tiny trays.
‘Yes General.’ Artemidorus came to attention. Went into Mercury’s story – in case Caesar Octavius had found any opportunity to inform Decimus Albinus why he had selected this particular messenger. ‘That’s why Caesar chose me as his messenger. I served with you in the campaign against Vercingetorex in Gaul and aboard your flagship in the battle for Massalia.’ Like Pontius Aquila, Albinus glanced away almost immediately. Before the spy finished speaking. Apparently satisfied. ‘That must be it,’ he nodded. ‘You have Caesar’s message?’
‘Here, General.’ Artemidorus handed the lead cylinder over and Albinus passed it directly to a secretary. ‘And when does Caesar propose to come to my rescue?’ he demanded as the secretary began to unroll the secret message.
‘I’m sure his message will tell you that, General. There are no obvious preparations in his camp, though. We are simply doing our usual daily training. Performing our ordinary duties. Breaking in the new men as they come streaming to Caesar after their two thousand sestertii bounty.’
‘Well. Go and get something to eat and drink. Then come back when I call. I’ll have messages for Caesar and for other people as well to be passed on by him.’
As Artemidorus followed one of the general’s soldiers out, the man muttered, ‘I hope you’re not hungry, though. Or thirsty.’ And indeed, Artemidorus spent the succeeding, uncalculated time in a mess hall that was barren of anything to eat and drink. Empty apart from some tough-looking legionaries from the squad that had escorted him here. Who met his questions with tight-lipped silence, so that he too soon fell silent. And when he stood, stretched and strolled towards a window overlooking the town’s forum, they too rose. And put themselves between him and anything worth looking at. But at least there was a fire. And they didn’t put themselves between Artemidorus and that.
vii
Artemidorus delivered all of Decimus Albinus’ secret message to his contubernium of spies. Those in code were written in the same code as before. Kyros started translating and transcribing them at once. Enobarbus and Hercules scanned those in plain text, and set about copying the most important paragraphs. Quintus went to rouse some of Antony’s secretarial staff – or the task would take all night. Antony himself returned and looked with simple awe at the treasure trove of correspondence the spies had brought him. ‘You’re going to need more help,’ he decided. ‘You’ll certainly need a larger team. And I think you’d better get a bigger tent.’
In the meantime, Artemidorus snatched a moment with Ferrata and Puella. And Mercury. ‘What’s the agreement?’ he asked.
The double agent remained silent, apparently embarrassed.
‘He wants us to match Caesar’s two thousand sestertii,’ said Ferrata. ‘So that would be four thousand. In gold. Held safely for him here.’
‘An excellent motivation to keep him coming back,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘I think we can agree to that.’ He glanced across at Enobarbus, who nodded his acceptance of Mercury’s terms.
‘And,’ added Puella, ‘he wants me.’
‘What?’
‘Every time he comes to us and you take the messages on into the city, he spends the waiting time with me,’ she explained. ‘If he can have me, then he’ll do everything we want.’
Artemidorus’ expression folded into such a frown that Mercury stepped back, pale as a spirit on the shore of the Styx.
‘Don’t be angry.’ She placed herself between the men and looked Artemidorus straight in the eye. ‘I’ve already agreed.’
‘You have!’
‘And it is my decision. Mine alone, Septem! Because it’s my body. Less than a year ago I was a chattel. A thing. My body belonged to Lord Brutus and he could do whatever he liked with it. Even something as horrible as what you tell me Lord Basilus likes to do. But then you freed me. Manumitted me into a freedwoman. And my body became my own. You and Quintus taught it how to do things and visit places I have never heard of other slave women even dreaming ab
out! And I choose to share my body with you because I love you. But I serve Lord Antony now, as you do. Because you do. And if I can serve him better by lending my body to Mercury once in a while, then that is what I choose to do!’
Artemidorus opened his mouth to argue. To answer at least. But then he discovered that there was nothing he could say. The woman was free. Free, therefore, to do what she wished.
And so the bargain was struck.
*
Every ten days or so Mercury would appear. The vastly enhanced secret secretarial team would decode Caesar’s letters that Artemidorus took into the beleaguered city once he had memorised each new password. And transcribe the ever-more desperate pleas to Caesar, Cicero and the Senate that Artemidorus brought out. Antony was forced to send the scavengers from the Vth further and further up the Via Aemilia towards the Alps in search of provender for his troops, and Enobarbus led these alongside the general’s brother Lucius, leaving Artemidorus to concentrate on the intelligence work. But apart from that, nothing seemed to change on the ground. Not in Italy at any rate.
But incoming information told a different story in the East where Brutus had made himself Master of Macedonia and Cassius of everywhere from the borders of Egypt to northernmost Syria. And, at Cicero’s prompting, they were awarded the governorships which they now held de facto. Antony had three legions under his immediate command. The IInd Sabine, the Vth Larks and the XXXVth. And his Gaulish cavalry. His enemies – not even counting the masterly inactive Caesar Octavius, commander of the legions that deserted Antony after the decimation – now had almost ten times that number.
And so the calends of Mars crawled into the ides fifteen days later. The anniversary of Divus Julius’ death passed without note or ceremony. The calends of Aprilis came and went.
Then, thirteen days later, on the ides of Aprilis, everything blew up like one of the barrels of Greek Fire Antony’s men were lobbing into the starving city.