by Peter Tonkin
‘That will not be necessary. In the mean-time, we will have a meeting like this every morning so we can discuss what I wish to put in my letters to Antony, beyond explaining to your General what you have managed to achieve in terms of saving my two kingdoms from invasion by Cassius, and from starvation by getting Herod to bring me corn from Parthia. Informing him of what you told me about Cassius’ and Brutus’ past and future activities. Balancing what you know of Antony and his plans with what I know of my own plans in the immediate future and in the longer term, now that, thanks to you, I have room and opportunity to make them.’
‘As you wish, Majesty.’
‘Of course, it is as I wish, Septem,’ answered Cleopatra with a smile. ‘Everything always is. That is what majesty means.’
*
Three days later an unseasonably hot afternoon found them anchored in a wide bay off the south coast of Krete, that lay between two tiny fishing villages called Gailos and Palaiochora, each built on a promontory.
It was just over two days since they had seen the first sail appearing briefly over the northern horizon, then turning away and running back towards Greece. It had been a liburnian by the look of things; and was obviously one of Murcus’ spy ships. Minnakht sent his own triremes hurrying north to seek out his enemy. Of five sent out, two came back this morning. They reported that Murcus and his sixty-ship squadron were still waiting off Cape Tenaro, the southernmost cape of Greece.
A humid, breathless calm settled on the bay as the afternoon passed. It was as though the south-easterly breeze had been enough to blow the furnace-hot air from above the great deserts of the Sinai and those to the east of Egypt ruled by the Sassanid Kings, westwards towards Greece and then to leave it hanging over Krete in a dead calm. The oarsmen bringing the war ships to anchor, tugging the supply ships, and rowing the hundred and fifty captains to the admiral’s briefing aboard Alexandros, sweating and complaining. The fire-trays cooking the crews’ cena – their first hot meal since putting to sea – simply seemed to make matters worse. Their smoke rose straight up on the afternoon air, more than two-hundred vertical columns, tying the individual ships to the realms of the gods above. Artemidorus and his contubernium stood to the rear of the crowd of captains, sweating like the rest. Artemidorus had never experienced anything quite like this weather.
The briefing given by Minnakht and Cleopatra was to the point. ‘Once we have rounded the western cape of Krete, we need to go at once onto a war-footing,’ ordered the admiral. ‘We will be within easy reach of Murcus and his fleet if they are still where they were last reported to be. If they have come south, we will be at war tomorrow. If they have stayed close to the Greek coast it may take two days to bring them to battle. But we must be ready at once.’
‘It is impossible to overstate the importance of this battle,’ emphasised Cleopatra. ‘If we lose, then Antony loses. If Antony loses, then Egypt loses. With Antony gone, Brutus and Cassius will rip the Two Kingdoms apart like jackals tearing a wounded lion. I, your queen, will either die or be taken, chained, in triumph to Rome. Alexandria will go the way of Carthage, burned to the ground and then that very ground salted and made barren. Every man here who has stood with me will lose everything he possesses, loves, or worships.
‘However, if we win then Antony wins. Egypt will be placed in a position of power beside Rome itself. We will rule the east of the Roman Sea as Rome rules the west. Our future will be assured, and our fortunes made. And, beyond that and the promise it brings, I will personally reward each of you with gold, property and honour. This is what I want you to remember above everything when you confront Murcus and his war-ships and call for ramming speed!’
iv
The night was as airless and sultry as the day. Sleep would have been impossible, had they even wished for it. But most of the men and women in Cleopatra’s navy treated this as though it was the eve of battle. Swapping stories designed to build their courage, praying to their various gods, polishing their armour and sharpening their weapons.
‘You remember Alesia?’ said Quintus. ‘Hades, I thought we were done for there, with one army of Gauls in a fort up on the hill above us and then another even bigger army sneaking up behind us, trapping us like bones between the jaws of hungry dogs…’
‘I heard about Pharsalus too,’ said Kyros.
‘How Antony led the legions for once instead of the cavalry…’ added Notus, wide-eyed.
‘True enough, boys,’ agreed Quintus. ‘And he did it well.’
‘And Alexandria,’ added Artemidorus, ‘when the riots started and that snake Pothinus joined with General Achillas in their attempt to kill Divus Julius and Queen Cleopatra, slaughter the lot of us and put Ptolemy XIII and his sister Arsinoe on the throne of the Two Kingdoms. Hot work! Even before the fleet, the Royal Harbour and that part of the library went up in flames. Hot work but worth it.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Ferrata. ‘And look where your hot work has got us in the end. Out of the cooking pot and into the fire!’
‘Oh, stop complaining!’ said Kyros, ‘and pass Notus your sword while we have the whetstones.’
‘I always sharpen my own sword!’ spat Ferrata.
‘Yes,’ chuckled Quintus. ‘That’s what we’ve heard. Here, lad, take mine. And a good edge, mind – I might need to use the blade as well as the point. You can never be sure in a sea-battle…’ He handed the sword to Kyros.
‘Then my pugio,’ said Artemidorus. ‘But be careful with it – it’s almost magically sharp. It used to belong to Brutus himself.’ He handed it to Notus.
‘Is it the one Brutus used to stab Divus Julius?’ asked the young forger.
‘As a matter of fact, it is.’
‘Oh! Tell me how you got your hands on it,’ demanded Hecate.
‘Well…’ Artemidorus leaned forward to begin the story that was familiar to the rest of them but popular enough to warrant re-telling as it involved a detailed description of Divus Julius’ death.
So the night passed.
At first light, even before the sun crept over the horizon, the first signals were run up. The pausators began to beat their rhythms and the Egyptian navy started to move. Admiral Minnakht led them due west, with the rising sun behind him, until the shadowy hulk of the land on his right ended abruptly in a wall of hillsides and bays running away to the east of north. Then, giving his squadrons sea-room to form up on either flank astern, he turned north and began to pound across the hundred miles that separated him from the first of Cleopatra’s enemies.
Artemidorus took his accustomed place at the top of the forward castle, directly in front of the foremast, straining to see ahead, eyes narrowed and shaded in the molten-gold light of the morning. But the only ships immediately visible were Minnakht’s liburnians, skimming ahead at battle speed as they hunted the enemy. He turned and leaned back against the castle’s low wall. The sun on his left struck across the distant hills of Krete to make the masts of the ships in Alexandros’ wake gleam like a forest of golden trees. The sea behind them should have made the day feel cool. But the great blue-green surface shone like soiled silk, stirring sluggishly, only breaking into ripples where oars in their thousands dipped, pulled, and rose.
Shading his eyes again, Artemidorus looked away to the east and frowned. There on the farthest horizon, sitting well below the rising sun, was a line of pitch-black cloud. The sight of it somehow seemed to chill him, even as he felt the first zephyr of breeze stirring against his cheek.
*
When it steadied, the wind came from the south east once again. Even though the Egyptian navy was sailing due north, they were able to deploy their sails and give the sweating oarsmen a chance to rest. Artemidorus didn’t like it, though. ‘It’s too hot,’ he said to Hecate and Quintus as they stood on either side of him. ‘And there’s that bank of cloud astern that seems to be following closer and closer behind. Like a pack of black wolves hunting us.’
‘Hunting the sun,’ said Hecate.
; ‘If it is,’ said Quintus, ‘then it’ll catch up soon enough. Apollo had better whip the horses of his fiery chariot pretty smartly, because it looks like Tempestes, goddess of storms, is hard on his heels.’
Quintus’ prediction proved as accurate as any of Hecate’s. As the Egyptian fleet surged north with a strengthening south-easterly behind them, the sun was gulped down by the wall of black clouds. The heat was oppressive. The clouds seemed so low overhead that they appeared to attain weight, pressing down on the fleet like the roof of some unimaginable underworld cave. As the light faded and the clouds writhed, the sea began to grow more restless and the wind grew stronger, carrying with it a distant roaring as though the greatest cavalry charge ever to thunder into battle was bearing relentlessly down on them.
‘I’ll go down and see what the admiral thinks of this,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Because it doesn’t look good to me.’ He turned and was about to climb onto the main deck when Hecate’s hand fell on his shoulder. He stopped. Turned. Looked. She was pointing silently dead ahead, her eyes wide.
And there, right on the edge of the northern horizon, revealed by the last gleam of that strange, fading light, was a line of battle ships coming towards them. ‘Murcus’ fleet!’ he said.
But his voice was lost under the cacophony of orders, drumbeats, and scurrying feet as Alexandros went to battle stations.
v
Artemidorus arrived at the command area at Alexandros’ stern part-way through a conversation. ‘We have the wind, Majesty!’ Minnakht was saying urgently to Cleopatra. ‘Yes, there is a storm gathering but even that gives us an advantage because it is coming in behind us, putting wind and waves under our stern and in our sails. All that power will push our fleet forward while Murcus has to fight against it just to come at us! It is as though we are attacking him by charging downhill!’
‘As long as the storm doesn’t overwhelm us all, Admiral!’ Cleopatra sounded – and looked – unaccustomedly uncertain. Artemidorus had seen her in the midst of battle and she had never looked as nervous as she did now.
‘If it gets too serious, we can always turn and run for Krete.’ Minnakht explained, his voice calm, as though soothing a startled horse. ‘As the wind is from the south, the island will protect us as soon as we approach the north coast. We can get there in a matter of hours if we must. Especially as our oarsmen will be rested.’
‘And you see this as a risk worth taking?’ Cleopatra was wavering. The promise of victory overcoming her nervousness.
‘It is a gift from the gods, Majesty. We will never get an opportunity as good as this again. Although the sky is overcast, it is still mid-afternoon. We can dispense with Murcus and his fleet by nightfall. Then we can deal with the storm and run for shelter if we have to!’
Cleopatra nodded her acquiescence. Not too happy but convinced by his argument.
Artemidorus looked around, testing his own belief in the admiral’s confident words. The sky was completely covered now. But, there was a strange, leaden light which made everything clear and visible: the line of ships sitting on the northern horizon, for example. Even while the two fleets were beginning to close with each other, the existence of a second battle-line behind Murcus’ first.
Cleopatra, in full armour, labored up into her favourite position in the after castle, with Hunefer towering beside her on one side and Caesarion on the other. Admiral Minnakht turned to his captain and helmsman. ‘We will use the wind for as long as we can,’ he said. ‘We will sail to within attacking distance, deploy the onagers with incendiary ammunition while the scorpions and ballistas fire their bolts through sails, masts, towers and castles. Then we get rid of the sails, run out the oars and proceed at ramming speed. Our oarsmen will be fresh. Murcus’ will be at least tired – perhaps exhausted – rowing against the wind and waves like they are doing.’
‘And the rest of the fleet?’
‘Will take their lead from us as ordered. Alexandros is the tip of an arrow-head. We will attack the centre of Murcus’ line and ram straight through. Then our battle ships will peel off to right and left, taking on his ships individually, ram against ram. While the triremes and liburnians attack from the sides, spreading fear and confusion. The tactics were successful when Rome fought Carthage at Ecnomus. Let us hope they will be equally successful for us now.’
*
The contubernium were among the last to strap on their armour. When Artemidorus arrived at the top of the stern castle, he was glad he was wearing his steel band cuirass at least, because Cleopatra was of course already fully armed. As was everyone with her except for her messenger Charmian and her other handmaiden Iras who was standing at her side. He had left his helmet and gladius with the others. Only Brutus’ deadly sharp pugio hung from his belt. And, in a haze, he had left off his greaves and arm guards. When he knew where he was to be deployed, he would know where to hang his shield on the deck-rail, ready to hand.
‘You sent for me, Majesty?’
‘I did. My message to Antony is now complete – has been substantially finished since we left the anchorage in the bay south of Krete. But now is the time to give it to you, I think.’
‘As you wish, Majesty.’
She turned to Iras who handed him a leather case bound in gold, sealed in wax, containing Cleopatra’s message. ‘And therefore, as my messenger,’ the queen continued, ‘I forbid you or your companions to take any part in the battle when it begins. I see you are armed, and I know you will find this order hard to follow. But you are worth more to me as Antony’s secret agent and trusted courier than you are as a centurion. Even as an outstanding, battle-hardened centurion. The mission I give you is to stay alive. Get ready to go aboard one of the fast triremes Admiral Minnakht has ready for the purpose, and head for Italy the moment we have destroyed Murcus and his fleet. Before word of our victory reaches Ahenobarbus off Brundisum and he thinks to send patrols south to cover the gaps in the blockade left by Murcus’ destruction. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You have clearly thought this through very carefully, Majesty.’
‘I have.’
There was the briefest of silences. The wind howled in the rigging. Surf thundered against Alexandros’ side. The tower rocked as the hull heaved.
‘Septem?’ she prompted.
‘It will be as you order, Majesty.’
‘Of course, it will,’ she said.
vi
‘What do you mean we stay clear of the fighting?’ demanded Quintus outraged. ‘We’re all in battle-dress. Even Hecate and Crinas have armour on; so do Kyros and Notus!’
‘There was never any question of Hecate joining the fight,’ snapped Artemidorus. ‘She is not a trained soldier. At least Kyros and Notus have some experience. And Crinas will be needed to tend the wounded. Well, now none of us will get in the fight either. Our mission is more important.’
They were standing beside the fore castle shouting at each-other. This was not because of anger or frustration, but because the weather had worsened while Artemidorus was with Cleopatra. The wind was now blustering towards a full tempest, tearing the tops of the grey seas following them northward and screaming in the rigging. The belly of the sail was taut. Glancing at it, Artemidorus found himself praying that whoever had sewn it back together had done a good job. And, now he thought of it, that the coconut-wood blocks and tackles were a good deal stronger than the ebony ones had been.
‘We go back to the stern,’ he said. ‘Join Hunefer and his squad keeping an eye on the queen and the admiral. That’s the closest we come to battle. Understand?’
No sooner had he asked the question than the importance of his instructions was emphasised by the arrival of the Macedonian and Judean legionaries, who ran up the deck and crowded into the bows, obviously ready to leap aboard whichever of Murcus’ ships Alexandros rammed and start their slaughter there. Bowmen and slingers pushed past them, mounting the fore-castle, ready to rain death down on Murcus’ men. As the contubernium reluctantly worked their way
back down the deck, so the fire-trays that had cooked cena in the anchorage were re-ignited and the great flammable bundles to be fired from the onagers were prepared.
Halfway down the deck, the secret agents shouldered past the sail-handlers who were beginning to exchange anxious looks interspersed with glances up at the sloping mast and straining sail. Then, as though a waterfall had been unleashed in the clouds low above them, the rain came.
One moment the opposing vessel was clearly visible more than a mile ahead, the next they had vanished behind a grey wall of water. Artemidorus and his companions sloshed through the downpour as it thundered off the leaden deck, and arrived at the stern castle, the admiral, his captain and the helmsman. Artemidorus went on past them to the sternpost, looking behind Alexandros at the fleet. At least it was still visible. Indeed, it made a stirring sight, stretching away into grey invisibility on either hand, square sails full of the wind, prows and rams smashing through the foaming white horses which were Poseidon’s creatures. All in battle order, each great vessel holding its line. Looking at it, he could easily understand Minnakht’s confidence. If Murcus hoped to stand against this great wave of armoured wood and bronze rams then he was clearly making a fatal miscalculation.
He turned, just in time to see more of Cleopatra’s guards go into the after castle and climb to stand beside their queen at her favourite vantage point. Admiral Minnakht exchanged a further word or two with his captain and then went up to join her. Artemidorus strode forward just in time to hear the captain say to his gubernator, ‘The Admiral wants us to wait until we catch our first sight of Murcus’ ships then we run up the signal to drop sails, run out oars and proceed immediately to battle speed.’
‘Better send the man with the sharpest eyes up to the forward castle, then,’ advised the gubernator. ‘The more warning we get the better. And I hope we spot them soon, the conditions are fast going from difficult to impossible.’