by Peter Tonkin
‘Came in with two companions under a flag of truce. Says he’s from Mark Antony, General. Showed me this…’
‘That’s Antony’s all right,’ said Hirtius. ‘I was there when he was acclaimed Imperator. What does this messenger want?’
‘Show him in and let him tell us himself,’ suggested Quintus Pedius.
‘With any luck Antony wants to surrender…’ added the third – vaguely familiar – voice.
‘I’ll believe that when I see Antony on his knees in front of me. Which I never will!’ answered Quintus Pedius. He turned as he spoke and a look of recognition swept over his face. ‘I know you,’ he said.
‘Yes sir,’ said Artemidorus. ‘We met on the Appian Way and we went together with Caesar Octavius to Rome. I hope Caesar is not too unwell?’ He saw the immediate reaction in Quintus Pedius’ eyes. But they must already be certain that Antony had spies in their camp. Because of Decimus Albinus’ unscheduled arrival – and the way he charged straight into the jaws of a trap. No harm in rubbing it in, though. Especially as he recognised the third man now – Balbus’ right-hand man Nobilitor. Companion to the murderous Flaccus. Whose account had been so unexpectedly settled by the assassin Myrtillus. No wonder Caesar Octavius could afford to buy – and bribe – so many legions. If he was using Balbus’ famously bottomless purse.
‘I suspect Antony does not share your sentiments on the subject of Caesar’s health, Centurion,’ said Quintus Pedius. ‘What does your commander want?’
‘Permission to retrieve his dead and wounded.’
Consul Hirtius and Quintus Pedius looked at each other. Nobilitor looked into the distance. Dressed as a legate but clearly out of his depth here. No more of a soldier than Pansa. Artemidorus could almost read the minds of the two professional commanders, however. They would be disappointed Antony was not admitting defeat as Nobilitor had hoped. But not really surprised. Then they would be going through a rapid series of calculations as to the immediate future and their own plans in it. Which – in broad terms – would be to throw the full might of their combined legions straight at Antony at the earliest opportunity. But the conversation so far suggested they would not be able to do this in the immediate future. And they needed to do something about their own wounded. Before the already battered morale of Pansa’s legions began to suffer further, infecting the other men. As the strength of their command already had – as evidenced by the Martia’s uncontrolled behaviour.
If they refused his request, then collecting their own – much greater – tally of dead and wounded might be problematic. Especially for Decimus Albinus who would have to let his men come in and out of the besieged city – something Antony could well want to take advantage of. But Antony was an honourable man. If he gave his word on a truce then he would keep it. Furthermore, he suspected that Hirtius and Pedius would be speculating that a large number of wounded would slow Antony down if he did decide to retreat. Make him easier to catch up with when they sorted out the near disaster of Pansa’s engagement.
v
The three of them galloped back towards the battlefield in the gathering darkness with the news that Antony could have his truce. As they did so, they came across walking wounded in greater and greater numbers. Soldiers at first staggering towards Hirtius and Pansa’s camp, but then increasing crowds of Antony’s men heading in the opposite direction. And, there amongst them, Mercury. Artemidorus did not recognise him at first, but the double agent recognised him and called his name. Artemidorus reined to a stop and looked around. A few moments later Mercury was precariously perched behind him as they raced towards Antony’s camp. Ferrata took Mercury to the nearest medical tent as Artemidorus went to report to the general.
As ever, Antony put the welfare of his men first, so it was Ferrata who found him, among the wounded who had made it this far – and who were already being tended by the medicii, clinicii and capsariors doctors attached to the legions. It was Ferrata therefore who gave the news of the truce which sent most of the medicii hurrying out onto the battlefield – together with cohort after cohort of able-bodied helpers. Bearing torches as the night closed in. Though the brightness of Hirtius and Caesar’s campfires outshone the moon and almost made flambeaus and lamps unnecessary.
Artemidorus found Enobarbus and as they walked side by side from the intelligence tent to the medical facility, they discussed the information that Artemidorus was taking to Antony. ‘So the general has finally officially been declared hostis. I’m not sure how he’ll take that. In the meantime Caesar Octavius is sick, but in full control. Quintus Pedius is liaising for him with Hirtius – and Pansa I assume. But it looks as though Antony could well be right and the consul is badly wounded. Also Nobilitor is there – which means Balbus is financing everything that the Senate isn’t paying for. Agrippa and Rufus weren’t there which means they were with Caesar. Who might still be in Ariminium. But I doubt it. If I was him I’d have moved up much closer by now – into Cisalpine Gaul now the Senate has ruled. He could be as close as Bononia. That’s only a day’s march or an hour’s hard ride away from Hirtius’ new position just down the road.
‘Pansa tried to deploy the Fourth today when the Martia went out of control. But Caesar Octavius held them back. Which has to mean he was close enough to take command decisions. Bononia’s most likely, as I say. And he was probably wise – the Fourth used to be Antony’s men and might well be a little hesitant to attack him full on. Even after the decimations in Brundisium. Especially as they’d find themselves facing the Thirty-fifth, the Second Sabine and Fifth Larks. All experienced and battle-hardened. The Fifth especially, with the general’s brother Lucius leading them. But Hirtius and Quintus Pedius seem to be blaming Pansa for what they view as a near disaster rather than a great victory. And you can see their point. Antony is still here. And Decimus Albinus is still trapped in Mutina. And they have about four times as many dead and wounded as we do. Though that’s just a rough estimate.’
At this point in their conversation, they entered the tent and found Antony deep in conversation with Mercury, whose wound turned out to be a deep cut to his cheek which was open from ear to chin. That was being cauterised and stitched shut as the pair talked. Mercury had never been pretty but not even a mother could love him now. ‘Ah, Septem,’ said the general as the spy approached. ‘Your man here saw Pansa after I did. He was badly wounded. His guards had to carry him off the battlefield. Sounds as though he’ll be lucky to last the night.’
*
‘It’s simple mathematics,’ said Antony as the next day threatened to dawn. ‘I don’t need spies to add to the figures. Or Pythagoras and Euclid to explain them. And the fact that they’ve declared me hostis doesn’t make any immediate difference. Certainly not on the ground here. I command four legions, though after yesterday’s battle, I’m really only left with two full legions and some auxiliaries. The Second Sabine and the Fifth Larks, though I could just about reconstitute the Thirty-fifth. Decimus Albinus has more than that in Mutina – though to be fair they are disheartened, weakened and starving. Pansa had four. So did Hirtius. And Octavius has the Fourth, the Martia – which Pansa couldn’t control – and a couple of others that he’s still training up. Even so, that’s the better part of sixteen legions all in all. Plus cavalry and Praetorian Cohorts. We’re outnumbered by a factor somewhere between four to one and eight to one. Any suggestions?’
‘Attack,’ said Artemidorus at once. ‘Use the truce for as long as you can to strengthen your men and their numbers – then attack the moment it’s over.’
Antony gave a shout of laughter. ‘My thoughts exactly! But explain your reasoning Septem. Let’s see how close your ideas are to my own.’
‘You need to keep the initiative and that’s the way to do it,’ the spy said forcefully. ‘If you sit and wait they’ll catch you on the back foot and annihilate you. You have very little chance of winning an outright victory but the best chance is surprise. Which an attack certainly would be. In the meantime, you
need to secure a clear route for an orderly retreat. I’m pretty certain you’ve been thinking along those lines already because you’ve been using my tribune here and your brother General Lucius to organise a series of speculatores and exploratores from his Fifth Legion to scout the north-western extension of the Via Aemilia up past Placentia to Castra Taurinmorum military camp and beyond. Which I suppose is your escape route. Perhaps the least likely one you could choose. Certainly Pansa and Hirtius must reckon they have you trapped against the Alps. But it’s an escape route that also takes you towards Gaius Lepidus in Narbonnese Gaul with at least five legions which he may be willing to share with you, even if you are a proscribed outlaw. And to General Pollio in Further Spain with at least two more. And General Plancus beside them in Transalpine Gaul with five more who might be persuaded to join whichever side looks the stronger. If Mars and Venus Victrix stay with you, you could go into the mountains with two legions and come back out again with fifteen.’
‘Very good!’ said Antony, clearly impressed. ‘My thoughts almost exactly. Except for one element. An important one to you, as it happens.’
‘Yes, General? What is that?’
‘Not what – who. My old friend General Publius Ventidius Bassus is in the ancient Etruscan capital of Arretium. He’s no friend to Cicero or the Libertores faction in the Senate. He gave me his word that if ever I was declared hostis outlaw and enemy of the state, he would help me rather than hunt me. It’s time to see whether he will keep his promise. If he does, then Cicero may well have saved my life by demanding my death! As soon as we finish this battle you suggest we start, I want you to go and get him and bring him to me if he will agree to come. Over in Gaul, as you suggest. Him and the three legions he commands. Which, if we can pull it off, will give us an army that will outnumber everything that the Senate, Pansa, Hirtius, Decimus Albinus and that bloody boy can bring into the field against us.’
vi
‘Right,’ said Antony three days later as the truce at last came towards its end. ‘It’s a bit underhanded, but this is what I want you and your contubernium to do, Septem. While I, my brothers, legates and tribunes conduct the battle on the wider scale, I want you to go in as a separate unit. Disguised in the armour we stripped from Pansa’s dead legionaries for precisely this purpose. Wearing their legionary badges. Pretending to be on their side. In the confusion of battle that shouldn’t be too hard to do. Then your mission is simple. Find the leaders of the enemy troops and kill them by whatever means you can. Pansa, if he’s recovered from that wound I gave him. Hirtius. Decimus Albinus and don’t forget his head. That slimy nothus bastard Pontius Aquila who you say is his right-hand man. Young Caesar, if he’s well enough to have got himself out of bed. His two bumboys Agrippa and Rufus. I don’t care how you get them. Stab them in the back if you have to – it’s what most of them did to Divus Julius after all. Consider yourselves cryptia Spartan undercover elite. The heart and soul of The Three Hundred at Thermopylae. Because if I’m not Agamemnon at the gates of Troy, then I’m Leonidas at the Pass!’
The only other person present at the briefing was Enobarbus. Even the general’s trusted brother Lucius was elsewhere. Both he and Artemidorus stared at Antony stony-faced. There was no doubt they would obey his orders. And both men understood the reference to the Spartan army’s secret super elite, who only became eligible to join the cryptaia after they had murdered in cold blood to prove their willingness to kill or die whatever the odds.
But neither man liked what the contubernium was being ordered to do. Though, to be fair, this was not the first time they had been commanded to put on their opponents’ armour and legionary identification badges. Each night since the battle, the spies had dressed in disguise and tried to infiltrate Hirtius and Pansa’s camp. Further visits to Mutina being out of the question now that Caesar Octavius and Albinus knew their correspondence had been tampered with. Albinus possibly knew the face of the man responsible for delivering the forged letters that almost got him and his entire command wiped out. Even though the face in question had been blacked each time they met. And if he did not, then Pontius Aquila almost certainly did.
The best they had been able to achieve was reports of guards’ gossip overheard. Which informed them that Pansa was still clinging to life. That Caesar Octavius was recovering – and had demanded that the truce be extended with no further attacks on Antony until he was well enough to lead his men in person. Hirtius had acquiesced. For the Senate was beginning to hand out honours and the promise of a triumph. And neither man wished to miss his chance at any of this. Each of them wishing their actions to be clearly seen and accurately recorded. So that the Senate’s gratitude could be precisely targeted and richly fulfilled. In the golden days that would follow Antony’s defeat, disgrace and death.
And as Antony had at last been declared hostis, his goods and possessions, villas and all that could be found of his personal fortune had been confiscated. Fulvia, Julia, Antyllus and the other children thrown out onto the street. And the word had gone out. The man who killed or captured Antony would be rewarded with every brick of building, every stick of furniture, every sestertius of the fortune that had been taken away from him.
In reaction, however, many people felt Antony was being shabbily treated by a Senate biased by Cicero’s Philippics into unreasoning support of Divus Julius’ murderers. Were beginning to wonder whether things had gone too far. Whether it was Cicero rather than Antony who was really the enemy of Rome. And whether the time had come to go to Antony’s aid. Men like Marcus Aemilius Lepidus Governor of Narbonese Gaul. Lucius Munacius Plancus Governor of Transalpine Gaul. Gaius Antonius Pollo, Governor of Further Spain.
Men like General Publius Ventidius Bassus with his three legions stationed in Arrteium.
XIV
i
Artemidorus, Quintus, Ferrata, Puella, Hercules, Kyros and Mercury eased themselves silently through the scrubby bush separating them from Hirtius’ camp. The night was dark but not black. There was no moon and a light overcast but the stars and the campfires of the opposing legions cast a little light. The contubernium spread out as they crept silently forward. But they did not separate so widely that they could not communicate with each other and keep control of the ground between them. Behind them, moving almost as silently, came a line of legionaries from Legio V who had been carefully prepared for this duty. The spies were the first line of defence against infiltration from Hirtius’ spies. The legionaries were the second. Any man coming from the Senate’s legions would die silently and be left where he lay. For, although it was still just after sunset, Antony’s attack was under way. The first ballista shot would announce the end of the truce at dawn tomorrow.
The briefing he had given Artemidorus and Enobarbus was one among many that the spy and his chief had attended – and participated in. Their role as disguised cryptaeia assassins was only one element of a much larger plan which was going into action now. As silently as possible, slowly and carefully, Antony’s siege weapons were being moved. Repositioned. Turned to face away from Mutina. Creating a field of fire centred on Hirtius’ camp instead. Antony and his artillery officers calculated that, although the ballistae, onagers, scorpios and slings had been of limited effect against the battlements of Mutina, they would be devastatingly effective against Hirtius’ stockade. Further, while the months of the siege had forced the men working the siege weapons to target them with increasing accuracy, the huge camp containing twelve legions’ tents was an objective they could hardly miss. Pinpoint precision coming a long way second behind the impact of an unexpected bombardment. In any case, the fires, as numerous as stars – which Hirtius calculated would sap the morale of Antony’s troop – provided a perfect mark to aim at.
But the plan depended on surprise. And Artemidorus was in charge of ensuring that surprise was total. Using the contubernium as a Spartan cryptaia ruthless killing machine to ensure no one from the enemy camp saw anything suspicious and survived. Employing a techniqu
e he had first seen used by Cilician pirates in his youth, Artemidorus clenched his dagger between his teeth. For once glad that he had given Brutus’ uncannily sharp dagger to Caesar Octavius. Closing his lips against the cold steel in case his teeth glinted. Hooding his eyes for the same reason. This freed both hands to crawl or fight, and kept the dagger ready for immediate use – far more accessible than it would be in its sheath. The only problem with the technique was the fact that, although not quite the equal of Brutus’, the dagger was razor sharp on each edge. As the pirates had taught him to do, he clenched his teeth on the ridge that ran down the middle of the blade. Which kept his mouth safe from being widened into a smile that might stretch from ear to ear. His face was black, as were his arms, legs and clothing. As were the others’. And, indeed, as were those of the line of legionaries crawling out into no-man’s-land behind them.
A low whistle made Artemidorus freeze. His contubernium and the legionaries supporting them had been warned against making any sound. And were relying on Antony’s artillerymen to go about their business equally quietly. The whistle had come from one of Hirtius’ men, therefore. He raised his head, scanning the stunted bushes. A black figure detached itself from the shadows in front of him, visible only as a darker shape in the darkness. Discernible only because it moved, slowly and stealthily, in a half crouch. Artemidorus waited without moving a muscle. A signal meant at least two speculatores, maybe more. And he wanted them all stopped. No one running back to camp and managing to raise the alarm. His patience was soon rewarded. Another figure rose into visibility. A third. A fourth. Hirtius’ men were doing exactly what Artemidorus contubernium were doing. Just not quite as well. When he was certain that his spies would have seen their opponents, he moved. Like a lizard on a warm stone, he raised his right hand and took his dagger from between his teeth. Tensed his whole body, but especially his legs. As the enemy soldier came closer, still unaware that he was approaching danger, he rose up on his knees. The dagger went straight into the other man’s belly, just beneath his breastbone, driving upwards to his heart. There was a flood of hot liquid over his hand. The dead man deflated like a bursting bladder. Collapsing silently. Artemidorus looked around. There was no longer any sign of the opposing spies; and, in a flash of movement, the line of his own agents vanished into the black undergrowth once again.