by Peter Tonkin
The wiry slave was sent to summon the physician. Restituta’s ex-gladiator bouncer was set to guard the door. Otho and Artemidorus went down the road to the hospitium to pick up the soldier and spy’s baggage – as well as the packhorse. To settle the bill. And to warn the culina that the girls from the lupanar would shortly be needing breakfast. And would pay in the usual manner.
ii
‘I still don’t really understand what happened,’ said Quintus. ‘I’d have thought she’d have raised Hades and handed you straight over to Basilus. Then happily watched you being beaten like they beat poor Telos. Given what there is between you.’
‘I was half expecting to end up like those two poor women. Beaten with a centurion’s vinestock. Only in my case beaten to death…’
‘Like in a decimation, you mean?’
‘Like in a decimation. Just for a moment there…’
They were following the coast road back to Neapolis. What had seemed like a lengthy ride along an unfamiliar route coming south in the dark, now seemed much quicker going back north in daylight.
The horses had settled into an easy trot which the pack animal could keep up with. The road was wide enough to let them ride shoulder to shoulder and hold a conversation. Even amid the early afternoon bustle of other travellers going back and forth around them. A couple of turns of a water clock had taken them to the picturesque port of Herculaneum through which they were riding as they talked. They proposed to stay overnight in the hospitium Otho had taken them to in Neapolis, before swinging north of Puetoli in the morning and joining the Appian Way back at Capua.
‘She had just killed his steward,’ said Artemidorus, who was himself still trying to work out what Cyanea was up to. Killing Basilus’ steward, then helping them organise the girls’ escape – even after she recognised him – then vanishing back into the night-silent villa remained such an unlikely series of things for her to do that he was still, frankly, bemused.
‘I’m not sure she was absolutely certain who we were. Just for that moment,’ he said. ‘And after that, she was committed…’
‘Well, she got very certain pretty fast. The moment I opened the dark lantern. She knew you even with your face blacked up. Why help you then?’
Artemidorus shrugged in continuing confusion. What was she up to? He wondered.
Quintus continued, worrying at the problem like a dog with a bone. ‘She was right at the top of Ferrata’s shortlist of people likely to have hired that killer and his sôlênarion bow. Given that she had the money. Or access to the money. And she obviously does now – Basilus’ money. And you can see Ferrata’s point. If you’d have left me tied naked to a whipping post and handed me over to a rioting mob with rape and murder on their mind, I’d have been giving Nemesis herself a close run coming after you.
‘Furthermore,’ Quintus continued, ‘as she escaped from Basilus’ house the night the riots began, she set it all on fire. So why go back to Basilus? The one man she surely wanted dead and burning more than you. Why help him play his aegrotus perverted games?’
‘For the money?’ wondered Artemidorus. ‘Or access to it at least. Money is power, as young Caesar Octavius is keen to observe…’
‘Then why switch sides again and kill his steward?’ mused Quintus, thinking out loud. ‘Then help you rescue his victims? And after she helped us get the girls organised – the wagon was a brilliant idea, though; well done for coming up with it – why didn’t she come with us? Why stay? What in the name of Jupiter Optimus Maximus is she up to?’
It was a question that lay unanswered through the rest of the day. And indeed, through the rest of the night in the familiar hospitium at Neapolis. Where Artemidorus lay awake trying to fathom an answer. They discussed it next morning as they travelled past the junction with the road leading away down to the seaside hamlet of Puetoli.
Artemidorus paused at the crossroads, looking down towards the coast. Cyanea at last driven out of his immediate thoughts. He was torn with unaccustomed indecision. Cicero owned a villa down there. As far as he knew, the politician was in residence. And, although he had no orders to do so, he was tempted to pay a visit. To find out whether the lawyer had come to any decision about the possibility of charging Brutus with patricide. The accusation, which had seemed so promising all that time ago, had apparently come to nothing. So far. Perhaps a little nudge would set the ball rolling again, he thought. Put that particular Sisyphus on a downhill slope.
But after a moment or two he decided against it. Pulled his horse’s right rein and headed inland, up towards Capua and the Appian Way. Like a performer in the Circus Maximus riding two horses at once, he found his thoughts occupied with those two subjects. What had Cicero discovered about the charge of patricide? Why had Cyanea behaved in such an enigmatic manner? Questions that remained unresolved when events overtook them once again.
It was mid morning. They had stopped at a wayside mansio for something to eat and drink, and to give the horses a rest. The day was as warm as the previous one, more early summer than late spring. They were seated at a table outside, therefore. Side by side on a bench overlooking the road. Discussing the problem of Cyanea’s impenetrable motivation, mulling over whether Cicero needed a nudge to bring a suit against Brutus and making plans for their return to Rome. When a crowd came boiling up the busy thoroughfare.
‘He’s coming,’ shouted someone. ‘He’s coming! Caesar is coming!’
For the briefest moment, the deeply preoccupied Artemidorus expected to see Divus Julius in his triumphator’s costume, his red and gold embroidered tunic and his regal red caligae boots. Entranced by the vision, he rose to his full height then stepped up onto the bench, towering above the excited crowd.
So that when Caesar Octavius rode by with Agrippa and Rufus beside him, it was easy for the young man to spot the familiar soldier. He reined his horse to a stop, and called over the hubbub of the crowd. ‘Ave Centurion! This is a lucky meeting. Will you ride with me? I have matters I wish to discuss.’
iii
‘A very fortunate meeting,’ said Caesar Octavius again as they trotted onwards, side by side, with Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and Quintus Salvidienus Rufus close enough behind them to join in the conversation. And Quintus a little isolated just behind them. ‘The gods are certainly smiling on me today. I must make a sacrifice to thank them when we get to Rome. At the Temple of Venus Genetrix, the founder of our family. But to business. I am still finding it very hard to communicate with Antony. Which has been something of a problem. A problem that is likely to get worse during the summer unless we can get it settled swiftly. But it is a problem I think you can help me solve. You can take my messages, thoughts and plans to him on my behalf.’
‘I can, Caesar. But whether he will listen to me…’ Artemidorus shrugged.
‘You should be getting used to that. Was it not you who passed to Divus Julius Caesar himself on the Ides of Mars a list of the men waiting to murder him? At considerable risk to your own life and freedom? A list he never read?’
‘Yes,’ said Artemidorus, surprised that the young man knew of it. Too caught up in the moment to consider the implications of that knowledge – and how it might colour Caesar Octavius’ view of him. ‘It is true.’
‘I too am familiar with the feeling of being disregarded,’ laughed the young man. ‘I am on my way back to Rome having spent some time with Marcus Tullius Cicero. He has been extremely courteous. And has talked to me about a wide range of topics. But as for listening to me…’ He shook his head and laughed again.
‘It is your age, Caesar…’ suggested Agrippa.
‘Oh I know that, Marcus Vipsanius,’ Caesar Octavius answered his friend. ‘My age. And their age. I won’t be nineteen until September. They look at me – Antony, Cicero and the rest – and they see an upstart boy. With plans too big for him ever to fulfil. And their reaction is either to dismiss me – as Antony does. Or to patronise me – as Cicero does. But both of them underestimate me. And that’s all
there is to it.’
‘They will learn better, Caesar,’ said Rufus.
‘They will Quintus Salvidienus. Eventually they will…’
‘Do they not irritate you, perhaps even anger you, Caesar?’ wondered Artemidorus. ‘That they all present themselves as being so wise, so experienced, so powerful, so important. And yet they are all so short-sighted…’
‘Why should it irritate me?’ laughed Caesar. ‘As long as they underestimate me, it is a weakness in them. And their weakness is my strength! Think about it. Antony finds me and my ambitions an easily dismissed distraction. As well he might. For his priorities are clear enough. Keep Rome quiet. Settle the legions in their villages and farms. (Which I hear, is what he has managed to do at last. A little way north of here in fact.) Get some sort of reliable power base that does not rely on the goodwill of the Senate. Move the main opponents – Brutus, Cassius, Trebonius – into positions of diminished power and influence. Well out of Italy and in places where there is limited access to legions. Come after the so-called Libertores who killed my father Divus Julius. Starting of course with Decimus Albinus whom he has to prise loose from Cisalpine Gaul. In case he brings his legions south…’
‘Your logic is impeccable, Caesar,’ said Artemidorus, wondering whether the young man had somehow gained access to the contents of Antony’s letter pouch before Enobarbus handed it over to him.
‘But I don’t think he need fear Albinus as much as he does. I understand that Albinus himself is nervous. Of the tribes at his back in the Alps. Supplemented as they are by the Gaulish tribes north of the mountains. Who are in turn under pressure from the warlike peoples in Germania. And Albinus’ focus – and his legions, therefore – is to the north and in the Alps, rather than to the south across the Rubicon. But in the meantime, as I say, Antony is far too preoccupied with these concerns to give a second thought to an overambitious boy. So, for the moment at least, I am safe from him. And can go about my business unmolested.’
‘And these are thoughts you wish me to take to General Antony?’ asked Artemidorus, half amused, half astonished. Not, as yet, suspicious, though he knew he was being skilfully manipulated.
‘You may take to Antony anything I say,’ answered Caesar Octavius airily. ‘And I assure you, anything I do not wish you to take to Antony will remain absolutely unsaid!’
‘And, if I may ask, what is the business you mentioned, Caesar?’
‘To get money, Centurion. To sell every brick of building, every stick of furniture, every piece of art I own. To beg and borrow every denarius that might come my way. For, as you know, I believe that money is power. Possessions are weakness. Sometimes I think Antony understands that and sometimes he does not. Cicero does not. Antony thinks that power comes from leadership. Which in turn comes from reputation and standing – great houses to impress his clients and great deeds to impress his legions. That he need not worry too much about paying his soldiers for they will follow him for love. On the other hand, Cicero believes that the legions, being patriotic Romans to a man, will do what the Senate orders them to do. And the heart of power, therefore, is politics. The man who controls the senators controls their soldiers. He is not concerned with legions at all. But only with the Senate and the men who make it up. All his great battles are fought with words.’
‘And both of them are wrong?’
‘Yes. Power is money because money buys legions. And in the end it is legions that count. Divus Julius understood this, and passed his insight down to me. Pay the legions more than your opponents and they will follow you, not them. No matter that they love your opponent. No matter that your opponent owns the Senate. Pay them and you have them. Keep paying them and you hold them. All other stratagems are doomed to failure in the long-run, no matter what little sparks of short-term success they promise. I think, of the men who stand against me – against whom I stand – really only Cassius sees the truth of this. Which is something else working to my advantage. For Cassius is not very likely to get either money or legions while he’s here in Italy. And if Antony and the Senate send him out of Italy, it won’t be to anywhere that he can get either money or legions in the short term. So, if it is a race between us, then I am off to the better start. Perhaps that good start might even be enough to make up for his experience, reputation and leadership skills.’
‘But, Caesar,’ observed Agrippa, ‘Cassius and Brutus are brothers in more ways than one. Kindred spirits. And Brutus will be in charge of Apollo’s Games during the second week of Quintilis, which you would like to rename July in honour of Divus Julius. And Quintilis is closer than you think! You know how effectively a good games can sway the crowd. Particularly if sufficient extra money is spent to bribe a large cohort of cheerleaders. Power in Rome is not all with the Senate. There is also the People’s Tribunal and the Comitia, and those are ruled by the plebs. I would bet that at some point in Apollo’s Games a good large section of the mob will start to cheer for Brutus. And, perhaps, for Cassius. To come home and take up the reins of power once again.’
‘How right you are, Marcus Vipsanius! Therefore not all of my denarii will go on buying the allegiance of legions,’ said Caesar. ‘I will present the Ludi Victoriae Caesaris Victorious Caesar Games almost immediately after Brutus’ Apollo Games and my games will simply eclipse his in the minds of the people. I will make them so magnificent, I won’t even need to bribe cheerleaders! But your point about the Comitia is well made. They indeed wield just as much power as the Senate. And are much more accessible to men such as us. Especially as Cicero has no power over them. But Antony, in all sorts of ways and for all sorts of reasons, does. So, Centurion, as we ride back along this road that – like all the others – leads to Rome, let us get down to some serious discussion…’
iv
‘He understood everything, General. Everything that you planned. Everything I said to Brutus, Cassius and Trebonius. He is either an extremely astute strategist or he has a spy buried deep in your camp. In either case, it would be an excellent idea to co-operate with him. In the short term at least.’
Without Fulvia present, Antony was more relaxed and amenable. He had just returned from more than a week in Casilium, only a couple of miles north of Capua. While Artemidorus had been away, his general had managed to calm the city to such an extent that he felt able to achieve the first of his goals. He had ploughed the pomerium city limit of a new town, and settled the vast majority of Caesar’s restless legions there. It was not just the general who was calmer and quieter. It was the entire city of Rome. For the moment at least.
But the fact that Antony had permitted Enobarbus to bring Artemidorus to this meeting seemed strong proof of his feeling of strengthening control. Proof further supported by the fact that he was willing to listen to what his centurion was saying.
‘You are of course probably correct, General,’ Artemidorus continued. ‘Octavius may well have overestimated his strength. His power. The influence of his name and his money. But he offers a test that will allow you to prove it one way or another. A test which I believe you can use to your own ends – and possibly even outmanoeuvre him into the bargain.’
The secret agent’s words were carefully chosen. Enobarbus and he had discussed this meeting at length. Planned it in detail. Understood that it needed to fulfil several major objectives. First, to put Antony in a more amenable mood towards Caesar Octavius. Secondly, to offer the general a realistic plan to achieve his next objective. And thirdly, to re-establish Artemidorus in his good books.
‘Indeed?’ mused the general. ‘Outmanoeuvre him? Interesting. Well, Septem? What is this proof?’
‘He assumes, quite correctly I believe, that you have probably put in place a plan that will allow you to counter the Senate’s support of Decimus Albinus. Who is already firmly established up in Cisalpine Gaul. A plan which will give you the legal authority to replace him yourself at any time which may prove convenient to you.’
‘Certainly, in Cicero’s absence, the Se
nate is almost ready to fall into my grasp. You know he is thinking of going to Athens? He says it’s to study; perhaps to research the question of Brutus’ patricide. Which has been unsettling Brutus and his friends for some time now, I’m told. I say it’s to hide from me…’
‘Indeed, General. But in the meantime…’
‘In the meantime? Yes? In the meantime there is this test the boy Octavius proposes. What is that?’
‘General, Octavius believes he can deliver the Comitia to you. Make The People offer you the governorship of Cisalpine Gaul over the Senate’s head. Perhaps for a period as long as five years. Available to you whenever you care to move north and replace Decimus Albinus.’
‘Very clever – if he can pull it off. But you forget. Or rather he forgets. I have no legions. I have my bodyguard, my Praetorian Cohorts. But six thousand men is not even one legion. And Albinus has three. Battle hardened. Sharp and strong.’
‘But, General, that is not the end of the matter. And this is where you can begin to outmanoeuvre him, as I say. Perhaps even to use his plan against him. For, as you will remember, Octavius was to be Caesar’s Master of the Horse during the invasion of Parthia that never happened because of his murder. He was studying with Agrippa and Rufus at Apollonia for nearly a year in preparation. But he used some of that time to prepare himself physically and tactically. In Dyrrachium. A fact whose importance he himself seems to have overlooked…’
‘Dyrrachium! Where the six Macedonian legions are still stationed…’ breathed Antony. ‘Now this is interesting. What would make the Senate give me control of the Macedonian legions?’
‘Co-consul Dolabella has been awarded the governorship of Macedonia and control of the legions stationed there,’ said Enobarbus following Artemidorus’ lead, as planned, ‘The Senate is happy with this because they believe you and Dolabella are enemies. But Dolabella can be bought, and that is crucial. Because, on his way to Parthia, Caesar was proposing to subjugate the Getae. A warlike, restless tribe, not unlike the long-haired Gauls and the Germans. Now the Getae have been causing no end of trouble all along the Danubius river and as far down as the Mare Euxine Black Sea. He made no secret of his plans. Word of his murder might well have seeped eastwards. It might be – might it not? – that the Getae, already on a war-footing in expectation of Caesar and his legions, might feel the inactivity resulting from his death could give them an excellent chance to strike first. To come westward into Roman Macedonia itself. To confront Dolabella who is young and inexperienced. Before a new general of experience and standing comes to make war on them in Caesar’s place.’
