Caesar's Spies- The Complete Campaigns

by Peter Tonkin

  *

  Dolabella ruled that Trebonius’ body be left secured to the cross. A table large enough to bear it was carried out of the governor’s palace and placed in the colonnade. The cross was lifted onto it. And laid so that the dead man’s body was uppermost. His battered face staring up at the ceiling under which he had died. The table was then positioned so that the top of Trebonius’ head pointed out into the forum. Where Dolabella’s legion was paraded. Or as many of them as would fit into the cramped space. The balding pate of the middle-aged corpse seeming suddenly frail and almost pathetic in the thin winter sunlight. Soldiers and citizens crowded the streets leading off the square. Artemidorus and his command were given positions of importance beside the tribunes on the steps. Witnesses to carry the report of proceedings back to Antony.

  Two of the legionaries standing guard at the time of the late governor’s death stood on either side of his head and adjusted it so that the chin was raised and the throat exposed. Then Dolabella himself came forward. He was armed, not with a gladius but with a longer, curved sword that looked like an Iberian falcata or a Greek kopis. Examples of which Artemidorus had seen and wielded in Quintus’ secret villa. A long blade, slightly curving, almost leaf-shaped with a strong spine up its back. And a well-honed edge that gleamed wickedly even on a dull day like this one.

  There was no ceremony. Nobody spoke. The governor raised the big sword above his shoulder and brought it down with all his might onto the exposed throat. The edge of the blade cut through the dead man’s flesh and buried itself in the wood of the cross. Blood sprayed sluggishly. The head jerked up and down, the back of the skull landing with a CRACK! that echoed across the silent square. Frowning, Dolabella worked the sword free, raised it once more and brought it down again, unerringly, into the wound he had just created. The head rolled grotesquely. But still did not fall free. Dolabella jerked the blade out of the wood impatiently, raised the sword for a third time, taking the hilt in both hands now.

  ‘Should have done that first time,’ breathed Quintus knowledgeably. ‘This’ll do it though. Watch out…’

  Dolabella brought the sword down with all his force. The head seemed to leap off the wood. It flew through the air and went bouncing down the steps like a ball. So much like a ball, indeed, that the soldier at whose feet it landed kicked it without a second thought. Within a heartbeat the head had vanished beneath the legion’s feet and was being booted from side to side across the forum by several hundred hobnailed caligae. Dolabella waited, watching, as Trebonius’ blood slowly pooled on the marble at his feet. Then, ‘That’s enough!’ he bellowed. ‘Bring the traitor’s head to me!’

  The shoving and jostling stopped. Someone stooped and retrieved the thing. Picked it up by the thinning hair on its scalp. Raised it above his head. Passed it to the man in front. Who passed it on in turn. Like a piece of flotsam on the crest of a wave, the head swept forward until a soldier from the foremost rank came and placed it at Dolabella’s feet. Had it been battered before, now it was utterly unrecognisable. The nose was flat, smeared across black-bruised cheekbones. One of which was split open to the bone. One ear was missing. The eyes were swollen almost shut. The eyeball visible through the slit on the side the fatal sling-stone hit was bright red. The jaw was broken and most of the teeth were gone. The tongue seemed unnaturally swollen and lolled out of the side of the lipless mouth like that of a stupidus idiot.

  ‘There you are, Centurion,’ said the governor to Artemidorus, gesturing towards the horror at his feet. ‘I will arrange to have the body sent back to Rome. And you may take the head to Antony.’

  XII

  i

  At much the same moment as Trebonius’ head was bouncing down the steps of the curia in Smyrna, Antony’s tribune and spymaster Enobarbus was standing on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus Capitolinus in Rome. Watching Marcus Tullius Cicero through narrowed eyes. Cicero was standing down in the precinct, surrounded by his cronies. A headcount of Antony’s greatest enemies, thought the spy. Cicero was glaring with simple outrage at Antony’s wife Fulvia, his mother Julia and his son Marcus Antonius Antyllus. Who were up in the colonnade that fronted the oldest and most sacred space in the city. They were all dressed in mourning black. And were here to attend the Senate meeting which had been dragging on in one location or another for several days. Which was convened in the Temple of Jupiter today.

  Enobarbus was here with Antony’s spokesman, Divus Julius’ father-in-law Lucius Calpurnius Piso. Under orders from his general to watch and report events. Because the turning of the year changed everything in a heartbeat. Just as Trebonius’ treachery in Smyrna had – although they didn’t know that yet.

  At the calends of Januarius, the first day of the administrative new year, the new Consuls Aulus Hirtius and Gaius Vibius Pansa had taken up their responsibilities, relieving the absent Consuls Dolabella and Antony. Just as Brutus and Cassius had been relieved in their turn as praetors. So that the Senate could finally be formally summoned. For the last four days, Piso reported faithfully, and the records of Senate Secretary Adonis confirmed, Cicero had argued that the Senate, on behalf of the People of Rome, should remove Antony’s imperium generalship and the governorship of Cisalpine Gaul. The governorship and imperium awarded him by the Comitia of the People in exchange for his surrendering the governorship of Macedonia which Divus Julius had planned for him this year. Cicero was demanding that the Senate should in fact pronounce Antony hostis enemy of the state. And then declare war against him if he persisted in trying to replace Decimus Albinus as governor of that vital province. From which, famously, Divus Julius had launched his bid for absolute power by crossing the River Rubicon heading south with his legions. A fact that lay very near the heart of Cicero’s worries about Antony and his true motives.

  Because Antony was currently encamped with three full legions – the IInd Sabine, the Vth Alaude Larks and the XXXVth – as well as a range of auxiliaries including a thousand Gaulish cavalry, just north of the Rubicon, within striking distance of Mutina. The walled city which Decimus Albinus had chosen as his bulwark to defend his claim to the governorship of Cisalpine Gaul. A city into which he had moved his own legions. Antony being the legitimate ruler of the province by the will of the People. Decimus Albinus holding it on the orders of the Senate.

  Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Divus Filius being also encamped nearby with several more legions he had managed to assemble. The wondrous boy, in Cicero’s words, on whom the Senate and People could rely for protection against the monster Antony. Particularly if he could be persuaded to share some of his power and a large number of his soldiers with the Consuls Hirtius and Pansa – who were tasked with leading Rome’s senatorial armies when she went to war.

  *

  In fact, Adonis and his sister Venus had proved to be invaluable in reporting and interpreting all this. For when Cicero spoke, there was as much communication in his tone and gesture as there was in his words. So, when Adonis recounted the lawyer’s orations as recorded in the secret minutes he kept in parallel to the official ones, he mimicked Cicero’s delivery with disturbing accuracy. And Venus, with almost uncanny insight, interpreted and extrapolated every gesture. Every shift in timbre. Every calculating nod and knowing wink.

  But the increasingly desperate tribune had gone well past merely being an observer of the events unfolding so rapidly here. Fulvia and Julia were at the Senate’s door with young Antyllus because Cicero’s plan of declaring Antony an enemy of the state not only allowed any citizen anywhere in the empire the right – the duty – to kill him on sight. It also took everything he owned into the state’s possession. Throwing his family, dependants, servants and slaves all out onto the street. Something Antony’s family were just about to plead should not be done to them.

  Antony’s tribune and Caesar’s father-in-law had discussed this move at length with Fulvia, all increasingly well aware that Cicero’s bitter condemnation of Antony in speech after speech was tur
ning the Senate against him in a way that his dwindling list of friends could no longer stop. Cicero had even started boasting that he should call the speeches his Philippics, after a series of speeches the great Greek orator Demosthenes had given in his attempt to destroy Philip II of Macedon exactly three hundred years earlier. There was no doubt in the Senate – or in the city itself – that Cicero saw himself as the one man who could stop Antony fulfilling for himself the ambition that got Caesar killed.

  A hand clapped Enobarbus on the shoulder. ‘Time to go,’ said Piso as he strode past. And he walked up the steps, gathering the black-clad family together and ushering them into the temple. Cicero threw the tribune a cold glance and followed them into the Senate meeting. Enobarbus turned away and ran down the steps. All too well aware that even if Fulvia’s pleading saved Antony today, it would not stop Cicero’s venomous attacks. Only death would do that.

  Antony’s death. Or Cicero’s.

  ii

  Enobarbus sat and listened as Adonis performed Cicero’s latest speech attacking Antony. Things had changed for the worse in the last month, even though the ploy of presenting the black-clad family to the Senate had had some effect. Enobarbus and Piso had managed to convince Fulvia that she should make plans for the inevitable day that Cicero would convince the Senate to call Antony an enemy of the state. Something which must happen, if not in the next month, Mars, must certainly happen in Aprilis, the month after. For, if the Senate wavered indecisively, Antony remained adamant and unvarying in his purpose.

  In the meantime, the Senate had sent a delegation through the icy winter weather to negotiate with Antony. Their proposals had fallen on deaf ears. Worse, one of the senators in the group, Cicero’s old friend Servius Sulpicious Rufus, had died on the way back. A sad coincidence that had somehow – in Cicero’s mind and speeches – become Antony’s fault. Along with everything else. Now, the great man’s every word, intonation and gesture rang out across the atrium of Quintus’ villa, continuing a debate as to whether Antony’s actions in Cisalpine Gaul actually constituted a state of war. Or merely a serious civil disorder. The one punishable by hostis. The other merely calling for continued negotiation.

  ‘As there is no middle ground between war and peace,’ declaimed Adonis in Cicero’s voice, ‘it is quite plain that civil disorder, if it is not a sort of war, must be a sort of peace. And what can be said or imagined which is more absurd than that? However, we have said too much about one single word. As we have all too often done in the past. Let us rather look to the facts. We are unwilling to admit that the civil disorder generated by Antony appears to be a state of war. If it is not war, then why are we giving authority to the local towns to close their gates against Antony and his men? Why are we authorizing their citizens to be enlisted at once into our legions? Permitting them to raise money for the assistance of the Republic in raising our own armies?

  ‘For if the name of war is taken away from the situation by our continued hesitancy, the zeal of those municipalities will be taken away too. And the unanimous enthusiasm of the Roman people which at present pours itself into our cause against Antony, if we appear to be hesitant, must inevitably run dry. But why do I need to say any more? Decimus Albinus is being attacked. Is that not war? The city of Mutina is being besieged. Is that not war? Cisalpine Gaul is being laid waste. What peace can be more obvious than that? Who on earth could even think of calling all these things a war?

  ‘But that thoroughly admirable young man Gaius Caesar, has not waited for our decrees. He has undertaken to wage war against Antony on our behalf even without our authority; for there was no time to pass a formal decree after all our hesitation and debate. And he sees all too clearly that, if he misses the opportunity of waging war on our behalf, then, when Antony inevitably crushes the Republic, it will be too late to pass any decrees at all.

  ‘Therefore, I demand the following: That anyone currently serving with Mark Antony, who deserts from his army and comes over either to Caius Pansa or Aulus Hirtius; or to Decimus Albinus or to Gaius Caesar, before the calends first day of Mars, shall not be liable to prosecution for having been with Antony in the first place. And that, after this resolution of the Senate, anyone who stays with Antony or goes to join his army shall be considered, with Antony himself, hostis – an enemy of the state.’

  ‘Did they pass that motion?’ asked Enobarbus, frowning with worry. The inevitable ruling of hostis was getting closer and closer day by day.

  ‘Not entirely,’ answered Adonis, becoming himself again. ‘They agreed to make any soldiers who stay with Lord Antony enemies of the state. But they haven’t decided about Lord Antony himself yet. In spite of Cicero’s demands. There’s gossip among the secretarial staff, many of whom are friends of Tiro’s, that Cicero is in correspondence with both Brutus and Cassius, who are raising armies in Macedonia and Arabia. As well as with Decimus Albinus.

  ‘Decimus Albinus sends messages out of Mutina by pigeon as well as by secret messenger, apparently. Most of them asking for help. From the Senate, of course. And from Caesar Octavius, who may not be as fully committed as Cicero says. And who is unwell in any case. Cicero is also writing to General Lepidus in Gallia Narbonenesis, trying to get him to back Decimus Albinus. And even to General Lucius Plancus Proconsul of Gallia Comata trying to get him involved. But I think he places most of his hopes on Caesar Octavius.’

  ‘That’s a relationship we must find a way of breaking down,’ said Enobarbus.

  ‘There might be a way of doing just that,’ said Venus quietly. ‘It may be nothing. It might just have been a slip of the tongue, but… Go on Adonis. Tell him what you were telling me last night.’

  ‘It could be nothing at all,’ emphasised Adonis. ‘And, as often happens with Cicero, it turns on the meaning of a single word. A pun. A joke.’

  ‘All right,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Tell me…’

  ‘Close your eyes and just listen, Tribune,’ suggested Venus. ‘Then say what you think.’

  Enobarbus was used to Venus’ ways by now and had grown to respect her insights and her ideas. So he did as she requested. And listened.

  ‘Cicero was discussing young Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus,’ Adonis began. ‘The conversation went into debate of what the Senate should do about him after Antony is defeated. There’s a real worry that he’ll continue building his army and get too powerful for the Senate to control. He is a Caesar after all. So, in this particular exchange, Cicero said he understood their worries, although he does not share them. He thinks the boy – as he calls him – can easily be manipulated. Is, in fact, being manipulated very successfully by Cicero himself at the moment. But in the meantime Caesar is “Adolescens laudandus, ornandus, tollendus”: a young man we should celebrate, decorate and tolerate.’

  Adonis fell silent. Enobarbus opened his eyes in some confusion. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ he asked.

  ‘Tollendus,’ said Venus. ‘Think about it. About all of the meanings that word has. Then listen again. With your eyes open.’

  Tollendus thought Enobarbus. It was an ancient word that originally described a specific act; in time, drawing wider meanings and implications from that. The act of a father holding his newborn son for the first time. In a ceremony almost as old as time itself, the father would raise the child and either acknowledge him as son or throw him aside as unacceptable in some way. So the word could mean, at the same time, accept or reject. Raise or raze.

  Adonis brought these thoughts to a halt by becoming Cicero once more. Puffing himself up, assuming the sly and knowing expression the orator put on when making one of his clever jokes. This time the words were accompanied by a smirk and a knowing wink. Which changed the impact of the words ‘Adolescens laudandus, ornandus, tollendus’ entirely.

  From: ‘celebrate, decorate and tolerate’.

  To: ‘celebrate, decorate and exterminate’.

  Enobarbus was just beginning to see the implications of the phrase when there came a thunderous banging at the
front door. Still deep in thought, the tribune went behind the ostiarius doorkeeper to see what the commotion was all about. The door opened to reveal a group of six weary-looking travellers. The leader stepped into the hall and raised a sack he was carrying. It contained something the size of a large cabbage. Heavy enough to make the material bulge and swing.

  ‘Here’s Trebonius’ head,’ he said. ‘Where’s the general?’

  iii

  ‘This is no good to me,’ snapped Antony. They had ridden in with the last of the night. But as usual when he was on campaign the general was up and about early. And sober. If not sunny and smiling. ‘It’s no bloody good at all! It’s got no face! How is anyone ever going to recognise it? Even if I put a notice under it that evil bastard Cicero will only say it’s the head of some slave put up there for effect. Not Trebonius’ head at all!’

  Artemidorus and Enobarbus exchanged a look. The siege of Mutina was not going well. It would soon be Mars – hardly three weeks to the anniversary of Caesar’s murder – and it seemed that it was Antony rather than Decimus Albinus who was feeling trapped and frustrated here.

  ‘The rest of the body will arrive in Rome soon,’ said Artemidorus. ‘If it hasn’t done so already.’