by Peter Tonkin
As he followed the servant, Artemidorus schooled his face into an expression of shock and concern. The plan was under way now.
‘Are you from the quinquereme in the Royal Harbour?’ he asked the blue-uniformed centurion, without pausing to apologise for the near-collision.
‘The quinquereme Bellona, yes,’ answered the centurion, slowing his pace. ‘Why?’
‘Is that the vessel which brought young Lucius Calpurnius Bibulus to Alexandria?’
‘Yes. With a message to Queen Cleopatra from General Brutus. I am here to collect him when I find him. Find out if the Queen has replied. I have an escort waiting outside…’
‘So you haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what?’ The marine came to a stop, frowning.
Artemidorus looked around as though fearful of being overheard. ‘Either he or General Brutus’ message offended the queen. Apparently, she has had young Lucius whipped for arrogance and locked in one of the dungeons.’
‘What! A Roman citizen. A Tribune! A patrician and Cato’s grandson… She wouldn’t dare!’
‘She is merely a woman after all, she seems to have acted without calculating the consequences as a man would do. And, of course, she’s an Egyptian…’ Artemidorus said the final words as though he had been saying a prostitute and saw a thoroughly satisfactory amount of prejudice curl the centurion’s finely chiseled Roman lips.
ii
‘I was there,’ persisted Artemidorus earnestly, frowning into the shocked countenance of the bigoted marine. ‘I saw her reaction. I heard her give the order. I heard the message too. General Brutus needs to be informed. He threatened to ask General Cassius to invade. I think he’ll definitely want to consider doing that now.’
‘Thundering Jupiter! But, with all due respect, Centurion, I don’t know you. I can’t just take your word…’
The two men strode forward, shoulder to shoulder and arrived in the reception chamber together. Where one of Cleopatra’s senior secretaries was waiting, in the full regalia of his office, as beautifully dressed as the richest governor, satrap or prince. Artemidorus could almost hear the marine grinding his teeth.
‘You are from the quinquereme Bellona?’ the official demanded in heavily accented Greek with an arrogance even Lucius had not managed to achieve.
‘I am. I have come for Tribune Lucius…’
‘The Tribune has insulted the Divine Pharaoh Queen Cleopatra Isis,’ interrupted the secretary. ‘He has been beaten and is currently imprisoned at her majesty’s divine pleasure. Here is a message in answer to the peremptory communication from your haughty General Brutus. If he replies in a more suitably humble manner, then Queen Cleopatra may consider returning the Tribune. Until that time he will remain here. That is all. You may go.’
‘But…’ the centurion drew himself up, thoroughly Roman, and quivering with outrage.
The secretary clapped his hands and a dozen golden palace guards appeared. Suddenly their arms and armour did not look as though they were merely for show. ‘These guards will guide you back to your men and see you off the island,’ said the secretary. ‘And I would suggest you take your vessel and leave the Royal Harbour before you and everyone else aboard join the arrogant puppy in the dungeons.’
The marine seemed ready to burst with indignation. Artemidorus laid a restraining hand on his shoulder and after a moment, he calmed. The two centurions, one in blue and the other in red, turned, shoulder to shoulder and, surrounded by the guards marched back towards the exit.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Artemidorus in Latin. ‘I am known here in the palace. I’ll see if I can contact the boy. Make sure he’s alright. In the mean-time, you’d better deliver Cleopatra’s letter to General Brutus together with the news that his messenger is under arrest.’
They reached the front of the palace and Artemidorus stopped while the guards carried on towards the dock and the centurion’s marines followed to his waiting harbour barge. At the last moment, the centurion turned and asked one final question. ‘Who are you, Centurion? What is your name in case General Brutus asks?’
Artemidorus’ mind raced. He plucked a name out of the air and said it without a second thought. Unaware of the effect his action would have in the not-too distant future, deaf to the laughter of the Fates. ‘My name is Dellius,’ lied Artemidorus smoothly. ‘Quintus Dellius.’
*
Artemidorus, User, Puella and Ferrata stood at a window in the palace’s tallest tower overlooking the Royal Harbour and the grey waters to the north of it. The quinquereme Bellona was moving out of the anchorage, powered by her three banks of oars. By the look of things the pausator was beating battle speed. The cutwater and the oars themselves were kicking up walls of white foam in the choppy water, the waves running counter to the ship’s course as she powered away upwind, straight into the teeth of the northerly.
‘So,’ said Artemidorus, ‘how long do we reckon it will take for the message to get to Brutus?’
‘Four days,’ answered User. ‘I know we made it here more quickly, but we had a following wind and Glaros is fast – under sail or under oars. And if Bellona’s captain tries to keep up that speed he’ll have a couple of hundred dead oarsmen long before he gets anywhere near Rhodos, let alone Xanthus.’
‘But then again,’ said Puella, ‘however long it takes the messenger with Queen Cleopatra’s message to find him, surely Brutus will be using his fastest ship to take his own message back to Cassius. Especially if he is demanding an invasion such as he threatened. Maybe not as fast as Glaros, but faster than Bellona or any of the other quinqueremes.’
‘That’s true enough,’ said User, ‘But if Cassius is still where the Queen’s spies last reported him – and he must be or Brutus’ threat comes to nothing – then the nearest port to him is Ashkelon, which is further away from Rhodos and Xanthus than Alexandria is. And further east into the bargain. We had a straight run south with a northerly behind us. They will have to sail south-east across it to get from Rhodos or Xanthos to Ashkelon. That could slow them. Will do, unless the wind changes. Or unless they are outstanding sail-handlers.’
‘So, taking all that into account,’ said Artemidorus, ‘how long will it be before Brutus’ message gets anywhere near Cassius?’
‘One of Divus Julius’ new seven day weeks if all goes well for them; maybe an old-fashioned eight day week if not. If the weather worsens, say ten days all in all.’
‘Seven days,’ said Artemidorus. ‘That’s not much time. And there’s a lot we need to get done. We’d better get busy.’
iii
‘We’ll need Glaros and one other vessel,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Something that could easily be mistaken for a Roman liburnian or trireme.’
Halys looked across the laden table at User, ‘Roman,’ he said. ‘Why Roman?’
‘It’s all part of the plan,’ said User. ‘No expense spared. He gestured at the food and drink supplied by the taberna for this meeting. There was easily enough to feed Glaros’ entire crew. None of whom were here, except for their skipper. But we need a yes or a no pretty quickly. Time is short.’
‘Glaros and a Roman-looking liburnian to be off Ashkelon within six days.’ Halys stroked his beard. Eyed the roast Nile perch, clearly calculating whether he could fit it in his belly on top of everything else he had consumed so far.
‘Expense no object,’ repeated User. Artemidorus nodded silent affirmation.
‘Me and my crew disguised as pirates…’ The Cilician captain’s eyes narrowed. He reached for a cup of Mareotic wine almost large enough to bathe Cleopatra.
‘That should be the easy part,’ said Quintus, ‘making you lot look like pirates.’
Halys looked at him, his face blank, his mind clearly racing as he gulped the wine. ‘I think I’ll need to know a little more before I can proceed,’ he said at last, putting the cup back down. User reached for the amphora and re-filled it. ‘This is starting to sound dangerous,’ Halys continued. ‘Expense no object is all to
o often another way of saying you’re all going to die…’
User looked at Artemidorus, replacing the amphora carefully. The Roman spy knew that Halys was their best hope of getting everything in place in time. If push came to shove, User would supply the second vessel himself – but his ships were all too obviously traders and they needed something that looked military.
Artemidorus leaned forward. ‘I want to take a small unit ashore at Ashkelon as soon as possible to check the disposition of Cassius’ army. Talk to Queen Cleopatra’s spies on the ground if I can. Her servants will supply contact details. Then I need to get safely back aboard before a Roman vessel coming south-east from Rhodos or one of the coastal ports near to it comes into view. She’ll be a fast messenger, carrying a courier from Brutus heading for Cassius. She’s not likely to be escorted because she’ll be like Glaros – too fast for anything else to keep up with. I want Glaros to attack her – or threaten to do so depending on the Roman ship’s size, speed and complement. Scare the life out of them at least. Then the seemingly Roman ship with me and my contubernium aboard will come to the rescue. Either send a complement aboard the other Roman or welcome some of them aboard us. Escort them into Ashkelon at any rate. It’s the courier I’m after. And Brutus’ letter to Cassius.’
‘That’s what all this is about? Stealing a letter?’
Artemidorus looked around the room. There was no-one near enough to overhear. Especially as the full contubernium, all armed to the teeth were seated in a solid steel ring around them. ‘Not stealing, no. Replacing Brutus’ communication with ours. Ideally without anyone being any the wiser. And then seeing our dispatch delivered to Cassius in place of Brutus’ original.’
‘You’re mad. All of you. Mad as the Meneads tearing Orpheus to pieces! Mad! I’ve never heard the like…’ Halys reached for the brimming goblet.
‘Will you do it, yes or no?’ demanded Artemidorus, beginning to run out of patience.
‘Do it? Of course I’ll bloody do it! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’
*
Artemidorus stood with User, Halys, Puella, Quintus and Ferrata in the Royal Dockyards. Even though the day was drawing to a close, everything around them was a bustle of industry. Cleopatra had given a series of orders which were being obeyed as fully and swiftly as possible. New quinqueremes were being built from the keel upwards. Vessels from the Egyptian fleet were being recalled. Commercial shipping was being purchased – forcibly if necessary – and refitted for war. Halys belched, releasing fumes of Mareotic liberally mixed with Nile perch. They had come straight here from the taberna.
‘There,’ he said. ‘I told you I remembered.’ He pointed at a slightly battered looking trireme currently swarming with shipwrights and their men. She was Glaros’ big sister in many ways. Her long hull was slim and trim – clearly built for speed as well as battle. But she was different in several vital regards. Between her stempost and main mast stood a second, stubby mast which was currently rigged to take a foresail but Artemidorus saw at a glance that it was also strong enough to support an old-fashioned corvus boarding platform, still popular with some hidebound Roman admirals who hadn’t really progressed since the naval battles of the Punic War. Secondly, whereas Glaros’ main deck was a flat expanse, this vessel had a fighting tower erected just in front of the incurving stern-post.
‘Perfect,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Can we crew her?’
‘If expense is no object you could crew her and a fleet like her,’ said Halys as User nodded his agreement. ‘Work is hard to find at the moment; food even harder. And prices just keep going up and up.’
The Roman secret agent squinted. The bow above the ram and the faded eye painted there seemed blank. ‘Has she got a name?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see a face carved on her stempost or on her bows.’
‘No face,’ said Halys. ‘But that carving which looks like a closed fist is supposed to be a conch shell, I think. And that would make her…’
‘Triton,’ said Artemidorus. ‘She’s perfect.’
iv
‘You’re placing a hell of a lot of trust in a man you hardly know,’ said Quintus quietly. The pair were standing on the top of Triton’s fighting tower as the team of oarsmen User had found were rowing her round the Royal Harbour, heading for the exit, shaking down the vessel and the crew before they took her out on the actual mission. It was mid-morning next day. They were due in Ashkelon in five days’ time.
‘Two men, actually,’ agreed Artemidorus, holding onto the edge of the tower, watching the harbour speed past. Miraculously, Quintus seemed to be getting control of his chronic sea sickness at last. Though standing so high above the pitching deck was making the secret agent feel a little queasy.
‘You know User’s after Puella.’ Quintus observed.
‘She will make up her own mind, just as she did with Mercury.’ Artemidorus answered.
‘She slept with Mercury to get him to be a double agent working for us as a spy in Octavianus’ camp before the battle of Mutina. She made the contubernium stronger and more effective but if she goes with User that will weaken us.’ Quintus frowned. ‘Even if it’s just a sympathy simosia screw.
‘I know.’
‘And you’re not jealous?’
‘Would it make any difference if I was?’
‘Fair point; not the slightest. But bear in mind that if User hasn’t worked out how independent she actually is, he could see you as a dangerous rival for her affections. There might be a bit of motivation there to move you out of the picture.’ He drew his finger across his throat as though the digit were a knife-blade.
‘I doubt he’d go that far. Anyway, if we’re going to give Cleopatra room to build a fleet large enough to help Antony, then we have to trust User and Halys.’
‘They’re both pirates.’ Quintus persisted.
‘Maybe,’ allowed Artemidorus. ‘But pirates are what we need just now. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on both of them.’
‘Fat lot of use a close eye will be with Triton crewed by User’s men under User’s command and powered by more than a hundred oarsmen that are also working for him. If he wants your throat cut they’ll all be asking where, when and how deep?’
‘Two things. One, Brutus slaughtered his wife and children. Fair enough there hasn’t been much weeping and wailing over them, but his grief and anger seem real. So does his desire for revenge. If he wants to hurt Brutus and Cassius, helping us is his best way. Secondly, Halys, User and I have one more visit to make before we get under way. And, since you’re so worried, you can come along too.’
At User’s bellowed command, Triton span to the left, sweeping round the end of Pharos Island and into the Western harbour. Even with the corvus fitted in place of the redundant foresail, she sat steadily in the water and kept her head high.
There were shouts of exhilaration from the deck below as the contubernium voiced their excitement at the neat maneuver. Puella’s loudest of all.
*
Artemidorus, Quintus, User and Halys were shown into the royal presence that afternoon by the same secretary who had given Cleopatra’s answer to the centurion from Bellona for onward passage to Brutus. Cleopatra sat at the pinnacle of the stepped dais where she had been sitting when Artemidorus first saw her. She was dressed and made-up precisely as she had been then. This time, however, she was alone up there, and her hands were empty, resting in her lap. Still, she was every inch the Pharaoh Queen Goddess Cleopatra Isis.
On the marble floor in front of her, hard up against the bottom step, a man was kneeling with his forehead pressed to the ground, his hands spread on either side of it. He was still and silent. User and Halys looked at the prostrate figure and up at the divine ruler. Halys’ knees buckled. Down he went, then hesitated, clearly wondering whether to prostrate himself as well. User looked at his beautiful infinitely powerful monarch, clearly at a loss, then tore his gaze away from her gilded face to glance at Artemidorus.
‘Kapetanioi User and Ha
lys may remain standing in my presence,’ said Cleopatra in her liquid, seductively accented Greek.
Halys pulled himself to his feet, gaping at User, half-shocked and half-terrified that Cleopatra knew who he was. User was also taken aback. He glanced at Artemidorus, his muscular forehead frowning with suspicion.
‘And you may stand, too,’ she said to the man kneeling at her feet. She spoke in Egyptian but the meaning of her words was clear in his actions.
The prostrate man came slowly to his feet. Suddenly, Cleopatra was not the only wonderful creature in the room. He stood well over four cubits tall and he was built to scale. His head, seeming small in comparison to his neck and torso was clothed in the sort of headdress User favoured, held in place by a golden headband with a rearing cobra at the front to match his queen’s. His skin was tanned golden and seemed almost metallic. He wore a short white kirtle to match his headdress and a belt of scaled gold, from which hung a khopesh Egyptian sickle sword that looked big enough to behead an elephant.
‘This is my servant Hunefer son of Sep,’ said Cleopatra. ‘He is the captain of my guard and the most feared warrior in my army. He has lost count of the men he has killed in combat and as you see, he has yet to be scarred himself. He is also a great hunter and can read the desert as though it were the Book of Ptah. He says little but understands much, including both Latin and Greek. He has recently been in contact with the men I have watching Cassius and his army. He will be coming with you and his mission is threefold. He will guide Septem when you reach Ashkelon and help him spy on Cassius. He will be my eyes and ears, watch how your plan works and report to me when it is done. And he will also watch over Septem to see no harm comes to him.’ She paused. Her face grew stern. ‘And should Hunefer not return to me for any reason – any reason at all – I will hunt everyone who went with Septem, Quintus and Hunefer and destroy them and their families. Utterly. As though they and their forefathers had never existed.
v
‘Hunefer Son of Sep. That’s another one I don’t trust,’ said Quintus as they oversaw the last of their kit being shipped out to Triton.
