by Peter Tonkin
Antony seemed to pay it no attention. Instead, he continued, ‘Meanwhile maybe it’s time for Dolabella to take up his post in Syria. He can move quickly. And pick up the legion that’s still in Dyrrachium into the bargain. Syria’s close to Asia Province and a good place to watch Brutus and Cassius from. But maybe we should do more than just keep an eye on them. This attempt on the lives of me and my family is proof that the so-called Libertores are getting out of control. I’ve been too slow in going after them – though I’ve had good reason to be careful, of course.
‘Perhaps it’s time to start emulating the Friendly Ones,’ Antony continued. ‘Putting the fear of Nemesis into the entire murderous crew. I think we ought to start spiking some of their heads in the Forum. And independently of paying to have me slaughtered in my bed if Septem’s right, that nothus Trebonius had already made it personal when he actually took me by the arm like a friend and pulled me aside to make sure I couldn’t help Divus Julius at the vital moment. As I believe I said some time ago. So his head is certainly first on the list. It’s definitely time to go and get it.’
‘You are wise to keep a close eye on Cassius and Brutus,’ added Fulvia. ‘They’re not just going to sit still in Athens. Not with Cicero praising them to the skies and calling them the saviours of the Republic. Demanding all right-minded Republicans to do everything they can to help them stand up against my Lord Antony. Begging the Senate to back them, no matter what they do. Just as the senile old asinae fools are supporting Decimus Albinus. And, as we all know, also suggesting that the best way forward to peace is a knife in my husband’s back! And that’s a situation which will only get worse once we start to kick Decimus Albinus out of Gaul!’ She turned to her husband. ‘In fact, my beloved, your speech to the Comitia attacking Brutus, Cassius and their murderous friends has already started to make things worse!’
Antony grunted. Looked up from the little huddle they had made while having this conversation and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t get much worse than this,’ he growled. ‘Nothing I can think of is worse than a decimation.’
Enobarbus also looked up. And the scene before him stood somewhere between breathtaking and terrifying. The tension in the air was as taut as in the moments before a storm. Or a battle. And the low, seething clouds of the October sky above them simply added to the disturbing atmosphere. The countryside inland from Brundisium gathered itself into a massive, natural arena. Roofed by the low, grey overcast. A curve of hillside like the tiers of seats in a gigantic Greek theatre. A space almost as massive as the Circus Maximus. Large enough to hold thirty thousand men. Who were all standing there now. In full parade armour. Drawn up in ranks, cohorts and legions. Eagles and banners to the front. Looking down onto the central stage of the natural arena. Where Antony, Fulvia and their immediate staff, headed by Enobarbus himself, were standing on a low podium. And just below them, on a centuria of nearly one hundred acres of grass, between the legions and their general, stood three thousand soldiers – almost all centurions.
During the time since his arrival here, Antony had ordered the tribunes under his command to compile lists of all the men who had been subverted by Caesar Octavius’ agitators. All those fomenting restlessness within the four Macedonian legions. Men accused of suggesting that now was the time to leave Antony and follow the young Gauis Julius Caesar Octavianus Divus Filius instead. The troublemakers had been split into groups of ten and each group had drawn lots composed of nine longs straws and one short one. The three hundred men who drew the short straws were just about to die.
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Each of the condemned troublemakers was all but naked, wearing only a cinctus loincloth. The nine men gathered round him were in tunics rather than in full armour. They were all armed with clubs. Most of them, as centurions, held the heavy vinestocks that were the badge of their rank. And the moment Antony gave the signal the condemned would be beaten to death. By their companions. In front of the men they had commanded.
Crassus had famously decimated his legions when they became restive during the war against Spartacus. Divus Julius had threatened to decimate the IXth when they mutinied during the Great Civil War demanding more pay. But Antony had never done anything like this before. And now he was decimating not one legion but four. A clear and pointed lesson about the dangers of listening to the siren voices of Caesar Octavius’ provocateurs and their promises of two thousand sestercii a man.
Antony looked right and left along the front of the dais, meeting Fulvia’s eyes and then Enobarbus’. Wearily, he raised his hand and the execution began.
Enobarbus watched, his face rigid. Like almost everyone present, he had heard about the ancient punishment but had never seen it done. Though somewhere at the back of his memory lay the suspicion that Quintus and perhaps Septem had done so. Even in the midst of the sheer brutality, it was possible to see popularity being rewarded and comradeship demonstrated. Well-liked men, surrounded by friends, received the first mighty blow to the side of the head or the back of the neck. Delicate temple-bones shattered. Skulls were smashed off spines. Death was instantaneous. Almost painless. And the subsequent beating, therefore, was never actually suffered by the corpses it was inflicted upon. But friendless and unpopular men endured increasing agonies – depending on the depth of animosity or revenge being taken out on them. Ribs shattered. Arms and legs splintered. Genitals were crushed. But heads remained untouched. Conscious. So that faces, at first dully Stoical soon were gasping, howling, screaming.
And then the blood came, as battered bodies began to burst. The club men were spattered, then hosed, then drenched with it. And as the ruthless procedure continued seemingly endlessly, so the clubs themselves, coated with the stuff, began to spray droplets far and wide as they rose and fell. The restless air itself seemed to become one red cloud, smelling and tasting of iron. Enobarbus suddenly felt drops of liquid fall across his hand and stepped back.
His mind withdrew from the immediate horror all around him, effectively shutting his eyes and ears as he worked his way through the implications of Antony’s orders. Trebonius was on the way to Asia Province. Many senior officials were on their way to their posts now. Although they might not actually take up their responsibilities until the government’s new year dawned at the calends of Januarius, there was usually a period of handing over. Furthermore, although the weather in Rome was still warm, the travelling season was rapidly drawing to a close as late-autumn storms threatened the seas all around Italy, with winter approaching fast.
Trebonius could travel swiftly because all he needed to take with him were his orders, his badges of office and his immediate household. Including Cyanea, apparently. The current governor, Marcus Apuleus, had tax money and soldiers in place. The province was peaceful as were all the cities within it. It would be a simple handover from one governor to another. The problem was that they were both deeply committed to Brutus’ and Cassius’ faction. Which was why Antony was sending his Co-consul Dolabella eastwards as well. He would not be able to travel so swiftly if he was going to pick up an entire legion and take it with him to Syria. He would at least have to plan how to provision several thousand soldiers and several hundred more hangers-on. The route east along the seven hundred and fifty military miles of the Via Egnatia was bleak. Passing through the wilds of Macedonia and the high mountain passes north of Epirus, through Moesia where the Getae threatened to come south of the Fluvius Danubius to Thrace.
And Dolabella could not by any means be sure of the welcome he would receive when he reached the end of the via and had to cross Asia Province to get himself and his men to Syria. Living off the land would be a challenge – especially at this time of year. And foraging slowed the legion’s progress into the bargain. But there was no doubt that, once in place, stationed in Tripolis, it would be easy enough for Dolabella to observe events in both Smyrna and Athens just across the strait beyond it. Watching Brutus and Cassius. And Trebonius – for as long as he kept his head.
But even though he
was Antony’s co-consul, Dolabella was by no means a reliable ally. He was completely self-serving. Always putting his own ambitions first. Was greedy. A terrible disciplinarian, notoriously bad at keeping control of his men. And, of course, he was Cicero’s ex-son-in-law. Widowed husband to the old lawyer’s beloved – dead – daughter Tullia.
Which brought the tribune back to Septem and Antony’s plans for him. How the secret agent fitted into this rapidly expanding puzzle. Like the coping stone holding a huge arch unshakably in place. But as Enobarbus’ reasoning reached this stage, he was recalled to the present. There was a sharp hissing intake of breath. He looked across to see Fulvia standing there on Antony’s left, wide-eyed, lips parted. Her face liberally sprinkled with bright red dots. Spots that spread like a rash down the front of her formal stola – to decorate her rapidly heaving breast. It was hard to be certain whether the expression on her face was one of revulsion or exhilaration.
‘That’s enough!’ bellowed Antony. ‘Stop now. Dismiss. And clear this carrion away!’
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Venus frowned thoughtfully. Her exquisite countenance seeming even more beautiful as it reflected her ready intelligence. ‘I have seen it happen,’ she said, her voice, as usual, a throaty purr. ‘When someone fears she may become the victim of some brutal diversion for the pleasure of her masters. Instead of lying quiet and hoping for the best, she begins to join the game. Becomes an active participant, little by little. Takes a measure of control. Becomes complicit by finding victims other than herself. And then – rarely but occasionally – she might manage to make herself a vital part of the sport. So that the men cannot play it properly without her. And so she takes control of everything.’ Adonis nodded in ready agreement. But so, to be fair, did most of the others.
‘So she goes from being the sufferer to being the accessory,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Yes. I have seen that working with bullies and their victims in the legions. But I had never thought of it happening in the manner you describe. However, now you mention it, I can see Cyanea playing a game like that. But I still don’t see why she went back to him.’
‘Where else was there for her to go?’ asked Venus, rhetorically.
‘She couldn’t come back to you or any of the team, could she, Septem?’ answered Ferrata, who did not understand rhetoric and was finding this conversation fascinating. Quite apart from anything else, it was the first time Venus had decided she trusted them all enough to open up. The legionary clearly hoped that now she was beginning to open her mind to them, she might open other aspects of herself to him. ‘I mean, she could see as clearly as the rest of us that the information she gave Basilus was directly responsible for the failure of your mission and the death of Divus Julius. A point you had rather forcefully driven home by leaving her tied naked to a whipping post and presented to the less than charming companions I happened to pick up in the middle of a riot.’
‘That was a terrible thing to do,’ said Puella.
‘I know. I regretted it at once. And have done so ever since.’ The words came easily as he tried to reassure her. But he was by no means certain they were true.
What he was regretting now was leaving the bitch alive.
‘You don’t regret it as much as the first two morons who tried to take her,’ said Ferrata. ‘By the time they got up beside her she’d worked one hand free. Rapist number one had a pugio in his belt and she cut his throat with it while he was still trying to loosen his braccae trousers. Number two was no cleverer and didn’t last any longer. Everyone stood back for a moment. She cut herself free and came towards us like one of the Friendly Ones dressed in nothing but hot blood. It was a cold night and she was actually smoking! Well, steaming I suppose. No wonder everyone retreated! Then someone tried to stop her and got his face slit open for his trouble. Then she sliced the face off another one – an innocent bystander with a torch. She took the torch and threw it into Basilus’ tablinum where all his books and scrolls were scattered. By the time she vanished into the night the whole lot was ablaze and we only just made it out of there ourselves.’
‘I see why she couldn’t come back to us – or anyone we’d worked with,’ said Artemidorus. ‘But why go back to Basilus?’
‘Perhaps because she knew he wanted her,’ suggested Venus. ‘Better to be wanted than discarded…’
‘But he wanted her whipped for his pleasure. Humiliated. Screaming. That’s how he wanted her…’
‘Well, boy,’ concluded Quintus. ‘She must have had some kind of a plan. Because it worked. You and I have seen the truth of that. It worked so well that by all accounts she’s now the mistress of the Governor of Asia Province. And on her way to Smyrna with him.’
*
‘Antony wants you to follow Trebonius,’ said Enobarbus on his return from Brundisium. ‘Dolabella will be ahead of you – with the last of the Macedonian legions when he gets through Dyrrachium. But you’re to focus on Trebonius.’ He was talking to Artemidorus but the whole contubernium was there, except for Spurinna and Antistius, who were both about their professional callings. The secret agents were in the tablinum of Quintus’ villa, which had been adapted to their purposes with a table large enough to carry maps or plans and seats for a dozen people around it. Even Adonis was present because, although the Senate had been called, it wasn’t due to meet yet. Not with Antony still away and Dolabella out of town preparing for his journey. With the consuls absent, it was the praetors’ responsibility to arrange Senate sittings. But both of the praetors, Brutus and Cassius, were in Athens. So in many ways the Senate was hamstrung for the moment.
‘The general wants you to see what Trebonius gets up to,’ continued the tribune. ‘He’s relieving Marcus Apulius out there. They’re both dyed in the wool Libertores and there’s a fortune in tax revenues unaccounted for. And he wants you to bring back Trebonius’ head. Especially if you find he’s up to mischief.’
‘His head?’ said Artemidorus. ‘That’s a big step down a dangerous road.’
‘Trebonius, Basilus and Decimus Albinus took the first step down that road when they sent Myrtillus after the general,’ said Enobarbus. ‘And after you, of course,’ he added, after a pause.
‘It’s nice to be an afterthought,’ said Artemidorus with wry amusement.
‘But I’d have thought that was probably Cyanea’s doing,’ added Ferrata. ‘A little extra paragraph added to the original contract perhaps.’
‘But if that’s true, why didn’t she do more when she discovered us in Basilus’ villa?’ Artemidorus returned to a subject that had been at the heart of a good few conferences lately.
‘You can ask her when you get to Smyrna,’ said Enobarbus impatiently. ‘But if we don’t start planning this mission soon she’ll be dead of old age before you arrive.’
‘Right,’ said Quintus, taking control. ‘One decision leads to another. First decision – how many do we think should go? Did the general dictate a number, Tribune? Is it to be just Septem here – or can he take more of us to watch his back while he’s taking Trebonius’ head? Once we’ve decided that, we’ll need to consider speed, route, provisions, supplies. Staging posts, ships… Travel at this time of year is always a problem unless the gods are with you, each and all. Greek and Roman both.’
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Artemidorus decided that they should travel as a six-man military unit, using military transport and equipment. Following military roads. That way they could use the mansio military staging posts that Divus Julius had been putting in place to facilitate communications and support during the Parthian campaign he had never undertaken. Following hard on Dolabella’s heels, close enough to call on his legion for help if they ever required it. But still with the capacity to overtake him if they felt the need. Although the secret agent much preferred to work alone – or, in extremis as one of a pair – six seemed the smallest unit likely to travel safely from here to Smyrna, the capital of Asia Province. Even in the footsteps of a legion.
In Italy they would probably b
e safe enough as they sped down the Appian Way to Brundisium and paused there to take ship across the Adriatic to Dyrrachium. ‘Brundisium should be quiet now,’ Enobarbus told them. ‘Antony has sent the four Macedonian legions that landed there north to wait for him at Ariminium just south of the Rubicon. Which is the border with Cisalpine Gaul. Ready to move north with him when he decides to shake Decimus Albinus loose. He plans to be back here soon to organise the Senate.’
‘After we land in Dyrrachium, we follow the Via Egnatia eastwards through Macedonia,’ said Ferrata, taking up the plan. ‘Then it’s another voyage. From the most convenient port we can find across to Smyrna.’
‘Good,’ said Quintus at a nod from Artemidorus, summoning up all his courage in the face of not one sea voyage but two. The second one a long one – and in stormy weather too. ‘We should have no trouble travelling along the first leg to Brundisium and boarding a ship to sail us across the Mare Hadriaticum Adriatic and into Dyrrachium. The only possible problem will be the weather, of course.’
Ferrata leaned forward once more, to add a little streetwise information. ‘But the Via Egnatia which joins Dyrrachium with Byzantium goes through some wild and dangerous country. If Dolabella isn’t careful with his legion and what it gets up to – or if the Getae are really considering an invasion of Macedonia – we could find ourselves walking into a war zone. I’d like to suggest we plan to stop at Philippi and take ship from Neapolis Orientalis, the port that serves it. The most convenient jumping-off point in my opinion. A slightly longer voyage should lessen the danger all round. If, as I say, we can actually get to Philippi. And find a ship willing to make the voyage when we arrive there.’
Quintus closed his eyes as he nodded his curt agreement to the suggestion. The voyage from Brundisium to Dyrrachium was bad enough at a hundred miles. Neapolis Orientalis to Smyrna was well over twice that distance. And the weather was likely to become increasingly stormy as late autumn became early winter.