by Peter Tonkin
Legate Gnaeus Domitus Calvinus nodded as he accepted the assignment. Of all the senior men present, he was closest to young Caesar; he was the logical choice to hold temporary command of Caesar’s most valued legion.
‘All in all we should be over in four or five days,’ Antony concluded. ‘Depending on how much we can trust this bloody wind. And the bloody boy, of course.’
iii
‘I’m sick,’ announced young Caesar. ‘Agrippa and Rufus will oversee it all for me.’ Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and Quintus Salvidienus Rufus were standing behind the litter on which Caesar was reclining, at Antony’s map table. They were two of his oldest friends and closest advisors. The litter-bearers had just left. The ship captains and the legion commanders had not yet arrived, though Bassus and Calvinus stood at Antony’s shoulders. The atmosphere was almost as chilly as it had been on the retreat across the Alps after Mutina.
Enobarbus met Agrippa’s level gaze. Neither of them shrugged, though both clearly felt like doing so. They had been through this before. To be fair, thought Enobarbus, the young Triumvir looked near death. He was sheet-white and covered in an oily sweat. Caesar’s aliments were many and various. The spymaster wondered whether there was one cause at the root of it all or whether Divus Julius’ adopted son was just incredibly unfortunate to have somehow angered Apollo and Febris the most potent protectors of health. At least, unlike his divine father, he seemed to have avoided the falling sickness.
‘Come along!’ said Antony, impatiently dismissive of this - as he was of any illness he was not suffering from himself. ‘You’ve just enjoyed a lovely long sea-voyage! That should have set you up for almost anything!’
‘During which I was seasick almost every foot of the way!’ snapped Caesar. ‘Then for the last few days, every breath I’ve taken has been full of that triple-cursed red dust. I can still feel it inside me as though I’ve swallowed half of the Great Sand Sea!’ he gave a racking cough, tricked off by the passionate anger of his words.
‘Well, you’re welcome to stay here and recuperate after I move out. This villa belongs to us in any case.’ Antony looked around the open, airy, exquisitely decorated tablinum, atrium and peristyle. ‘It belonged to Marcus Favonius – until we caught up with him in the proscriptions and nailed his head near Cicero’s in the Forum! You’ll need your own household slaves though – we sold all his and I’m taking mine with me. I’ll be moving east with my legions and ancillaries as soon as I can. And Agrippa will probably do a better job of organising your army on shipboard than you would have done yourself in any case.’
‘Our vessels might want to re-fit and re-arm,’ said Agrippa.
‘They haven’t had a chance since the battles against Sextus Pompey,’ added Rufus.
‘We haven’t time for all that now,’ snapped Antony. ‘If we don’t move fast we’ll lose the wind! Come along boy, stop lying around and get busy.’
Enobarbus shook his head and mentally shrugged his shoulders once more, though this time he avoided Agrippa’s gaze. Right from the first moment the young man had come to Rome after Divus Julius’ murder, Antony had underestimated him, patronised him and clashed with him time after time. Enobarbus just hoped his commanding officer never needed to rely on the young Caesar’s patience or generosity on any occasion in the future. But he was forced to agree with Antony. Unless Caesar regained full health with miraculous rapidity, his closest friends and advisors Agrippa and Rufus would certainly prove more than equal to the task of getting his legions over to Macedonia.
*
The port of Brundisium was heaving at the crack of dawn the next day. The wind had died slightly and the rain had eased to a warm drizzle that kept the air clear. Which was fortunate, thought Enobarbus, or the milling feet of the soldiers would have been kicking up choking clouds of dust. Antony’s Legio IV were marching century by century onto the docks, then down the great gangplanks onto the decks of the onerariae transport vessels. These were round-sided tubs of ships, especially when compared with the sleek trireme battle-ships and liburnian scout-ships which sat, keeping watch on things, outside the harbour entrance. But if the troop-ships were ugly, they were nevertheless huge, fully decked, and accommodating; especially as there were no oars and therefore no rowing benches or oarsmen to take up valuable space.
But the drawback to the onerariae was that they were totally reliant on the wind. In the absence of oars they had tall central masts which bore great rectangular sails. Some had a foremast with a smaller sail. But whether they had one sail or two, they only moved when the wind blew – and only went on the course which the wind dictated. At the moment, the wind was blowing towards Dyrrachium and, as ship after ship filled they were eased out of the harbour until they could set sail for Macedonia. The liburnians and triremes of young Caesar’s navy, under Rufus’ grudging orders, guarded them on their passage. Antony’s invasion was finally getting under way. And not a moment too soon, thought the spy master. When the last days of Sextilis rolled over towards the kalends of Septembris, it had seemed that they were already too late and had missed the campaigning season for another year. But no. The gods of wars as well as those of winds and waters were apparently on Antony’s side after all.
Guarding things here, much as the triremes were guarding things at sea, was that part of the Martia not manning the defensive barges in case Murcus or Ahenobarbus returned. It had been one of Divus Julius’ crack legions which, although it had changed sides from Antony to Caesar Octavian when they had been at odds, now stood at the heart of the enterprise. Only the IVth had a comparable reputation, though the VIth and the VIIth were also among the strongest and most reliable. For the moment, and until they arrived as rear-guard in Dyrrachium, they were under the command of Domitius Calvinus.
As Antony’s legions marched through the city and down to the docks, the Martia legion policed matters – like military vigiles, thought Enobarbus; though the only fire likely to break out in this weather was that which smouldered perpetually between the two men in overall command. It was fitting that the Martia, the strongest and most reliable, should oversee things here until everything was done, then come across last to form the rear guard in case Murcus or Ahenobarbus landed Libertore troops at Dyrrachium to attack the Triumvirs’ armies from behind. Or to close their supply routes at least. And Calvinus’ command of them was also a logical move because Antony and all his other senior officers were simply burning to get going across the strait with their men.
iv
‘I’m going over with the Fourth,’ announced Antony. ‘Tribune, I want you with me – we’ll have a lot to discuss and I want things clear in my mind before I lead my legions out down the Via Egnatia. You can brief us as we cross, then come back here on one of the bloody boy’s triremes.’
‘Come back, General? May I ask why?’
‘I want you to re-cross with the Martia when they come up behind me. I’ll be long gone by then and the boy will have been in charge so the gods alone know what’ll be going on – even with Agrippa keeping an eye on things. I want you to leave last - make sure they have been careful to close the door behind us.’
‘Yes, General.’
‘Good man. The Martia will need another Legate soon – so will the Fourth. Crack troops both of them and I could use a man like you in charge of either one.’
Antony’s spent the voyage with Enobarbus, Lucius, Ventidius Bassus and the rest of his senior officers including Calvinus who, like Enobarbus was ordered to return and resume his command of the Martia when the empty ships went back. They spent the time discussing the situation Antony and his legions were likely to find when they moved inland from Dyrrachium and how the general should plan his campaign in consequence.
‘The only negative aspect of having twenty legions under my imperium,’ he said to the men gathered round the table in the captain’s cabin, ‘is that I have to feed and water them, their support staff, slaves and animals. Marching east from Dyrrachium means that our supply lines c
an only get longer and thinner the further into Macedonia and Thrace we go.’
‘Certainly the cities will be closed against you, ’ observed Enobarbus. ‘Especially after Brutus burned Xanthus to the ground and slaughtered everyone who lived there because they refused to pay his taxes. Murcus and Ahenobarbus will blockade both Brundisium and Dyrrachium again at the earliest opportunity. That will close off a major supply route altogether. We can’t rely on young Caesar’s ships to hold them off for long when their general, his legions and all his top advisers are following you into Macedonia.’
‘Well,’ said Bassus, ‘at least if we follow the Via Egnatia we’ll be near the coast once we get to Thrace. I suppose we’ll just have to scavenge until then if the supplies we’re taking with us run low.’
‘We have to follow the Via,’ said Lucius. ‘There’s no other way in. Though everyone else will have followed it as well – including Saxa and Norbanus. There won’t be much left to scavenge.’
‘But we can’t rely on getting supplied by sea,’ warned Enobarbus. ‘Cassius has other fleets in the eastern part of Mare Nostrum. There’s a fleet stationed in Rhodes that’s loyal to him and another one under Tillius Cimber. No matter where we stop – at Thessaloniki, Amphipolis or Neapolis, Abdera, Doriskos or Aenus - they’ll likely be able to mount blockades as effectively as they did at Brundisium. Though to be fair it’s unlikely that we’ll have to go past Neapolis if the reports I’ve heard are true, that Brutus and Cassius have crossed the Hellespont and come west out of Asia.’
*
‘So,’ said Antony. ‘It will have to be quick. Find them and beat them before we run out of supplies.’
‘They’ll have worked that out, though, won’t they?’ said Bassus. ‘I mean, they’re not as experienced as we are but they’re not stupid either.’
‘So what will they do about it?’ wondered Lucius, a slightly lesser, clean-shaven version of his brother Mark Antony. Mentally sharper than the third brother Gaius, who had been appointed governor of Macedonia but was captured by Brutus and executed. Another bone Antony had to pick with Divus Julius’ murderers – the brothers weren’t all that close, but blood was still blood.
Everyone looked at Enobarbus, who shrugged. ‘That seems obvious. They’ll stop as far back in Macedonia as possible given only that they want to find a spot that’s easy to defend, difficult to attack and simple to supply. Especially now it’s so late in the season that they may need to set up winter quarters there and wait for you to come at them in the spring. They know you’ll have to use the Via if you want to confront them before the winter sets in. To do that, you’ll have to move swiftly so they’ll add that into their calculations.’
Antony nodded and began to pore over his map. ‘Get out the lot of you!’ He snapped. ‘I want to think this through…’
Enobarbus followed the others out onto the deck. They were out of sight of land now, slamming uneasily across the waves. The triremes running to the south of them were rolling in a manner that made even the spymaster’s iron stomach heave. The supply ship, with its flat bottom and wide sides sat very much steadier as it surged a little north of eastward towards Dyrrachium. The southerly wind blowing in from the seemingly endless deserts in Africa Province had swung towards the westward quarter, allowing the great sails to be angled to catch the best of its relentless power. It was exactly what the captains and their military employers wanted. Enobarbus walked to the stern of the vessel and looked back towards the invisible port of Brundisium. Behind this vessel, a fleet of identical companions was spread out across the strait.
Suddenly he found himself with Bassus at one shoulder and Calvinus at the other. ‘Any other insights, Spymaster?’ rumbled Bassus.
‘Not until the General has decided on the most likely battleground. Then we can begin to calculate how long it will take to get the legions there. He’ll want to move as swiftly as possible, as he says, but if he wants to initiate a battle anytime soon after his arrival, he can’t risk having his legions too exhausted to fight. On the other hand, if I’m right about Brutus’ and Cassius’ thinking, then they won’t want to face him in any case. They’ll just want to sit safely behind whatever lines they’ve established, keeping their men well rested and well-supplied, watching Antony and his army slowly starve to death. The only pressure on them that I can see is whether the troops lent them by the client kings will need to return home if the campaign does indeed drag out through the winter.’
‘I see your point,’ nodded Bassus. ‘So what can Antony do if he finds himself in that situation?’
‘The only thing I can think of for him to do is to emulate the Persian King Xerxes at Thermopylae and find a way round their defences.’
Bassus and Calvinus were still nodding in agreement with Enobarbus’ analysis when Antony arrived, waving the map in the unquiet air. ‘I’ve found it,’ he announced. Then he looked around the deck to ensure no-one else could hear. ‘Philippi,’ he said in as close to a whisper as he could manage. ‘If they set up their defences between Philippi and Neapolis, they’ll be in the perfect position to face us. It’s Philippi, it has to be.’
v
Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus had a short, powerful physique with a chiselled, hawk-like face, a high forehead, and a hairline that receded like Divus Julius’ – a similarity so striking that Enobarbus wondered whether the Legate had his tonsor cut it that way to impress young Caesar. It had been unusually placatory of Antony to put Calvinus in charge of the Martia and to let him attend the briefing with the General’s own confederates. But then again, Antony was quite devious enough to be passing information back via the Legate in order to spur the sickly youngster on. A ploy that would become far too obvious to be effective if he invited Agrippa or Rufus.
‘If he’s right and the battleground is somewhere near Philippi, it will take him the better part of two weeks to get there from Dyrrachium,’ Calvinus observed during the voyage back to Brundisium. ‘Even though he has all his legions in place and ready to go. It has to be nearly three hundred and fifty military miles. Much of it mountainous into the bargain. What’s more, he’ll have to treat it like enemy territory and have them build castra forts every night.’
‘Or just assume that as many legions as he has with him – six at the moment - will scare off anyone other than the men he’s over there to fight.’ Enobarbus leaned against one of the big scorpion bolt throwers mounted on the forecastle and looked away past the stem-post of the trireme named Nerio after the war goddess and partner of Mars, as he mentally followed the Via Egnatia along its route eastwards, wishing he still had contact with Artemidorus who had travelled most of that roadway earlier in the year – and was somewhere in Egypt now. But then the intensity of his current situation pulled his thoughts back to the present.
Despite the fact that Nerio was powering into a headwind while tugging a fat, if unladen, troop-carrier back towards Brundisium, she was moving at a considerable pace. Astern, he knew, the rest of Caesar’s fleet was pulling all of Antony’s troop ships home. He hoped that their urgency would be matched by Caesar’s when it came to loading them up again and getting the legions he commanded over to Dyrrachium.
‘Let’s hope young Caesar will be able to move his legions equally quickly,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Antony will be in trouble if he arrives only to find he’s unsupported, at half strength - unless he can contact Norbanus and Saxa. And that he’s facing the Libertores who have nearly three times as many legions.’
‘I am certain Caesar will act with all despatch,’ answered Calvinus. ‘Apart from anything else, he cannot rely on the wind being with him forever. The treirarch says it is beginning to shift already.’
‘And, after the way things went for Rufus and Caesar in Sicily, he will want to show the Senate and the People in Rome that he is as willing as Antony to settle things with his father’s murderers.’
‘Indeed. Indeed he will…’
Caesar, supported by Agrippa and Rufus, got his legions organised
and aboard within two days. The wind continued to shift west of south but it remained steady and reliable. At least there was no longer any sand in it, thought Enobarbus as he observed the embarkation from the havenator harbourmaster’s office high above the bustling port. Calvinus was at his side again, and so was Agrippa.
‘Caesar has done well to get everything organised and under way so swiftly,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Has his fever lessened? Is his chest any clearer?’
‘No on both counts,’ answered Agrippa. ‘But he doesn’t let it slow him down. He says that if his divine father could work through his bouts of falling sickness, then a little shivering and the occasional cough shouldn’t hold him up.’
‘He’s tougher than he looks,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Always has been.’
‘Stronger in will than in body,’ nodded Agrippa.
‘Like his adoptive father,’ concluded Calvinus.
‘I must get aboard,’ said Agrippa, bringing the conversation to a close. ‘I don’t want him to leave without me.’
Within the hour, Caesar’s fleet was heading east. Calvinus went about his business, leaving the spymaster and the harbourmaster standing side by side. ‘How long before they get back and we can start loading the last legion, do you think?’ asked Enobarbus.
‘Longer than it took for Antony’s transports to get back,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘It’ll take Caesar longer to get his men ashore and turn the troop ships round.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Enobarbus. ‘The harbour at Dyrrachium is pretty accommodating. Antony got everyone ashore surprisingly quickly there as far as I saw.’