by Peter Tonkin
‘Decimus Albinus and Gaius Trebonius were first on my list too,’ said the general. ‘So it’s good to see them first and second here. When it eventually comes to spiking heads in the Forum, theirs will be well ahead of the others.’ He chuckled at his play on words. No one else did.
‘Yes, General,’ nodded Enobarbus. ‘You have made your wishes on that score clear.’
‘Good,’ said Antony. ‘Then who’s next?’ There was a short pause, then he continued. ‘Not that it much matters who heads up the list,’ Antony tried for a laugh again. With no success.
‘The heads belonging to the Casca brothers, perhaps,’ suggested Enobarbus. ‘Publius – who struck the first blow. And Gaius – who struck the fatal one.’
‘I’ve heard a rumour that Publius Casca contacted Cicero a while ago – a bit like Decimus Albinus,’ said Antony, giving up on witticism for the moment. ‘He wants the old windbag to put a case together distancing him from the Libertores and the murder itself. Publius apparently says he’s not guilty of anything. Because his dagger missed Caesar in the first instance. And after he was stabbed through the arm he took no further part in the attack. None of the twenty-three wounds was actually made by him. Though in my opinion, even Cicero will find it hard to make a decent defence out of that.’
‘Won’t stop him trying, though, if things get any worse for the so-called Libertores,’ said Enobarbus cynically. ‘Publius Casca will just be the first among many to desert when the going gets hard. And, talking of Cicero, there’s still no legal ruling on Brutus and the patricide charge is there? It’s been a while. And I hear Cicero’s left the city…’
Everyone around the table shook their heads. Enobarbus paused for a moment, frowning, then asked, ‘Who’s next on the list?’
‘Cassius,’ Artemidorus answered. ‘Really and truly, he should be first in the file, General. He’s the main motivator of the whole thing. He was the one who really hated Caesar. Possibly for something as petty as being passed over for the post of praetor urbanus chief judge in the city, when Caesar gave it to Brutus. Praetor peregrinus chief judge outside the city and the promise of Proconsul of Syria were just not enough to satisfy him. And he’s a good soldier. Outstandingly good, in fact. He led ten thousand out of the slaughterhouse at Carrhae when Marcus Licinius Crassus lost seven legions, his son and his head to the Parthians.’
‘A defeat which Caesar should be marching to avenge even now,’ said Antony quietly, picking up his goblet. ‘We even discussed his battle plan and how he was going to do it.’
‘But just as Cassius – and Cicero – wanted you to be slaughtered alongside Caesar, so we need to get rid of Cassius as quickly as possible,’ said Fulvia, her voice trembling with outrage.
Artemidorus nodded his agreement. ‘He’s the only one of them who has the ability not only to build an army but to deploy it in the field against you, General. Brutus, Trebonius and Decimus Albinus are all good. But they’re not in Cassius’ league. If it was up to me, his head would be the first one spiked in the Forum. When the time comes, as the Lady Fulvia says.’
‘That’s where our hands are tied for the moment,’ said Antony, with a frown of frustration. Finding his goblet empty, he reached for the amphora. He grunted with the effort of lifting it. Poured carefully. Replaced it in its stand. Glanced at the water. Looked away. Drank the thick, dark liquid neat. Then continued. ‘Any action against Cassius or Brutus would do as much damage as taking the head of Cicero himself. Which the Lady Fulvia is also keen for me to do, incidentally. But I can’t. Yet. The Senate would proscribe us all. Declare us hostis outlaws and enemies of the state. And that would mean the confiscation of all our moneys and assets. Villas. Everything. Put our families out onto the street or make them reliant on the generosity of those few friends willing to risk contamination by associating with us.’ He looked at Fulvia for several heartbeats. Then added, ‘Not to mention putting us personally at the top of everyone else’s kill list.’
v
‘Better get back to our own kill list then,’ suggested Artemidorus. ‘It was more brothers next, wasn’t it? Bucolianus and Caecilius. Senators. Not really notable for anything else. Other than being friends of Cicero.’
‘I’ll put signs up saying who they were when I display their heads,’ said Antony. ‘But the first ones that go up must be easily recognisable. I want people to see them and say, “Look, that’s Gaius Trebonius… He took Antony aside while Caesar was being slaughtered…” Knowing whose head it is and why it’s there is the whole, entire point!’
‘On the other hand, we could make Cicero stand beneath them and explain who they were to passers-by,’ suggested Fulvia acrimoniously. ‘He’d make an excellent praeco town crier announcing all the news as well.’
‘And upcoming events,’ added Antony, matching her tone. ‘Such as his own imminent execution.’
Artemidorus and Enobarbus exchanged glances. Under his wife’s bitter influence, the general’s mood was darkening dangerously. This was what they feared and hoped to avoid by bringing the list themselves and keeping Adonis the witness out of the picture for the moment. For Antony in one of his rages could be fatally unpredictable. Only Fulvia could control him then. Or Cleopatra. But one of them was in Alexandria and the other seemed set on making things worse instead of better.
‘Minucius Basilus is next,’ said the spy grimly. ‘He’s top of my personal hit list. He tortured my friend Telos to death and turned Cyanea into a double agent by threatening to torture her as well. He enjoys making people scream and suffer. It’s something I’d like to see if he enjoyed himself. Screaming and suffering…’
‘I’d heard Trebonius likes the sound of suffering too,’ said Antony, distracted. ‘And the sight of it apparently arouses him.’
‘If you want details of that, all you have to do is ask Venus and Adonis,’ said Artemidorus. ‘I’m sure they’d be happy to describe all his little predilections.’
Antony gave a grunt. ‘Who’s next?’ he scanned the list. ‘Pontius Aquila! Now he and Caesar did have some history. Do you remember when Pontius refused to stand as Caesar went by at… oh which of the triumphs was it?… And for weeks afterwards, every decision Caesar made was capped with the words, if Pontius Aquila will allow me…’ His chuckles grew deeper. His mood was lightening. ‘Made a laughing stock of the pompous little nothus bastard. Well, that only leaves one name on your secretary’s list,’ he said.
‘Marcus Junius Brutus,’ nodded Artemidorus.
‘Brutus has the respect of the populous,’ emphasised Fulvia shortly. ‘He’s dangerously popular. Men like that should be among the first to die! Him and Cassius.’
‘And, as we keep saying, General, Cassius is one of the few men able to raise an army and bring it to the field against you. There is no end to how dangerous he is.’
‘But as long as he stands with Brutus, he has the love of the plebs and the protection of the Senate. I cannot proscribe him. I cannot have him killed by my secret agents and assassins. Even if he was struck down by the gods themselves, his death would be laid at my door. No. We need to watch. Watch and wait. For Cicero’s ruling if for nothing else…’
‘Where are Brutus and Cassius now?’ demanded Fulvia suddenly. ‘I know their villas in the city are closed. But they must be somewhere…’
Enobarbus glanced at Artemidorus. ‘Septem?’
‘The most recent intelligence we have,’ said the spy, ‘is that they are both staying at Cassius’ villa in Antium. It’s a big place by all accounts. Plenty of room for the two of them, their families and slaves. Overlooking the sea. Thirty military miles or so due south of here. A day’s march. Straight down the Via Appia.’
‘Have you got eyes on all of them?’ Fulvia demanded.
‘Not all of them,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘Only the important ones. The ones with disaffected or bribeable slaves. The ones that are the subject of gossip in the Forum. Decimus Albinus is still in his city villa, surrounded by his gladiators �
� in spite of the message you sent him, General. Cicero is in Puetoli. I guess he plans to stay for a while. Maybe until Ludi Megaleses are over in mid Aprilis. He doesn’t approve of the riotous games that are part of the festival. He’ll likely head back here from Puetoli then. That’s a three-day journey. Still straight along the Via Appia. Minucius Basilus is down there too. But on the far side of Neapolis and Monte Vesuvio. He has a big place in Pompeii.’
‘Now that’s a town I’d like to visit,’ said Antony, apparently oblivious to the glare Fulvia shot at him. ‘No end of a good time to be had in Pompeii I hear. Wall-to-wall women and all of them wild and willing…’
We’ve lost sight of Trebonius, however,’ concluded Artemidorus. ‘But I’m fairly certain Venus or Adonis will have a good idea where he’s headed. I just haven’t asked them yet.’
vi
‘Pompeii,’ purred Venus. Her tone was calm. Measured. Her gaze level and steady. If she was nervous being questioned by the most powerful man in the world she did not show it. Not even Fulvia’s steely glances seemed to discomfit her. She was clearly used to being looked at. In a range of ways. Artemidorus was impressed. And a little disturbed. This was a woman who liked to live dangerously. She reminded him of Cyanea.
‘Pompeii again,’ said Antony thoughtfully, swirling the thick dark wine in his goblet. ‘Does Gaius Trebonius own property there, girl?’
‘No, Lord Antony. He is staying with Minucius Basilus. Basilus owns a large villa in Pompeii. I believe it looks out over the bay beside Neapolis. My master often visits there.’
‘Have you been there yourself?’ asked Artemidorus, intrigued.
‘No, Centurion. I have been fortunate. Very few of the women my master takes down there ever return.’
‘What does he do with them?’ wondered Fulvia. ‘Sell them on?’
‘To the brothels?’ added Antony. ‘I hear the place is full of…’
‘I think not, my Lord,’ Venus’ throaty purr interrupted Antony’s question. ‘The household slaves say that the body-slaves – especially the young women – do not survive the visits. What Basilus and my master do to them.’
There was a brief silence. Then Antony said, ‘Maybe you should go down and see what Trebonius and Basilus are up to, Septem. At the very least we might be able to tarnish the reputations of two such upright senators. Who apparently enjoy torturing female slaves to death. Not really consonant with old Roman dignitas, is it? Even if slaves count as property rather than as people. How soon could you get to Pompeii and back?’
‘On horseback,’ said Artemidorus. Careful not to let Antony’s unique approach to dignitas – which famously included chasing enemies through the Forum drunk out of his mind and armed with a sword – interfere with his own aplomb. ‘Three days each way. Maybe less. I usually reckon that a fast messenger can get right down to Brundisium inside a week. One of Caesar’s new seven-day weeks. And that’s twice the distance.’
‘It’s worth considering,’ decided Antony. ‘I’d like to know what the pair of them get up to. And, beyond that, whether Trebonius still plans on taking up the proconsulship of Asia that Caesar had planned for him. And, if so, where his loyalties are likely to lie…’
‘Well, in that case, Antony, send Septem to Pompeii,’ Fulvia said. ‘And do it at once! While we wait for Cicero’s ruling on Caesar’s last words. In the face of all this political prevarication it is something we can actually do. Without upsetting the Senate. Without offending Cicero. Without just waiting for the next disaster to come down on us…’
The conversation had reached this point when Antony’s major-domo Promus entered. ‘My Lord… my Lady… there is a messenger from Magister Equitum Lepidus. A legionary from the Seventh. He says he brings important news.’
Antony shook his head. Gave a dry, humourless chuckle. ‘Too late my dear,’ he said. ‘The next disaster has clearly arrived. Show him in, Promus. Oh. And take this pretty little thing – Venus is it? – back to the kitchen. We’ll have more to ask her later.’
*
Artemidorus did not recognise the legionary who strode into the atrium a few moments later and slammed self-importantly to attention. Took off his helmet and cradled it against his chain-mailed chest with his right arm. As though it was a baby he was intent on strangling. ‘General Antony! I bring a message from my general, Gaius Lepidus.’
‘Go on, boy. Spit it out. I wasn’t expecting a message from Mercury or Mars…’
‘General Lepidus has just received word from the legate commanding the legions in Dyrrachium…’
‘Dyrrachium?’ interrupted Fulvia. ‘What…’
‘The city at the western end of the Via Egnatia, as you will remember, my dear,’ said Antony easily. ‘On the coast of Illyria ad orientalem eastwards across the Mare Hadriaticum Adriatic Sea opposite Brundisium. Caesar fought a great battle against Pompey there, in which I myself played a not inconsiderable part. Though I didn’t feature much in the version of events he published soon after. That was four years ago. It is currently the staging post for no fewer than six legions, waiting to head for Parthia as soon as someone can mount Caesar’s proposed campaign. Yes, legionary. Please carry on with your message.’
‘My Lord, I have to report that the legate of the Fifth Legion, the Alaude, Larks, sent an urgent message to Gaius Lepidus as commander of the Seventh. The message contains the following information…’ The legionary drew in his breath, his face folded into a frown of intense concentration. ‘The legate wished Lepidus to know the following. That Caesar’s nephew and heir Gaius Octavius has been training with the legions at Dyrrachium and Apollonia just south of it. In preparation for assuming his post as Magister Equitum to Caesar himself when the Parthian campaign begins. The young man has made many friends among the officers of the legions in Dyrrachium and has established himself as a firm favourite with the men.’
‘Well done him!’ said Antony, amused. ‘Not bad for a sickly whelp who should probably have been drowned at birth. Yes, legionary? Is there more?’
‘Yes, General,’ answered the legionary, his frown of concentration deepening. ‘The legate wished Gaius Lepidus to know that on receipt of news that Caesar was dead and that he had named Gaius Octavius as his heir, Gaius Octavius and two of his closest associates, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and Quintus Salvidienus Rufus, who had been studying together with him, took ship. Their plan was to land somewhere near Brundisium. The legate’s messengers have travelled as swiftly as possible and it is unlikely that Octavius and his friends have made much progress other than coming ashore here in Italy. So far.’
‘So that has Lepidus all girlishly aquiver, does it? A sickly boy and two near-nonentities. Who may or may not be a week to ten days’ journey away from Rome?’ Antony shook his head in exasperation.
‘My Lord,’ said Fulvia quietly. Her use of Antony’s title and the tone in which she spoke focused the mind of every man there. ‘A boy perhaps, and a sickly one. But a boy who may call himself Caesar and stand as heir not only to his name but his fortune. A boy, moreover, who has already made himself popular with six entire legions. Legions, I should add, that you will need to recall and control should anything go wrong with our current plans. A boy who I believe you should be careful not to underestimate. And, if the gods are with him, he might well have come ashore three days ago. If he landed then and gets some decent horses, he could be here in little more than ten days’ time.’
There was the briefest of silences. Then Antony spoke. ‘Very well. You are right, as ever, my dear. Septem. Forget Trebonius and Basilus. You can catch up with them later. Put Cicero and the patricide question on one side for the moment. We’ll come back to it in due course. Leave for Brundisium as soon as you can manage it. Find young Octavius either there or on the road coming here. He can only use the Via Appia so it shouldn’t be too hard to hit upon him. You were briefly in Spain with Caesar, weren’t you? And saw the boy there?’
‘From a distance. But I would know him again.’
‘Excellent. There you are then. Find him. Bring him to me. With or without Quintus Rufus and Marcus Agrippa.’
vii
Artemidorus’ first port of call was the Seventh Legion’s cavalry unit on the Campus Martius. Ferrata and Hercules followed him. On the way there, he left his two companions and stuck his head through the gate in the wooden-walled practice area and called to Quintus, who was testing a range of nasty-looking bows there, with an assistant. Who was left to clear everything up as the triarius answered the centurion’s summons. Under Quintus’ eagle eye, the legionary in charge of the cavalry turmae squadron, selected the best horses he had available and put four of the swiftest and a brawny packhorse at the disposal of the spy and his little cohort. Together with the four most comfortable saddles the unit owned.
The need for four fast horses had arisen out of a brief conversation in the culina kitchen of Antony’s villa earlier.
‘Straight down the Via Appia,’ said Ferrata round a mouthful of boiled egg. ‘You’d better pray that the news of young Octavius’ arrival hasn’t leaked out too far yet. And that no one could ever guess Antony might send someone to greet him. The first few miles of the Appian Way are lined with tombs. Perfect for ambushes and murder attempts. You’d better watch your back, Septem.’
‘I’ve got a better idea, Ferrata. Why don’t you watch it for me?’
‘Stercus! Shit! Me and my big mouth. And who’s going to watch my back?’
‘Hercules here. If Lepidus will spare him for a while longer.’
The gigantic tutor looked up with a smile. ‘Better than being stuck in a classroom all day,’ he rumbled. ‘But I have a very large back myself. And unlike you, I’m a tutor not a soldier. And therefore possess little in the way of armaments and armour.’
‘Don’t worry. I have just the man to guard your back, even though it is pretty broad.’
‘But if you’re coming with us, Hercules, you’re going to need a bloody great horse,’ said Ferrata. ‘Several, in fact…’