Caesar's Spies- The Complete Campaigns

by Peter Tonkin

  Like Octavian’s other immediate advisors, Maecenas was an intelligent, insightful and driven young man. He looked to the spy to be about 25 years old. However, Artemidorus was struck not so much by his age as by his setting and appearance. The head of Octavian’s secret service sat awaiting Antony’s principal secret agent in the sizeable vestibulum of the command tent which seemed to be Maecenas’ own domain. It was sparsely furnished with table and chairs. Hung with leather walls and ancient-looking carpets. There was a disturbing air of familiarity about the place – Spartan though it was. And the style of both clothing and appearance affected by the young man were unsettlingly familiar too. It took a moment for the spy to realise what it was that disturbed him. This section of the tent and everything within it reminded Artemidorus of his friend Spurinna’s villa in Rome. Spurinna. Kyros’ master until he had been freed to join Artemidorus’ contubernium. The soothsayer who had warned Caesar to beware the beginning of March. And reminded him of the prediction on The Ides. Pointlessly as it turned out. But like most of the leading soothsayers in Rome, Spurinna claimed ancient Etruscan heritage. And so, clearly, did Maecenas.

  ***

  Artemidorus, feeling unexpectedly isolated in front of the youthful stranger with Felix remaining outside and no sign as yet of Octavian, stood to attention before this senior officer who looked to be so much younger than he was. Who neither rose nor did more than glance briefly and coldly up – then down again.

  ‘You have messages for Caesar?’ demanded Maecenas abruptly.

  ‘From, Antony, Plancus and a tribune called Lenas. To be given into Caesar Octavian’s hand,’ said Artemidorus easily. He knew Maecenas’ power but not his rank. He guessed at Tribune, but it could have been Legate. Octavian was a General and a Senator at nineteen years old, so who knew?

  ‘You may give them to me.’ An imperious hand was held out. Maecenas did not look up.

  ‘I hope this is some kind of a test, Gaius Cilnius, because you know very well I give messages such as these into Octavian’s hand alone. They are, as I’m sure you realise, for his eyes only.’

  ‘You know who I am. And what position I hold?’

  ‘Indeed I do. Very precisely. Though I have to admit I do not know your rank.’ Artemidorus’ language became as formal and stiff as his spine. ‘But were Octavian minded to send letters back to Antony with me, rest assured I would insist on giving them to the General himself. And not to the Tribune Enobarbus. Whose opposite number I understand you to be.’

  ‘And if I insist?’ Maecenas looked up at last. Stared at Artemidorus, his gaze icy.

  ‘Then I still refuse.’

  ‘At the cost of your life? You are – at the very least – in the heart of enemy territory.’

  ‘Then, like any soldier, I die happily in the pursuance of my duty.’ Artemidorus gave a wintery smile. ‘But you will need to employ a good number of the enemies with which I am surrounded in order to kill me. And be prepared, perhaps, to die in the pursuance of your own duty. Happily or not.’ His hand rested on the pommel of his gladius.

  ii

  The leather curtains behind Maecenas parted. Octavian came through into the vestibulum frowning thoughtfully. He had clearly been eavesdropping on the conversation so far. Agrippa and Rufus followed him, their grins wide. ‘I told you, Gaius,’ said Agrippa to Maecenas. ‘Septem’s sense of duty is stronger than the Servian wall.’

  Maecenas nodded. Shrugged, his eyes still on Artemidorus. Who was uncertain whether he had made a friend or an enemy of Octavian’s spy master. ‘As long as he’s a bit more intelligent than the Servian Wall,’ said Maecenas.

  Too late to worry about it now, thought Artemidorus with a mental shrug of his own.

  ‘Can I have the letters, please, Septem?’ asked Octavian gently.

  ‘Of course, Caesar.’ Artemidorus handed over the three letters.

  Octavian took them. Glanced at each one. Put them unopened down on the table beside Maecenas. ‘I will read them in a little while,’ he said. ‘Then I will discuss them with my advisors. I may invite you to be a part of that discussion if I think you can add anything else that might be of relevance. But first, did Antony, Plancus or this man Lenas send anything further by word of mouth?’ His lips twisted in the ghost of a smile. ‘For my ears only?’

  ‘Some observations, yes,’ said Artemidorus guardedly, maintaining the formal tone. Agrippa and Rufus might see the game of spying on the spy and spymaster as a bit of fun, but Septem wasn’t sure whether Octavian saw it as a game or as a genuine test of a man he did not quite trust. As Artemidorus did not quite trust Felix – who seemed to be too much of a good thing. Artemidorus might well seem too much of a good thing to Octavian - given the manner in which their paths had crossed from time to time. He certainly felt as though he was being tested. In reality; not in fun. And not just by the ironic Maecenas. ‘But I believe they could well be shared with your advisors,’ he continued. ‘Especially if you are going to share the contents of the letters in any case.’

  ‘An intelligent observation,’ allowed Octavian with a glance at Maecenas, the smile widening fractionally. ‘Please proceed.’

  Artemidorus took a breath. Almost closed his eyes to aid concentration. Thought better of it. Riveted his gaze to Octavian and began. ‘General Mark Antony sends greetings to Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. He congratulates you on your promotion to general of the Senatorial legions even if it is by popular vote amongst the legionaries grudgingly recognised by the Senate rather than full Senatorial imperium, which, he observes, still rests with Decimus Albinus. Courtesy of Cicero and his puppet senators. The General assures you that he bears no grudge for the fact that several of the legions you now command, including the Martia and the IVth, deserted him in order to join you. Nor does he place any credence in the rumour that you had the wounded Consul Pansa murdered by Glyco, the doctor, so you could lay claim to the generalship of all the armies in question. He already knows from my own account that the rumour you personally stabbed Consul Hirtius in the back during the Battle of Mutina - for the same reason - is also untrue. He further congratulates you on your election to the Senate more than twenty years earlier than the law allows. But he warns you that he suspects this honour has been bestowed as part of Cicero’s scheme to control you. As evidenced by Cicero’s continued support and adulation of Decimus Albinus who actually took little part in the battle for which he has been awarded a Triumph, while you have been offered, he believes, nothing more than a statue. Decimus Albinus who has less than a tenth part of the legions under his command that you have under yours. He reminds you of Cicero’s famously stated plan for you: tolerate, elevate, exterminate...’

  ‘Antony said all that, did he Septem?’ Octavian interrupted, clearly amused now. ‘And in such formal language? Are you sure he was sober at the time?’

  ‘My lord,’ said Artemidorus, relaxing just a little, ‘he most certainly could not have dictated it all if he was drunk.’

  ‘True. But I hardly need to read the letter now, do I?’

  ‘I think you do, Caesar. Antony dictated his observations to me. But he has written his proposals arising from those observations to you.’

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ said Maecenas quietly. ‘Given the barbed and self-serving nature of the spoken message. He’s making as sure as he can that he drives a wedge between you and Cicero.’

  ‘I believe his observations are justified, Gaius Cilnius,’ Artemidorus replied. ‘Cicero fears Antony – especially as he sees the General not only escaping Decimus but also building his power beyond the Alps. By befriending and joining forces with Lepidus. And who knows who else? Plancus, perhaps. Even Pollio? Moreover, he has clearly got no intention of remaining beyond the Alps. As soon as he is strong enough he will certainly invade Cisalpine Gaul, perhaps Italy and conceivably even Rome itself. Depending of course, on the position taken up by Caesar Octavius and the legions he commands.’ Artemidorus glanced at Octavian, uneasy at the thought of speaking about
him as though he was not there.

  Octavian nodded, however, so Artemidorus continued, ‘We understand that Brutus, with whom both Antony and Cicero are in contact, is withdrawing further into Macedonia. Neither he nor Cassius has any intention of coming to the Senate’s aid if and when Antony moves against them. Which Cicero’s words and actions – the so called Philippics major amongst them – have ensured that he will. Cicero and many of his cronies in the Senate see Caesar as a weapon. Perhaps the only one on which they can rely. But a weapon merely for short-term use. Especially as, once the problem that Antony presents is solved, Caesar himself becomes the next problem in line.’

  Agrippa nodded. ‘Well observed, Septem. That is as clear and intelligent an analysis of the situation as I have heard, Caesar.’

  ‘I agree,’ added Rufus. And even Maecenas nodded.

  As did Octavian himself. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘And Plancus?’

  ‘General Plancus gave me no verbal message. But if I may observe... He is of Antony’s generation; four years his elder. Twenty five years older than you. He served in many of the campaigns Antony served in. Many of them with Divus Julius. In Gaul, for instance, and against Pompey. I would guess he is also of Antony’s mind in this. No matter what he writes, he is more likely to go to Antony in the first instance than come to you, Caesar. But of course, should you join with Antony sometime in the future, he would happily serve you both. But as I said, he gave me no verbal message to pass on with his letter.

  ‘Nor did Tribune Popilius Lenas. But, as your centurion Lucius Flavius Felix can corroborate, Lenas came after us with a band of legionaries in an attempt to steal the gold we are carrying. I am sure he would have killed us all to get it. And therefore have stopped both Antony’s and Plancus’ letters from reaching you. Which of course shows you how serious he is about whatever he has written in his own. And how much reliance you can put upon it.’

  iii

  ‘I have someone I want you to meet,’ said Felix as Artemidorus came out of the headquarters tent, leaving Octavian, Maecenas, Agrippa and Rufus to open and discuss the letters.

  ‘Yes? Who?’

  ‘His name’s Cornelius. He’s primus pilus leading centurion of the Martia. Praefectus Castorum. The head of the centurion council.’

  ‘A powerful man. I’ve been in that position myself as primus pilus of the old seventh legion. Praefectus Castoum for a while when we were camped on Tiber island. Then I was seconded to my present position. Why do you want us to meet?’

  ‘He’s someone you should get to know. Caesar trusts him. Uses him as the leader in embassies and so-forth. If he sends a message back to Antony via anyone other than yourself, he’ll almost certainly use Cornelius. Unless Cornelius is performing other duties. Besides, it’s time for cena and he sets one of the best tables in the camp.’

  ‘With respect, Tribune, I will have dinner – with Centurion Cornelius or not – after I have seen that my own people are housed and fed.’

  ‘Of course. How thoughtless of me. Well, just follow me and we will soon settle that. Hopefully to your satisfaction...’

  By sunset Artemidorus had visited every man in his command and was satisfied that they, soldier or slave, hurt or hearty, were in the best situation possible. Only Quintus and Puella remained, and it took the combined persuasiveness of both Artemidorus and Felix to convince them that the gold-filled wagons would be safe under the guard of Octavian’s men. ‘We’ll move the gold first thing in the morning if that suits,’ said Felix. ‘And depending on whatever further plans Caesar and you agree upon. We’ll put it permanently with the eagles and the legions’ pay-chests in the treasury. If it’s not safe there, it won’t be safe anywhere in the camp. Now, legionary Quintus, I understand that you once served with legionary Marcus Caelius in the old seventh. He wonders whether you would do him the honour of sharing his quarters. And his dinner – which I must admit I have augmented quite considerably in the circumstances...’

  Quintus gave a grunt of laughter. ‘That’s Caelius alright. Able to turn any situation into something to eat. And I’ll wager he has the most comfortable tent in the camp as well. Yes. It will be very pleasant to renew our acquaintance.’

  ‘Then that only leaves your Amazon,’ Septem. ‘What shall we do with Puella?’

  ‘Puella stays with me,’ said Artemidorus without thinking. Then he glanced at Puella. She seemed distant and preoccupied still. But she joined the two men as they turned, Felix still talking.

  ‘An admirable arrangement. There will be room at Cornelius’ table I am sure. And if Caelius does not have the most comfortable tent in the camp then Cornelius certainly does.’

  ***

  There was no question of returning to the fiction that Puella was Artemidorus’ slave. Felix’ men had described in some detail her deadly aim with a sling and Artemidorus’ own command had added to this by describing her head-turning activities during the skirmish with the Gaulish raiders at the burned-out taberna. Some of the legionaries had seen gladiatrices as well as gladiators in the arena. There was a lively debate as to whether they were serious combatants or a joke in bad taste. Certainly, those few who appeared seemed only to fight against other gladiatrices or relatively harmless animals. Usually presented as legendary Amazons – titillatingly bare breasted. Rarely killing or being killed. Unlike proper gladiators.

  The simple, almost sinister power that Puella exuded put such debate to bed. Still silent and distant, she nevertheless moved with the lethal grace of a black panther. And there was something about the fathomless depth of her huge dark eyes that at once tempted and warned-off the men around Cornelius’ table. Whatever the other men in Centurion Cornelius’ tent thought, they welcomed her as warmly as they welcomed Artemidorus.

  In the easy, comradely atmosphere, Felix, Artemidorus and Puella shared a three-person couch in the makeshift triclinium. Three three-person couches grouped round a central table that was well within everyone’s reach. Cornelius and two other centurions shared another couch – the one at the head of the table - and three more shared the third. The meal, served by legionary slaves, proceeded slowly, with a careful minimum of well-watered wine. The officers all had duties to perform later that evening or early next morning.

  Centurion Cornelius was a broad-chested, square-faced, down-to-earth man, a year or two older than Artemidorus and at least a decade older than Felix. The skin on his arms, legs and face was dark and weather-beaten except where it was lined with white scars. And at the pale valley-floors of the deep wrinkles around his eyes. His nose had been broken at least once and his ears all-but destroyed by years of wearing heavy helmets. He had no pretentions to being anything other than he was – a long-service soldier. His friends were much the same. But it soon became obvious to Artemidorus that he had been invited here for reasons other than simple courtesy.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ said Cornelius as the slaves retired having loaded the table with roasted chicken, baked lamb and boiled ox-tail, olives and fruits, bread, oil, wine and water, then departed. The soldiers clearly used to serving themselves from that point on. ‘Young Caesar is planning to send a delegation of legionaries led by centurions to Rome,’ Cornelius continued. ‘He wants several things agreed. He wants fully recognised imperium. He wishes to replace Hirtius or Pansa as Consul himself and he wants Divus Julius’ will formally ratified, allowing him to legally claim the property, money and client-list the old man left to him. Only the Senate can do this. And they dance to Cicero’s tune.’ He tore off a chicken leg and used the ragged end of it to point across the table at his guests. ‘Centurion Artemidorus, young Felix here tells us that you know Cicero better than any of us. What do you think are the chances of the Senate granting Caesar’s requests?’

  As Artemidorus considered his answer, Puella reached past him and took a bowl of olives. Then she sat back, nibbling them. He forgot about her for the time-being.

  ‘At first glance, none whatsoever,’ Artemidorus sucked the
almost jellified flesh of an oxtail-bone. Licked his lips. Wiped his fingers as he continued thoughtfully. ‘Cicero’s main fear is Antony. And not without reason, given the way he has treated him. He sees Caesar Octavian as a weapon to be used against him. But Octavian has made no secret of his desire to avenge Divus Julius, and that means he will end up attacking Cicero’s friends as soon as he gets the chance. Whether he has destroyed Antony in the mean-time as Cicero hopes or whether he has joined forces with Antony as Cicero fears.’

  He tore off some bread and dipped it in the oil. ‘Cicero is therefore walking a dagger’s edge. He needs to keep Caesar Octavian on his side and ranged against Antony until he gets more legions from somewhere – though Brutus and Cassius seem unwilling to get involved. In the short term at least. But he dare not give Caesar Octavian too much power or he will become as much of a threat as Antony. Apparently only Brutus recognises the potential threat Caesar could represent. Cicero, like almost everyone else of his generation, including Antony himself, underestimates Caesar Octavian in every way. Blindly so. Stupidly so. Fatally so.’

  ‘ “Tolerate, elevate, exterminate.” We’ve all heard that one,’ said Cornelius. The others nodded. Muttered angrily.

  ‘So has Caesar Octavian,’ said Artemidorus. He did not point out that he himself had told Octavian of Cicero’s words.

  ‘But in the long and short of it,’ said Cornelius. ‘What sort of reception are we likely to get from Cicero and the Senate when we take Caesar’s requests to them?’

  ‘Frosty,’ said Artemidorus.

  Felix grunted. ‘That will be quite welcome,’ he said. ‘Given how hot Rome is at this time of year!’

  iv

  ‘What did you think of him?’ asked Felix as the three of them strolled towards the quarters assigned to Artemidorus and Puella.

  ‘Cornelius? Seems like a good man.’

  ‘The best man to lead a delegation to the Senate?’