by Peter Tonkin
Brutus and Cassius will be calculating on giving the most magnificent games they can, Enobarbus had briefed his secret agent on Antony’s behalf. And using them to gain the favour of the plebs. But the general thinks he can outwit them.
‘It is still some weeks to the Games of Apollo,’ said Cassius, as Brutus sat, white-faced with shock and outrage; almost as pale as his sickly wife. ‘We will have plenty of time to discuss the general’s generous offer. But there are matters of more immediate importance here…’
‘Crete!’ snapped Brutus. ‘He says they’re offering me Crete next year. After all the money I have invested in the games – which I won’t apparently be presenting in person – he says they’re offering me Crete next year! I’ll never come close to recouping my losses there. I need Syria! Macedonia!’
‘I seem to have a choice,’ added Cassius drily. ‘Sicily or Cyrene. Pirates or desert. Cyrene! They might as well have offered me Carthage! There’s nothing there but dust.’
‘No legions with either governorship! That’s the point,’ said Brutus angrily. ‘Precious little tax revenue and no legions.’
‘My general wondered whether you might like a little freedom to begin exploring your new responsibilities,’ said Artemidorus gently. ‘Though you cannot undertake them officially until next Januarius, of course.
‘General Antony has convinced the Senate that now might be the perfect opportunity to offer you the post of Corn Commissioners for Asia,’ he continued smoothly. ‘He suggests that these appointments might well suit you on several levels. Firstly, they are lucrative. Overseeing the shipment of grain from the East offers all sorts of profitable opportunities to experienced administrators such as yourselves.’ His gaze lingered apparently innocently on Brutus who was infamous for the rapacity of his administrations and governorships. ‘Also the appointment as commissioners, which you could take up at once if you so decide, would automatically make you free to travel out of Italy. With your families and households, should you choose to take them. Without further permission or interference. And at the Senate’s expense…’
‘Very generous, I’m sure,’ sneered Cassius. ‘Antony’s back is to the wall. He’s running out of money himself. In spite of the speed with which I hear he’s forging documents in Caesar’s name and selling posts or taking bribes. Going through the treasury as fast as he went through the wines in Pompey’s cellar when he moved into Pompey’s villa.’ He gave a dry, angry laugh. ‘The Senate is against him. At least Cicero’s letters say so. And they won’t turn a blind eye to his barefaced corruption for much longer. Moreover, they’ve formally appointed Decimus Albinus as Governor of Cisalpine Gaul – with three legions – and he’s already taken up the post I understand. Not even Antony could stop that! So Antony dare not leave Rome for any length of time in case our friend and ally Albinus steals it out from under him in his absence. Therefore, of course he wants us out of the way as soon as possible.’
‘And,’ added Brutus, ‘there’s the question of young Octavius. I hear he’s in Italy. What effect will he have on Antony and his plans I wonder?’
‘At the moment, Lord Praetor, young Caesar Octavius is putting together an army as quickly as he can. So that he can come after the men who murdered his adoptive father,’ said Artemidorus with some relish. ‘He plans to proscribe and execute them all.’
‘An army!’ Cassius shook his head with a patronising laugh as though he had only heard the beginning of Artemidorus’ speech. ‘And he’s a sickly boy, what, eighteen years old?’ Everyone on the airy balcony laughed, the sound of their merriment blending with the screaming of the gulls riding the air currents nearby. Only Artemidorus and Quintus remained straight-faced and silent.
‘So,’ said Artemidorus quietly as the patrician mirth died down. ‘What shall I tell Lord Antony?’
‘That we thank him for his letters and his generous offers,’ said Cassius smoothly. ‘And that we require a little more time to think them over and to discuss them. Amongst ourselves. And with our friends.’
v
Aurora came into the narrows between the barren island of Procida and the huge military port of Misenum on the mainland just before sunset. The north wind had strengthened as she left Antium and blew her southwards with impressive rapidity. She slid into the Bay of Neapolis as darkness fell. The rowers eased her towards the city dock while the deckhands furled the sail and got ready to heave the cargo out of the hold.
‘You have a choice,’ announced Lucius Silus. ‘You can either eat with the crew and sleep aboard at no extra charge, or I can recommend a hospitium in Neapolis where the wine is good and the beds are soft.’
‘And the women are clean,’ added Otho knowledgably. ‘For the most part.’ The pilot clearly knew about more than the local seaways, thought Artemidorus with an inward smile. Then he met Quintus’ agonised stare.
‘We’ll go ashore,’ he decided.
‘Well, be back bright and early,’ advised Lucius. ‘It’s not far to Pompeii. Ten military miles at most but we’ll be off down there as soon as wind and tide allow.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Swing up our baggage as soon as we dock and recommend somewhere we can hire good horses. I think we’ll leave you here after all.’
‘You’ve paid for the full passage. But it’s your money. What I’ll do is this. We’ll swing your baggage up then I’ll send a couple of brawny crewmen with you to carry your stuff and guide you. Men who’ll guarantee you a good deal with the locals…’
As it turned out, they got two solid oarsmen from the relief team. And Otho the pilot. The three crewmen guided them through the city streets as the moon began to rise, on the wane now, but still bright. ‘I suppose you’re going to try and make it to Pompeii tonight,’ said Otho companionably.
‘That’s the plan.’
‘Well, I can show you where to get the best horses to take you south from here. But I’d recommend that you eat here first. It can be a long trip by land. The coast’s by no means an even sweep so the coast road gets unusually twisty. Then I can recommend a good place to stay in Pompeii when you get there too. Cheap but clean – the hospitium and the girls. Well, it’s a lupanar rather than a hospitium. But this place is useful to know about. You can stay the night if you need to. And as I say, it’s reasonably priced. Which is unusual. Pompeii’s an expensive town. Rich man’s playground.’
‘Yes?’ said Quintus, more like his old self now he was back on dry land. ‘Where is this cheap, clean brothel, then?’
‘You’ll find it at the crossroads two blocks east of the forum. Ask for Restituta. Tell her Big Otho sent you…’
*
Under the steady light of a low moon the two soldiers rode southward on mounts from the stable Otho recommended, Quintus leading a pack mule. They were full of a tasty cena of fish, olives and figs washed down with water from the city hospitium’s own spring. It was drinkable, but contained a decided hint of sulphur. They pushed their mounts quite fast, for the road round the dormant volcano’s foothills was well maintained and wide. Though, as Otho said, it twisted in and out in a most un-Roman fashion. Artemidorus calculated they must be adding almost a mile going side to side for every couple of miles they made southward. There were villages every now and then, the largest of them the little port of Herculaneum. Wayside establishments with welcoming torches ablaze. And a steady traffic, coming and going. As Otho observed, Pompeii was a rich man’s playground and it was served as such. Still, it took the two men much of the night to cover on land a distance that seemed almost twice the distance Aurora would cover after the sacrifices in the dawn.
But as they finally rode through the outskirts of the town, the moon vanished behind a sinister wall of cloud that soon snuffed out the stars as well and hung low over mount Vesuvio. The wind swung round to the south and freshened, bringing a sprinkling of raindrops with a warm breeze whose gusts grew stronger and stronger. Pompeii had no walls. And, therefore, no gates. The road they were riding
ran on south beyond the town. And another came in from the east that ran past this road and down to the docks. Where the two roads crossed, there was the forum. And the weary travellers turned east here and went two blocks, as Otho had advised. Artemidorus was glad to see a proper hospitium with stables attached just down the road from the lupinaria the pilot recommended. Which recommendation seemed, unexpectedly, to have caught the ascetic Stoic Quintus’ imagination.
They went to the hospitium first. Stabled their horses and arranged a room. Otho’s advice about eating had been good. The culina kitchen was long closed. The bar was empty. The innkeeper who welcomed them had clearly been summoned from his bed. He was able to serve them wine, however, as their baggage was taken up to their room. Then Artemidorus dismissed the restless Quintus, and wearily followed the innkeeper upwards.
As he prepared for bed, the tired spy reassessed his plans. He had hoped to get out to Minucius Basilus’ villa under cover of darkness and scout it out before delivering Antony’s letter to Gaius Trebonius in the morning. But the length of the road and the unexpected turn in the weather had frustrated that plan. On the other hand, he thought, the change in the weather was likely to frustrate Lucius Silus’ plans for Aurora too, for the vessel was unlikely to set sail straight into the teeth of a southerly storm. So, all in all, he had made the right decision in coming ashore – unless the intrepid captain made a really spectacular sacrifice to the gods and goddesses of sea and sky tomorrow. Something sufficiently powerful to make them change a gathering storm for more gentle northerly breezes. Artemidorus had reached this point in his thoughts when Quintus burst through the door. ‘Come with me, Septem,’ he said. ‘I really think you will want to hear this…’
vi
The lupinaria brothel was a cut above the common run, thought Artemidorus. Though his experience of such places was limited. He had hardly ever found himself in a position where he needed to pay. But, as now, he occasionally accompanied friends and colleagues. To the reception area if rarely beyond. Satisfied with watching others make selection amongst the working she-wolves who sat or stood provocatively all around the walls. Offering an apparent infinity of colour, size, strength, specialisation and experience. Promising an eternity – albeit a short, expensive one – of unmatched ecstasy. Rarely, if ever, feeling the desire to indulge himself. But once or twice he had used the she-wolf inmates as a source of information rather than of satisfaction. As was the case tonight. Though he was the only man other than Quintus there – except for a couple of employees. A wiry male slave who fetched and carried for the girls. And a brawny giant of an ex-gladiator who looked vaguely familiar to Artemidorus. Who was clearly that most vital member of staff: the bouncer.
‘This is Restituta,’ said Quintus as he led her out. ‘The woman Otho suggested I ask for.’
Restituta was a woman approaching middle years from a youth that had clearly been blessed with great beauty. Much of which remained. Unusually, given her profession. The wear and tear of her profession had not, apparently, touched her. Nor had the dread hand of disease. Her appearance now seemed enhanced rather than undermined by the silver in her raven black hair. The laugh lines around her generous mouth and intelligent, quizzical eyes. And if her figure was tending towards the matronly, that only added to her consequence. It was clear she was in charge here – rather than being on offer. She was much as Artemidorus imagined Cleopatra might look like in twenty years or so. So, treating her much as he would have treated Cleopatra, Artemidorus bowed in formal greeting. The girls round the walls gasped and giggled. Restituta’s ready smile widened. ‘Let’s go into my room,’ she said. ‘My girls can see me vanishing with two handsome soldiers. Which will do my reputation no end of good.’ She leaned towards him, lowering her voice. ‘Stagger a little on your way out as though you are utterly exhausted. Both of you!’ She gave a throaty chuckle which reminded Artemidorus painfully of Cyanea.
But the room to which she led them was an office not a bedroom. And once inside, she grew more serious. ‘Quintus says that you are looking for the villa belonging to Minucius Basilus,’ she said. ‘What is your business with him?’
‘I am a messenger. My business is not with Minucius Basilus but with Gaius Trebonius, who is his guest, I understand. What is this to you?’
The last of the laughter drained from her face. ‘It is an evil place,’ she said simply. ‘They do things there…’
‘To your girls?’ asked Artemidorus.
‘Not to my girls. No. But sometimes to the young, inexperienced or desperate ones. And to the slaves he sometimes brings down here with him.’
‘Is there no one local you can turn to? To stop him?’ asked Quintus.
‘Have you any idea how rich he is? He inherited millions. Millions. Together with the name and all the property. He owns the local aedile magistrate. Everyone of any power or authority south of Herculaneum. All in the power of his purse together. The watchkeepers never go near him. Or his villa. No one does. It’s as though the place has been cursed by strigae witches. Or by the gods themselves. The villa is remote. At the top of a cliff; not high but steep and rocky. Near a gully that is deep, dark, and flooded at each full tide. Which empties into the bay as the tide falls. Sometimes bodies wash ashore and we all suspect they came from there. But even if they are linked to Basilus in some way, there is always an explanation. For the ones that count – the ones that aren’t slaves. Slaves just get burned or buried and forgotten of course. As to the others, it’s always the same. She fell down the cliff. Or into the gully. The fish got her. A vessel caught her in the harbour with its ram.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Though there have been no bodies recently. So maybe he’s found another way of disposing of them.’
‘Or,’ hazarded Quintus, ‘perhaps he’s growing more controlled. More moderate…’ Though he didn’t really sound convinced.
‘How is it that the household do not rise against him?’ asked Artemidorus. ‘Even slaves cannot be so cowed and beaten down that they would not wish to stop something so evil…’
‘He keeps hardly any staff down here. And those are all carefully selected. Just enough to run the household and the kitchen. Keep him fed up to the standard he is used to. Cater for his parties and amusements.’
Artemidorus sat in silent thought for a moment. ‘So, it is unlikely that either he or Gaius Trebonius has slaves or servants here who have come from their villas in Rome?’
‘Highly unlikely. Why do you ask?’
‘Trebonius’ housekeeper, slaves and servants might well recognise me. I have delivered messages there in the past.’
‘And that would matter? If someone recognised you?’
‘It might.’
She took that in her stride with a shrug. ‘As far as I know, all the people in the household now are locals. Carefully selected as I say. Who are happy at least to look the other way whatever is happening.’
‘What do you want us to do about this?’ he asked.
‘Kill him,’ she answered coolly. ‘There is no other way to stop him.’
‘Not without Antony’s direct order.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘I would do so happily for I have scores to settle with him myself. But I cannot kill him without an order.’
‘You have scores…’ her face was blank with astonishment now. Her gaze swung to Quintus’ stony face and back. That he was known to Trebonius’ household was one thing. Even that he might wish to conceal the fact from the man himself. But this was something else again.
‘He took one of my friends who was working undercover in the Roman villa belonging to a friend and associate. Had him beaten half to death by a gladiator wearing cestus gloves covered with metal spikes,’ said Artemidorus, leaning forward to fix her with his most intense gaze. ‘Then, before he died, Basilus ordered that his eyes be gouged and his tongue cut out. Then he was crucified against scaffolding in the street as a message. Finally his throat was cut. And he was left hanging there. Until I found him and took him down.’
‘And Basilus did this?’ She was white with horror.
‘Basilus ordered it. Watched it done. Made the dead man’s partner, who was my lover, watch it. So that she would tell him our plans and betray us. Which she did.’
‘Then I was wasting my time trying to warn you about him. You know what must be done to stop him.’
‘Perhaps. But I still cannot kill him without the general’s order.’
She gave one decisive nod. Her gaze as intense as Artemidorus’. ‘At least I am sure that the pair of you know what danger you may be going into when you step across his threshold.’
VI
i
‘We have to treat the place like enemy territory,’ said Quintus next morning. ‘We go in as though we were going into a forest in Germania north of Gaul. A forest full of Harii Ghost Warriors.’
‘I agree,’ said Artemidorus. ‘But that’s only the start. Sometime during our visit today I want to work out how to go back and break in tonight. To find out what it is that actually goes on there. If I know that, I might be able to think of some way to stop it. Short of killing him. Until Antony orders it done.’
‘Wise enough, given the general’s current attitude towards you. You really do not want to get any further into his bad books. Or you will find yourself in some dismal outpost in Germania, surrounded by Ghost Warriors. But remember, you haven’t been too successful so far in settling the score for Telos’ crucifixion. Or Cyanea’s betrayal.’
‘No I haven’t. Not yet…’ Artemidorus looked down at the lean, hard legionary. ‘But then, I haven’t stopped trying.’