Caesar's Spies- The Complete Campaigns

by Peter Tonkin

  The wind was light and blowing from the south, bringing the smell of the pines from the hillsides standing between here and the coast and the occasional animal-sound from up there – hunting lions roared; their dying victims screamed. The reeds and rushes stirred and whispered. The frogs and toads sang, croaked and belched. Larger, probably more dangerous, creatures stirred and snuffled invisibly somewhere close ahead. Cicadas sang in the vast grassland behind them. But as far as Artemidorus was concerned, it was the smaller marsh creatures that were the problem. No sooner had he got his lamp burning steadily than, it seemed, every member of the insect world descended on him, especially those that sucked, stung or bit.

  ‘Right,’ said Felix quietly, apparently undisturbed by the midges, mosquitoes and horseflies buzzing around him or the moths fluttering round his light, ‘let’s see whether there’s a way through here,’ and before Artemidorus could stop him, lantern held high, he pushed into the first rank of reeds. A heartbeat later, Artemidorus followed him. There was no need this time to be careful about leaving a trail. Although the reeds closed round him just as they had before, he was able to chop them back with great swings of his gladius. And he was not quite so blind either – Felix’ lantern glimmered dead ahead, showing him exactly where his friend was going.

  ‘Felix!’ he called, ‘take care, the ground is soft. If you don’t watch out it will start to suck you under.’

  ‘No,’ answered Felix, his voice surprisingly distant. ‘This all seems quite firm to me.’

  There was a short silence, then Felix called again, his tone radically different and his voice shaking a little. ‘Septem! It seems I spoke too soon. Watch out near here, it’s very…’

  Artemidorus pushed forward, following Felix’ light which was, worryingly, suddenly much nearer the ground than it had been before. Scything his gladius from side to side, Artemidorus forced his way through, to find his friend in a small clearing perhaps eighteen feet from side to side. Felix was in the middle, and the treacherous ground had gulped him down to mid thigh. Without thinking, Artemidorus took another step forward and his foot sank at once. He stepped back, mind racing. If the ground was almost as soft as water, he thought, then he would need some sort of raft to reach his friend. He looked around. Nothing but reeds. But then he remembered having seen boats made out of reeds on the River Nile. Reeds floated, especially if packed or bound together in bundles. He placed his lantern on the ground and turned back to the reeds behind him. Swinging his gladius right and left, he felled them, armful by armful, and as he did so, the armfuls went onto the soft ground, making a causeway which reached the six feet out to Felix as quickly as he could cut them and lay them. Seeing his plan, Felix caught the last few bundles and laid them in place, working with desperate speed as the mud started sucking at his hips.

  But as soon as Artemidorus stepped onto the makeshift causeway, he learned that his road of reeds would not support him if he walked. He needed to think quickly. Felix was sinking slowly but inexorably. Of course! He had never stood up on his raft except at the very end. When he needed to go near the edge, he had proceeded flat on his belly, crawling over the restless wood as it tossed on the waves. Taking extreme care, therefore, he measured his length, face down, and began to crawl slowly over the tight-packed reeds. When they supported his wide-spread weight, he started sending prayers of thanks to Thetis and her son Achilleus not only for keeping him safe on the sea but for teaching him such vital lessons as they did so.

  Artemidorus linked arms with Felix as his friend leaned as far as he could onto the reed-bed, then, gently but irresistibly, making full use of the massive upper-body strength that had tossed Vedius Pollio over his head, he pulled Felix free.

  ‘Your lips were moving as you came out to rescue me,’ said Felix as the pair of them at last found themselves standing on solid ground. ‘Who were you praying to?’

  ‘Achilleus and his mother Thetis,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think I’ll stop praying to Mars and swap over. They clearly hold their hands over you – perhaps they’ll do the same for me, eh?’ and he started to laugh, a little unsteadily.

  *

  The mouth of the river Strymon was shallow and silted. The vessels that clustered there were broad-beamed and flat-bottomed. Next afternoon, Artemidorus and Felix, both bathed and strigilled clean since their adventure in the swamp – but both liberally dotted with the marks of insect bites and stings - surveyed the largest of them. It was fully decked, had a mast stepped with a large square sail furled, and two banks of oars for good measure. A handy boat, thought Artemidorus, who had learned a lot about such matters as he watched Cleopatra’s fleet being built in Alexandria. ‘That one,’ he suggested. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think these boats, their captains and crews would far rather be in Neapolis making some money. Why are they here?’

  ‘Neapolis is… not closed per se… but is being served by the ships of Tillius Cimber’s navy. I’ll wager they closed the docks to all the vessels they don’t control pretty soon after Charybdis escaped and nearly wrecked their flagship quinquireme as she did so.’

  The two friends had discussed the details of Artemidorus’ adventures on his way to Egypt, in Cleopatra’s court, and since the near-total destruction of her navy, so he knew exactly what his friend was talking about. ‘Sounds logical,’ he said.

  ‘As a proposition by Heraclitus,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘Besides, Norbanus says the vessels here have been scraping a living because he pays fair rates for taking some of his scavengers along the coast looking for provisions when the inland areas are closed or scavenged out. Probably doing a bit of smuggling on the side too. There’s always opportunities at the edges of war-zones.’

  ‘You think he’ll smuggle us to within striking distance of Neapolis?’

  ‘I think he’d smuggle us up the River Styx if we paid him enough.’

  ‘True. But to be honest I think we’ll be getting to the River Styx sooner than we want to in any case if we keep this up!’

  Artemidorus’ clapped his hand down on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Cheer up! Thetis and Achilleus are holding their hands over you!’

  ‘I’d be more cheerful if you didn’t remind me of Achilleus’ friend the sneaky, two-faced Ulysses quite so much!’

  ‘Ah the parting of the ways between Greece and Rome – you admire good solid righteous muscle, even when it’s between your ears. And we admire devious cunning more than your so-called manly virtues. That’s why you send all of your most powerful youths to Athens for their education, of course – so, like Caesar, they get a bit of both. Let’s see the captain, shall we? But let me do the talking – after all, the Thracians are almost Greek.’

  Captain Ale had a cast in one eye which Felix found unsettling for it clearly meant the man was unreliable. Artemidorus, however, found it reassuring for it meant the captain was devious and probably quick-thinking. As Artemidorus laid out his plans, Ale narrowed both his eyes and began to nod, clearly examining the practicalities of the spy’s proposals – and putting a price on each. ‘A wagon you say? With a horse? And extra horses tethered behind? Yes, I think I could accommodate those all on deck. And it would amuse me to decide which of my recalcitrant crew gets to clear up the horse shit. Which is saleable – but unfortunately the price has fallen since your Roman cavalry arrived with generals Norbanus and Saxa. And, yes, I can certainly get you near to Neapolis – not to the port; unfortunately, we are forbidden the port – but naturally you would not wish to go too near the naval vessels or the legionary guards. Of course in secret – and myself and my crew would never dream of informing the despicable Roman Casca brothers against you. May the Friendly Ones tear my tongue if I even harbour such a thought…’

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ said Felix as the pair of them cantered back to camp.

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Artemidorus. ‘So at least we know where we stand.’

  ‘When do we sail?’

  ‘As soon
as I finish building the wagon, finalising our disguises and enjoying a final briefing from the generals. It won’t be long, though.’

  ‘Good. I was getting bored with being stuck here, staying alive and so forth…’

  VII - The Road to Salé

  i

  ‘What makes you think Captain Ale won’t hand us straight to the Casca brothers, Labeo, Cimber or even the Vedius Pollio, all of whom have good reason to be very angry with you indeed. There’s probably a sizeable reward being offered for you and a couple of legionary carpenters in Neapolis making crosses with your name on them.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that.’ Artemidorus clicked his tongue and tugged the reins. The cart-horse in the traces trotted forward, pulling the wagon - which the spy had designed and the legionary carpenters in Amphipolis had built for him - as though it was made of thistledown.

  ‘… or just cut our throats then sell this interesting wagon and horses…’ Felix continued cheerfully as the wagon with its two occupants and two legionary horses tethered behind rolled out of camp and onto the road to the estuary. The Strymon, flowing beside them, looked like a river of blood in the sunset.

  ‘…as well as our weapons and armour. I’ve thought of that too.’ The cart-horse picked up speed, trotting forward. Everyone they passed on the road stepped back or turned away, holding their noses or shaking their heads.

  ‘Though our extremely expensive captain says the bottom has dropped out of the horse shit market which means we’re less likely to get slaughtered for the contents of our wagon and go to meet his counterpart on the river to Hades.’

  The contents of the wagon, currently protected from wind and rain by the leather panels from a superannuated legionary tent, had been the focus of much discussion. But Artemidorus was clear that what they needed was a load that would not invite close inspection or tempt ill-disposed locals to attempt robbery. So everything that Felix had suggested from amphorae of wine on down to blocks of marble had been refused, until only horse-shit was left.

  ‘The market’s dropped out here,’ explained Artemidorus. ‘But further east, there’ll be much more demand. Which explains why we’re hauling the stuff in the first place. There’s good farm-land between Philippi and the town of Zygos in the river valley there before the mountains begin. And, come to that, along the Via too when the coastal mountains pull back at the town of Salé. Good farming country there – acres of millet so I’m told.’

  ‘If the drought hasn’t already ruined them! Not that it actually matters whether we can sell this stuff anyway. Though getting rid of the stench and the flies would be a good thing as far as I’m concerned! Then perhaps we could get rid of these disguises and start looking like soldiers instead of farmers again.’

  ‘We look like Batavian cavalrymen fallen on hard times – with no armour of course. But your old cavalry sword and my battle axe should settle any arguments we have along the way. Independently of your sensibilities, though, it matters that we’re convincing - and that our clothes and our cargo mean any soldiers we bump into are less likely to examine us or our wagon too closely.’

  ‘Certainly not closely enough to discover the false bottom…’

  ‘… and everything hidden beneath it. Yes. It’s a trick I learned from Publius Clodius Pulcher’s replacement as the nastiest gang leader in Rome.’

  ‘You know The Gaul! I’d forgotten that. You are amazing. And it reflects great credit on your protector Achilleus that you are still alive!’

  ‘Achilleus, Thetis and I are hard at work trying to keep it that way.’

  *

  Artemidorus eased the wagon onto the makeshift dock where Captain Ale’s boat was waiting for them. So was a large squad of armed and armoured legionaries under the command of a hard-bitten optio. As the willing cart-horse pulled the wagon onto the wide boarding ramp and across onto the deck, the squad of legionaries followed. Ale’s vessel tilted, righted, settled beneath the weight.

  ‘What’s all this?’ demanded Ale. ‘I didn’t agree to this!’

  ‘They’re bored with all the waiting around,’ said Artemidorus. ‘I thought a nice cruise would brighten them up.’ He climbed down from the wagon and handed Ale a weighty bag. ‘That’s our fare,’ he said. ‘The legionaries will accompany us to your drop-off point, help us get ashore, make sure we’re OK and return with you afterwards. The optio there has their fare – equal to ours – which he’ll pay when you get them all back here, safe and sound.’

  Three uneventful hours later, Ale’s pilot guided the flat-bottomed vessel onto the last section of a sandy beach which ended in a low plateau of solid rock. It was a mystery to Artemidorus how he saw so precisely where they were, for by that hour light was in extremely short supply. ‘You should be able to get safely ashore here,’ the captain whispered. ‘The sand is solid and shallow just at this point, though it’s much deeper further back along the beach – nearer those tents back there. The rock shelf slopes up to the road and the road joins the Via a mile or so inland.’ As he spoke, one of his crew was scooping up the horse-droppings and adding them to the considerable pile beneath the leather panels in the wagon.

  Artemidorus was frankly surprised to find the cross-eyed captain so helpful and trustworthy. He had brought them right past the fortunately quiet port of Neapolis – without lights and in near silence – and was proposing to set them down at the first point that they could actually go ashore without getting bogged down in one of the beaches that ran all along the coast here. But landing the wagon and getting underway wasn’t going to be a simple task. The darkness was almost absolute though the sky was clear, the stars were out and the moon was up. Under the star-lit sky the white sand beach seemed to glimmer faintly. The rock was darker but still just visible. The natural light was augmented by brightness from the tents Ale pointed to, which were pitched along the back of the beach, the closest of them perhaps a stade, six hundred feet, away, the nearest group of a line that stretched almost all the way to Neapolis itself by the look of things. All was quiet in the nearest section of the encampment and, although the watch-fires were banked high, there were no guards nearby. If they could get ashore and up onto the road quietly, there was a chance they could get away with it. A slim chance.

  ‘What we need is a distraction,’ whispered Felix. ‘Just to make sure.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Artemidorus. ‘Preferably one that adds to the brightness.’

  Felix chuckled. ‘Let’s go!’

  ii

  As half of the Optio’s men began to help Captain Ale and his men get the wagon ready to roll down onto the beach, Artemidorus and Felix led the others towards the encampment. As he neared it, Artemidorus realised there were several things he had not noticed from six hundred feet away. The nearest tents were empty at the moment, which explained the lack of guards at this end of the beach. They were pitched in a semi-circle, like the seats at the end of the Circus Maximus. They were arranged so that they could observe something at their centre – a hole in the sand just less than a passus wide; four pedes feet, perhaps; maybe five. It seemed to be full of water, though it was far back from the tide-line. Perhaps whoever occupied these tents was aware of the danger of fire and had made a well there in case of an emergency. But no sooner had he entertained that thought than he dismissed it. There was something sinister about the black liquid brimming restlessly in that pit.

  These thoughts and observations were enough to take the centurion and his companions close to the apparently unoccupied encampment. But even as they approached, silently from the east, so a raucous crowd of legionaries came noisily towards them from the town in the west. ‘Fall back,’ ordered Artemidorus. ‘We’ll wait until we know exactly what we’re dealing with here.’ As his companions vanished; he sank to the ground, lying flat on his belly as he waited and watched. Only Felix remained, kneeling at his side.

  The legionaries came down from the road onto the sand in an amorphous group. Some were armed, others not; some carrying torches, some amp
horae – but they were all drunk. There was something about them and their demeanour that raised the short hairs on the back of the centurion’s neck. He had a queasy feeling that he hadn’t experienced since he broke into the villa of the so-called Libertore Minucius Basilus and discovered Basilus and another of Caesar’s murderers, Gaius Trebonius, torturing female slaves for their gratification. Trebonius had since been tortured to death himself by Cicero’s despised son-in-law Dolabella and Basilus had been torn to pieces by his own slaves when he pushed them too far in his sickening games. There were slaves at the heart of this group too, he observed as the group came closer. But not legionary slaves who were remarkable by their absence. What in the names of all the gods could be going on here that was so terrible that even the legionary slaves were forbidden to see it? Then, with a shock that almost winded him, he recognised the legionaries’ leader – Praefectus Alae Vedius Pollio.

  The men behind Pollio were pushing two slaves along. Both looked confused and frightened. One was an elderly man, stick-thin, bent and twisted. The other was a woman who seemed to Artemidorus to be neither particularly young nor old. She was slight and slim but not stick-thin like her companion and her spine was straight where his was twisted. She walked with her head held high, though her face in the torch-light looked pale and her dark eyes enormous. A tangle of black hair fell across one shoulder and down over her breast. They both wore tunics that were only one step up from rags and it seemed to the silent watcher almost miraculous that the female – attractive as she was – did not appear to have been beaten down by a life filled with repeated use and misuse.

  The men behind the pair of them pushed them on relentlessly and both stumbled forward. The men around them had that atmosphere of excitement the soldier had sometimes seen in crowds about to enter the circus when a particularly bloody entertainment was promised.