by Peter Tonkin
‘Let’s start with the posticum,’ decided Artemidorus. ‘Livius, note that we need more than just this old lock. Either a new lock or some secondary security. Claustrae bolts would be best. Top and bottom. Now, let’s have a look at the windows…’
After an hour or so they had completed their initial survey. And were much less than happy with the results that Livius had painstakingly recorded for them. ‘We found it easy enough to break into Minucius Basilus’ place in Pompeii,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And, with a little preparation, I was able to get into Brutus’ villa – and out again with Puella. This place is guarded while those were not, but the guards are useless. Even the passwords are obvious. We’d have to rebuild the villa or employ a crack cohort to stand a couple of men at every door or window. We don’t have time to do the first. And we don’t have the manpower for the second.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Quintus wisely, ‘perhaps we just need to think like a sicarius. Anyone trying to break in will certainly check out the possible entry points before they make their move. If we make it clear the main ones are going to be hard to get in through, then all we need to do is leave one avenue apparently unconsidered. And be fairly certain that that will be the way he’ll come…’
‘Right,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Then instead of guarding the villa and its grounds as a whole we’d just have to guard that one point. Like Leonidas and his Three Hundred Spartans stopping the Persian army at the Pass of Thermopylae.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Quintus. ‘Or like Publius Horatius Cocles holding the bridge against the army of Lars Porsena and Tarquin The Great after Brutus’ forefather had thrown him out of Rome.’
x
It took them several days before they were satisfied that the villa was secure, whether or not the Praetorians were keeping a proper guard on the place. Both main door and posticum not only had a lock but also several bolts. The windows were mostly small – but even the smallest also had bolts and a chain to limit how wide it could be opened. Glass was reinforced with metal grilles which also secured the window as a whole. For Artemidorus had been able to come and go through Brutus’ villa by using a ladder and a loosened window frame. Reaching back into his other experiences since The Ides of Mars, Artemidorus made sure that it was difficult to get over the roof into the peristyle. Something he had managed to do in Minucius Basilus’ villa by climbing up one pine tree then swinging across into another whose branches overhung the garden.
At last there was only one method of entry left. The least likely. The almost impossible. The one they chose to watch like Leoniodas at Thermopylae. Like Horatius at the bridge.
One of the villa’s greatest amenities – one of which Antony was most proud – was the bath. Ultra-modern, it consisted of frigidarium, tepidarium and caldarium. The tepidarium and the caldarium not only used warm – and hot – water, but they also had heated floors. These rooms were not the only ones with heated floors – and walls. The atrium and triclinium dining room were also heated, though the tablinum, office space, was not. The heating system was based on a series of columns almost three cubits high on which the floors sat. The culina kitchen was placed at the centre of this system. And here the big fire, which could roast a spitted ox, did double duty, supplying heat to the system as well as to the food. The hypocaust system, of necessity, reached from one side of the villa to the other. And, therefore, to outer walls as well as inner ones.
And that fact became relevant when Artemidorus was patrolling the streets around the villa. Looking for areas that were not covered by the Praetorian patrols. But which might give someone a chance of breaking in. Of course his main attention was directed high above his head as he wondered whether this or that wall could be scaled using a ladder. A rope and grappling hook. A bolt from a sôlênarion or anything similar with a knotted cord attached. Looking steadfastly upward, he stubbed his toe. And stopped. Stooped, frowning. A brick had come loose and fallen into the pathway between Antony’s villa and the next.
xi
‘What’s all this, Septem?’ demanded Antony five days later. They were in the atrium of Antony’s home. The general had returned to Rome in a dangerous mood. Which the sight of the new locks and bolts on his doors had done little to improve.
‘Securitas Security,’ answered Artemidorus.
‘I don’t need security! I have my Praetorians!’
‘Caesar had his Spanish Guard, General. Didn’t do him much good in the end.’
‘But Caesar dismissed them! As you should know better than most.’
‘They wouldn’t have been in Pompey’s Curia with him when the murderers struck, though, would they?’ insisted Artemidorus.
‘He has a point, Antony,’ said Fulvia, coming onto Artemidorus’ side unexpectedly. ‘If anyone manages to get in here, your precious Praetorians will all be outside. Useless. Think of the children if you won’t think of us.’
‘Oh, very well! Septem, take Enobarbus through the villa and explain this securitas to him. He can assess what’s worthwhile and what’s a waste of time. Most of all I don’t want people saying I’ve put all this security in place because I’m scared. Not after that old blowhard Cicero actually threatened to have me murdered like Divus Julius! And certainly not with that catulus whelp Octavian hanging around and sneering behind my back! I’m going to bathe, then eat and drink. Especially drink!’
‘How did things go in Brundisium?’ asked Artemidorus as he began the tribune’s tour of inspection.
‘Not too well. The legions are arriving slowly. Almost reluctantly. They blame the weather now it’s coming towards autumn. Making the passage across rough and dangerous. But that’s just an excuse. They’ve made it plain they don’t approve of the continuing rift between Antony and Caesar Octavius. Because they want Divus Julius avenged.’
‘I wonder who put that idea in their heads?’ asked Artemidorus cynically.
‘You know as well as I do that it’s young Caesar,’ answered Enobarbus wearily. ‘He has agitators moving covertly through all the legions persuading them of his point of view. Which even now seems to be that he and Antony should combine their forces and start collecting the Libertores’ heads at the earliest opportunity! And it’s not just the Macedonian legions he’s making disaffected. He has men all over the place working on the retired, resettled VIth and even the VIIth.’
‘Probably among the Praetorian Cohorts as well. Both Ferrata and Hercules have reported secret visits by the other Praetorian tribunes to Agrippa’s brother’s house, where Caesar has been staying most of the summer. Because he’s sold everything he owns to raise the money he’s bribing entire armies with. The other tribunes are making good use of your absence, I’d say. Because they know very well where your allegiance lies. They seem to be led by someone called Licinius. There’s been a lot of coming and going between Caesar and Balbus as well. I’m sure that Balbus is extending him almost limitless credit. As Divus Julius’ friend and secretary, Balbus wants to see heads in the Forum as much as any of Caesar’s faction. Instead of which, Cassius and Brutus are safe and sound on their way to Athens! There’s a nasty atmosphere brewing…’
‘Hence all these locks and bolts, I assume.’ The tribune nodded at the inside of the posticum door.
‘Those are just the start of it,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘Let me tell you what I’ve been planning…’
*
The blade of the gladius slammed into his ribs on the right side hard enough to knock the breath out of his body. He jumped back, falling into a defensive stance. Feet spread, knees bent. Arms wide. Leaning forward slightly from the waist. She came after him as he knew she would, closing in for the kill. Throwing the gladius from hand to hand so he would never be sure which side she would hit him from. Eyes narrow, nostrils flared. Clenched teeth revealed by her killing grimace. She swung again, with the left – aiming for the damaged spot on his right side. He stepped inside the blow and drove his own gladius up into her belly just above her pubic bone.
H
ad the sword not been heavily padded and her tunic likewise, he would have opened her up from her groin to her ribs. And the point of the sword would have spitted her heart. As it was, he winded her. She toppled onto her side, choking and gasping. He collapsed onto the grass beside her. ‘Never forget,’ he said, his words broken by his fight for breath. ‘No matter what hand holds it, the gladius is a stabbing sword. It has an edge, but be careful how you use it. Stab. Stab. Stab. Come up from under…’
She rolled onto her back. Her gasps became giggles. ‘Like when we make love,’ she said. ‘And you come up from under. Stab. Stab. Stab. With that big old gladius of yours?’
‘Do not make too much of a joke of it,’ advised Quintus severely, trying – as he had during all the recent training sessions – to keep the pair of them serious and focused on their work. ‘Septem is right. He uses his gladius better than any man I have seen. In battle…’
The last two words were lost as Puella went into another helpless fit of giggles.
She was still laughing and choking when Ferrata came running through into the peristyle of Quintus’ villa. Which had now become their headquarters, equipment centre and training ground. ‘Septem,’ he said. ‘There’s something going on down at Antony’s villa.’
The three men left Puella still helpless with hilarity and ran out of the villa, shoulder to shoulder. ‘Any idea what’s going on?’ asked Artemidorus.
‘No. Spurinna’s slave Kyros has been working with Hercules keeping watch on the general. He delivered the message and went straight back. If we hurry we may catch up with him…’
xii
But they came across Adonis first, as the Senate secretary and secret agent came hurrying across the Forum. ‘The Senate have just finished debating…’ he gasped. ‘Caesar Octavius has tried to get Flaminius, one of his men, elected to the post of Tribune of Plebs. Cicero was all for it. But Antony just said it was a trick to allow Caesar himself access to the post. And Cicero’s support is just another ruse to keep him from ruling on the point of law he wants clarified. And Caesar’s only nineteen years old, though it’s his birthday today, they say. Even so, nineteen is far too young for such an important post. Antony insists Caesar Octavius has had no experience and isn’t even qualified to go on the Cursus Honorum, let alone move up it so fast! Besides, he’s a patrician and Divus Filius the son of a god. Hardly perfect qualifications for a Tribune of Plebs…’
‘That will stir up a whole lot of trouble,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Antony at daggers drawn with both Cicero and Caesar at once. Go back to Quintus’ villa and get a detailed report ready for the tribune. He wasn’t at the Senate meeting, was he?’
‘No. I heard the consul say he’d sent him to a meeting of the senior Praetorians…’
But by the time they got to Antony’s villa, the tribune had returned. With a delegation consisting of all the other tribunes in the Praetorian Cohorts. Artemidorus led Quintus through into the crowded atrium, leaving Hercules and Ferrata guarding the door. The soldiers stood to attention, rank upon rank of them. It was just possible to see beyond them. To where Antony was seated on the great paterfamilias’ chair in the tablinum. Raised on a low dais and facing them.
‘This looks nasty,’ he said to Enobarbus as they fell in beside him. He nodded silently, his expression bleak.
‘General, this can’t go on…’ the spokesman for the tribunes was saying. Even from the back, Artemidorus recognised the tribune called Licinius. ‘You must make peace with Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Divus Filius. You should not be fighting between yourselves. You should be standing side by side and avenging Divus Julius together. All the men think so. If you do not stand together then you will find that no one will follow either of you! No matter how great your reputation. Or how deep your purse!’
There was a growl of general agreement.
Antony sat silent for a moment. The he rose to the occasion. Literally as well as figuratively. As only Antony could do. He slowly stood up. On the dais, his Herculean frame towered intimidatingly above them. His gaze swept over them, meeting every pair of eyes. Cataloguing every face present. His thunderous frown of anger moderated to one of hurt and confusion. ‘Friends,’ he said. ‘Licinius. I hear you. I understand your concerns. Indeed, I share them. Young Oct… Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus and I are not enemies. The rift between us has been put there by the manipulation of Cicero and his like-minded followers. Apologists for Divus Julius’ murderers. Who dare not see the two heirs to his name and power combine against them. Young Caesar and I are like twins in our plans and ambitions. Identical in every point. Like Castor and Pollux; Romulus and Remus…’
‘That’s pushing it a bit,’ breathed Artemidorus. ‘Though at least Castor didn’t kill Pollux like Romulus murdered Remus.’
‘Could be the gods speaking through him,’ whispered Quintus. ‘He’s an augur after all.’
‘Maybe Caesar and he are destined to be like Romulus and Remus in the end…’ added Enobarbus, his words just one step above silence.
But Antony was continuing, in typical vein. ‘Tell me what you want, friends. How can I demonstrate my willingness to live at peace with young Caesar? Would you have me do what Brutus, Cassius and I did on the day after Divus Julius died? Shake hands in the Forum to affirm our friendship in front of the whole of Rome?’
‘Yes,’ came the answer from almost every man there. ‘Yes!’
But then their spokesman Licinius added, ‘But not in the Forum. In the Aedes Iovis Optimi Maximi Capitolini Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus at the top of the Capitoline Hill.’
*
‘If that nothus bastard with the sôlênarion bow is still after you, then he won’t get a better chance than this,’ said Ferrata as he and Artemidorus completed their swift security sweep of the Temple of Jupiter and its grounds. The weather had moderated and the afternoon was sunny, clear and hot for the season. The temple and its grounds full of dazzling surfaces. And impenetrable shadows.
‘It’s not me I’m worried about,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘It’s the general.’
‘Given those vicious bolts it fires, he could probably get you both with one shot if he placed himself correctly…’
‘Thanks for the thought. But I’d say we’re relatively safe. Yes there are hundreds of places he could hide. Most of them giving an excellent field of fire across this square. But the Temple and the precinct are full of priests and acolytes. Who tend to frown on any weapons that aren’t part of the displays inside. And anyway, he hasn’t got enough time to set himself up. Unless that mouthy Tribune Licinius who suggested this is hand in glove with him, the fact that Antony and Caesar Octavius will be here within the turn of a water clock will have surprised him as much as it surprised the rest of us.’
‘That’s good,’ said Ferrata. ‘You keep looking on the bright side. And if the great god Jupiter isn’t watching your back, I expect your hero Achilles is!’
‘If they are, then now’s the time for them to focus,’ said the spy. ‘Here comes Antony. Surrounded by his Praetorians.’
‘Just more excellent targets, if you ask me. And the general’s the biggest one of all, as usual. But only because Licinius’ mouth is closed for once.’
Antony came running up the one hundred steps that rose from the Vicus Jugarius below. His Praetorians streamed behind him, Licinius officiously in the lead. Artemidorus and Ferrata watched them approach. But as the general bounded up onto the marble flagstones of the temple precinct, Caesar Octavius led a crowd of senators and citizens out of the top of the Vicus Capitolinus on the other side.
‘We’d better pray this all goes to plan,’ said Ferrata cheerfully. ‘Or there’ll be more than one of us going off the edge of that.’ He nodded over to the south-west corner of the precinct where the Tarpean Rock stood, overhanging the dizzying drop to the ground more than one hundred steps below.
A figure in a white toga over a purple-striped tunic took command of the steps leading up to the temple and began
to speak. ‘Senators, citizens and soldiers. We are here at the army’s request to see a seal of friendship sworn between Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Divus Filius and Consul of Rome General Mark Antony…’
‘Oh by the gods,’ said Ferrata. ‘Cicero’s going to give a speech. I may just leap off the Tarpean Rock myself!’
‘…a sign that peace and accord have returned to our city and empire. That from this time forward we may all sleep soundly in our beds, assured of tranquillity and, above all, safety!’
IX
i
The sicarius known as Myrtillus eased himself invisibly past the sleepy Praetorian who was supposed to be guarding the end of the narrow vicus beside Antony’s villa. As he had done past a series of Praetorian guards and patrols already tonight. He was able to do this because he was dressed from head to foot in black. Everything from his hood to his boots was as dark as the River Styx. And, although the moon was bright and the stars hanging low in a cloudless autumn sky, the assassin could hardly be distinguished from the shadows through which he was creeping. He had visited the villa in secret many times since the meeting with his employer’s mysterious go-between. He had even watched some of the security systems being put in place. Amused to find a challenge worthy of his talents. Knowing that when he pulled this off, his reputation would not merely be restored. It would be immeasurably enhanced.
Myrtillus knew the doors and windows were closed to him and that there was no way over the roof into the peristyle. He also knew precisely how many steps it took to get from the corner of the house to the section of bricks he had loosened in preparation for this moment. Whose removal would – just – allow him access to the hypocast heating system. And hence to the interior of the villa. Where there were no Praetorians. Or guards of any kind. Kneeling in the darkness now, he reached up and tightened the black cloth that covered his nose and mouth. Which left only a narrow band for his eyes between its upper edge and the low cowl of the hood. Then he reached down and, with hands bound, like a cestus, with black leather bands, he began to ease the bricks out of the wall and lay them carefully – silently – on the black cobbles of the little pathway.