by Peter Tonkin
***
Octavian’s relation Quintus Pedius was the nephew of Divus Julius, though only a year or so younger than the dead dictator. Pedius had been mentioned in his will – but was happy to give Octavian his share of the inheritance in full support of the young Caesar’s ambitions. A tall, thin man in his late fifties, forceful, strong and decisive, he was a retired general, proconsul, and triumphator. He was the commander who had defeated Annius Milo the gang-leader while destroying his army at the Battle of Compsa when Milo’s political pretensions got out of hand. Though he hadn’t actually killed him – that act had been performed by a rock thrown from Compsa’s castle walls. Since following Octavian to Rome, he had taken a villa low on the Palatine, overlooking the Temple of Vesta, not far from Cicero’s.
His janitor doorkeeper was extremely hesitant to admit three desperate-looking plebeians carrying suspicious packages and an unconscious woman. But he agreed to pass a roll of papyrus to the atriensis steward for onward passage to the master. It seemed like only moments later that Quintus Pedius himself was at the door. ‘Septem!’ he said, astonished. ‘It is you! Come in my boy. Come in all of you!’
‘Is there anyone you don’t know?’ whispered Felix as the elderly general led them through into the villa’s atrium. Artemidorus shrugged. He had met Pedius by chance when Antony sent him with messages for Octavian as the young Caesar first approached Rome last year. The bodies of two murder victims that Artemidorus, Quintus and Ferrata discovered on the road turned out to be those of Pedius’ daughter and her would-be husband. Killed by horse-thieves after their mounts. Too long a story to bother with now, he thought as he followed the general further into the villa.
‘I heard you were back with that scoundrel Antony!’ Pedius continued. ‘But here you are bearing messages from young Caesar! You really are amazing! And is that Quintus carrying the girl? Quintus you rogue I hardly recognised you out of your armour. We clearly have a great deal to discuss. Come through to the triclinium and I will send for food. But you will want to wash first of course. And, perhaps, tell me how you came by that strikingly lovely young thing on your shoulder. I do hope you’re not responsible for the state of her clothing...’
‘The culina kitchen will do, thank you, general, for we could do with something to eat and drink,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘But all we wish to wash are our hands. Everything else about us is designed to help us pass unnoticed through the streets. We have other places to visit tonight.’
‘Very well. But the kitchen will be far too hot. I’ll have food carried through to the peristyle garden. We can sit out there while we talk and eat - and pray for a cool breeze. However, I must observe that carrying a partially clothed, unconscious woman about the streets may undermine your objective of going unnoticed...’
‘With your permission, sir, we will leave her here and collect her later. Though I warn you she will need to be carefully secured. She works for a street-gang like Milo’s and we killed several of her companions a little while ago.’ He held up his blood-covered hands in proof.
Pedius shook his head. His gaunt old face folded into a worried frown. ‘A dangerous pastime, killing gang members. I assume you had no choice.’
‘None, sir. But that and she are simply a distraction from our main mission. We have much more important matters to discuss with you.’
iv
‘Cicero first, then,’ said Pedius a little later as they all crowded round a table in the square garden beneath a blanket of stars. A blanket so suffocating that even the tinkle of water from the fountain did not seem to promise any coolness. The coolest of all of them, thought Artemidorus, was likely to be the unconscious woman who was locked in a stone walled store room near the back door. ‘Cicero’s been away at his villas in Puteoli and Formia because the city’s been too hot for him, but I hear he came back yesterday.’ Pedius waved the solicitous atriensis away now that the table was laden with food and drink and the ravenous guests had already started eating.
‘On hearing that Octavian was sending his four hundred messengers south I expect,’ observed Artemidorus, speaking round a mouthful of bread and boiled egg. Felix nodded as he reached for a farcimen sausage before Quintus could grab them all.
Pedius looked up from the scroll of Caesar Octavian’s letter which he had been scanning while his guests settled to their meal. ‘You’re right. Yesterday afternoon he sent out word that any senators currently in the city should prepare for a senate meeting tomorrow. Which shows how worried he is. The next scheduled senate meeting is on the kalends of Sextilis and that’s several days away. Though of course there aren’t any Consuls to formally convene it now that Hirtius and Pansa are dead.’
Artemidorus frowned as a thought struck him. ‘I haven’t read that letter I brought from young Caesar, sir, but I wouldn’t be surprised if part of his application for the role of Consul in place of Hirtius or Pansa names you as co-Consul. He has toyed with the idea of nominating Cicero, I understand. Even went so far as to discuss it with him. But to do so now would destroy any hope he has of reaching an agreement with Antony. And you are in every way as well qualified as Cicero, as suitable in the Senate’s eyes – and perfectly acceptable to Antony.’
Pedius weighed up Artemidorus’ assessment his expression thoughtful. There was a brief silence. Then he said, ‘Yes. You’re correct. Caesar says as much in this letter. More or less word for word. Beyond that, and the other applications he is proposing to make – ratification of the will and formal recognition of his imperium - nothing new.’ He rolled up the scroll.
‘I would bet that Cicero’s been warned about all of Caesar’s demands and is hoping to get them debated and refused before anyone expects the Senate to have met,’ said Felix, breaking into a brief silence.
‘A good thought, Felix. Precisely when is the senate now scheduled to convene, Senator?’ asked Artemidorus.
‘Tomorrow at daybreak. Tradition dictates that the senate should never meet at night - well, hardly ever.’
‘And where are they meeting at dawn tomorrow? Pompey’s Curia has been burned to the ground in the riots following the murder of Divus Julius, just like the Curia Hostilia was burned down in the riots after the death of Clodius ten years ago. In the Consulship of Pompey and Scipio. So both of them are useless. And the Curia Julia started by Divus Julius is only half-finished. It’s hardly more than a shell with doors beside the rostrum in the Forum Romanum. Nothing much inside.
‘They’ve been using the Temple of Tellus. Or I should say we have.’
‘That’s just along the road from the villa that Antony stole after Pompey died – where Fulvia and his family were living – until he was declared hostis and they were all thrown into the street. Are they still at Atticus’ villa?’
‘As far as I know. I believe Cicero is livid. He worked so hard to have Antony outlawed – and now his best friend is sheltering his family.’
‘Atticus is no fool. It’s a gesture that costs him nothing now – but may well pay huge dividends if Antony comes out on top.’
‘True. I hadn’t considered that...’ Pedius fell silent once again.
‘And Octavian’s mother and sister?’ asked Artemidorus. ‘Atia and Octavia, where are they?’
‘Lucius Balbus has rented them a neat little villa in the Carinae, up on the Oppian Hill, well clear of the swamps and the Subura. Not too far from the Temple of Tellus as a matter of fact. Octavia is there keeping an eye on Atia – Octavia’s husband and the children are keeping well out of the city.’
Artemidorus nodded once more. Then he leaned forward. ‘So, Senator, this is what Caesar plans will happen tomorrow now that we know that the senate will be meeting, where and when...’
***
The three of them sneaked out of the back door to Pedius’ villa just after moonrise. They had looked in on the woman as they left the domus, but she seemed still to be unconscious. ‘I will set my atriensis and his men to keep watch over her,’ promised Pedius as he saw them
off. ‘And you can either question her or take her when you come back.’
‘Thank you Senator,’ said Artemidorus. ‘I hope she doesn’t give you any trouble.’
The old general chuckled. ‘One lone woman is hardly going to give me any trouble. The last people who gave me any trouble worth speaking of were the gang-leader Annius Milo and Vercingetorix, High King of the Gauls.’
‘He’s an impressive old man,’ said Felix as the three of them walked along the Via Sacra towards Cicero’s villa.
‘He is,’ agreed Artemidorus.
‘Another example of the luck of the Caesars if you ask me,’ said Quintus. ‘I can’t think of anyone else who’s so fortunate in their relatives.’
‘The Julii gens bloodline perhaps?’ Wondered Felix. ‘It started with Venus Victrix after all. Perhaps she’s careful to look after them.’
‘She must have been off guard or sound asleep last March, then,’ said Quintus.
‘I hadn’t thought of that!’ admitted Felix.
‘Well, think of this,’ said Artemidorus. ‘When we get to Cicero’s villa and if we get admitted, then I want you all eyes and ears. No mouths. Caesar Octavian has told me what he wants me to say when I hand over the letter. But the old man is crafty – downright devious. Like any lawyer, he is careful with his words. He has a love of terms and phrases that might have one meaning or another. Depending on point of view and interpretation. Tolerate, elevate exterminate, for example. The last word, tollendum, is a pun of course. It could have been appropriate or approve rather than exterminate. That was the point of Cicero’s little joke. Though it does seem to have been less amusing than he hoped. Especially as Caesar Octavian failed to see the funny side. So, watch and listen. I need to know what Cornelius can expect when he shows up at the Temple of Tellus tomorrow and puts Caesar’s demands to the Senate.’
v
Cicero’s janitor was as wary as Quintus Pedius’ had been. But he took the roll of papyrus from Artemidorus and vanished into Cicero’s villa – having shut and bolted the door behind himself. It was re-opened, not by Cicero but by his ex-slave, friend and secretary Tiro, who squinted out into the shadows until the visitors stepped into the light of the torch that Cicero – always a good citizen – kept burning at his door.
‘It is you!’ said Tiro, looking at Artemidorus. ‘I could hardly believe it.’ he glanced at Quintus and the frankly amazed Felix. ‘But you are Antony’s man! What do you want with Marcus Tullius?’
‘At the moment I am also young Caesar’s man,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘He has sent messages through me – both in writing and by word of mouth,’
‘It is very late...’
‘Tiro. I know Marcus Tullius rarely sleeps – even on the nights before crucial senate meetings. He will be rehearsing the speech he proposes to give tomorrow. You know I know this.’
‘Well,’ Tiro capitulated. ‘You had better come in.’
Just as Artemidorus had guessed, no sooner were they in the atrium, than the high-pitched, occasionally grating tones of the famous lawyer’s performance voice came echoing across the otherwise silent air. ‘He’s in the peristyle,’ said Tiro. ‘He says it’s far too hot to be inside. Though to be honest, the garden is no cooler. Follow me and I’ll take you through.’
As Artemidorus followed Tiro through the house, he focused all of his attention on what Cicero was saying, for he had no doubt that the words the lawyer, senior senator and ex-Consul was intoning now were those he planned to say to the Senate in the morning. On hearing his master in full flow, Tiro raised his hand and they all stopped to listen, entranced by the eloquence.
‘Law stands silent in the midst of war. You all know, conscript fathers, that I never cease to plead for peace and maintenance of law. Indeed, I believe that an unjust peace is better than a just war for that very reason. In the best of states, war is never undertaken, except in defence of the safety of its citizens. Or to uphold the honour of their city or state. So where do we stand, conscript fathers? On the brink of war, certainly, but still seemingly within reach of peace. Peace and the maintenance of the law. On the one hand there is Antony. Who, like any gangster, in that he has so far refrained from attacking us, boats that he has spared us. So far. And on the other stands the young Caesar, who promises to be our shield against the dissolute drunkard who lurks beyond the Alps and draws his murderous plans against us, like Catiline reborn. But wait. Our brave young shield demands a price. A payment for sheltering us. What is that price? I hear you ask. Can any price be too high to stop that dissolute monster whom you, conscript fathers, have quite rightly declared hostis, outlaw and enemy of the state. And I answer. Only one price is too high to pay. The honour of the state. I am a Roman citizen. It is my sacred duty to uphold the honour of the city and state that bore me. But can I do this by agreeing to the dishonourable demands – even of the man promising to save me? We are, conscript fathers, like a virgin confronted by a brutal ravisher. Whose sole hope of protection is offered by a pimp – who will protect her but only if she prostitutes herself for him. I ask you, conscript fathers, where is the honour in that? Where is... Oh Tiro, I am not certain the conscript fathers will relish being compared with virgins or with prostitutes! Nor Caesar with a pimp – if he ever comes to hear of it which he certainly will, sooner or later. No matter how well-made the point! Tiro... Tiro?’
‘Master,’ said Tiro. ‘I am here. With some men who say they carry messages from young Caesar.’ All four of them stepped through into the peristyle garden and into the light of the lamps and torches burning there.
Artemidorus saw at once why Cicero was so hot – he was dressed in his Senatorial toga and had dug up his old Consular regalia from somewhere. Knowing of course, from Demosthenes and all the other masters of oratory, that an effective speech relied as much on gesture as on words. And gestures to be delivered by a man in a formal toga could not be practised by a man in a mere tunic. No matter how hot the night.
Cicero’s face was gaunter than it had been the last time Artemidorus had seen him. He was pale – even under the golden light of the lamps. There were dark bags beneath his eyes. His thinning hair was plastered to his brow and he was running with sweat. But there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.
‘I know you!’ he said, his eyes locked on Artemidorus.
‘By all the gods’ whispered Felix. ‘Not another one!’
‘You are Antony’s man!’
‘I am, Marcus Tullius. I carried letters from Antony to young Caesar a week or so ago. And Caesar asked me to carry letters from himself to you, hoping you might recognise and remember me. And trust my words, therefore, more than you might trust those of a stranger.’
‘Well, the young Caesar may be right. I remember you as Antony’s spy. But I also remember you as being an honest man in that singularly dishonest profession. So, I will trust you a little. Caesar sends letters, you say?’
‘And messages by word of mouth,’ answered Artemidorus, handing over the scroll with Caesar’s seal and Cicero’s name.
‘Ah. Perhaps we had all better sit while you deliver those. And Tiro here can record what you say, in case there is any doubt at a later date.’
‘A wise precaution, sir. I need no written record. My friends here will commit our conversation to memory. In case, as you say, that there is any doubt.’
As the five of them settled round the table in the peristyle, a couple of elderly slaves brought watered wine, figs, dates and olives. Cicero’s stomach was notoriously temperamental. There would be no bread, boiled eggs or sausages served here.
‘So,’ said the perspiring politician, eyeing a date as though it were at once irresistible and lethal. ‘What does young Caesar say?’
‘That he sends his respects and his warmest regards to the man he still counts amongst his closest friends in Rome.’
‘Flattering,’ said Cicero. But his tone belied the word. Which was why Artemidorus was relying on Quintus and Felix to remember every nuance whereas
Tiro was only writing down the words as spoken. It was the amazing memory of the Senate record-keeper Adonis that had first revealed how Cicero’s tone of voice and gesture changed the meaning of that crucial word from ‘accommodate’ to ‘exterminate’ as the old man was discussing the Senate’s plans for Caesar Octavian. ‘But not quite as flattering as the suggestion he made a few weeks ago. That he and I should become Consuls together. A suggestion that was laughed out of the Senate, I should add. What is this ambitious young man after now?’
‘He pleads – as far as the dignitas of a Caesar will allow – that you consider his modest proposals positively. The ratification of Divus Julius’ will, the awarding of imperium and his own election to Consul in Hirtius or Pansa’s place. Clearly there should be no problem with the ratification of Divus Julius’ will. He wishes to assure you he is only pushing the point because it will liberate the last of the funds Divus Julius promised to every citizen of Rome. Which he will dispense at the earliest opportunity. For himself, Caesar Octavian is quite content with the soldier’s life and really has no need of such money, property or power over Divus Julius’ clients as might be passed to him through the formal ratification of the will.’
‘So, he wishes me to believe, does he, that his only motivation in this is the good of Rome and its citizens?’
‘Just as he wishes you to remember that his adopted father, now the god Divus Julius, was only ever motivated by the good of Rome and its citizens.’
‘Of course,’ sneered Cicero. ‘How well I remember Divus Julius’ motivation!’
vi
‘Is he always like that?’ asked Felix later as the three of them hurried along the benighted Via Sacra back to Quintus Pedius’ villa. ‘Does he always say one thing and mean another?’