After The Ides (Caesar's Spies Thriller Book 2)

by Peter Tonkin

  Puella and Ferrata rode straight on, however. Exhaustively trained with weapons but less so with horses. Unable, once their steeds were galloping in the full charge, to stop them. Or even to turn them from their course. And so the pair of them careered almost helplessly southwards as Gretorex, Artemidorus and the rest of the cavalry unit began to pursue the broken legionaries back towards Mutina. All too well aware that, behind them, Antony’s legions were creating mayhem among Pansa’s shattered command.

  But then everything turned again. As though on a cast of the dice or the flip of a coin.

  Ghost Warrior and Ferrata suddenly came back, riding north into the carnage Gretorex’ men were creating, hardly able to control their horses. Or their tongues. Puella found Artemidorus. Her mount crashed against his almost as forcefully as it had against Gretorex’.

  ‘There’s another army,’ she gasped as he rocked in the saddle.

  ‘What?’ he was almost as stunned as he had been to hear that she was willing to sleep with Mercury to keep him faithful to their contubernium. ‘Another army?’

  ‘It’s huge. I don’t know how many legions. And it’s marching north. I’ve no idea where it’s come from. Rome maybe. But it’s coming straight at us.’

  ‘When will it be here? Could you tell?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. But soon!’

  ‘Right. You and Ferrata come with me. Guard my back. I need to get to Antony!’ He dragged his horse’s head viciously to the left and galloped off towards the main battlefield. Feeling as he did so, Puella and Ferrata falling behind each of his shoulders.

  So far today, until the wild charge at noon, he had seen the battle only at a distance. But now they were galloping right into the heart of it. Artemidorus, holding himself as tall in the saddle as he could, looking for the draconarius standard that would give him an idea of where Antony was. In the middle of the mayhem if he was any judge.

  It was only the sure-footedness of his well-trained war horse that allowed him to proceed as swiftly as he did. Right into the heart of the battle, where Antony’s battle flag waved cheek by jowl with Pansa’s own. He was not concerned with attacking or killing the men he rode by – or rode over. He trusted his greaves to keep his legs safe from those few enemy soldiers who remained erect after the armoured breast of his charger smashed through them. And remained quick thinking enough to consider retaliation. In the heartbeats before Puella or Ferrata, hard on his heels, slaughtered them.

  He found Antony in the middle of the battlefield. Still on his horse. Covered head to foot in other people’s blood and almost drunk with bloodlust. Surrounded by senior officers including Enobarbus. Hacking to left and right with a cavalry spada. ‘Have you seen Pansa?’ Antony bellowed over the deafening din of battle. ‘I’m pretty sure I wounded him. But he’s gone now…’

  ‘General,’ shouted Artemidorus. ‘General, there’s another army. Coming north. It will hit us very soon. It must be Consul Hirtius bringing Pansa’s reinforcements.’

  ‘Hirtius!’ spat Antony. ‘He’s a much more experienced leader! He was Divus Julius’ legate. Dined with him on the night he crossed the Rubicon.’

  ‘If he has fresh troops then this could be serious, General!’ shouted Enobarbus.

  ‘Puella and Ferrata say he has several legions,’ yelled Artemidorus.

  ‘And they’ll be fresh and battle-ready. Not like our poor men who have been hard at it all day. Excrementum! We’d better pull back to our lines.’ Antony sat tall in his saddle looking around the massive field of battle. ‘It breaks my heart but we’ll have to tell the men to just drop their eagles and leave their standards. And just get the hades out of here. I’d rather lose all our eagles than any of our men. Because there’ll be an even tougher battle once they get organised in a day or two!’ He turned to the command group who surrounded him at all times. Not so much to protect him as to allow him to communicate with the army he was leading. ‘Buicinator,’ he bellowed to the nearest bugler. ‘Sound the retreat!’

  iv

  Consul and General Aulus Hirtius arrived with his legions as the last of Antony’s men were leaving the field. These were mostly diehards who had gone back for their standards and their eagles. All of which fell into Hirtius’ possession while he announced a great victory; bucilators and cornicens blasting the air with their triumphant trumpet calls.

  ‘Just like Pompey,’ said Antony wearily as he surveyed the scene from the relative safety of his own fortified lines. ‘Arriving when all the hard work is done and claiming victory for himself!’

  ‘I remember Pompey doing that when Crassus had all but defeated Spartacus and his gladiators,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘Crassus never really forgave him.’

  Antony nodded. Turned. ‘Check on your contubernium and report to Gretorex as he was technically your commanding officer in the battle, Septem. He’ll report to me. They all will. I need to know how many men we’ve lost and how many I can count on when Hirtius, Pansa and that bloody boy come after us again. After you’ve done that I want you to take a flag of truce into their camp and see if you can negotiate the recovery of our wounded. Make it fast before too many of them start dying. And I hardly need to tell you to keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Enobarbus, you stay here. I want a good intelligence officer to do the negotiation but I can’t afford to risk you both. Report back as soon as you can, Septem. After I get the briefing from my legates and tribunes I’ll be with the wounded in the field hospitium. Report to Enobarbus if you can’t find me.’

  ‘Yes General. I’ll take two of my contubernium with me if I may. But what will my proof of authority be?’

  Antony paused for an instant, then pulled a badge off the front of his breastplate. ‘I got it when I was first hailed Imperator,’ he said. ‘I won’t be needing it for a day or two. But bring it back. Or it’s your head…’ And his tone said very clearly that he wasn’t joking. ‘Unless you’re already dead of course.’

  *

  Hirtius had set up his camp fewer than two military miles from Mutina astride the Via Aemilia. It was plain that he was an effective leader simply from the speed and efficiency with which his legions had constructed and manned their fortified encampments. And that he was not afraid of Antony – for the complex of encampments was within sight both of Mutina and Antony’s lines. Which also suggested Hirtius was an able strategist. Simply by setting up camp where he had, he promised almost immediate relief to Decimus Albinus and his beleaguered garrison. And threatened Antony’s men with almost inevitable annihilation. Artemidorus, Quintus and Ferrata were met at the gate of a palisade every bit as solid as the one surrounding Antony’s much smaller camp and taken to the command tent under armed guard.

  Hirtius was a tall, lean, eagle-faced man. As Artemidorus waited in the vestibulum of the command tent, surrounded by the guards who had conducted him and his associates here, he was able to glimpse the general through in the atrium. And, equally tall and gaunt, beside him stood Caesar Octavius’ relative, Quintus Pedius, whose daughter had been murdered by Balbus’ messenger Flaccus. But there was no sign of either Caesar Octavius or Pansa. Maybe both Mercury and Antony were right – Caesar was sick and Pansa was wounded. He strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Snatches of conversation came and went.

  ‘…held the Fourth back…’ Hirtius was saying, ‘…but the Martia ran out of control…’

  ‘…lucky Caesar held the Fourth at least,’ Quintus Pedius answered. ‘They might have been slaughtered like the inexperienced men Pansa sent up first…’

  ‘…but the Fourth might have made all the difference. Made victory more assured. And remember, he is now officially hostis, enemy of the state by the ruling of the Senate. That has to be a potent motivator…’

  ‘…What does it matter?’ Added a new voice. ‘We won. We’ll catch him soon enough…’

  ‘Won? Barely! In spite of all the eagles and standards we took. Antony must have had warning of our arrival. Retreated in good order. But ye
s. As you say. We won. Though I think you’ll find him harder to catch than you suppose…’

  ‘… at what cost?’ Demanded Quintus Pedius. ‘Won at what cost?’

  ‘High. We’ll need to regroup…’ said Hirtius.

  But then the leader of the guards broke into their conference. And the subject turned to Artemidorus himself. ‘A messenger?’ asked Hirtius.

  ‘Came in with two companions under a flag of truce. Says he’s from Mark Antony, General. Showed me this…’

  ‘That’s Antony’s all right,’ said Hirtius. ‘I was there when he was acclaimed Imperator. What does this messenger want?’

  ‘Show him in and let him tell us himself,’ suggested Quintus Pedius.

  ‘With any luck Antony wants to surrender…’ added the third – vaguely familiar – voice.

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see Antony on his knees in front of me. Which I never will!’ answered Quintus Pedius. He turned as he spoke and a look of recognition swept over his face. ‘I know you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes sir,’ said Artemidorus. ‘We met on the Appian Way and we went together with Caesar Octavius to Rome. I hope Caesar is not too unwell?’ He saw the immediate reaction in Quintus Pedius’ eyes. But they must already be certain that Antony had spies in their camp. Because of Decimus Albinus’ unscheduled arrival – and the way he charged straight into the jaws of a trap. No harm in rubbing it in, though. Especially as he recognised the third man now – Balbus’ right-hand man Nobilitor. Companion to the murderous Flaccus. Whose account had been so unexpectedly settled by the assassin Myrtillus. No wonder Caesar Octavius could afford to buy – and bribe – so many legions. If he was using Balbus’ famously bottomless purse.

  ‘I suspect Antony does not share your sentiments on the subject of Caesar’s health, Centurion,’ said Quintus Pedius. ‘What does your commander want?’

  ‘Permission to retrieve his dead and wounded.’

  Consul Hirtius and Quintus Pedius looked at each other. Nobilitor looked into the distance. Dressed as a legate but clearly out of his depth here. No more of a soldier than Pansa. Artemidorus could almost read the minds of the two professional commanders, however. They would be disappointed Antony was not admitting defeat as Nobilitor had hoped. But not really surprised. Then they would be going through a rapid series of calculations as to the immediate future and their own plans in it. Which – in broad terms – would be to throw the full might of their combined legions straight at Antony at the earliest opportunity. But the conversation so far suggested they would not be able to do this in the immediate future. And they needed to do something about their own wounded. Before the already battered morale of Pansa’s legions began to suffer further, infecting the other men. As the strength of their command already had – as evidenced by the Martia’s uncontrolled behaviour.

  If they refused his request, then collecting their own – much greater – tally of dead and wounded might be problematic. Especially for Decimus Albinus who would have to let his men come in and out of the besieged city – something Antony could well want to take advantage of. But Antony was an honourable man. If he gave his word on a truce then he would keep it. Furthermore, he suspected that Hirtius and Pedius would be speculating that a large number of wounded would slow Antony down if he did decide to retreat. Make him easier to catch up with when they sorted out the near disaster of Pansa’s engagement.

  v

  The three of them galloped back towards the battlefield in the gathering darkness with the news that Antony could have his truce. As they did so, they came across walking wounded in greater and greater numbers. Soldiers at first staggering towards Hirtius and Pansa’s camp, but then increasing crowds of Antony’s men heading in the opposite direction. And, there amongst them, Mercury. Artemidorus did not recognise him at first, but the double agent recognised him and called his name. Artemidorus reined to a stop and looked around. A few moments later Mercury was precariously perched behind him as they raced towards Antony’s camp. Ferrata took Mercury to the nearest medical tent as Artemidorus went to report to the general.

  As ever, Antony put the welfare of his men first, so it was Ferrata who found him, among the wounded who had made it this far – and who were already being tended by the medicii, clinicii and capsariors doctors attached to the legions. It was Ferrata therefore who gave the news of the truce which sent most of the medicii hurrying out onto the battlefield – together with cohort after cohort of able-bodied helpers. Bearing torches as the night closed in. Though the brightness of Hirtius and Caesar’s campfires outshone the moon and almost made flambeaus and lamps unnecessary.

  Artemidorus found Enobarbus and as they walked side by side from the intelligence tent to the medical facility, they discussed the information that Artemidorus was taking to Antony. ‘So the general has finally officially been declared hostis. I’m not sure how he’ll take that. In the meantime Caesar Octavius is sick, but in full control. Quintus Pedius is liaising for him with Hirtius – and Pansa I assume. But it looks as though Antony could well be right and the consul is badly wounded. Also Nobilitor is there – which means Balbus is financing everything that the Senate isn’t paying for. Agrippa and Rufus weren’t there which means they were with Caesar. Who might still be in Ariminium. But I doubt it. If I was him I’d have moved up much closer by now – into Cisalpine Gaul now the Senate has ruled. He could be as close as Bononia. That’s only a day’s march or an hour’s hard ride away from Hirtius’ new position just down the road.

  ‘Pansa tried to deploy the Fourth today when the Martia went out of control. But Caesar Octavius held them back. Which has to mean he was close enough to take command decisions. Bononia’s most likely, as I say. And he was probably wise – the Fourth used to be Antony’s men and might well be a little hesitant to attack him full on. Even after the decimations in Brundisium. Especially as they’d find themselves facing the Thirty-fifth, the Second Sabine and Fifth Larks. All experienced and battle-hardened. The Fifth especially, with the general’s brother Lucius leading them. But Hirtius and Quintus Pedius seem to be blaming Pansa for what they view as a near disaster rather than a great victory. And you can see their point. Antony is still here. And Decimus Albinus is still trapped in Mutina. And they have about four times as many dead and wounded as we do. Though that’s just a rough estimate.’

  At this point in their conversation, they entered the tent and found Antony deep in conversation with Mercury, whose wound turned out to be a deep cut to his cheek which was open from ear to chin. That was being cauterised and stitched shut as the pair talked. Mercury had never been pretty but not even a mother could love him now. ‘Ah, Septem,’ said the general as the spy approached. ‘Your man here saw Pansa after I did. He was badly wounded. His guards had to carry him off the battlefield. Sounds as though he’ll be lucky to last the night.’

  *

  ‘It’s simple mathematics,’ said Antony as the next day threatened to dawn. ‘I don’t need spies to add to the figures. Or Pythagoras and Euclid to explain them. And the fact that they’ve declared me hostis doesn’t make any immediate difference. Certainly not on the ground here. I command four legions, though after yesterday’s battle, I’m really only left with two full legions and some auxiliaries. The Second Sabine and the Fifth Larks, though I could just about reconstitute the Thirty-fifth. Decimus Albinus has more than that in Mutina – though to be fair they are disheartened, weakened and starving. Pansa had four. So did Hirtius. And Octavius has the Fourth, the Martia – which Pansa couldn’t control – and a couple of others that he’s still training up. Even so, that’s the better part of sixteen legions all in all. Plus cavalry and Praetorian Cohorts. We’re outnumbered by a factor somewhere between four to one and eight to one. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Attack,’ said Artemidorus at once. ‘Use the truce for as long as you can to strengthen your men and their numbers – then attack the moment it’s over.’

  Antony gave a shout of laughter. ‘My thoughts exactly! But ex
plain your reasoning Septem. Let’s see how close your ideas are to my own.’

  ‘You need to keep the initiative and that’s the way to do it,’ the spy said forcefully. ‘If you sit and wait they’ll catch you on the back foot and annihilate you. You have very little chance of winning an outright victory but the best chance is surprise. Which an attack certainly would be. In the meantime, you need to secure a clear route for an orderly retreat. I’m pretty certain you’ve been thinking along those lines already because you’ve been using my tribune here and your brother General Lucius to organise a series of speculatores and exploratores from his Fifth Legion to scout the north-western extension of the Via Aemilia up past Placentia to Castra Taurinmorum military camp and beyond. Which I suppose is your escape route. Perhaps the least likely one you could choose. Certainly Pansa and Hirtius must reckon they have you trapped against the Alps. But it’s an escape route that also takes you towards Gaius Lepidus in Narbonnese Gaul with at least five legions which he may be willing to share with you, even if you are a proscribed outlaw. And to General Pollio in Further Spain with at least two more. And General Plancus beside them in Transalpine Gaul with five more who might be persuaded to join whichever side looks the stronger. If Mars and Venus Victrix stay with you, you could go into the mountains with two legions and come back out again with fifteen.’

  ‘Very good!’ said Antony, clearly impressed. ‘My thoughts almost exactly. Except for one element. An important one to you, as it happens.’

  ‘Yes, General? What is that?’

  ‘Not what – who. My old friend General Publius Ventidius Bassus is in the ancient Etruscan capital of Arretium. He’s no friend to Cicero or the Libertores faction in the Senate. He gave me his word that if ever I was declared hostis outlaw and enemy of the state, he would help me rather than hunt me. It’s time to see whether he will keep his promise. If he does, then Cicero may well have saved my life by demanding my death! As soon as we finish this battle you suggest we start, I want you to go and get him and bring him to me if he will agree to come. Over in Gaul, as you suggest. Him and the three legions he commands. Which, if we can pull it off, will give us an army that will outnumber everything that the Senate, Pansa, Hirtius, Decimus Albinus and that bloody boy can bring into the field against us.’