by Peter Tonkin
‘If things are slipping out of Antony’s control then he should be looking to his own safety.’
‘He will do that, Majesty. But only after he is assured of yours. Can you leave at once? I know your royal vessel is waiting at the harbour in Ostia…’
‘Much of the household has already embarked.’
‘Then leave, Majesty. Leave now. While the Via Salaria is safe and easily passable between here and Ostia. Or do you plan to use your barge and sail down the Tiber?’
‘I will take the road. It is less than twenty of your Roman miles. I can be aboard well before dark.’
‘Would you like me to accompany you, Majesty?’
‘I am tempted, naturally. But I have my household guards. I will be safe.’ She raised her voice very slightly. ‘Charmian! Iras!’
Her two handmaids came immediately. ‘The tribune brings orders from Antony. We must leave at once. I wish to be safe aboard my quinquereme by sunset. Then we will leave on the first convenient tide. Iras, prepare Caesarion. Enobarbus, please assure Antony. We will be aboard by sunset and sail for Alexandria on the first tide.’
‘I will, Majesty. But may I wait until I see you safely on the road?’
‘You are as careful as Caesar was. I shall miss him. And, when I arrive home I fear I shall miss Antony as well. But yes. You may wait and watch until I have left.’
‘May I send one of your men to tell Antony of our plans?’
‘If you wish, oh careful tribune.’ She gave a sad little laugh that almost broke his heart.
*
Marcus Lepidus senior had clearly spared no expense in his son’s education. The youth was extremely knowledgeable. He was also a gifted orator. His voice was mellifluous. Easy to listen to. Seeming to belong to someone older than his years. Like his precocious knowledge and understanding. He loved explaining things. Did so in fascinating depth and detail. And he got on very well with children. The day passed surprisingly easily for Artemidorus and Cyanea, therefore. Almost educationally. They strolled around the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus Capitolinus together with the young man’s gigantic protector, listening and learning quite a lot. It was even better than being accompanied by one of the small army of priests who maintained the place. However, Syrus and his gang followed close behind them. Suspicious of every word and act. But Artemidorus doubted that the erudite boy added much to their store of knowledge. Such as it was.
But the child’s fascination with the things all around him, and the youth’s willingness to explain about them, gave Artemidorus and Cyanea some time to themselves as well. First they went over to young Lepidus’ protector. ‘Everyone just calls me Hercules,’ he told them cheerfully when they asked his name. ‘Well, the Romans do. The Greeks call me Heracles. And there are a fair number of Greeks in Lord Lepidus’ household. I’m in charge of the young master’s physical training. Running. Swimming. Wrestling. Boxing. Riding. Military aspects like sword-play. Javelin. Sling. Bow. How to work in armour.’
‘Sounds like my own youth in Sparta,’ said Artemidorus nostalgically. ‘Does he have to kill a wolf to earn his toga virilis?’
Hercules laughed. ‘No Centurion…’
‘Roman children have it so easy…’ Artemidorus shook his head in mock despair.
‘Do Spartan youths still kill wolves?’ asked Hercules. ‘I thought that tradition died out long ago. That Sparta is…’
‘A place which holidaying Romans visit? For pleasure and instruction? Maybe so. But my family believed in the old ways. And here I am…’
‘Who has filled this boy’s head with all this knowledge?’ asked Cyanea.
‘His father, mostly. Though he has a Greek tutor called Kalikrates for mathematics, oratory, logic…’
Under young Lepidus’ tutelage, they admired the outer architecture. In the Greek style. Built by Sulla after the original temple burned down. But dedicated by Catulus after Sulla’s retirement and death. It was the oldest consecrated space in the city. After walking around the outside, they entered through the huge double doors. Into the magnificent inner space. Left a little littered and untidy after the Libertores’ occupation. Though the priests were doing their best to keep it clean if not tidy. But it was still filled with a dazzling array of statues. Shrines. Religious objects. Musical instruments. Objets d’art. Triumphal offerings. Battle flags. Banners. Legionary eagles. Golden crowns. Mosaics and frescoes. All of which the enthusiastic youngster knew all about.
‘Much more of this and young Antyllus’ head will split,’ chuckled Artemidorus.
‘I think mine already has,’ laughed Cyanea. ‘But it’s time for the child’s prandium. So he can rest his mind while he fills his stomach.’ She produced soft bread and cool milk. Which the child ate and drank greedily. Fortunately, Lepidus was as careful of his son’s body as he was of his education. Antyllus was still tucking into his midday meal when a slave arrived from the magister equitum with a basket full of bread, cheese, fruit, water and wine. More than enough to go round.
The meal, which they enjoyed on the temple steps in the early afternoon sunlight, seemed to be yet another matter that Syrus and his men would want revenge for. Neither Basilus nor Albinus, apparently, were taking proper care of the gladiators’ bodily needs. Certainly not today at any rate. Syrus, thought Artemidorus, had a lean and hungry look. And he was by no means alone in that.
After their meal, Lepidus senior’s slave took the basket away again. Then young Lepidus bounced up with renewed enthusiasm and took them on a guided tour of the temple’s outer space. Which was filled with almost as many wonders as the temple itself had been. And yet more priests. As well as the better part of one hundred hungry gladiators. Which was all to the good, thought Artemidorus. Hungry men are not sharp. Hungry men do not stay. Unless Albinus or Basilus sent up some food soon, the gladiators would lose their fighting edge. And then the Libertores would begin to lose their gladiators.
Artemidorus followed young Lepidus. Half listening to the boy. Indulging in sporadic conversation with both Hercules and Cyanea. His mind actually occupied with Syrus. He and the gladiator had a reckoning coming. There was no doubt of that. He tried to calculate whether he should bring matters to a head here and now. The temptation to do so was great. For once the Libertores felt safe, the gladiators would be dismissed. Then he would lose sight of Syrus. Until he found himself with a dagger in his back. Or his throat cut. Or his head beaten in, down some dark alley one night. Until he found Cyanea raped and murdered. Probably tortured. Unless she simply disappeared. Via Minucius Basilus’ whipping post.
And the whole purpose of Cyanea’s, Hercules’ and his own presence here with the youngsters was to hasten the hour when the Libertores would feel secure. And therefore dismiss the gladiators. Which was when he would lose sight of his enemy.
But Syrus had his gang with him – though he was three men down counting Cestus. There were still at least three others besides the club man. Who might well come to his aid. Avenge his death. And he had no idea how many of the other gladiators would be on Syrus’ side in a confrontation. Furthermore, there were the youngsters to consider. Antony and the Lady Fulvia had sent him up here to guard Antyllus. Not to put him in the middle of a bloody brawl. He frowned, wrestling with the problem.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Cyanea quietly. Her tone worried.
‘How to get rid of Syrus. Permanently. He’s a danger. A distraction.’
‘He’s certainly taking everything personally. Everything you say or do.’
‘He has plans for you too, remember.’
‘Don’t I know it! But I have plans for him. Similar to your plans, I suspect.’
That brought him up short. He knew what Cyanea was capable of. She might even be able to take the club man down. Alone. She would certainly have the element of surprise against the arrogant fool. Who clearly saw her as nothing more than a toy he wished to play his evil games with. And if she did, that would take care of his gang as well. Which mus
cle-brained gladiator would want to avenge a man killed by a woman?
But before he could take that thought any further, the servant Lepidus sent with prandium returned. This time without his basket of food. But with news instead.
‘It is all agreed,’ he informed them, excitedly. ‘The gladiators are to be dismissed. As are the legionaries Lord Lepidus brought over from Tiber Island. There is no need for anyone to keep their guards. They are all friends now. Lords Brutus and Cassius are to dine with Lords Antony and Lepidus. In friendship. Lord Antony suggested it himself. All of the Libertores have been invited to dine with one friend or another. You may all come down and return home.’
*
Fulvia insisted that Artemidorus join them for cena. One way and another, he was rapidly becoming one of her favourites. Having saved her husband and protected her son. He was almost a family member in her eyes. And she feared that the strain of entertaining Cassius would make the meal a long-drawn agony for all of them. Which Artemidorus could alleviate.
Antony acquiesced. Indeed, her insistence gave him an idea. ‘Enobarbus must join Lepidus,’ he announced. ‘That way I will have extra ears at both meals.’ He sent a messenger to Lepidus before he went into the bath. Satisfied that he had found another positive element in a situation that could have been entirely negative. Artemidorus joined him in his ablutions. Cassius did not, for he was still in the Forum. Antony was pleased about this, for he found that he could discuss his plans and fears with the centurion almost as easily as he did with his tribune.
‘Enobarbus will return from Janiculum soon,’ said Antony as he and Artemidorus strolled, naked, from the apodyterium changing room into the icy frigidarium. Artemidorus was pleased to note that even a consul’s scrotum clenched at the chill. He and Antony eased themselves carefully into the water. ‘I sent him up there to make sure Cleopatra left swiftly and safely. He sent a message to tell me all was well. And that he will return soon and brief me in more detail. That is one positive thing in a day that has otherwise been near disastrous.’
‘How so, General?’
‘To be forced by such men into sending my son as hostage…’
‘But, General, even Cicero observed to me that hiding behind a youth and a child made the Libertores look weak.’
‘That’s something I suppose. But the comitia were still far too welcoming of Brutus and Cassius for my taste.’
‘We heard the cheers on the Capitoline,’ admitted Artemidorus.
‘They came near to deafening me!’ Antony heaved himself angrily out of the water and strode, streaming, through to the tepidarium. Artemidorus followed. This time he hardly noticed the naked nymphs and fauns.
They relaxed, side by side in the warm water. ‘It seems that all Rome wants is peace,’ continued Antony. ‘Peace at any price. That’s why the gladiators and the legionaries have all been dismissed. Though once again I’d have preferred to keep my men. But no. The comitia insisted… Can so many of them have hated Caesar so much that they will not even consider vengeance?’
‘They are frightened,’ said Artemidorus. ‘They don’t know which way to turn. They want to hide their heads like children scared of the dark. They want you to tell them everything is all right. That’s all.’
‘But everything is not all right. These men have slaughtered my friend. My mentor. I know we had our differences – what men have not? But we settled them. Like men. How can they… how can anyone… think I will just forgive and forget?’ Antony’s voice was shaking with emotion. His word seemed to echo.
‘Make them believe you will.’ Artemidorus spoke calmly. Hoping to smooth things over. If the general was still in this mood when Cassius arrived, then he might well do more harm than good.
‘I may not have any choice,’ said Antony more reasonably. ‘I’m isolated in the Senate and now my actions are dictated by the comitia. Who, like those self-serving patrician hypocrites, are only looking out for themselves.’
‘But that’s not entirely the case, is it, General?’ asked Artemidorus carefully. ‘You outwitted the Senate yesterday and forced them to ratify Caesar’s plans. Which the comitia supported today. And you have outwitted the comitia by going further than they had even considered by inviting Cassius, Brutus and the rest to dine. At a social occasion such as that you may discuss many topics otherwise closed to you. You will be in an excellent position to discover what the Libertores’ plans are. You and Lepidus, myself and Enobarbus.’
Antony rose thoughtfully, climbed out of the pool. Walked into the caldarium. Artemidorus followed him. They eased themselves side by side into the steaming water. Even more gingerly than they had entered the frigidarium’s icy pool. ‘That’s true,’ Antony allowed. ‘When Enobarbus comes to brief me I will alert him to that possibility in case he can guide the conversation at Lepidus’ table. And these so-called Libertores will have to draw their plans pretty quickly and carefully. Unless they have done so already. Which I doubt, looking at the way they’ve handled things so far. Because old Lucius Calpurnius Piso, Caesar’s father-in-law, is proposing to publish his will tomorrow. And I have seen a copy. Of the preparatory notes, at least. As you know. He named Albinus as one of his beneficiaries! Did you hear? Albinus! Treacherous little cockroach. Then Caesar’s funeral will take place the day after tomorrow with a formal public cremation on the Campus Martius. Outside the city walls as tradition dictates. They’re building the pyre as we speak. Piso is very much in charge, so tradition is very much to the fore. Pompous old fool that he is…’
They moved through into the laconium and lay on the massage benches. The tonsor waited in the corner, razors at the ready. And the brother-and-sister masseurs stood ready as well. Antony gestured to the brother, who came and started working on his broad, square shoulders. Artemidorus was more than content to relax under the silken, steely fingers of the sister. Oddly enough, the sensuous pleasure that filled his body under the probing pressure of her massaging, oiling and strigil scraping also seemed to sharpen his mind.
‘And you will get other opportunities to address the people before the funeral,’ he observed. ‘Your knowledge of the will’s contents will give you a chance to plan your speech carefully.’
‘It’s a pity Calpurnia and her father are against the idea of my doing a funeral oration over his body in the Forum,’ Antony complained. ‘As are the Libertores. That goes without saying. Though I think I might be able to convince Brutus to let me say a word or two. Still… Without the body…’
‘But you don’t need the body, General,’ said Artemidorus softly. ‘Antistius has kept his toga. And has made a complete wax effigy of the corpse.’
*
Artemidorus came out of the bath, oiled, scraped, shaved and relaxed. To find that Fulvia had replaced his battered, often-mended uniform tunic with one of Antony’s. Which embarrassed the centurion. But amused the general. And, indeed, the tribune, when he arrived soon after. Even though he was now the worst dressed of the three. And he was too late to fit in a bath into the bargain. Especially as his twin priorities were now to brief Antony on Cleopatra’s departure. And to be briefed himself on his unexpected but almost immediate date for dinner at Lepidus’. With Brutus as the other guest.
‘Lepidus is going to put Brutus on the same couch as Caesar used, four nights ago, on Dies Martis, the fourteenth,’ said Antony. Amused by Lepidus’ dark irony.
‘I must remember to ask Brutus what sort of death he’d prefer,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Like Albinus asked Caesar that night. Or so I hear.’
‘Long and painful for both of them. If I have anything to do with it. Which I plan to,’ said the general.
Promus arrived then, informing Artemidorus that there was someone at the posticum to see him. So while Antony was briefed by Enobarbus, Artemidorus was briefed by his own secret agent. Ferrata. Who earned another loaf of emmer bread and this time a small amphor of wine.
As Enobarbus was being shown out, Cassius arrived and was shown in. He had come directly f
rom the Forum where he had been talking to the crowd. Who received his words enthusiastically once again. Especially when he arranged for the gladiators to be dismissed. Prompted by the sight of Lepidus’ centuria of soldiers marching back to Tiber Island. But he was hardly dressed or prepared appropriately for dinner with one of the most powerful men in the world. He had not been shaved since the morning of the Ides. He had not bathed since the afternoon before that. His toga was bloodstained. No longer anything like white. Had been slept in. Stank.
‘My dear man!’ said Antony with characteristic, unthinking generosity. ‘Please feel free to use my baths.’
‘I am not here to bathe. I can do that at home,’ snapped Cassius. ‘I am here as a gesture of good faith which you yourself suggested. I am here to dine. Which I hope we can do quickly. Then I can go home to my wife and family. Only then will I be able to change out of this toga and bathe.’
‘Well,’ said Antony affably. ‘I hope you haven’t still got your dagger hidden under there!’
‘I have indeed,’ Cassius growled. ‘And it’s a big one that I’ll be happy to use on you if you’re thinking of becoming another tyrant like Caesar!’
Antony laughed a little hollowly. Clapped his hands. Cassius might not be here to bathe, but fortunately Antony was a courteous and punctilious host. Promus arrived almost at once with a bowl of steaming water and a slave whose job was to wash the guest’s feet and hands. Very thoroughly.
Antony was a gourmet of almost Lucullan proportions. And on the way to his bath he had ordered his cooks and Promus to outdo themselves in the matter of food. And, particularly, wine. Cassius had the reputation of being a modest eater. And an abstemious drinker. But after four days on the Capitoline, he was likely to be unusually hungry. And thirsty.
No sooner had the honoured guest placed himself wearily on the lectus couch in the beautifully appointed triclinum dining room. Next to that occupied by Artemidorus and opposite the third occupied by his host. And the chair beside it where his hostess was seated as tonight was a formal occasion. Than slaves appeared with bowls of iced water. Everyone washed their hands again. The slaves gave each person two cloths. One to dry their fingers. Another to wipe their mouths. Then a tray groaning with gustatio was carried in by three servants. Promus followed with an amphor of honeyed wine.