Caesar's Spies- The Complete Campaigns

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘Even so,’ snapped Antony. ‘This might just as well be a melon for all the use it is to me. When I put a head up in the Forum I want everyone to see precisely whose head it is. To know exactly whose body it once sat on top of – until I had them separated!’

  ‘Very well, General. What do you want us to do with it?’

  ‘If the body’s back in Rome then send this down to join it. It’s no bloody use to me!’

  ‘Omne mandatum quod praeceperat Dominus faciemus et erimus parati!’ said Artemidorus formally, angered that so much work and time seemed to have been simply wasted. ‘We will do what is ordered and at every command we will be ready.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Antony, waving his hand in dismissal of the formal reply. ‘I’m sure you are and will be.’ He looked up suddenly and his gaunt, exhausted face splitting in a broad, conspiratorial grin. ‘Give the monstrosity to one of the useless buggers from the Vth to take back to Rome and Trebonius’ grieving family. Don’t think I don’t appreciate what it’s taken in time and effort to get it! I do. And I have more important work for you and your spies here at Mutina, friend Septem. Starting with a detailed briefing on everything you found out while you were in Smyrna. And while you tell me all the gory details, let’s have some breakfast, shall we?’

  *

  ‘Looks like someone’s been studying Aeneas Tacticus on Siege Warfare,’ said Enobarbus grimly an hour or so later.

  ‘Looks like they both have,’ said Quintus and Artemidorus nodded his agreement, ‘Maybe Polybius too.’

  They were sitting astride three of the Gaulish cavalry unit’s best horses, looking up at the walled city of Mutina from a low ridge some five hundred paces away. Just out of range of bows, slings, ballistae and catapults. Assessing the position from an intelligence perspective as Antony had ordered. He himself had assessed things as a military man – and ordered his legates and tribunes to do the same. But all any of them could see was a stalemate in the short term, unless something radical changed. ‘I’m like Agamemnon at the siege of Troy, Septem,’ Antony said at the end of the breakfast briefing. ‘And I need you to be my Ulysses and come up with a wooden horse…’

  The besieged town sat like a stone crown on the top of a hill. The hill itself was not particularly high or steep. But there was enough of a slope to discourage siege towers. Unless Antony decided to build special ramps for them. In their place, Antony was currently relying on ballista catapults and huge siege bows to hurl rocks and massive iron bolts, kegs of explosive Greek Fire and rotting, infested carcasses at and over the walls. Decimus Albinus in the besieged city was answering with much the same sort of artillery, but neither one seemed to be making much of an impression in the other. Though Antony had started hurling rotten carcases into the besieged garrison in the belief it was running low on food. But apparently not yet low enough to be forced into making a break for it. Or – as Antony no doubt hoped – to open the gates secretly and let the besiegers in. Laden with fresh food and drink.

  ‘I’d suggest he tries some mining,’ said Quintus. ‘If he hasn’t already done so. Unless that hill’s made of rock too solid to dig through.’

  ‘Or earth too soft to support a shaft,’ added Artemidorus. ‘And the lower slopes – outside artillery range – look as though whatever gets dug in them will flood almost immediately.’

  Mutina had been built in an excellent defensive position. To the west of the fortified hill, a river wound down into an area of swampland that looked to be proof against soldiers and siege machinery alike. Then the river wound on out of the swamps to curl round the north side of the hill. At its narrowest point, a viaduct stepped over it, carrying the Via Aemilia on its arrow-straight way from Ariminium on the coast to Placentia at the foot of the Alps. Beyond the bridge the river all but met another stream that flowed down the east side. Thus three sides of the city were protected by water as well as hillsides and walls.

  All of the waterways were swollen with spring rain, making them in themselves formidable barriers against attack by men or machines. Antony had drawn up the bulk of his army perforce to the south of the city – the only part unprotected by water. Here the Vth, the Alaude Larks, and the rest of his force were camped, using the southern section of the Via Aemilia as a solid base. ‘No way out and no way in,’ said Quintus approvingly. ‘Antony’s planning to starve Decimus Albinus out. At first glance, that looks like his only option. Unless you can come up with the wooden horse he wants, Septem.’

  ‘He’s running out of time, though,’ said Enobarbus. ‘And so are we. Caesar Octavius has his base down in Ariminium at the other end of the via. Three days’ march away. With at least four legions – including the Macedonian legions Antony decimated – who followed the IVth and the Martia in deserting him and going over to Caesar almost immediately afterwards. Cicero and the Senate want him to move against Antony’s rear.’

  ‘Bugger him in more ways than one.’ Quintus growled.

  ‘Caesar Octavius will probably wait until the consuls actually take to the field with whatever legions the Senate can scare up,’ said Artemidorus, who felt he knew the young man better than any of the others. ‘I think he still sees Antony as a more natural ally than Cicero. Especially as Cicero is starting to seriously underestimate his abilities. And take him for granted. I told you about the laudandus, ornandus, tollendus crack. Perhaps we should have sent Trebonius’ head to him. I just wish we had a clearer idea of his plans…’

  Their conversation was interrupted by Puella who rode up towards them with Hercules at her side. She had a bow slung across her shoulders and was carrying a dead bird. ‘We saw this come out of the city,’ she said as she came closer. ‘I got in a lucky shot and brought it down. There’s a message strapped to its leg.’

  ‘Did the people in the city see it fall?’ asked Quintus at once.

  ‘Yes, they did. So we made a great show of riding away then we hid and waited. They sent another one when they were sure we had gone. Ferrata’s doing his best to follow it. Until he gets a clear idea of where it’s heading, at any rate.’

  ‘Good man!’ said Quintus. ‘Good work, all of you! So in a short while we’ll know where the message was headed.’

  ‘And therefore who it was for,’ added Artemidorus. ‘So all we need to do now is find out what it says.’

  iv

  The contubernium of spies and their spymaster sat round a table in the tent Antony had assigned to them. The dead pigeon lay discarded on the floor. The message it had carried was spread on the table in front of them. A series of Roman letters on a long, thin strip of papyrus. ‘It’s in code of course,’ said Kyros, who had been instrumental in breaking other codes Artemidorus and his spies had come up against. ‘I can try Caesar’s transposition code and see how we get on with that. It’s not a long message, but it may take some time. So you don’t need to hang around if you have anything better to do.’

  The little group were just going back out of the tent when Ferrata rode up on a sweat-lathered horse. ‘It went down the via, straight as an arrow, he gasped. ‘Heading for Ariminium. I’d bet my life on it.’

  ‘Ariminium,’ said Artemidorus. ‘That means Caesar Octavius. I wonder if he’ll reply…’

  ‘Let’s assume he will,’ suggested Enobarbus. ‘Quintus, what’s the most likely method he’ll use?’

  ‘Well,’ said the legionary slowly. ‘Let’s start with the possibility Caesar like Decimus Albinus has a supply of trained pigeons ready to fly into Mutina. How likely is that?’

  ‘Not very,’ answered Artemidorus at once. ‘Decimus Albinus had a good deal of warning about this siege. Time to lay in supplies and so forth, even if he’s running low now. Time to sort out some birds trained to home in on some of the nearest towns. Those like Ariminium and Bononia that might make good bases for anyone coming to his aid. Not so Caesar Octavius. He may have taken his time arriving at Ariminium. But not enough time to get a flock of birds trained to fly into Mutina. So if he wants to reply to Deci
mus Albinus’ message, he’ll have to send a messenger.’

  ‘Who will probably be coming up the via – or across country parallel to it on one side or the other.’

  ‘Where we can be waiting,’ said Ferrata, with some relish.

  ‘To do what?’ asked Puella.

  ‘We’ll know that when we get the messenger,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And get some idea of what the original message says.’

  *

  ‘It uses a transposition code,’ said Kyros. ‘But it’s different from Caesar’s. Caesar moved the letters three spaces to the right and allowed an overlap. So A,B,C,D,E became X,Y,Z,A,B and so forth. But this one just moves the letters one place to the left. So A,B,C,D,E becomes B,C,D,E,F and so on. There are no Zs in the message so I don’t know whether Z is A or AA – or something else altogether. But I’ve deciphered it all right.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Artemidorus with just a trace of irony. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Must have food or support. Must break out soon. But need your plans. Message. Pass Res Publica.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Quintus. ‘Let’s hope the second pigeon carried the same message.’

  ‘Let’s assume it did,’ said Enobarbus. ‘Where does that get us?’

  ‘Quite a long way,’ said Artemidorus. ‘We can report to the general that Decimus Albinus is genuinely desperate for food and appears to be on the point of breaking out. But he needs to co-ordinate with Caesar Octavius – or Consuls Hirtius or Pansa if they have arrived yet – before he dares do so. And he wants a messenger to come in and confirm the plan. The password is Res Publica Republic.’

  ‘We should take this to Antony at once,’ said Enobarbus. ‘He needs to know the potential it has.’

  ‘Yes,’ Artemidorus agreed. ‘If we can catch Caesar’s messenger and at least get an idea of what they plan to do, then the general can be prepared for whatever they have in mind. Perhaps lay a trap of his own. In fact,’ he added, ‘now that we have the password we might even be able to take things further still.’

  v

  ‘This is excellent,’ said Antony. ‘I’ve been sitting here with the Vth and all the rest, banging my head against a brick wall, waiting to get pedicare shafted by the Senate at Cicero’s request or by that little shit Octavius, and within a couple of days you have given me the chance of breaking the stalemate. This is very good work. What do you propose to do next?’

  ‘Lay a trap for Caesar’s messenger and take it from there,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Do you need us to report to you stage by stage?’

  ‘No,’ answered Antony decisively. ‘Coming to me before every decision will only slow you down.’ He looked at them with a grin, then gave a chuckle and continued, ‘You’ve done more in that couple of days than I’ve managed to do so far this year. I should be coming to you…’

  ‘So,’ said Artemidorus as they came out of Antony’s tent. ‘We simply set up a line of spies – us – hidden on either side of the via tonight. And every night until we catch Caesar’s messenger. Or until it becomes clear that he hasn’t sent one.’

  ‘Or,’ said Quintus, ‘until it becomes clear that they’ve got another way in that we don’t know about.’

  But when Artemidorus led them to the via itself and stood on the crest of the nine passus pace thirty-foot width of it, looking south-east towards Ariminium away down on the coast, several things soon became obvious to him. First, that the ditches on either side of the sloping road, awash with run-off though they were, would make good pathways for anyone wishing to approach Mutina in secret. Especially as they led directly to within a few paces of the main gate. Secondly that the land on the right of the road would almost certainly be closed to Caesar Octavius’ man because that was where Antony’s legions were encamped, their lines extended by the constantly manned and guarded siege weapons. Thirdly, therefore, that the best way to approach the beleaguered town in secret was to come up the ditch then strike north across the river on his left. Towards a small postern gate that was all too easily overlooked. The ground there was marshy – except for the ridge running up towards the village of Forum Gallorum. Too soft and wet for camps or heavy artillery. Perfect, therefore, for one man sneaking inwards.

  ‘Assuming that the pigeon got to Caesar Octavius within the turn or two of a water clock,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘Caesar could write a reply and give it to a messenger who could come up the via on horseback. It’s almost exactly one hundred miles. A legion would take two or three days to get here. A messenger on horseback could do it in an afternoon if the horse was strong enough. Tether his mount a mile or so away and come the rest of the way on foot in secret.’

  ‘So,’ said Enobarbus, ‘we’d better keep watch from sunset…’

  *

  The early spring weather was cold and wet. The line of spies huddled under cloaks within call of each other, trying to stay hidden, warm, dry and alert. Even staying awake was a challenge, thought Artemidorus. But he rather suspected that sleep would be dangerously close to death in these conditions. Which, oddly, were worsened as the drizzling overcast was swept away by a keen northerly that seemed to blow directly off the crest of the ice-clad Alps. But at least a low moon gave some welcome light.

  Artemidorus was on point duty, furthest forward, and closest to the little gate he suspected would be the messenger’s target. Then Quintus ten paces on his right. Then, Hercules, Kyros, Ferrata and lastly Puella closest to the road. Ferrata was only five paces from Puella because they reckoned that if the messenger wasn’t coming across the open ground towards Artemidorus and the gate, then he would be coming up the ditch beside the road. Their plan was simple. Flexible. They would catch him with the minimum noise, stun him – not kill him. And take it from there.

  As it chanced, Caesar’s secret messenger crawled straight into Hercules. So stunning him was not a problem. Nor was carrying his unconscious body to their tent. The gigantic tutor didn’t even need the help the others offered as they trooped together through the frosty night. The courier was wearing a dark cloak and had blackened his face, arms and legs with mud. But even so, the first thing Quintus said when they lit their lamps and got a good close look at him was, ‘I know this man. He’s from the old VIIth.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Artemidorus. ‘He’s not from my cohort, but I recognise him too.’

  ‘Does that mean we go easy on him when it comes to questioning and other carnifex work?’ mused Ferrata as he finished tying their prisoner to a solid chair. He was from the VIth and there was no love lost between the legions.

  ‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Kyros, get some water. We’ll wash him off and wake him up.’

  Caesar’s go-between woke the moment the icy water splashed over his face. ‘He looked around, dazed and frowning. Confused. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I know you…’

  ‘We’re all from the old VIIth,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Except Ferrata here who’s from the Ironclads. But we’re a Praetorian unit on General Antony’s staff now. What are you doing with Caesar?’

  ‘Earning two thousand sestertii. Plus a bonus if we beat Antony and the Larks.’ All of them growled companionably. ‘There was no love lost between the VIIth, the VIth and the Vth Alaude either. ‘Antony settled me in that mud-pit north of Capua,’ continued the old soldier. ‘But I found out pretty quickly I wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. Or a husband. Or a paterfamilias. So I’m back doing the one thing I’m really good at.’

  ‘And in the meantime taking messages between Caesar and Decimus Albinus…’

  ‘I served with General Albinus in Gaul against Vercingetorex. Caesar thought that might make me a good contact. This is my first time, though. I have to be particularly careful with the password.’ The suspiciously detailed nature of his answer was explained by his next question. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘We’re going to take your message and copy it,’ said Artemidorus, entering into the spirit of openness between ex-colleagues. ‘Then I’m going to take your plac
e and go into the city. I can risk that if this is, as you say, your first time. Then, when I come back we’ll talk further. If I don’t come back, of course, you will meet an incredibly unpleasant end. So if there’s anything else at this point…’

  The go-between shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Well, I think I will risk it then.’

  ‘You’ll have several options to consider in the meantime,’ said Quintus as Artemidorus went off to change his clothing and blacken his face. He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. ‘Join Antony’s army and take your chances with us when Caesar finally gets off his culus arse and the war starts. Agree to return to Caesar but work for us as a double agent. Keep coming back and forth between Caesar and Albinus – but always via this tent. Both of those will involve you telling us anything else we want to know. The second option will also involve us offering you a certain amount of bribery.’

  Ferrata took over. ‘The third option is that you refuse to tell us anything and so we kill you. And the fourth option is that you refuse to tell us anything and we turn our carnifex loose on you and you die screaming. Sometime far in a truly unpleasant future.’

  ‘Your choice,’ said Quintus accommodatingly.

  vi

  Artemidorus eased himself into the icy water of the swollen river east of Mutina and swam across as swiftly as he could. Carefully keeping his mud-blackened face clear of the water which was washing his arms and legs clean as he swam. Pushing a carefully wrapped waterproof bundle ahead of him. A bundle containing a dry – hopefully warm – cloak. Around his neck hung a tube made of thinly beaten lead. In which was wrapped a piece of parchment. On which young Caesar Octavius’ message was written in code. The ends were sealed with wax to make it waterproof. The code was the same one as the pigeon’s message had been written in and Kyros had translated it almost as quickly as the messenger had decided to play double agent. His name was Felix but they had code-named him Mercurius Mercury the messenger. Quintus and Ferrata were still arguing through the precise nature of the bribe needed to keep him loyal to them as the secret agent went to take his place.