by Peter Tonkin
Artemidorus paused on the bank and slipped his dry cloak over his wet shoulders. Then he jogged up the slope to the little gate that stood half-hidden behind a buttress in the wall. He tapped on the wood lightly. ‘Res Publica,’ he said.
A small door in the corner of the larger one opened. ‘You’re late,’ said a low voice.
‘They have guards out. I was nearly captured.’
The door opened wider. There was light inside. A flambeau was burning. ‘But they didn’t suspect?’ demanded a hoarse voice.
‘No. I went out of my way but I got past without them noticing.’
‘Good enough.’ The guard officer gave him a cursory glance. Not that there was much to see in the shadows immediately outside the postern. ‘I’ll take you straight to General Albinus and you can deliver the message to him yourself. Come on in.’
Immediately inside the door was a squad of heavily armed legionaries. And, although it was night, the streets through which they escorted Artemidorus were well lit and bustling. Most of the activity was by soldiers making repairs to buildings smashed or burned by Antony’s barrage. But there were squads replenishing the ammunition beside the massive slings, catapults – ballistas and onagers – as well as scorpions looking like gigantic crossbows on wheels. Many of which – but by no means all – were up on the walls. Especially on the extra buttressing and in the towers guarding the main gate. The one area where besiegers had easy access to the city walls. Here there were also cauldrons and fires. Though, thought the spy, there would be no need to heat water, oil or sand for the moment. Not until Antony decided to deploy siege ladders or battering rams by bringing them straight up the via itself.
The air of the town stank. The men all around him stank. The odour was more than one of fear – though these were frightened men in a dangerous trap, he reckoned. It was the stench of corpses going unburied. Of disease threatening. Of bodies going unwashed as the garrison fought to preserve water. And – in the face of the rain of rotting carcases Antony was sending them – food.
But there was no doubt in Artemidorus’ mind that Decimus Albinus was going to hold this place unless Antony came up with something truly unexpected. And if the general was really relying on Artemidorus to mimic Ulysses at Troy and develop a plan equal to the wooden horse, then he was going to be disappointed.
The governor’s palace was as closely guarded as everywhere else. Artemidorus had to repeat the password several more times before he was shown into the general’s quarters. Brought face to face with the commander of the besieged garrison. If Antony was pale, exhausted, his features gaunt and his eyes dark-ringed, this was as nothing to the way Decimus Albinus looked. But he was still sharp. ‘Do I know you?’ he demanded at once. His tone of voice made everyone else in the tablinum office area look at the newcomer. Most of them just glanced up and then down. The only one whose gaze lingered was Pontius Aquila. The deep-set eyes beneath that one straight eyebrow stayed on his face for a few heart-stopping moments. Then turned away. Clearly Aquila had been too preoccupied on the day Artemidorus saw him at Brutus’ villa in Antium to register the identity of the Senate’s messenger. Artemidorus relaxed infinitesimally. He felt he had passed the test at least.
Apart from Pontius Aquila, there were a couple of legates, judging by their badges. A couple of tribunes. Two secretaries with piles of papyrus and wax tablets in front of them. Some blank and some already covered with writing. Servants holding amphorae of wine and water. Trays of bread, oil and honey. Very small amphorae. Very tiny trays.
‘Yes General.’ Artemidorus came to attention. Went into Mercury’s story – in case Caesar Octavius had found any opportunity to inform Decimus Albinus why he had selected this particular messenger. ‘That’s why Caesar chose me as his messenger. I served with you in the campaign against Vercingetorex in Gaul and aboard your flagship in the battle for Massalia.’ Like Pontius Aquila, Albinus glanced away almost immediately. Before the spy finished speaking. Apparently satisfied. ‘That must be it,’ he nodded. ‘You have Caesar’s message?’
‘Here, General.’ Artemidorus handed the lead cylinder over and Albinus passed it directly to a secretary. ‘And when does Caesar propose to come to my rescue?’ he demanded as the secretary began to unroll the secret message.
‘I’m sure his message will tell you that, General. There are no obvious preparations in his camp, though. We are simply doing our usual daily training. Performing our ordinary duties. Breaking in the new men as they come streaming to Caesar after their two thousand sestertii bounty.’
‘Well. Go and get something to eat and drink. Then come back when I call. I’ll have messages for Caesar and for other people as well to be passed on by him.’
As Artemidorus followed one of the general’s soldiers out, the man muttered, ‘I hope you’re not hungry, though. Or thirsty.’ And indeed, Artemidorus spent the succeeding, uncalculated time in a mess hall that was barren of anything to eat and drink. Empty apart from some tough-looking legionaries from the squad that had escorted him here. Who met his questions with tight-lipped silence, so that he too soon fell silent. And when he stood, stretched and strolled towards a window overlooking the town’s forum, they too rose. And put themselves between him and anything worth looking at. But at least there was a fire. And they didn’t put themselves between Artemidorus and that.
vii
Artemidorus delivered all of Decimus Albinus’ secret message to his contubernium of spies. Those in code were written in the same code as before. Kyros started translating and transcribing them at once. Enobarbus and Hercules scanned those in plain text, and set about copying the most important paragraphs. Quintus went to rouse some of Antony’s secretarial staff – or the task would take all night. Antony himself returned and looked with simple awe at the treasure trove of correspondence the spies had brought him. ‘You’re going to need more help,’ he decided. ‘You’ll certainly need a larger team. And I think you’d better get a bigger tent.’
In the meantime, Artemidorus snatched a moment with Ferrata and Puella. And Mercury. ‘What’s the agreement?’ he asked.
The double agent remained silent, apparently embarrassed.
‘He wants us to match Caesar’s two thousand sestertii,’ said Ferrata. ‘So that would be four thousand. In gold. Held safely for him here.’
‘An excellent motivation to keep him coming back,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘I think we can agree to that.’ He glanced across at Enobarbus, who nodded his acceptance of Mercury’s terms.
‘And,’ added Puella, ‘he wants me.’
‘What?’
‘Every time he comes to us and you take the messages on into the city, he spends the waiting time with me,’ she explained. ‘If he can have me, then he’ll do everything we want.’
Artemidorus’ expression folded into such a frown that Mercury stepped back, pale as a spirit on the shore of the Styx.
‘Don’t be angry.’ She placed herself between the men and looked Artemidorus straight in the eye. ‘I’ve already agreed.’
‘You have!’
‘And it is my decision. Mine alone, Septem! Because it’s my body. Less than a year ago I was a chattel. A thing. My body belonged to Lord Brutus and he could do whatever he liked with it. Even something as horrible as what you tell me Lord Basilus likes to do. But then you freed me. Manumitted me into a freedwoman. And my body became my own. You and Quintus taught it how to do things and visit places I have never heard of other slave women even dreaming about! And I choose to share my body with you because I love you. But I serve Lord Antony now, as you do. Because you do. And if I can serve him better by lending my body to Mercury once in a while, then that is what I choose to do!’
Artemidorus opened his mouth to argue. To answer at least. But then he discovered that there was nothing he could say. The woman was free. Free, therefore, to do what she wished.
And so the bargain was struck.
*
Every ten days or so Mercury would appear
. The vastly enhanced secret secretarial team would decode Caesar’s letters that Artemidorus took into the beleaguered city once he had memorised each new password. And transcribe the ever-more desperate pleas to Caesar, Cicero and the Senate that Artemidorus brought out. Antony was forced to send the scavengers from the Vth further and further up the Via Aemilia towards the Alps in search of provender for his troops, and Enobarbus led these alongside the general’s brother Lucius, leaving Artemidorus to concentrate on the intelligence work. But apart from that, nothing seemed to change on the ground. Not in Italy at any rate.
But incoming information told a different story in the East where Brutus had made himself Master of Macedonia and Cassius of everywhere from the borders of Egypt to northernmost Syria. And, at Cicero’s prompting, they were awarded the governorships which they now held de facto. Antony had three legions under his immediate command. The IInd Sabine, the Vth Larks and the XXXVth. And his Gaulish cavalry. His enemies – not even counting the masterly inactive Caesar Octavius, commander of the legions that deserted Antony after the decimation – now had almost ten times that number.
And so the calends of Mars crawled into the ides fifteen days later. The anniversary of Divus Julius’ death passed without note or ceremony. The calends of Aprilis came and went.
Then, thirteen days later, on the ides of Aprilis, everything blew up like one of the barrels of Greek Fire Antony’s men were lobbing into the starving city.
XIII
i
Mercury started it. He came riding full tilt into the camp in the last night watch of the twelfth of Aprilis. Lucky not to have been stopped or killed by Antony’s admittedly lackadaisical outer perimeter. Nothing had happened for so long that not even Antony could stop his legionaries getting lax and lazy. Apart from the men working the siege engines. And Artemidorus’ expanded contubernium of spies, codebreakers and secretaries.
The double agent was not motivated by his concern for Antony.
Or Antony’s legions, the IInd Sabine and the Vth Alaudae or the XXXVth. The other cohorts he still commanded together with more than a thousand Gaulish Cavalrymen. Or the bits and pieces of the VIth and VIIth the general seemed to have accrued.
Or his handler Artemidorus and his contubernium.
Or for the four thousand sestertii in gold the spies were holding for him.
His concern was all for the woman he loved.
He reined in his horse outside the much enlarged tent that now housed the contubernium of spies, together with their secretarial support, and leaped to the ground. Naturally he went to Puella first, but as soon as he started giving his garbled message, she took him to Artemidorus. Who in turn took him to Antony after the first few broken sentences.
The reputation of the undercover operatives was such that Artemidorus had instant access to the general no matter when he demanded it. Even in the middle of the night. And Antony came straight out of a late strategy meeting with his legates and tribunes to hear what his spies and their double agent had to tell him.
‘Caesar is on the move,’ gasped Mercury. ‘No. That’s not quite right Caesar is unwell and keeping to his bed. But his legions are on the move. Led by the Consul Gaius Vibius Pansa, who has just arrived from Rome. With the authority of the Senate – at last – to take direct action against you, Lord Antony.’
‘On the move?’ probed Antony, eyes narrow.
‘Straight up the Via Aemilia. The shortest, fastest, most direct route.’
‘But no one’s alerted Decimus Albinus. How will the two armies co-ordinate?’ demanded Antony. ‘I assume they will want to try a pincer movement – one in my face; the other at my back. Much as they handled things with Divus Julius on the Ides of Mars thirteen months ago.’
‘They will have warned him,’ answered Mercury breathlessly. ‘As soon as my message is delivered…’
‘I see,’ said Antony. ‘Well, forewarned is forearmed. When is Consul Pansa due to be in a position to offer battle?’
‘The day after tomorrow. On the fourteenth.’
‘We have time to make counterplans, then. Septem, look further into this and report to me.’
Artemidorus took Mercury back to the tent occupied by the intelligence unit. Who were all now up and very much awake. ‘Is the message for Decimus Albinus in writing or are you to deliver it in person?’ he asked.
‘In writing. As usual.’
‘Right. I’ll take it to him. As usual. But this time I think we’ll change the routine. Kyros. Can you copy the message in the same hand it was written in? So that Albinus won’t be able to tell it’s not the original?’
‘Yes, Septem.’
‘Good. Because there are one or two elements I want you to change…’
And so the contubernium went from recording and dispensing information to generating disinformation.
*
‘Triumphus.’ Artemidorus gave the password for the day and was ushered through the tiny door into Mutina’s flame-lit streets. During the weeks of his visits here disguised as Caesar’s messenger, he had seen even the brawniest of the legionaries seem to wilt. As starved flesh vanished from their increasingly scrawny bones. Whenever he caught a glimpse of the city’s residents – those few not directly involved in the defence of the place – their faces were gaunt and their eyes sunken and huge. The children’s bellies were blown up to enormous proportions. Their little faces skeletal.
Under other circumstances he would have felt pity for them. Perhaps even guilt at what he was doing. But he was Antony’s man. While these were Antony’s implacable enemies. And if Artemidorus or Antony failed here, then it would be Antony’s head spiked in the Forum. Rather than Decimus Albinus’, as was still the current plan. Or, indeed, that of his right-hand man Pontius Aquila, who was also one of the men who plunged a dagger into Divus Julius’ back on the Ides.
The main head in question was thrust out of the tablinum door. ‘The message?’ snapped Decimus Albinus.
‘Here, General,’ answered Artemidorus, handing it over. His heart was racing. His scrotum clenched. As though he was in the coldest frigidarium bath of a northern bathhouse in winter. While he might have become inured to passing messages back and forth, this was the first forgery he had tried to pass on. While the original message had given Pansa’s simple battle plan and asked Albinus to bring his men out of the main gate at dawn on the fourteenth, this new message asked him to mount an unexpected sally at noon.
By which time Antony planned to have engaged and defeated Pansa’s legions and be waiting to mop up Albinus’ men as well.
This time the spy was not asked to wait in the empty, unsupplied dining hall. Decimus sent an acknowledgement and agreement to the plan in one short, coded reply. Artemidorus was back in his tent by dawn and Mercury was off down the Via Aemilia with his lusts satisfied and his message secure. For the last time. It had to be the last time whatever the outcome. For Caesar Octavius was no fool, even if he was sick in bed. When Decimus Albinus came out at noon instead of at dawn, he would have given the game away. Caesar would know immediately that his messages were being tampered with. And the traitor Mercury would either be hiding with relative safety in the midst of Antony’s troops or hanging on a cross somewhere.
ii
The haruspex straightened, his arms red to the elbow from examining the sacrifice’s intestines and liver. It was a white bull and it had been offered, as was traditional, to Mars and Venus Victrix, deities of battle and victory. Divus Julius’ favourite deities in fact. Who were his companions in Olympus now.
‘The gods foresee a fortunate victory in today’s battle,’ he intoned. A wave of relief went through the assembled legions in front of whom the sacrifice had been made. The haruspex dropped his voice so that only Antony and his immediate circle could hear. ‘But they advise great caution.’
‘I’m going into battle against an army more than twice the size of my own. Of course I’ll exercise great caution!’ hissed Antony. Also keeping his voice low. A
rtemidorus kept a straight face. He had seen Antony in battle and ‘caution’ was among the last words he would have chosen to describe him. ‘So the odds are still stacked pretty high against us,’ continued Antony. ‘And I have to say that, as an augur, I do not like the look of those corvi crows either.’ He nodded at a black cloud of the birds hanging in the left quadrant of the sky. Above the little village of Forum Gallorum which sat on a low eminence above the marshy plain Antony proposed to use as his battlefield.
‘You know what they say, General,’ said Artemidorus. ‘“Trust in what the gods tell you – but always check for yourself.”’
Antony gave a grunt of amusement. ‘Well, let’s get busy,’ he said. ‘We all know what we’re expected to do today, so it’s time to get on with it.’ He clasped hands with his senior officers, legates and tribunes. The infantry commanders in charge of the legions of foot soldiers. The cavalry commanders. Antony always preferred to deploy and lead cavalry himself. And had brought several alae wings home with him from his campaigns in Gaul.
Other men brought gold and slaves, mused Artemidorus. Antony brought warriors and their mounts – two mouths to feed for every cavalryman in his velites units; alae wings. Perhaps that was why he was always in debt. His massive cavalry contingent was split into two cohorts today. Each of several hundred soldiers. One would be led by Antony himself. The other by Gretorex, his Gaulish legate. And that was important because Artemidorus and his contubernium had been assigned to ride with Gretorex. The Gauls were all huge, blond warriors. They wore their hair and moustaches long as a sign of manliness. Used a range of weapons strange to most legionaries. Favoured brightly patterned trousers and tunics made of skin, lined with fur. Over which they wore chain mail. Sometimes – but by no means always. There was something cowardly about wearing armour, they suspected. Real men fought naked and berserk. Like the Ghost Warriors of Germania.
‘This is a woman!’ Gretorex had shouted in astonishment when he first realised Puella’s gender. ‘No woman has ever ridden with my horsemen.’