‘But, Imperator, we are now in touch with the enemy. It is tactically unsound to allow him to march off into the blue. Besides, if we follow on his heels we might overwhelm his rear while he is engaged with the Caesarians.’
‘You can’t teach me tactics, legate. I have been an Imperator these fifteen years, and I can plan a march as well as the next man. Why should I risk a battle to help the Caesarians, when they have not once done anything to help me? Why should I risk an ambush for the sake of crushing Plinius, when already he dares not meet me in the open field? Don’t you see, gentlemen? The way lies open to Messana. Once that is ours the pirate fleet will sail away to plunder in some other sea; and the Pompeian army must either disperse, or, better still, enlist under my Eagles. If we move at once we may win all Sicily without a battle. Send for my horse. Come with me, all of you. I want to see the vanguard under arms in half an hour, and the last of the baggage loaded before midnight.’
He was amazed at his own military qualities. The whole plan had appeared in his mind as soon as he heard that Plinius was on the move. Why, he was a great general, after all! You never know how much you can do until you try. The Divine Julius had shown no soldierly qualities until at the age of forty-two he undertook the government of Gaul; Aemilius Lepidus planned his first campaign at the age of fifty-four. But the spur of action had shown him to be worthy of his ancestors. While Crastinus was still packing him into his corselet his charger arrived; with straps and buckles flapping he scrambled into the saddle, and set off at a brisk gallop to the camp.
His staff followed more sedately, first stuffing their uneaten supper into wallets and saddle-bags. When an Imperator gets these fancies into his head there is no point in arguing. The old boy might even have guessed right, for once in his life; any student of recent politics must recognize that the Aemilii Lepidi had more than their fair share of the favour of the gods.
The troops took fire from the excitement of their leader. Hard marching, heat, the labour of foraging in the wake of well-handled Pompeian rearguards, had made this war unusually exhausting; now, after a month of stalemate, one forced march would lead them to victory. Good old grandpa Lepidus! At Lilybaeum he had shown himself brave as a fighting-cock, for all that he fell over his own feet when he tried to charge. Perhaps there was something in the old buffer, in spite of appearances. He for one, at any rate, was quite sure they had out-guessed the Pompeians. Get armed and fall in! The first cohort on the road will be first into the treasury at Messana! Before midnight the legions were stumbling urgently behind an old gentleman who bounced up and down with impatience in the padded saddle of his war-horse.
Thirty-six hours later long stony miles had drained the excitement from every heart. They had seen the smashed timbers of Caesarian warships, grinding against the northern cliffs; the allies from Italy had failed them again, and they must conquer a horde of ferocious pirates by their own efforts. The walls of Messana looked very strong. So long as the Pompeian fleet was free to import supplies from oversea investment would be a waste of time. There was no way in but by bloody assault. How many attackers would be lying in the breach when that enticing treasury gave up its riches?
Worst of all, they could recognize, crowning a hill two miles to the south, the familiar Eagles of Plinius. His camp still held eight legions, and there was no evidence that they had been weakened by the casualties of a pitched battle. Though their general’s inspiration had gained them valuable ground, all the bloodshed of the campaign still lay before them.
Lepidus felt as nonplussed as the meanest of his soldiers. The siege of a fortified town offered even greater opportunities to an inspired commander than a pitched battle in the open field. He knew exactly what he ought to be doing; it was laid down in all the books on tactics. He should examine the wall with the keen eye of the born soldier. Somewhere there would be a weak spot, which the defenders, blinded by custom, could not see; a badly sited tower offering dead ground for the emplacement of scaling-ladders; an unnoticed crack in the curtain-wall; a forgotten postern; a drain; an aqueduct. Hannibal had spent his life spotting these things, and so had the great Scipio.
But if he approached the wall he came within range of Pompeian javelins; then all he could see was the inside of the shield Crastinus held before him. Anyway, every stretch of wall looked alike to him. He himself could not escalade it, or knock it down with any kind of engine he had ever seen; and he could not imagine how someone else could do these things for him.
Perhaps the troops were encouraged when their commander braved the darts of the enemy. A display of daring might be good for their morale and would certainly be good for his own reputation. Conscientiously he continued his inspection of the defences, trying to recall, from the distant year when he had served as curule aedile, the stains which showed that a length of masonry was in bad condition. He thought he could recall what they looked like; if his memory was correct this wall was in very good repair from end to end.
Once the sun had set there was obviously no point in remaining so close to the foe. He trudged stolidly back to his army. His staff were waiting for him, and as soon as he reached them he gave his orders crisply and decisively, just as though he knew what ought to be done.
‘Our camp will lie here; not more than half a mile from the town, facing the north-western angle of the walls. There’s a beach not far away. We can communicate with Caesar, if he has ships capable of putting to sea. Plinius may join with the garrison of Messana in a surprise assault, so our camp must be very strongly fortified. We shall draw our supplies from the west. After a day or two we shall get to know these walls, and then we can decide where to build our engines. In the meantime we shall do nothing rash. Now post a strong covering party and get on with entrenching the camp.’
That was enough to set forty thousand men to work. It was amazingly easy to command an army. The only difficult part was telling them what they ought to be doing.
As soon as his quarters were prepared he disarmed and lay down in the steam of an inefficient bath. It was astonishing that these Greeks, in general so clever with their hands, could never get the hang of a real Roman bath. But anything warm would take some of the stiffness out of his bones, overtaxed by a day and a half in the saddle. As usual, the bath stimulated his mind. He felt a longing for company, especially intelligent company; he sent a servant to fetch Eunomus.
The secretary was in a bad temper; at first he would do nothing more than answer direct questions. The forced march had been much more trying to him than to his lord; he had been furnished with a most uncomfortable mule, and a Greek freed-man was less hardened to riding than a Roman general. But his real grievance was that since he had reached Sicily he had not been allowed to meddle in politics. Here was a fascinating civil war, in which allies who disliked one another fought against an unprincipled rascal who at any moment might desert his own standard; and Eunomus was forbidden to use his carefully prepared underground channels of communication.
At last his patron seemed to be relenting. It was too much to expect him to countermand his own direct order, but evidently he was hungry for news of the Pompeian camp. After his first questions had been answered briefly, almost curtly, he began to grumble at large.
‘It’s absurd that I should be groping in the dark like this, especially when my Numidian horse can patrol wherever they like. I don’t even know for certain what happened in that naval battle. Caesar lost a lot of ships, for I have seen their wreckage; but the Pompeians may have lost even more. In fact it’s possible that Caesar won the battle; though I can’t imagine Agrippa beating Menas unless he had a tidal wave to help him. For all I know, on the other hand, Caesar may have been drowned; or Pompeius may be in the middle of making peace with him. I lead a magnificent army, and my men are devoted to my person. But it seems hazardous to risk their lives in a desperate assault when I don’t know how I stand in the politics of the City. I wish I had a reliable account of the sea-fight, and in particular reliable news of Caes
ar. A man who could tell me everything that has passed since Plinius began to receive those signals would get a mule-load of silver, and no questions asked.’
‘May I hold you to that, my lord?’ asked Eunomus eagerly. ‘I know you don’t like it when I communicate with the enemy, and of course I understand your reasons. It would be wrong if even the appearance of treason could be suspected in one so near your person. I don’t want to communicate with the enemy now, or at least to remain in communication with him. But it so happens that I could get in touch with a respectable merchant now resident in Messana. He is a citizen of Ephesus and a cousin of mine. I know how to send word to him. He could be here in your quarters by dawn, and by midday on the road to Utica with any reward you are gracious enough to give him. He will be glad to get out of a besieged town; he is essentially a man of peace. But he is well informed on public affairs. He would know what has happened in Messana, and in all the region that still obeys Pompeius. After he has told his news he goes away to your loyal Africa, and no one is scandalized.’
‘H’m, I suppose you are after your share of the silver,’ Lepidus said grudgingly.
‘My lord, I am your devoted follower. To put it on the lowest level, one mule-load of silver would not tempt me. If I wanted one I could steal it tonight, and be out of reach by daybreak. I am a man of the world, and I have my contacts everywhere. But as your confidential secretary I am better off than even the wealthiest fugitive from justice. I don’t take bribes. Respectable men give me presents quite openly.’
‘That’s true. No mule could carry as much money as sticks to your fingers in the ordinary course of a month’s business. Anyway, I choose to think you are faithful. I rather fancy myself as a judge of character, and I don’t see you deserting an Imperator and Triumvir while he is successful.’
Eunomus stretched his lips into a perfunctory smile. One day he would be revenged on this pompous barbarian; but in the meantime this business would move more quickly when he had admitted that self-interest was his only guide.
‘Agathon may keep the whole reward, my lord. He will need it, for he will have to leave his stock-in-trade behind in Messana. But if he gets to Utica with a nest-egg he will quickly be rich again, and I shall have gained a useful friend in Africa. Shall I send for him tonight? I shall need a pass to show to our own pickets, but after that I can easily get a message into the town.’
‘Very well. Bring out your spy. But make it clear that he isn’t going back again. He may sell me the Pompeian order of battle, I won’t have him selling Pompeius a plan of my camp.’
Lepidus dismissed the secretary. You had to talk to these freedmen in a way they could understand; no use treating them as though they were Roman citizens.
It was not yet dawn when he was awakened to interview Eunomus and his chosen agent. Agathon was a fawning elderly Greek, at once flabby and slim, the kind of man Lepidus disliked on sight. He determined to strike the right note at the outset.
‘What’s your line of business, my man? Or rather, what was it, before you took to the trade of betraying your ruler?’
‘Dancing, noble Triumvir, or rather the training of dancers. It’s a great shame I had to leave my stock in Messana. My most promising boy had his operation only two days ago; I hope the foreman can manage the dressings. And there were three clever little girls, only half trained, but with talent. But there! When the town is sacked the whole stock will be pulled to bits anyway. You know what soldiers are, my lord. A great pity. I had been buying very well lately. It’s always the way in wartime. Parents sell, rather than see their children starve.’
‘Enough of that. I don’t want to learn your business. Tell me about the sea-fight, and what happened after.’
‘Quite so, noble Triumvir. Well, let me see. Perhaps the most important news is that Caesar is missing, believed killed; but I expect you would like me to tell you everything, from the beginning.’
Eunomus gasped with excitement. ‘Caesar dead! And Antonius in Syria! My lord, you have only to make peace with Pompeius to become ruler of the world!’
‘Don’t talk treason,’ said Lepidus sharply. ‘And don’t interrupt. I want to hear everything, from the beginning.’
‘Well, the sea-fight now,’ Agathon took a deep breath and began to relate a story he had evidently prepared. ‘That was the day before yesterday; or rather three days ago, for now it’s getting on for dawn. Two separate fleets sailed from Italy to attack us. The warships made for Messana, while a convoy of transports nosed into the narrows. Pompeius also divided his fleet. While he delayed the transports his admirals attacked the galleys. Towards evening Pompeius joined Menas, and the united fleet was more than a match for Agrippa. The Caesarians were checked, though they did not lose many ships. Agrippa put back to Italy, but he still has a navy. All this happened somewhere off Mylae, the rocks where dozens of sea-battles have been fought in the past. It’s the obvious place to meet an invasion coming from Italy. The citizens of Messana could see what went on, and the victory of the son of Neptune gave them great encouragement.’
Agathon paused, and when he spoke again it was in the tone of one revealing a secret.
‘What became of the other invasion is not generally known. Our ruler issued a proclamation to tell us that the whole Roman army, every man of it, had been drowned in the straits. That does not tally with my information. I like to know what goes on, and I make it my business to find out. The Roman transports suffered heavy loss; but when Pompeius sailed away to fight Agrippa the leading squadron got through. Three legions scrambled ashore before Pompeius could get back from Mylae to chase the others away. At this very moment three Caesarian legions lie near Tauromenium, on the far side of the lava-fields below Etna. They have no transport, no baggage, and very little food; but they have fortified their camp and they will make a fight of it. After he had dealt with Agrippa our son of Neptune led his fleet against them, and Plinius attacked them on the land side. Yet the Caesarians held firm, and there they are. Only three legions, under strength; but veterans of Philippi.’
‘That’s most important,’ said Eunomus, ‘especially if Pompeius is trying to keep it secret. You are sure of it?’
‘Absolutely certain. Of course Pompeius is afraid of them, or he would not put out official lies about having killed them all. When a ruler starts publishing lying proclamations it’s time for a careful businessman to move away.’
‘Is that what decided you?’ asked Lepidus. ‘So far, by your account, the Pompeians appear to be winning. Why are you so certain that Messana will be sacked?’
‘Because it is a rich town, and treasure from all over the island has been stored in it for safety,’ answered Agathon, too engrossed in his narrative to offer the usual titles of respect. ‘Those Caesarians will take a lot of stopping, and they must be hungry for plunder. But even if they are beaten it’s quite likely the pirates will sack their own town, and then sail away. Pompeius may win this time, but in the end Rome must rule Sicily. I can smell a sack in the air.’
‘I see,’ said Lepidus doubtfully. ‘That’s what comes of hiring pirates to defend you. But so far you have not mentioned Caesar. Why did you say at the beginning that he is missing, believed killed?’
‘Because his own men don’t know where he is, my lord. Only a few hours ago a servant of mine slipped into the Caesarian camp. I have friends there, of course. The servant was noticed, and taken before Cornificius, the legate in command. The legate asked him for news of Caesar, and presently let him go. In this kind of war everybody uses informers, and the legate was glad to send back a friendly spy into Messana. My man will return to him, of course, with the latest Pompeian news. It’s a trade like another; dangerous but well paid.’
‘I suppose Caesar’s ship was sunk in the battle,’ Lepidus muttered to himself. ‘Drowning – an undignified, un-Roman death. A man of good birth should never fight except on land.’
‘No, my lord, it wasn’t quite like that,’ said the merchant. ‘Caesar was s
een alive after the sea-fight. As I told you, only three legions got ashore. Presently Caesar joined them, because his ship was leaking. Then, while they were fighting off the combined assault of Pompeius and Plinius, he left them, hoping to find a boat to take him back to Italy. That was nearly two days ago, and no one has seen him since.’
‘Ah, it’s likely he killed himself,’ said Lepidus. ‘Nowadays these young men lose heart very easily. Look at Cassius. His side was doing quite well really, and might have won if he had stuck to his post. Instead he got his orderly to kill him, for fear he might be taken prisoner. My wife’s sister’s husband he was, so I know all about it. Though I don’t know why I should be discussing it now, in this company,’ he ended with a frown. He was sleepy, and that had made him forget the dignity proper to a Triumvir.
‘Such a great lord as Caesar may well have killed himself rather than admit defeat,’ said Agathon humbly. ‘Or he may have been drowned on the way back to Italy.’
‘But he may turn up smiling tomorrow. We don’t know,’ said Eunomus.
‘That’s right. We don’t know,’ Lepidus agreed hastily. ‘We mustn’t do anything rash. Well, I think that’s all for tonight. Eunomus, see your agent through the picket-line, and make sure he has the promised reward. My good man, I am grateful to you. I hope that in Utica you will prosper.’
‘Under your government honest business must prosper, my lord. Please remember me, if you should happen to want a few young dancers to amuse your leisure.’ Agathon bowed himself out, and made haste to travel westward with his silver. A lot of history was going to be made round Messana; he could feel it coming. History is always bad for business.
By morning the army of Africa was snugly entrenched. The camp blocked the western road from Messana, but the foremost pickets remained out of range of the walls, and no attempt was made to emplace siege-engines. In this obscure situation the wisest policy was to wait.
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