After The Ides (Caesar's Spies Thriller Book 2)

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘So she goes from being the sufferer to being the accessory,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Yes. I have seen that working with bullies and their victims in the legions. But I had never thought of it happening in the manner you describe. However, now you mention it, I can see Cyanea playing a game like that. But I still don’t see why she went back to him.’

  ‘Where else was there for her to go?’ asked Venus, rhetorically.

  ‘She couldn’t come back to you or any of the team, could she, Septem?’ answered Ferrata, who did not understand rhetoric and was finding this conversation fascinating. Quite apart from anything else, it was the first time Venus had decided she trusted them all enough to open up. The legionary clearly hoped that now she was beginning to open her mind to them, she might open other aspects of herself to him. ‘I mean, she could see as clearly as the rest of us that the information she gave Basilus was directly responsible for the failure of your mission and the death of Divus Julius. A point you had rather forcefully driven home by leaving her tied naked to a whipping post and presented to the less than charming companions I happened to pick up in the middle of a riot.’

  ‘That was a terrible thing to do,’ said Puella.

  ‘I know. I regretted it at once. And have done so ever since.’ The words came easily as he tried to reassure her. But he was by no means certain they were true.

  What he was regretting now was leaving the bitch alive.

  ‘You don’t regret it as much as the first two morons who tried to take her,’ said Ferrata. ‘By the time they got up beside her she’d worked one hand free. Rapist number one had a pugio in his belt and she cut his throat with it while he was still trying to loosen his braccae trousers. Number two was no cleverer and didn’t last any longer. Everyone stood back for a moment. She cut herself free and came towards us like one of the Friendly Ones dressed in nothing but hot blood. It was a cold night and she was actually smoking! Well, steaming I suppose. No wonder everyone retreated! Then someone tried to stop her and got his face slit open for his trouble. Then she sliced the face off another one – an innocent bystander with a torch. She took the torch and threw it into Basilus’ tablinum where all his books and scrolls were scattered. By the time she vanished into the night the whole lot was ablaze and we only just made it out of there ourselves.’

  ‘I see why she couldn’t come back to us – or anyone we’d worked with,’ said Artemidorus. ‘But why go back to Basilus?’

  ‘Perhaps because she knew he wanted her,’ suggested Venus. ‘Better to be wanted than discarded…’

  ‘But he wanted her whipped for his pleasure. Humiliated. Screaming. That’s how he wanted her…’

  ‘Well, boy,’ concluded Quintus. ‘She must have had some kind of a plan. Because it worked. You and I have seen the truth of that. It worked so well that by all accounts she’s now the mistress of the Governor of Asia Province. And on her way to Smyrna with him.’

  *

  ‘Antony wants you to follow Trebonius,’ said Enobarbus on his return from Brundisium. ‘Dolabella will be ahead of you – with the last of the Macedonian legions when he gets through Dyrrachium. But you’re to focus on Trebonius.’ He was talking to Artemidorus but the whole contubernium was there, except for Spurinna and Antistius, who were both about their professional callings. The secret agents were in the tablinum of Quintus’ villa, which had been adapted to their purposes with a table large enough to carry maps or plans and seats for a dozen people around it. Even Adonis was present because, although the Senate had been called, it wasn’t due to meet yet. Not with Antony still away and Dolabella out of town preparing for his journey. With the consuls absent, it was the praetors’ responsibility to arrange Senate sittings. But both of the praetors, Brutus and Cassius, were in Athens. So in many ways the Senate was hamstrung for the moment.

  ‘The general wants you to see what Trebonius gets up to,’ continued the tribune. ‘He’s relieving Marcus Apulius out there. They’re both dyed in the wool Libertores and there’s a fortune in tax revenues unaccounted for. And he wants you to bring back Trebonius’ head. Especially if you find he’s up to mischief.’

  ‘His head?’ said Artemidorus. ‘That’s a big step down a dangerous road.’

  ‘Trebonius, Basilus and Decimus Albinus took the first step down that road when they sent Myrtillus after the general,’ said Enobarbus. ‘And after you, of course,’ he added, after a pause.

  ‘It’s nice to be an afterthought,’ said Artemidorus with wry amusement.

  ‘But I’d have thought that was probably Cyanea’s doing,’ added Ferrata. ‘A little extra paragraph added to the original contract perhaps.’

  ‘But if that’s true, why didn’t she do more when she discovered us in Basilus’ villa?’ Artemidorus returned to a subject that had been at the heart of a good few conferences lately.

  ‘You can ask her when you get to Smyrna,’ said Enobarbus impatiently. ‘But if we don’t start planning this mission soon she’ll be dead of old age before you arrive.’

  ‘Right,’ said Quintus, taking control. ‘One decision leads to another. First decision – how many do we think should go? Did the general dictate a number, Tribune? Is it to be just Septem here – or can he take more of us to watch his back while he’s taking Trebonius’ head? Once we’ve decided that, we’ll need to consider speed, route, provisions, supplies. Staging posts, ships… Travel at this time of year is always a problem unless the gods are with you, each and all. Greek and Roman both.’

  iv

  Artemidorus decided that they should travel as a six-man military unit, using military transport and equipment. Following military roads. That way they could use the mansio military staging posts that Divus Julius had been putting in place to facilitate communications and support during the Parthian campaign he had never undertaken. Following hard on Dolabella’s heels, close enough to call on his legion for help if they ever required it. But still with the capacity to overtake him if they felt the need. Although the secret agent much preferred to work alone – or, in extremis as one of a pair – six seemed the smallest unit likely to travel safely from here to Smyrna, the capital of Asia Province. Even in the footsteps of a legion.

  In Italy they would probably be safe enough as they sped down the Appian Way to Brundisium and paused there to take ship across the Adriatic to Dyrrachium. ‘Brundisium should be quiet now,’ Enobarbus told them. ‘Antony has sent the four Macedonian legions that landed there north to wait for him at Ariminium just south of the Rubicon. Which is the border with Cisalpine Gaul. Ready to move north with him when he decides to shake Decimus Albinus loose. He plans to be back here soon to organise the Senate.’

  ‘After we land in Dyrrachium, we follow the Via Egnatia eastwards through Macedonia,’ said Ferrata, taking up the plan. ‘Then it’s another voyage. From the most convenient port we can find across to Smyrna.’

  ‘Good,’ said Quintus at a nod from Artemidorus, summoning up all his courage in the face of not one sea voyage but two. The second one a long one – and in stormy weather too. ‘We should have no trouble travelling along the first leg to Brundisium and boarding a ship to sail us across the Mare Hadriaticum Adriatic and into Dyrrachium. The only possible problem will be the weather, of course.’

  Ferrata leaned forward once more, to add a little streetwise information. ‘But the Via Egnatia which joins Dyrrachium with Byzantium goes through some wild and dangerous country. If Dolabella isn’t careful with his legion and what it gets up to – or if the Getae are really considering an invasion of Macedonia – we could find ourselves walking into a war zone. I’d like to suggest we plan to stop at Philippi and take ship from Neapolis Orientalis, the port that serves it. The most convenient jumping-off point in my opinion. A slightly longer voyage should lessen the danger all round. If, as I say, we can actually get to Philippi. And find a ship willing to make the voyage when we arrive there.’

  Quintus closed his eyes as he nodded his curt agreement to the suggestion. The voyage fro
m Brundisium to Dyrrachium was bad enough at a hundred miles. Neapolis Orientalis to Smyrna was well over twice that distance. And the weather was likely to become increasingly stormy as late autumn became early winter.

  Once the initial decisions were taken, Enobarbus went off about his increasingly important duties with the Praetorian Cohorts and the four decimated legions, leaving Artemidorus, Quintus and Ferrata to iron out the details of their mission. Whose three places were taken as a matter of course. Hercules was technically still tutor to young Gaius Lepidus, but the elder Lepidus was happy for him to remain with the contubernium. And as he taught boxing, wrestling, sword fighting, a range of other weaponry and horse riding as well as logic and rhetoric, the gigantic tutor was a welcome addition. So that only left two places to be filled. Adonis was too valuable to be removed from his place as Senate Secretary. And taking either of the women did not seem to be a realistic option. Though, as Quintus gruffly pointed out, Puella was as ready as Cyanea had ever been to undertake such a dangerous mission. Especially given her almost supernatural ambidexterity.

  The next obvious contender was Spurinna’s slave Kyros, the quick-thinking young Greek who had been of valuable service to the contubernium before. So, leaving Puella working off her frustration on the progressively more breathless Ferrata, sword on sword, two hands against one, Septem and Quintus went to see Spurinna.

  The Augur’s villa was much nearer the Forum than Quintus’ villa was. And, as the two men approached it, they became sidetracked by the bustle of an increasingly agitated crowd, all heading down past the Macellum market and the stalls of the Basilica Aemilia. Frowning with gathering concern, Artemidorus led Quintus into the crowded Forum. The soldiers shouldered their way to the front of the throng, who were standing looking up at a long line of papyrus sheets that had been secured to the door of the Senate House.

  Artemidorus pushed closer still to the first sheet, recognising as he did so, the distinctive penmanship of Cicero’s amanuensis secretary Tyro. ‘What does it say?’ demanded Quintus from further back.

  Artemidorus started to read at once: ‘Conscript Fathers, I ask by what bad luck it is, that for the last twenty years everyone who has been an enemy to the Republic has at the same time declared war against me? I don’t need to name any particular person; you yourselves will remember examples that prove what I say. All these enemies have suffered more terrible fates than even I could have wished for them. But I marvel that Antonius does not fear the possibility of sharing the dreadful deaths of these men whose conduct he is imitating now.’

  ‘By Mars,’ breathed Quintus. ‘It’s the speech he would have given had the Senate been in session… What else is there?’

  ‘More than twenty pages by the look of things,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘I’ll scan it for the highlights.’ And so he pushed his way through the front line of the crowd, calling over his shoulder. ‘It says here that Antony is so ruthlessly ambitious that he is worse than Catiline – and you remember that Cicero slaughtered Catiline’s supporters himself. Including Antony’s stepfather. Without the inconvenience of a trial. Strangled with bowstrings in the tullianum prison. Then it goes on to say Antony’s worse even than Clodius Pulcher – who was Antony’s friend – and Fulvia’s first husband until Cicero’s associate Milo murdered him on the Appian Way. It adds that Antony is a helpless drunkard. That he has been from his youth a pervert. That he dressed as a woman. Had a longstanding affair with the young aristocrat Gaius Scribonius Curio. Sold himself as a prostitute when money ran low. Charged the highest prices, too. And even played the woman’s part with many men. Which is much the same as was said about Divus Julius and Nichomedes of Bythnia.

  ‘But this next section looks more focused and relevant. I’ll read it word for word. “However, notice how stupid this man Antony is, I should rather say, of this brute beast is. For he said: ‘Marcus Brutus – who I honour – holding up a bloody dagger, called upon Cicero. From which it must be obvious that Cicero was an accomplice in Caesar’s evil murder.’”’

  ‘Wait!’ said Quintus. ‘I thought you took Brutus’ dagger from Divus Julius’ corpse. I thought that was the dagger you gave to young Octavius.’

  ‘That’s true,’ nodded Artemidorus, surprised. ‘But it’s probably poetic licence. You know Cicero. Never let the facts get in the way of a well-turned phrase. Now what does he say next? “Am I then called wicked because Antony suspects that I suspected something? And is Brutus, who openly displayed this dagger dripping with Caesar’s blood, called an honourable man by Antony? This is the sort of stupidity we find in everything Antony says. But how much greater is it in whatever he thinks and does? Decide matters this way if you want, Consul Antonius. Call the cause of Brutus, Cassius, Decimus Albinus, Trebonius and the rest whatever you like. Sleep off that drunkenness of yours! Sleep it off and take a deep breath. Must we put a blazing torch under you to waken you while you are sleeping over such an important affair? As you have already threatened to do to me? Will you never understand that you have to decide whether those men who killed Gaius Julius Caesar are foul homicides or glorious heroes?

  “Just think a little; and for a moment consider the situation like a sober man. I, who, as I confess, am an intimate friend of those men and a would-be accomplice of theirs, deny that there is any room for argument between these alternatives. I confess that if these men are not saviours of the Roman people and of the Republic, then they must be worse than assassins! Worse than homicides! Worse even than patricides! For it is a far more terrible thing to murder the father of one’s country, than to kill one’s own father. What do you say to this, you wise and thoughtful man? If they are patricides, why do you always call them, both in the Senate and before the Roman people, honourable men? Why has Marcus Brutus been, on your authority and at your insistence, excused from obedience to our laws and allowed to travel abroad? Why were provinces given to Brutus and Cassius? Why were extra magistrates assigned to them? Why was the number of their lieutenants augmented? And all these measures were suggested by you. They are not homicides then. Nor patricides either! It follows that in your opinion they are heroic deliverers of their country and saviours of the Republic, since there can be no other alternative explanation for the actions you have taken!”’

  Artemidorus turned to Quintus, his face pale. ‘That’s it then!’ he said. ‘Cicero has ruled on Divus Julius’ dying words at last. What Antony has been forced into doing for political expediency has completely undermined the case he was trying to build against Brutus as a patricide. This has to mean total war with Cicero and with the Senate. There is no other way forward. And it looks to me as though the faster we start collecting Libertores’ heads, the happier the general will be!’

  XI

  i

  Kyros looked at his five companions with nothing short of awe. And at their surroundings with stunned disbelief. Born in Greece, he had been sold into slavery as a child and, apart from a brief, unpleasant visit to the slave market in Ephesus, he had lived his life in Rome. Rome was just about all he could remember, and the strict but kindly ownership of the augur and haruspex Spurinna. And here he was now, recently manumitted, a freedman, added to the tribune’s contubernium of spies under Septem’s command, all heading ad orientam eastwards. Far beyond his native Greece. Right to the far edge of the world as he understood it. Looking down at this moment on the dockside of Brundisium. Expecting to take ship on the next tide in a massive military quinquireme, with five banks of oars, bound across the narrow Adriatic to Dyrrachium in Macedonia. His mind simply reeled at the prospect. His chest threatened to burst with excitement.

  The six secret agents were attended by four slaves, military men, experienced and reliable. In a fight as well as on the road. Borrowed from Antony’s Praetorian Cohorts, many of which were being disbanded now or reassigned. But the spies who had been slaves were all, like Kyros, free. And technically one of the last independent Praetorian units still functioning. Even the striking woman they called Puella s
eemed to be free. Though how they had arranged her manumission was still a mystery to the young Greek. For her papers of ownership must be either in Rome or Athens – wherever the household documents of Marcus Junius Brutus, her original owner, were stored. But Puella was mysterious in more ways than one.

  For a start, Puella was dressed and treated like a man. And she seemed to expect nothing else. Perhaps it was part of the price she paid for her participation in this adventure, Kyros speculated. And dressed not just as a man – but as a Praetorian legionary. She wore braccae leather trousers and hobnailed caligae boots. A padded tunic. A backplate and breastplate of armour over it. Adjusted, it must be admitted to allow for the added volume of her breasts. She even had a helmet with a legionary’s crest stowed somewhere in the baggage train. And she rode fully armed. Gladius on her right hip, pugio on her left. Weapons with which she was impressively competent. Able to use each one in either hand – something the young Greek had never seen before. Skills she honed relentlessly at every opportunity. Usually against the square, capable, cheerfully ribald Ferrata. Occasionally against the gigantic Hercules. And once – but only once – against the terrifying triarius Quintus. Because he wished to polish her technique and show her a new move.

  Only Septem remained aloof. As befitted the little group’s leader. Kyros suspected that the dazzling woman and the handsome unit commander were lovers. Just the manner in which they seemed to avoid each other gave the game away. But he had no evidence beyond the vague suspicion. True, her eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement whenever she looked at him. But then, her eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement almost all the time. As did his own, he suspected. Like Kyros himself, Puella was in the middle of the most exciting adventure she could ever have imagined and was loving every heartbeat of it.