by Peter Tonkin
‘It’s all right, my friends,’ said the young man. ‘I must go and resume my duties now. My strength has returned and my chest is clear, thanks in no small measure to your hospitality and care. Antony needs me now to finish the task of avenging my divine father Divus Julius and crushing the men who slaughtered him.’ They cheered at that, helped him mount the magnificent stallion, and let him depart. As Caesar rode ahead of the group, Felix took his place between Artemidorus and Enobarbus immediately behind. The secret agent watched the spy-master frown and shake his head infinitesimally as he ran through in his mind version after version of the conversation he was going to have to have with the last survivor of the Martia.
As they came to the end of the causeway, however, and swung out round the wall of rushes, the situation changed yet again.
It started to pour with rain.
*
The soil that had turned into clouds of fine brown dust became a lake of icy mud within a couple of days. There was nothing even Antony could think of to make the camp any more comfortable. ‘We could move it further uphill I suppose,’ said Calvinus, ‘though I don’t think that would make much difference.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ answered Antony. ‘Take some of the engineers and see if you can find a drier location. In the mean-time, Tribune Enobarbus, I want you to take Septem’s crypteia and scout the marsh more fully. If it’s wet here, it will be sodden down there. I want to know what’s happening. When you report back, bear in mind that Caesar or I may have to go and visit the legions on the causeway to cheer them up a bit.’
‘Yes, General,’ snapped Enobarbus. ‘Septem, Quintus, Felix, with me.’
Felix had assigned himself to the Seventh and to the crypteia for the time-being at least, though Artemidorus thought things might change when the shock of Enobarbus’ terrible news wore off. In the mean-time, he, Voadicia and Hecate led the tribune and the rest into the swamp. It had been their mission not only to guide Antony’s legions if necessary, but to find safe passage through the reed-beds where possible. The crypteia followed them on horseback to begin with, cloaked against the unrelenting downpour but stooped forward to take the full weight of it on their shoulders. As Artemidorus had observed, the wooden-topped embankment was wide and structurally solid. They rode past redoubt after redoubt, pausing at those which seemed lower or smaller to ensure that their garrisons felt safe and protected from the storm and the slowly-rising water level that resulted from it. But everything seemed to be going well for the time-being. In fact, the legionaries of the Fifth Legion in their stone-walled fortresses appeared to be more comfortable than the legionaries in the makeshift shelters of Antony’s mud-flooded camp.
As the little group plunged deeper and deeper into the swamp, they decided it would be wise to leave their horses behind so they dismounted and handed them over to the soldiers in the next redoubt. Moving forward on foot brought them closer to the reality of their situation. Wet cloaks wrapped around them like chill shrouds. Caligae sank into little streams which eddied over the wooden walkway they were following. As they progressed, they found increasing numbers of waterlogged corpses left after the battle which had been fought here while the main contest was out on the dusty plain. They lay wedged in the reed-beds, washed up by the rising water-level despite their armour; partly consumed by a combination of birds, fish, reptiles and animals. The situation simply became grimmer and grimmer.
But Artemidorus was by no means fixated on his feet, the rising water or the horrifically disfigured corpses he was having to walk around or step over. He was looking at the reed wall to his left, thinking that they must be nearing Cassius’ transverse causeway. The fighting seemed to have been fiercest here so it was logical to suppose that this was where the two causeways came closest to each-other. His broader interest bore unexpected fruit. Suddenly, he could see beyond the reeds on his left to the southern section of Cassius’ camp. The walls were damaged – both the outer palisade and the inner wall of the camp itself. Neither wall had been properly repaired. The gaps allowed him to glimpse the inner workings of the camp – even at this distance - and it became immediately clear to him that Brutus had moved his headquarters here; his tent, his personal standard, everything the new sole commander of the Libertore armies needed. But he had only partially re-occupied it. As Artemidorus slowed, turned, frowned in thought, he saw that Brutus’ men had merely occupied the northern of the two hills at the heart of the camp. With the outer defences shattered and the main Libertore castrum now located in Brutus’ camp several miles northward in any case, the troops had simply walled the northern hill and left the lower, southern, hill unoccupied. ‘Tribune,’ said Artemidorus quietly, ‘have a look at this…’
iii
‘Ventidius Bassus,’ said Antony next afternoon, ‘I want you to take four legions and occupy the southernmost hill in Cassius’ camp. The one Brutus’ men have not bothered with according to Septem and Tribune Enobarbus. At the very worst, being up on a hill, you’ll be drier than the rest of us – though I’ve been impressed by the way Calvinus here has managed to move part of the camp up onto drier ground so swiftly and efficiently. I hear Brutus has also been extending the palisade eastward from his present position on the northern hill, protecting the supply-road in from the Via. I want you to disrupt that work too. The southernmost hill is the perfect place to do that from.’
‘You’ll be within easy bow-shot of the northern hill,’ warned Artemidorus. ‘It’s higher too, so you’ll need to work out some way of protecting yourselves.’
‘Something light and portable, easy to erect and thick enough to stop an arrow.’ Emphasised Enobarbus.
‘In Albion,’ said Voadicia, ‘we would use all those rushes as wicker. We’d take some willow branches and just weave the stems of the rushes around them. We build the fronts of our chariots like that; light but strong.’
‘We use rushes in the same way,’ agreed Hecate. ‘We call such things tsoratawara. It is surprising how sturdy they can be.’
‘Choose your time carefully, Bassus,’ said Antony. ‘I’d advise you to go with the last of the light, settle in and make your wicker walls in the darkness so that when Brutus’ legions on the northern hill spot you, you’ll already have defences ready to erect.’
Artemidorus, Enobarbus, Quintus, Ferrata, Furius and Hercules saw Ventidius Bassus and his four legions off just after sunset. They were all on foot, the legate and his staff at the head, with Voadicia, Hecate and Felix as their guides Kyron and Notus remained with Antony’s secretarial staff – though he needed precious little code-work done at the moment. The fast approaching night was grey, overcast and still teeming with rain. Asinius and his men had returned from Amphipolis earlier that afternoon but had brought precious little with them in the way of money or – increasingly crucially – supplies.
Artemidorus and Enobarbus were summoned to Antony’s tent for the evening briefing that arose from the current, ever-worsening – situation. As they slopped through the icy ankle-deep mud, Enobarbus said, ‘If this gets any worse I’ll suggest to the General that he and the other commanders move up into Calvinus’ new camp.’
‘You think he’ll go? You know he likes to be with the men when things get really unpleasant. You were with him when he crossed the Alps after Mutina. Eating tree-bark…’
‘… and drinking horse piss. Don’t remind me.’
But the briefing had hardly begun when one of Calvinus’ legionaries was ushered in by the guards. ‘Generals,’ he said breathlessly, ‘something dreadful has happened…’
There was an appreciable slope up to the Libertores’ outer wall, of course, but the slope up to Calvinus’ new camp was hardly less steep. Especially as it was running not only water but also the wreckage of tents and their contents which had obviously just been swept away. Artemidorus and Enobarbus slogged up the slope alongside Antony and the others. It was hard work, because there was a forceful torrent washing down against them. ‘I don’t understand it,’ bel
lowed Calvinus. ‘The slope was solid and relatively dry.’
‘How much of the camp did you move up there?’ asked Antony who, to be fair, had had far more important matters to consider once he had delegated this situation.
‘More than a third,’ said Calvinus, his tone guarded.
‘It’s not the legate’s fault,’ called Artemidorus, who had been up and down these slopes more than most, ‘there’s something else going on here.’
*
As he said this, the group arrived at what little was left of Calvinus’ uphill camp. Artemidorus looked around at the waterlogged devastation. Icy liquid mud washed over his feet and ankles, splashing almost up to his knees. ‘General,’ he called to Antony. ‘I know what’s going on! Brutus has dammed the Gangites and caused it to flood down here. A particularly effective ploy because the river will be made much more powerful by all this rain. We need a team of engineers, a unit of Legio Ten Equestris to get to the dam sight and guard it in case Brutus is using it as a trap. Once the dam is down, things will get back to normal.’
‘We won’t be able to replace the tents, though,’ said Antony bitterly. ‘Nor the equipment that’s been washed away with them. Not locally and not soon.’
Antony and Calvinus led the other commanders and most of the waterlogged legionaries down to the main camp and what they could find in the way of shelter there. Enobarbus, Artemidorus and the rest of the crypteia led the best equipped of the legionaries on up the hill, following the diverted river as it sought to carve itself a new valley. They had just made it to Brutus’ dam when the mounted legionaries from the Tenth arrived. The horsemen scouted the area between here and Brutus’ northern camp while the foot soldiers set up a perimeter. Then the engineers arrived with their equipment. By dawn the dam was down and the Gangites were back between its accustomed banks. ‘Too late to be much help,’ said Artemidorus regretfully as they walked back down the littered, mud-slick hillside.
‘Things are getting desperate,’ agreed Enobarbus. ‘Antony’s going to have to start night patrols to stop this kind of thing happening again.
‘But that will fall pretty heavily on the cavalry he has available,’ said Artemidorus. ‘He’s sent most of them away because he can’t afford to keep them and feed them.’
‘That’s what he’ll have to do with the rest of the army if things don’t improve,’ said Enobarbus.
‘Unless he can find some way of bringing Brutus back to the battlefield. Or, I suppose, get fresh supplies from somewhere that doesn’t involve taking a ship and running the gauntlet of Admirals Murcus and Ahenobarbus.’
‘Right,’ said Antony later that morning at his first briefing of the day, ‘I think you’ll all agree that the need for fresh supplies is more urgent than ever. I’m sending half of the legion currently with Pinarius in Amphipolis to establish a new supply line and get as much as they can back to me here as quickly as possible. Brother Lucius, I’m putting you in charge of this enterprise - and not just because you’re the fattest of us. Though knowing you I’m sure you will be strongly motivated by the thought of getting more food in.’
‘Of course, General,’ said Lucius Antonius, straightening his back and sucking in his belly. ‘Where had you in mind?’
‘Somewhere fertile and relatively untouched that you can get to and from without getting on board a ship and make it there and back within the month if you move fast enough. I’m sending you to the north of Greece.’
‘Achaea,’ said Artemidorus softly. He was Spartan; Achaea was very nearly his homeland.
‘Achaea,’ confirmed Antony.
iv
Enobarbus, Artemidorus and the rest of his crypteia - except for those who had led Bassus and his legions through the marsh and into the abandoned section of Cassius’ camp - were with Antony and his senior staff watching Lucius and his bodyguard as they headed west towards Amphipolis when the General called out to them. ‘Tribune! Now that my brother has left on his mission, I’ll need a senior officer to replace him. I’m appointing you as Legate to the Seventh. That way you can still keep an eye on Septem and the crypteia. Although this is a battlefield appointment, we’ll go through the ceremonies and paperwork to confirm it later.’
‘As you wish, General. My thanks to you. May I appoint Centurion Flavius Felix to my staff?’
‘You’re the Legate, Enobarbus. You can appoint whoever you like.’
Listening to this conversation, Artemidorus nodded in satisfaction. Both Antony and Enobarbus had made wise decisions. Although the newly-promoted Legate had only been with them for a week on this occasion, Enobarbus had been their spymaster since the seemingly distant days before the death of Divus Julius two years and seven months ago. Today was the Ides of October, 712; the murder was committed on the Ides of March 710. And there was no doubt that Enobarbus planned to make Felix his liaison with the crypteia – falling back on the centurion whenever his new duties became a necessary distraction.
The rain was easing and the clouds thinning, but these facts only seemed to bring the chill of winter with more immediacy and intensity. Boreas, god of the season seemed to have arrived in earnest. ‘I hope brother Lucius brings back some firewood as well as something to eat,’ said Ferrata. ‘My fingers were frosted together when I woke up this morning. At first, I thought they’d been glued together with mud, but no – it was ice.’
‘There’ve been a lot of complaints about that,’ said Quintus. ‘Now that the rain has stopped and the clouds have gone, the temperature has fallen off a cliff. More to whinge about. Modern generation. No backbone.’
‘Here,’ said Ferrata, ‘a good number of this modern generation went over the Alps with Antony.’
‘They shouldn’t be whining about a little mud and ice then, should they? At least they’ve got food other than tree bark and drink other than horse pi…’
‘Septem,’ Calvinus interrupted the discussion. ‘Antony wants you.’
Artemidorus entered Antony’s tent with Calvinus at one shoulder and Quintus at the other. If Antony was bothered by the triarius’ presence, he didn’t show it. He turned, clearly stopping part-way through a conversation with Enobarbus. ‘Septem,’ he said. ‘The Legate here thinks you’ll already have seen the possibility. And knowing you I have no doubt that you have already thought of this.’
‘Thought of what, General?’
‘Of the fact that Bassus and the four legions which are now stationed on top of the southern hill in Cassius’ camp will make an effective shield to protect any other legions I decide to send into the marsh. Who will also of course have Legio V Alaude to guard them along the way. Brutus seems to be still on the defensive – he’s extending the palisade from the camp on the northern hill of Cassius’ old camp towards the Via, parallel to my causeway, in fact.’
‘That is all true, General…’
‘So that, if I start sending legions into the marsh under the protection of Bassus’ four legions on that hill and the Larks on the causeway as I say, I might be able to stretch my own lines far enough eastward to get beyond the end of his new palisade to cut the Via, and therefore Brutus’ communications with Neapolis and Thasos. Cut him off from his supplies, just as we are cut off from ours. Trap him and his legions against the mountains there behind Philippi and watch him starve - just as he wants to watch me starve – all through the winter.’
Artemidorus looked around the table, briefly meeting the gaze of Antony, Caesar and each of their senior officers, finishing with Enobarbus. ‘A risky stratagem, General, as it would require almost all of your legions to make it work – effectively leaving none to guard the camp or watch your back.’
‘Desperate times call for desperate measures, Septem. Besides, there is nothing left in the camp to protect – and if things don’t improve soon my back will need protecting from my own legions as well as Brutus’!’
‘I appreciate that, General.’
‘But you are no doubt wondering why I am including you and the good Quintus h
ere in our deliberations.’
‘Not really, General. Your plan will only work if your extra legions can get right across the marshes. And they can only do that if the members of my crypteia, who know the marshes best, guide them safely through.’
*
‘I see that you understand my plans as clearly as ever, Septem. And I have no doubt that you also see the urgency of my situation. It’s all very well having sent my portly brother to Achaea seeking supplies, but that was a gesture designed to hearten the legions in the face of this icy weather as much as a realistic plan to get help. I really cannot wait a month until the ides of November in the hope that he will return with sufficient supplies to bring any meaningful relief to my men. I might just as well wait two months for Saturnalia and hope that they will all dance, drink and fornicate themselves warm and dry. Assuming, as I say, that they haven’t knifed me in the back and sodded off home long before that. Now, do you think the men and women of your deadly little command can guide my soldiers through the marshes before this endless fucking rain returns to make all access impossible down there?’
‘We can try, General. How many men do you want to send and how soon?’
‘Ten legions counting the Larks. As soon as possible.’
Artemidorus blinked. Antony had commanded nineteen legions to begin with – though he was hoping for twenty when the ill-fated Martia arrived. Of those nineteen, he had left one in Amphipolis. The Fourth and at least two others had been totally destroyed in Brutus’ attack. Several more had been effectively decimated and the survivors had been assigned to the legions who had come through with fewer casualties. Four were with Bassus on the southern hill in Cassius’ camp. If the general sent ten more into the swamp, counting the Larks who were already there, that would leave him with two, and such extranumeraries as could be counted on to stand guard and protect what was left of his camp. It was a truly desperate move. ‘To get that many legions through the marsh we would need to use the causeway, General. And we could not proceed until my scouts have found a location that was big enough, dry enough and secure enough to house the soldiers and everyone else that goes with them.’