by Peter Tonkin
‘Sextus Pompey must be dealt with and be seen to have been dealt with,’ added Enobarbus. ‘No matter what demands of time, money and military commitment which that entails – all at the wrong end of Italy.
‘While you, General, focus your attention on the spot the Lady Fulvia was pointing to when we arrived,’ Artemidorus continued. ‘Macedonia. You need to get your legions over to Dyrrhachium and on down the Via Egnatia as soon as possible. To show the people throughout the Republic that you are taking care of Divus Julius’ murderers while his son and heir has gone boating in Sicily.’
‘An impressive summation,’ rumbled Norbanus, who was a great bear of a man. Muscular torso and massive shoulders straining the seams of his tunic. Fists like a pair of hams resting on the map as he stared down at Macedonia.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Antony.
‘Just so,’ Saxa nodded. The skin under his thinning hair catching the lamplight. He was the fox to Norbanus’ bear.
‘But,’ inserted Fulvia, ‘you mentioned Cleopatra…’ She spat the name as though it had an unpleasant taste.
‘Indeed, domina,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘While Octavianus is distracted, I assume the General will be sending his legions across to Macedonia as fast as he can and letting everybody know that he is taking action. But, the problem is that by no means all of the legions are ready. He has the Vth Alaude, the Larks, together with the IInd and the XXXVth. All of whom followed him over the Alps and back, as he observed. The reconstituted VIIth, the VIIIth and a few more are nearly there. Maybe eight legions in all up to scratch and set to go. That, I assume, is why generals Norbanus and Saxa are here. To go on ahead of the main force with whatever legions are ready, prepare the ground, while clearly demonstrating to everyone in Rome that the general here is taking decisive action directly against the men who murdered Divus Julius, head to head. While, as I say, Octavianus is seen to be sailing off in the wrong direction altogether and fighting someone of no apparent importance. Which, combined with other factors, is likely to do Octavianus’ standing with the public and the legions no good whatsoever whilst making general Antony the most popular man in the Republic.’
‘What a nice change that would be!’ Observed Fulvia with a decided edge in her voice. ‘But, Cleopatra…’
*
Enobarbus took up the narrative once more. ‘So,’ he continued smoothly, ‘after generals Norbanus and Saxa have taken the battle-ready legions east, the dominus General Antony will no doubt get the rest of the legions down to Brundisium and up to strength in numbers, equipment and training before shipping them across to Dyrrhachium. Which will take time as well as money, particularly as Octavianus is likely to need his own battle-ready legions – the Martia, the IVth and so-on – to man the warships he will eventually send against Sextus Pompey. So they are out of the equation for the time-being at least. It seems unlikely, therefore, that general Antony will be able to start moving the bulk of his legions across to Dyrrhachium before mid-to-late summer, which is the main weak-spot in the plan. Because it will give the navies working for Brutus and Cassius, under the imperium of Lucius Murcus and Domitius Ahenobarbus, plenty of time to start blockading the ports of Barium and Brundisium. Stopping the movement of the army across the sea or cutting the lines of communication and pirating the supplies if the army has already reached Macedonia.’ He paused. There was a moment of silence.
‘But,’ said Artemidorus, quietly, ‘there is one other navy powerful enough to defeat Murcus and Ahenobarbus. Only one. And that is Cleopatra’s. However, Queen Cleopatra is not popular in Rome and she knows it.’
‘Nor in this house,’ added Fulvia with an icy glance at her husband.
‘Which might well motivate her to take as little action as possible,’ continued Artemidorus smoothly. ‘And wait to see who comes out of the inevitable confrontation victorious – Antony and Octavianus or Brutus and Cassius. But, on the other hand, she must be well aware that the Roman people may be more indulgent if she joins the war of revenge for the murder of Divus Julius. By whom, after all, she had a son and heir, Caesarion. However, the situation is further complicated. She has shown her hand by sending Allienus and his legions to help us. But now, as we have already discussed, Cassius is at her borders with ten legions. She is defenceless, her people starving and riddled with plague. She will need careful prompting if she is going to look away from more pressing problems at home to go on a naval adventure across Mare Nostrum in support of the general.’
‘But it’s a gamble she would be willing to take if I know her – and I do,’ said Antony, carefully avoiding Fulvia’s eye. ‘The odds against winning are considerable. But the rewards of victory could be incalculable. The thanks of the man who rules the Republic – a special relationship with Rome re-established, even stronger than it was in Divus Julius’ day. The ability to call on forty legions – not just four – to secure her borders and calm any rebellious subjects. A certain, inviolable future for herself, her children, her dynasty. She would gamble almost everything for a prize like that!’
‘Oh!’ said Fulvia, at her most theatrical. ‘If only we had someone we could send to Alexandria to explain all the fabulous things she could win, simply by lending Antony one little navy…’
iii
Artemidorus took Quintus and Ferrata to the next two meetings. The first was early next day and it was with the tribune Enobarbus. As befitted a man of equestrian standing, on Antony’s short-list to become his legate – a citizen of considerable potential on the cursus honorum ladder of power, therefore – Enobarbus lived in a villa on the Quirinial hill. He was an only child of long-dead parents and he had yet to marry; still more interested in soldiering than social or political climbing. The villa was far too big for him, but he had a small army of devoted slaves who kept it tidy and welcoming whether he was in residence or – as much more often – away on campaign.
His tablinum office was not as large as Antony’s. But that was because Antony’s office, like the villa that housed it, had been built by Pompey the Great at the height of his power. Unlike Antony’s, which had added curtains and doors for privacy and protection, Enobarbus’ opened from the atrium in traditional fashion and looked through into the immaculate peristyle garden, and there were no pretty praetorian guards. The stormy weather had passed and the garden was bathed in watery sunshine, whose golden tints gave extra life to the first spring flowers venturing into bloom beneath the still-dripping bushes and trees.
Enobarbus greeted the three men and called for slaves to bring chairs and jentaculum breakfast. They sat around the tribune’s table. The three put their head-gear on the floor easing the swords and daggers on their belts into a comfortable position. Their host, unarmed and dressed in a simple tunic, leaned back and surveyed his guests as though seeing them for the first time. Taking his leisure as he ordered his thoughts.
Like many in the old VIth legion, the Ironclads, Ferrata was from Hispania and had the olive skin and thick black hair usual among his countrymen. He was built like one of the great bulls common in his country. His nose was not unlike the great animals’ muzzles. His one remaining eye was dark brown. The false one painted on the eye-patch matched it, glowering threateningly. A bellicose effect enhanced by the parallel scars on his cheek and the ragged remains of his left ear. Septem had no doubt brought him for his wide practical experience, and for the fact that he was probably the most effective bodyguard in the spy’s command.
Breadth of experience was certainly why he had brought Quintus. Although apparently just an old soldier – albeit a triarius, cream of the crop in the legions – he was actually of ancient patrician blood, fabulously wealthy and master of a huge villa on the Esquiline hill which Septem’s contubernium used as their headquarters in Rome. He was apparently ageless, deceptively slight but whip strong, limitlessly energetic, impossible to outrun, outmanoeuvre or out-fight. His hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and the broad forehead above them spoke of almost limitless knowledge. While the s
cars on his taut-muscled arms and surprisingly large hands hinted at massive familiarity with battles of all sorts. His on-the-ground experience was unrivalled. In whatever way Septem decided to proceed, Quintus would be deeply involved in the practicalities of planning, arming and supply. Then he would be at the forefront of any action.
Jentaculum arrived and the tribune leaned forward. Not to eat but to demonstrate he was ready to get down to business.
Ferrata’s unspoken hope that the food would be as impressive as the setting was dashed at once by the arrival of Caesar’s breakfast – emer bread and posca vinegar water. Quintus, the old soldier and rigid traditionalist grunted his satisfaction and took a mouthful of each, using the vinegar to soften the bread. The tribune spymaster and his centurion secret agent left the food untouched as the briefing began.
‘It is precisely as we calculated,’ began Enobarbus quietly. ‘But the deadlines on the one hand are shorter while being longer on the other.’
Ferrata chewed on a crust of emer bread and frowned – this kind of oratory was beyond him. He wrestled with the idea that things were going to get tighter in the short-term while they would loosen further down the line. He suspected that what the tribune meant was that Septem and their group had better move fast – while the tribune, Antony and their men could put their feet up for a while. But the frown made the discomfort in the side of his head flare into agony, so he let his expression relax. As the pain that so often pierced his head eased, he focused on what the tribune was saying.
*
‘Antony wants you across in Macedonia as fast as possible. You choose who to take with you and how best to proceed. He will furnish any supplies or funds you need if you submit a detailed list to him. Arms and armour too, though I have to say it’s more likely the Quintus here can supply all of your requirements in that area. You go by way of Macedonia for several reasons. First of all it is the quickest and easiest route east – until the sailing season starts in April. Secondly, even when the sailing season does start, any vessel heading east and south across Mare Nostrum from Italy will more than likely run into trouble from the fleets of Murcus and Ahenobarbus. Last reported around Rhodos, ready to come and blockade Brundisium. Thirdly, you will be an effective scouting party for Norbanus and Saxa. Who will arrange some men to accompany you – then wait for them to catch up so they can pass on whatever intelligence you will have gathered. Such intelligence will, of course, become more and more vital, the closer you get to Brutus and his legions. Because, fourthly, the plan is for you to get as far east as practical before heading south: Thessalonika, say, or Neapolis south of Philippi. That way you will be well behind Murcus and Ahenobarbus who will be coming west and north with their fleets – hopefully safe from their interference. You will take ship at the first convenient port and by mid-to-late March you will be in Alexandria. That’s where your real work begins.’
‘Convincing Queen Cleopatra to send a fleet to break any blockade, then to guard Antony’s supply lines,’ nodded Artemidorus.
‘As well as gathering any intelligence you can on Cassius, his position and his plans. And, because of Antony’s nightmare visits by Cicero’s ghost, discovering exactly what there is at Actium in Greece.’
Artemidorus nodded. He was of the Stoic leaning, believing the gods and all the other supernatural beings that peopled Roman superstition were distant and uninterested in human affairs – if they existed at all. But Antony had convinced him that the headless, handless ghost of Cicero had visited on more than one occasion. Saying – despite the lack of head, lips or tongue – he would see Antony at Actium.
Enobarbus continued, ‘Of course, if you are successful, you will be coming back with the Egyptian fleet and with enough intelligence for him to launch his campaign. Antony thinks if all goes well you could be off Brundisium by June or July, able to come straight ashore and report to him.’
‘But he’ll be in Macedonia by then, surely…’ Artemidorus frowned.
‘He thinks not.’ Enobarbus shrugged. ‘He agrees with our assessment that it will take all summer to get all his legions battle-ready. Remember he learned a lot during the Civil War – and even more at the battles of Forum Gallorum and Mutina. Both of which he lost…’
‘If it’s going to be legion against legion,’ said Quintus, ‘he will have to ensure he has the best troops as well as the best supplies and weapons, the best communications and plan.’
Ferrata, chewing the leathery bread, nodded his agreement.
‘And the best navy,’ added Artemidorus. ‘Even if it is Egyptian.’
‘Why isn’t he relying on Octavianus’ fleet after he destroys Sextus Pompey?’ wondered Quintus.
‘Because Octavianus isn’t going to destroy Sextus Pompey,’ answered Enobarbus. ‘You know that as well as I do. All of you. Antony is absolutely certain of it. Octavianus will build his ships – or Agrippa will build them for him. He’ll train his men. He’ll set sail for Sicily. And Sextus Pompey will kick the excrementum out of him!’
‘Then he’ll come back to Antony with his tail between his legs,’ concluded Artemidorus. ‘That’s the general’s plan at least. His navy – whatever is left of it – and his legions will come with him, ready to follow the general’s orders. And the war against Brutus and Cassius will begin in earnest in Sextilis or September, with Antony in total charge; nineteen legions – maybe more – against Brutus and Cassius’ seventeen or so.’
iv
‘This is more like it,’ observed Ferrata as he realised the second meeting of the morning was to be held in one of his favourite tabernae in the Subura. In place of emer bread and posca he ordered farcinem and Alban wine. ‘Not too much water,’ he told the serving girl. ‘And I want the sausages crispy. I’ll have some olives and cheese while I’m waiting.’
‘And a chicken!’ boomed The Gaul’s great voice as he swaggered across to join them. ‘The fattest you’ve got.’
‘Better bring more Alban, then,’ concluded Quintus.
‘How are the first two packages?’ asked Artemidorus as The Gaul sat on the strongest-looking stool there. It creaked beneath his weight.
‘Still stuck in Brundisium,’ he answered. ‘Waiting for a wind. Been there for a couple of days…’
‘We may catch up with them then. We leave as soon as possible and travel as fast as we can.’
‘You may catch up with them or you may not. Depends on the wind and the weather. It’s extra for added sacrifices and libations to Poseidon, Jupiter and Juno, but probably worth it. From what I understand, your two packages are keen to move on.’ He paused, then added, ‘I don’t think they’ve heard the news…’
‘They’re safe in the meantime?’ Artemidorus asked. Neither man was likely to know about Porcia, her death or her funeral, he thought. Yet.
‘In a hospitium I know with a couple of my best men keeping a discreet eye on them.’
‘Good enough. Now, the plan is for my contubernium to leave the city without anyone else noticing. We’re heading down to Brundisium as well, so that will involve travel along the Via Appia. Maybe the Via Latina if we want to split up. We’ve debated the way forward and it seems best if we travel in two or three smaller groups. Ideally as parts of larger companies. But speed is as important as anonymity.’
‘Riding, then; not walking, marching or travelling by cart or carriage,’ emphasised Ferrata with a side glance at Quintus who was almost as helpless on a horse as he was aboard a ship.
‘But who apart from messengers and soldiers would ride down to Brundisium?’ Quintus demanded with a frown.
‘Let me think about that,’ said The Gaul, just as the chicken, sausages, cheese, olives and wine all arrived at once. With a pile of fresh-baked rolls.
‘There’s more,’ warned Quintus. ‘We also need to take some equipment with us…’
The Gaul leaned forward. His voice dropped. ‘I know the sort of equipment you deal in Quintus. And it just so happens that there was a robbery down by Brundisium a
while back. Army blacksmiths. Shocking I know! Depriving the legions of state-of-the-art weaponry. But I happen to know where it ended up and I guarantee it’s as good as anything you can lay your hands on. Good basic stuff – nothing strange or over-fancy. But state-of-the-art as I say. Cutting edge.’
Quintus grunted. Sat back. Grabbed a sausage before Ferrata and The Gaul ate the lot. Lowered his standards and took a soft, crusty roll as though he was undermining the entire civilisation.
Artemidorus sat forward. ‘We could go disguised as messengers or a cavalry unit,’ he allowed. ‘As long as no-one is likely to recognise us.’
‘I was thinking more of a wedding party,’ rumbled The Gaul round a mouthful of chicken, sausage and white roll. ‘Riding south to a ceremony in Lucera, say. Or a group of priests and priestesses bound for the Temple of Vesta in Tibur. Wrong direction I know – but you get the idea. Once you’re out of the city and out of sight you can allow yourselves a little latitude. Or the Temple of Venus in Pompeii come to that. The Temple of Hera at Paestum. The more I think about it…’
The Gaul had just arrived at this point in his thoughts when one of his men pushed into the taberna and rushed across the room.
‘Message from Brundisium,’ he gasped. ‘Just arrived by fast messenger. Nearly killed his horse…’