by Peter Tonkin
Antony, Lucius and Hercules were up and running in a heartbeat, and Artemidorus’ little four-horse ala was round them, cantering forward in a protective wall. They splashed through the shallows and up the bank on the far side as their pursuers came out of the gate they had just escaped through, thundering onto the bridge, hoofbeats drumming hollowly. For a few moments as they all splashed up onto the far bank, Artemidorus believed that their pursuers were heading off in the wrong direction, following the new road. But no. All too soon the hoofbeats were thudding onto firm mud immediately behind them.
At precisely this moment, the gleam of a lantern shone immediately ahead, like the light from an earthbound star. ‘There!’ shouted Artemidorus, and even as their pursuers slowed to wade carefully across the Gangites, which they clearly believed - as their engineers had done – to be a river of some depth and danger, the fugitive general and his undercover unit reached the point of brightness to find Hecate and Voadicia astride two horses, holding the reins to four more.
As Antony, Lucius and Hercules leaped into the saddle, Quintus looked back along their escape route. ‘If we’re still here in a year’s time,’ he said, ‘we should come back and harvest all that grain you’ve just sewn, General. That really would feed your legions for a while!’
Antony gave a bellow of laughter and they were off, galloping hell-for-leather towards his lines and safety.
XIII - The Two Causeways
i
There was scant sign of Antony’s good humour next day as Artemidorus reported to him about Cassius’ reaction to the adventure of the grain wagon. ‘He’s extending the outer wall right into the marsh, General, completely blocking that firm stretch of land.’
‘We gave away its existence, did we?’
‘I’m afraid we did, General. And we also revealed the fact that the river runs shallow there. The only way round his defences to the south now is to go through the marshes themselves. Though, with your permission, we’ll keep an eye on things there – especially as first impressions suggest we rattled Cassius so that he’s more interested in throwing up a palisade quickly rather than taking his time with the trench and the earth wall.’
Antony’s lips thinned with frustration. ‘Yes. Do keep an eye on things at the marsh,’ he ordered. ‘But don’t forget to scout the hills at the other end as well.’ He looked around his assembled senior command group of Lucius, Saxa, Norbanus, Bassus and Asinius. ‘However, until we can work out a way to get in behind that wall and start doing some serious fighting against them, the plan has to be to tempt them out to fight us.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Norbanus and everyone nodded their agreement.
‘There’s no doubting their strategy. We’ve talked it over often enough,’ said Bassus.
‘And we’ll still be talking it over as we slowly starve to death unless we can think of an effective way to counter it,’ added Norbanus.
‘If you can’t make the generals come out and fight,’ said Artemidorus, ‘maybe you can get the legions to come out instead. We’ve discussed the weakness of their command structure. It should be possible to tempt the legions into taking action even if Brutus and Cassius don’t want to.’
‘If you parade your men every day ready for battle, Brutus and Cassius will be forced to do the same,’ said Quintus. ‘I know several of their legions well – if we go out ready for battle, they’ll do the same. To do anything less would dishonour them. And once they’re out, it’s just a question of presenting the right temptation…’
‘Then, if they don’t actually come down to fight us – held back by their generals’ orders - we can start challenging them directly,’ emphasised Ferrata. ‘Questioning their honour and bravery. Calling them cowards, undermining their morale. It’s not much but it’s a start.’
‘When young Caesar arrives,’ added Artemidorus, ‘his troops will be able to face off against Brutus’ legions and shout Our general’s father screwed your general’s mother – and it will be true: he did. The Libertore legions really won’t like that!’
‘I don’t suppose Brutus will be too happy about it either!’ said Antony, brightening up. ‘Wasn’t it you who discovered Caesar might even have been Brutus’ real father and he accused him of patricide with his dying breath?’
‘He said “Kai su teknon?” in Greek,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘You too, my son?’
‘That’s all history now. But for the moment getting into full battle order, even if it’s just to yell insults at Brutus, his mother and his men will give our legions something to do rather than sitting around in camp moaning,’ Ferrata pointed out.
‘Right,’ decided Antony. ‘That sounds like a plan. We’ll go with it until we can think of something better.’
*
Artemidorus didn’t want his crypteia sitting around camp moaning either, so he detailed Kyros and Hercules to continue training Hecate and Voadicia in the basic use of arms. They had to set up a little training ground away from the legionary ones where Antony’s army trained for the fight the Libertores refused to give them in spite of the fact that they paraded daily and faced off a mere four stades, half a mile apart. The women were unusual enough in this particular war camp. To see them in armour practising with sling, bow, spear, scutum, pugio and gladius would have been too much of a distraction altogether.
Meanwhile Artemidorus took Quintus, Ferrata and Furius and continued to examine the massive wall for weak spots, while Felix used Notus as his secretary, sending letters home to his family in Rome and coded messages to his colleagues in the Martia legion, keeping them abreast of the situation, so that when they arrived they would be fully briefed and ready for immediate action.
Late on the third afternoon after Antony started parading his army and the Libertores, at last, reciprocated, Artemidorus led his three-man unit through the undergrowth on the west-facing slope of the hill spur more than a mile west of Philippi. It had been a tough climb to reach this far and they were very well aware that there was no chance at all of bringing a significant number of soldiers along the precipitous route they had just followed. Behind them, the thick pine forest reached down to the plain. On their right, Brutus’ end of the Libertores’ main fortification ended hard up against a cliff, just behind a waterfall that seemed to give birth to the Gangites. Ahead, and still some way above them, the crest of the spur was crowned by the ancient, ruined temple.
‘You think they’ll have put guards up there, Septem?’ wondered Furius.
‘I’d have thought so,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘I’d have men up there if I was Brutus. You must be able to see for miles from the temple.’
‘Brutus seems to be frightened of his own shadow,’ said Ferrata. ‘I’d bet he’s got guards and lookouts everywhere he can think of to put them.’
‘You know he says Caesar’s ghost visits him in dreams?’ added Quintus.
‘That would be enough to frighten anybody,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Especially if Caesar really was his father.’
‘So,’ concluded Furius, ‘there’ll be throats to cut. We’d better be quick and quiet about it. And then get out of there as soon as we can once our mission is complete.’
‘That’s not like you,’ said Ferrata. ‘I’d have thought you’d have been happy to wait for the next set of throats to arrive so you could cut them too. Now I think of it, you and that woman Voadicia should get on pretty well. She seems to be a murderous little soul.’
Then it was too late for talking as Artemidorus led them up the steep hillside to the crest in a swift, silent scramble. They paused in the last of the forest, half hidden by the tree trunks, as they surveyed the ruined temple. The precinct was still clear, though there were grasses and saplings springing up between the marble flags. The temple itself was little more than a jumble of fallen columns and ruined walls. Brutus’ watchmen had kept clear of the most sacred parts which seemed to consist of a tall marble shrine – all that was still standing and anywhere near complete. They had lit a fire at
the centre of a convenient semi-circle of fallen columns and were sitting, chatting in its warmth as the cool of the evening began to chill the air. There were four of them but only one, presumably the optio, was fully dressed. His three subordinates had been allowed to remove their helmets. The dangerously over-indulgent and over-confident optio was standing, leaning against a spear, half listening to his subordinates’ chatter as he stared, frowning, away towards the west. What Artemidorus could see of his face was folded into a frown, eyes narrow, as he either tried to work out the detail of what he could see – or was simply being dazzled by the westering sun.
‘This is going to be too easy,’ breathed Furius.
The others nodded silently as they all reached into the pouches at their belts to pull out their slings and sling-stones.
ii
‘I’ll take the optio,’ breathed Artemidorus. Quintus looked sideways at him – it would be an almost impossible shot, even though they were to the north-west of the temple so that Artemidorus’ target between the stout metal cheek-guards was a little more than a profile.
‘Choose your targets,’ he breathed. ‘The seated men are: Number One nearest the Optio, then Two and Three.’
‘One,’ whispered Quintus.
‘Two,’ selected Ferrata.
Furius stayed silent, his selection obvious.
‘On my order,’ Septem whispered, and his companions began to swing their slings. So did he, but out of sequence with the others. ‘Now!’ he breathed. Three sling-bullets sped invisibly and inaudibly towards their targets. The three soldiers without helmets pitched forward in unison, the sharp sounds of the stone-strikes like three twigs snapping as the backs of their skulls shattered.
Stunned, the optio looked in the direction the attack must have come from. It was an automatic reaction, done long before his mind caught up. And it was the very one his executioner had counted on, for it presented his full face as a target. Artemidorus’ stone caught him just above the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. He collapsed like a broken puppet.
Moments later, the crypteia were standing beside the fire. While Furius made certain the watchmen were all dead, Quintus and Ferrata studied the disposition of Brutus’ camp behind the main fortification and its lay-out within its own square palisade. The camp’s design was easy to see from here – the rows of tents, the groups of legionaries and legionary slaves; the cavalry lines – horses and riders from as far afield as Parthia. The eastern slope of the spur was far less steep than the western one they had just climbed. It had been denuded of trees to make the palisades. A roadway snaked down the hillside to Brutus’ camp. It looked an easy climb but was providentially empty – there was no-one coming to replace the dead lookouts. There was time for a proper assessment of the Libertores’ defences.
They shaded their eyes and strained to see Cassius’ camp and the huge mottled green swamp beyond it. Artemidorus left the task to their sharp eyes, unmatched experience and flawless memories. His curiosity piqued, he looked westward to see whether he could see what had aroused the optio’s interest. And there, in the furthest distance, a thin plume of dust was rising up the still evening air. He knew at once what it was and what it signified.
Young Caesar and his legions were almost here at last.
*
‘I’ll see the bloody boy when he arrives,’ decided Antony. ‘In the meantime, I have more immediate priorities. There is no way round the Libertores’ wall at the Philippi end you say, Septem?’
‘None, General. To get round the wall you’ll have to go through the marshes. Unless you can find a weak spot and go over it.’
‘But if I fight my way round through the marshes I have to face Cassius. The greater of the two evils.’ Antony looked at the faces gathered around the table. ‘Any thoughts?’ he asked.
‘The only alternative is to keep doing what we’ve been doing,’ said Asinius, ‘wait for young Caesar and see what ideas he and his men can come up with.’
Antony’s open face immediately started to redden and Artemidorus began to wonder whether Asinius was playing some kind of game with the general. The likelihood of Antony waiting for advice from the Bloody Boy was about equal to that of Sisyphus juggling with the ball he was doomed to roll eternally up his hill or Tantalus getting a good long drink from the magical lake he was seated in.
‘I believe your engineers could cut a road through the reed-beds, General,’ he said. ‘When we looked down from the Temple of Dionysus, we could see more than the lay-out of Brutus’ castrum and the dust kicked up by young Caesar’s legions. We could also just make out the variations in colour that I believe reveal areas of the marsh which might be less dangerous. In any case, my personal experience in the place itself suggests that if your men can find a way to spread the load, by constructing a pathway designed something like a wide pier supported on piles, it would be possible to build a via through the swamp broad enough for your legions to march along. It may even be possible to build fortified redoubts on areas of firm land your men find along the way.’
‘Your experience suggests that, does it?’ asked Antony, surprised out of his anger at Asinius’ suggestion by Septem’s more promising assessment.
‘It does, General. And, furthermore, it suggests that if we’re careful, we could even build a causeway that would remain invisible to Cassius and his watch-towers; unsuspected if we were quiet enough. Ready to launch a surprise attack on his rear at any time after the causeway was completed and manned.’
‘That’s pushing things a little far, surely,’ said Asinius, surprised. ‘What gives you an idea like that?’
‘The fact that I came across one of the largest wild boars I have ever seen in there, and I had no idea of its existence until it came charging out of the reeds. Not at me, thank the gods, but at some other poor bastard. I reckon if something like a wild boar can stay invisible and unsuspected a couple of feet away, then we should be able to hide a team of engineers half a mile from the nearest watch-tower in Cassius’ camp.’
‘Lucius,’ said Antony. ‘Get a team of engineers off their duties digging wells and latrines and go with Septem here. See if you think we could hide something the size of the Appian Way in that bloody great marsh out there.’
‘And,’ said Asinius, blithely venturing onto dangerously thin ice once again, ‘when young Caesar gets here, we can see what Marcus Agrippa thinks – that sort of thing is right up his street.’
iii
‘Now this,’ said Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa on the day after his arrival with Caesar Octavianus and his five legions, ‘this is bloody clever. And you came up with the idea, Septem?’
At Artemidorus’ direction, Antony’s engineers had started their causeway on the top of a low, broad ridge that ran promisingly straight into the swamp. The ridge had good points other than the firmness of the mud that formed it. It was shielded to the north by a westward bulge of the swamp that reached out in a wall of tall reeds towards Antony’s lines, perfectly concealing all the activity behind it. It sloped away gently to the south in a dry valley which would obviously contain a sizeable stream when the drought eased. In the mean-time, it presented a perfect supply route for the engineers and the legionaries assisting them. Its dry bed even supplied smooth round stones that made useful building materials. Wagon after wagon laden with wooden piles and boards, rocks and boulders came and went while the men working as silently as possible in the swamp itself, laid the reeds they cut to clear their way in tight-packed bundles as makeshift roadbed. Long wooden piles held them steady. Stones shored them up. Planks spanned them and were lashed immovably in place. The whole thing, reaching straight into the heart of the swamp was as wide as the Appian Way.
Artemidorus led Agrippa along the first section to the leading edge. Here, just as he had described to Antony, not only was the causeway being pushed forward, but also, on a firm patch on the northern edge, the engineers were laying the foundations of the first redoubt which looked as though it would be
quite a solid fort. ‘We’ll be behind Cassius’ lines and in a position to attack within the week,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Especially if Caesar Octavianus is willing to lend us some of his troops as well.’
‘I’ll have him carried down here,’ said Agrippa. ‘I think he needs to see this. At the very least it would be a late gift that might make up for all the pain and sickness. You know the day we arrived was his twentieth birthday?’
The two men turned and began walking back out of the swamp. ‘We heard he was unwell,’ said Artemidorus. ‘How is he really?’
‘Sometimes I think he’s only still alive through the grace of the gods and the strength of his will. His legs are so swollen and painful that he cannot walk – we had to carry him here in a litter. He has trouble breathing, especially if the air is anything but pure and clean. And on top of that he still suffers from the shakes, the sweats and the chills.’
‘And yet he’s here at the head of his legions! The man is amazing!’
‘You know as well as I do, Septem,’ said Agrippa as he leaped into the saddle, ‘he’s never going to let Antony grab the glory of avenging Divus Julius’ murder alone! As long as he has the strength to draw breath, he’s going to be in at the kill. Come on, I’ll take you to him so you can brief him, me, Rufus and Maecenas on the situation as you see it.’
*
Caesar Octavianus had added his modest castrum to the northern side of Antony’s. Artemidorus saw that the young triumvir had wisely detailed the Fourth Legion to erect their camp in front of him. The Fourth were the strongest legion in the Triumvirs’ army – or they would be until the Martia arrived. No doubt as soon as they did so, Caesar would have them pitch their tents beside the Fourth. In the meantime, there were several units of tough Spartans there instead.