by Peter Tonkin
‘Cleopatra.’
As they talked, the two soldiers walked through the atrium of the augur and haruspex Spurinna’s villa and entered the little cubicula room where Adonis was happily reunited with his Venus. He was seated behind a solid little table. She was curled contentedly in his lap. Exchanging an embrace which was, perhaps, more intimate than was usual between siblings. Even ones as beautiful as these. The moment the two men entered, the young woman jumped out of her brother’s arms. Stepped back. Stood. Dimpled chin raised. Expression set. Dark blue eyes speculative. Tiny red spots burning on the exquisite curves of her cheekbones. The loose tunic Trebonius’ man had given her still did surprisingly little to conceal her other, equally exquisite, curves.
‘Go to the slave quarters at the back of the house,’ Enobarbus ordered. ‘Ask for a young man there called Kyros. Tell him what you need in the way of clothing, food and drink and he will arrange for you to have it.’
Brother and sister exchanged a glance. ‘It’s all right,’ said Adonis. ‘They have looked after me well. They will do the same for you.’
‘Until we stop being useful to them at any rate,’ said Venus cynically. Her voice velvety and deep. Like the purr of a contented panther. ‘Or until we cease to satisfy them,’ she added.
‘We’re not all like Gaius Trebonius or Minucius Basilus,’ said Artemidorus gently. ‘No one will do anything to you here…’
‘Though if you talked like that in most houses,’ added Enobarbus, ‘you’d lose some skin off your back for it. Whether your master was aroused by the sight or not.’
Venus shrugged and vanished. Artemidorus placed the tablets on the table in front of Adonis. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘To business…’
ii
Artemidorus glanced across at Enobarbus as Adonis sorted out the pile and opened the first wax tablet. Both men had been intimately involved in the ill-fated attempt to keep Caesar alive on the Ides. One as spymaster, the other as spy. Both, like Antony, had been on the steps of Pompey’s Curia, when the murder was committed. Still fighting their losing battle against Brutus, Cassius, Decimus Albinus, Trebonius and the rest. Artemidorus had been the first man into the deserted chamber after the horrified senators and the jubilant, blood-smeared Libertores had run out. The man who had seen the terrified Senate Secretary Adonis slipping away from the scene of the crime.
It was Artemidorus who actually discovered the body, therefore. Lying like a garish pile of soiled washing at the foot of Pompey’s statue. Gold and purple liberally splashed with darkening crimson. Who trod in the lake of Caesar’s blood as he made sure the recently deified god was actually dead. Ensured that the folds of his torn toga covered his legs in a decent manner. And covered his head in the proper religious form. Particularly important as Caesar had been Pontifex Maximus, the chief priest of the city and its burgeoning empire.
Artemidorus was also with Antistius when the physician carried out his post-mortem examination of Caesar’s body, cataloguing the number and severity of the wounds. Discovering, ironically, the list of suspected murderers that Artemidorus himself had given Caesar on the way to the Curia. Unopened and unread, still in the fold of his sleeve he used as a pocket.
But neither the spy–centurion nor the spymaster–tribune had been in the Curia to witness the deed. As far as they knew, no one had yet given exact details of who did what and when during that momentous incident. Even Brutus and Cassius themselves had been unable to recall the exact sequence, blinded and confused as they were by a heady mix of terror and elation. There were almost as many versions flying around the city as there had been men with bloody daggers.
It might have seemed incredible to Artemidorus and Enobarbus that so many should have seen the same thing and yet perceived it and remembered it differently. But then they had both spent many years sifting through the various reports of their secret operatives. No two ever quite the same. And both had served enough time with Caesar in Egypt, Gaul, and in those parts of the empire to which the civil war had taken him, to know that his published versions of these adventures often differed radically from their own memories. What Adonis was going to tell them, therefore, was the first actual blow-by-blow reconstruction of precisely how Caesar had met his end. And the promise of it seemed, to Artemidorus at least, simply breathtaking.
‘We were outside,’ he said brusquely. ‘We saw for ourselves what passed between Gaius Trebonius and Co-consul, General Mark Antony.’
‘And you need not bother to detail the comings and goings of Caesar’s golden curule chair as he was rumoured to be coming and then not coming and then coming again,’ added Enobarbus.
‘Tell us what happened as clearly as you can from the moment Caesar entered…’
Adonis picked up the long bronze stylus he would use to make his notes in the firm-set wax of the first open tablet. ‘Caesar entered hurriedly,’ Adonis began, as he began to make his shorthand notes. ‘Led by Decimus Albinus. By the hand. As though Caesar were a child. Albinus released Caesar and moved away as he came to the dais where his golden chair was standing. With a small work table just beside it. He was dressed in his gold-patterned tunic and his purple toga. He was wearing his royal-red caligae boots. And a golden coronet fashioned to look like a victor’s laurel wreath. He was carrying papyrus scrolls, wax tablets. And a long bronze stylus just like this one.’ Adonis held the stylus up. Its sharp point gleamed wickedly.
‘Even before Caesar reached the dais on which his seat and table had been erected, the whole front row of the Senate, and many others beside, were on their feet hurrying towards him. They reached him as he stepped up onto it and prepared to sit. As Secretary to the Senate, I have to be able to name all the important Conscript Fathers, for sometimes in the heat of debate, the Father of the House forgets to name the next speaker he calls upon. I certainly knew most of the men coming forward, though towards the end there seemed to be almost a hundred of them milling around at the back.’ His eyes opened wide and he frowned as he directed his intense gaze upon his two interrogators.
‘My position as secretary was on Caesar’s left, on the floor of the Curia and therefore below him,’ he explained. ‘Half a dozen paces distant, beside the keepers of the water clocks. My head perhaps level with his waist. While I was seated at any rate. And I was a pace or two behind him as well. But I could see quite clearly.’ He lowered his gaze and his sharp-pointed stylus, making his notes on the wax in front of him as he spoke. ‘The first senator to approach him was Lucius Tillius Cimber, who caught at the hem of his toga even as he was sitting down and arranging his scrolls and tablets. Piling most of them on the little table so he could attend to them during the debates, as he often did. But as soon as he had done this, Caesar half rose. A group of senators gathered round, supporting Cimber, though he had not yet begun to plead his case. The sheer weight of numbers seemed to make Caesar sit back again. Cimber rose to full height then and began loudly to plead for the return of his brother Publius Cimber, who had been exiled by Caesar. He kissed Caesar’s hand, then his forehead, leaning down over him while the others crowded round. The Casca brothers, Publius Casca and Gaius Casca, were the closest. Then Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius, then Decimus Albinus, Pontius Aquila, Minucius Basilus…’
‘Very well,’ interrupted Enobarbus. ‘You need not tell us who was in the queue. Tell us what order they struck in. That will be sufficient for our needs, I think. For the moment at least.’
Artemidorus nodded in silent agreement.
‘So,’ said Adonis. ‘Caesar was sitting down again, as though overwhelmed by Tillius Cimber’s kisses and demands. In the meantime, the group of senators I have just named closed around him. All at once, Caesar struggled to get up, spilling some of his scrolls and tablets onto the floor of the dais. As though suddenly alarmed by the crowd of senators and their demands.
‘Then it began. Cimber abruptly grabbed a firm hold of Caesar’s toga and pulled with great strength. This moved the heavy folds of material across Caesar’s shoulder and lai
d bare the left side of his neck. Right across to the shoulder joint of his left arm. And his chest, down to the neckline of his tunic. Caesar made things worse for himself by pushing upwards, calling, “Ista quidem vis est! This is violent assault!”
‘At the same time, Cimber called, “Quid te amicorum exspectas? What are you waiting for, friends?”’
The boy looked down, falling silent as he wrote rapidly on the wax of the tablet.
iii
After a moment, he continued to speak. ‘Publius Casca produced a dagger then. His was the first of many that suddenly appeared. He had it hidden beneath his toga. Most of the others did too, but some of them had daggers hidden in writing cases. Publius Casca struck for Caesar’s unprotected throat from behind his left shoulder. Aiming for the section of Caesar’s neck uncovered when Tillius Cimber pulled his toga aside. I saw it clearly from where I was seated. Though I rose to my feet almost at once. As Caesar himself was still trying to do. Because of Caesar’s sudden movement, Publius Casca missed. His arm went right across Caesar’s shoulder. His elbow was almost in the crook of Caesar’s neck, beneath his ear. The golden coronet Caesar had been wearing was knocked off by this. But Casca’s dagger hardly scratched Caesar’s breast. Seeing the dagger, Caesar must have understood the full danger then. He caught Casca’s right wrist and stabbed his stylus completely through the forearm.’ The boy held up his own stylus, its nib now caked with wax, but still looking almost as sharp as Artemidorus’ pugio dagger.
‘Publius Casca screamed out at that,’ Adonis continued. ‘Even as Caesar shouted, “Contemptus Casca! Contemptible Casca! What does this mean?”
‘By way of answer, Casca called something in Greek. I suppose it was a cry for help because the other Casca, Gaius, came to his brother’s aid. For he too was very close beside Caesar. And still at his left shoulder. Caesar let go of the stabbed arm and half-turned, rising to his feet at last. The golden curule chair fell off the back of the dais. Gaius Casca pushed the little work table aside and came right up to him. And drove his dagger in under Caesar’s ribs straight up into his chest.’
‘That was the blow Antistius the physician said was the fatal one,’ nodded Artemidorus grimly. ‘None of the others were deadly in themselves…’
Enobarbus nodded too, his expression grim. ‘Go on, boy. Who attacked next?’
‘Cassius,’ answered Adonis. ‘Caesar tore free of Publius Casca, but kept hold of Gaius Casca’s arm, almost as though he was using the murderer as a crutch to keep himself erect as they staggered together down onto the floor of the Curia itself. Even though Gaius Casca’s dagger was still buried in Caesar’s side.’
‘Making sure there were no more up-and-under strokes…’ suggested Artemidorus knowledgeably. ‘Especially if he was facing Cassius. He’s a real soldier. Knows his pugio dagger-work. Expert, in fact, with pugio and gladius. And Caesar would have known that. Besides, the moment Gaius’ dagger came out, so would Caesar’s blood. And he’d weaken pretty quickly after that.’
‘Good point,’ allowed Enobarbus grimly. ‘And Gaius Casca would have been a useful shield for his vulnerable left side as well. That’s possibly why most of the rest of the wounds were in the head, shoulder and arm on the right side. Go on, boy,’ he repeated. ‘What next?’
‘Still holding onto Gaius Casca, Caesar stumbled forward. Cassius was there just beyond the edge of the dais. He stepped in and he stabbed Caesar in the face. Caesar saw the blade coming and turned away. Even so, Cassius opened him up from his hairline to his chin. Cut his eyebrow open to the bone. Nose and cheek. But missed his mouth. Caesar barged past him, staggering. Dragging Gaius Casca along as he moved. Then the rest closed round him and it’s a little more difficult to be precise. Caesar was calling “Adiuva me! Help me!” and “Proditio! Treachery, treason!” In spite of the wound to his face, his voice and words were quite clear. There must have been six hundred senators there. And not one of them raised a finger. Quite the opposite. Most of them were heading for the door. In case they were next on the murderers’ list after Caesar, I suppose.’
‘It’s a wonder you could still see what was happening with all that panic, hustle and bustle going on,’ probed Enobarbus.
‘Oh, they stayed well clear of the assassins,’ explained Adonis. ‘It was as though Brutus, Cassius and the rest had some kind of plague. There was a clear area all around them and I was standing up by then of course. And all alone, as a matter of fact. The other secretaries and the men keeping the water clocks had all taken off like frightened hares. So. The next thing I saw was Senator Bucolianus, Senator Caecilius’ brother, coming round behind Caesar and stabbing him in the back. The rest closed in, stabbing him in the arm, head and shoulder. I think one or two of them wounded Gaius Casca into the bargain for Caesar was still using him as a shield. He stopped calling out for help. They were stabbing so wildly that they began to wound each other as well as Caesar and Gaius Casca. Marcus Brutus tried to join in but Cassius stabbed him right through the hand and he fell back. Minucius Basilus also missed Caesar and stabbed Rubrius Ruga in the thigh. There was blood everywhere.
‘Caesar, blinded by the blood from the wound in the face that Cassius had given him, did not see Marcus Brutus, though they were almost nose to nose. Still leaning on Gaius Casca, he dashed his right hand down his face and cleared his vision for a few moments, swinging round again. It was then, as I told you earlier, he recognised Decimus Brutus Albinus. He said, “You too, Brutus?” Decimus Albinus was getting ready with an answer. A sneering one judging from his face. But someone slipped in the blood and rolled across the floor, distracting him. I couldn’t see who it was too clearly, but I’m almost certain it was Minucius Basilus, still staggering back having stabbed Rubrius Ruga. I’d been watching Basilus because he looked as though he was really enjoying himself. In a sick sort of way. Even when he stabbed the wrong man.
‘Senator Pontius Aquila helped Basilus up again and tried to stop him attacking Caesar once more. For it was clear by now that the poor man was dying. But Basilus tore free and went back onto the attack. Stabbing Caesar in the back once more before he went to join the others standing silently, looking on. So then, at the end, when they had all stabbed Caesar at least once and began to fall back, Marcus Brutus came forward a second time. That’s when Caesar saw him and said, “Kai su teknon? You too, my son?” He said it loudly. Angrily. He was not saddened or defeated. He was outraged. He almost shouted the words as though he wanted everyone there to hear them clearly.
‘And Brutus stabbed him in the groin. A low blow, curving upwards almost from his knees. There was no doubt in my mind that he was aiming for his genitals. That he was aiming to emasculate him. For Caesar had, as everyone knows, been sleeping with Brutus’ mother throughout the whole of Brutus’ life. But the word “teknon” son, seemed to hit him like a blow. And by then in any case, Gaius Casca had finally pulled himself away and Caesar was beginning to collapse. There was a great cascade of blood as Gaius tore his dagger free. And that rush of blood was enough to make Caesar stagger and begin to crumble. So Brutus’ dagger went into his hip as much as into his groin and wedged there. It tore out of Brutus’ grip as Caesar turned away, beginning to collapse at last. I think he groaned, as I have told you. But he said nothing further. He staggered a step or two as his murderers stood back, apparently overawed by what they had done. Then Caesar finally fell at the foot of Pompey’s statue. And they turned and ran like a flock of birds all taking flight at once. Caesar was writhing and twitching weakly as he finally succumbed. Trying to make sure his toga covered him properly and decently at the moment of his death.’
‘That’s Caesar all right,’ nodded Enobarbus. ‘Always careful of appearances.’
‘Right to the very end,’ Artemidorus nodded. ‘Like Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans oiling their hair at Thermopylae… Go on boy. What next?’
‘He stopped twitching and lay still and that was that. The Curia was empty and strangely silent. Everyone else had
run away. And I thought I’d better get out of there myself. That’s when we saw each other, Centurion. Me on the way out of that slaughterhouse. You on the way in.’
iv
‘So,’ said Antony sometime later. ‘Of the so-called Libertores, who are twenty-two in number, not counting their hangers-on, we now have a shortlist of twelve.’ The three men and Fulvia were in the atrium of Antony’s house. Adonis and Venus were in the culina kitchen with Ferrata and Hercules keeping an eye on them. Waiting in case Antony wanted to question them in person. Quintus was on his way back to the VIIth. Spurinna was taking auguries at the altar on the Field of Mars with Kyros in attendance, having left Puella at home. And Antistius had gone back to his villa where several patients and a good number of clients were waiting. The three men and one woman were seated around the table Antony liked to use when holding meetings and formulating plans. A large amphora of wine in a holder and a big jug of water stood in the middle of the table. The one half empty and the other untouched. Of the four green glass goblets there, only one was wet.
‘In the order of their involvement as detailed by our witness. Yes,’ Artemidorus answered his general. ‘There’s a group of ten or so that the boy Adonis did not see clearly enough to name individually. But we know who they are from our own observations of who went up to the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus Capitolinus on the Ides. Waving their daggers, showing off their bloodstained hands and boasting about their deed.’
‘But the boy has given us twelve names in precise order,’ Fulvia said. Her tone placing the words halfway between a statement and a question.
‘Blow by blow,’ nodded Enobarbus grimly.
Antony put down his goblet and held out his hand. Artemidorus passed him the papyrus scroll onto which Adonis had written the names of the men he had identified. In the order those names appeared in his account of the murder. As written on the wax tablets. And sealed in case it ever came to a law case. The three men discussed them as Antony read them aloud. Fulvia inserting her observations as the conference proceeded.