Caesar's Spies- The Complete Campaigns

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘That should distract everyone anywhere near the harbour until well after we’ve got clear and safe,’ bellowed Felix cheerfully.

  ‘Well, Septem,’ said Quintus as Artemidorus’ undercover squad arrived alongside their leader on the after deck. ‘It’s good to see you’re still a hard man to kill. What’s next now that we’re all back together?’

  ‘I think,’ said Voadicia, ‘that, next, you should introduce your crypteia and me to each-other, Septem.’

  XI - The General

  i

  Voadicia, child of the Iceni, captured during Caesar’s invasion of Albion in the Roman year of 700 when Cassivellaunus, war-chief of the southern peoples, surrendered to the legions; taken from her family and tribe who were either slaughtered, sold or escaped back to their lands across the great river; grown to womanhood in slavery during the succeeding years, looked around the room in simple awe. She was impressed in spite of herself. It was as though Septem possessed a magic far in excess even of the druids of her distant childhood. A power which meant that she should be standing here, a free woman, in this vast space, surrounded by her new, close-knit family of ruthless killers he called his crypteia, watching as he and Felix talked to not one war-chief but two - Norbanus the bear and Saxa the fox.

  If her time with Vedius Pollio had taught her anything, it was how unimaginably powerful commanders of legions were, so it seemed incredible to her that Septem should have such men and their senior officers listening, rapt, as he told of adventures that she, Voadicia of the Iceni, had shared. His quiet, authoritative tones turning them into tactical observations and strategic advice as though he was at least equal to - and in some ways superior to - his audience. Talking easily, familiarly, of his acquaintance with Brutus and Cassius, Mark Antony and Caesar Octavianus, whose names even the foul Vedius Pollio had used with respect bordering on worship. All within a night and part of a day since they had left the blazing dockside in Neapolis.

  ‘There is no doubt,’ Septem was saying as he leaned over a large piece of parchment spread on the table between them, pointing to some section of a drawing there she did not fully understand, ‘Cassius and Brutus have performed the donative. They have paid their legions the battle-bonus and there is only one further step to go. All they lack is the lustration blessing, but I am certain Cassius and Brutus have the correct number of pigs ready for the sacrifice and just before the fighting starts. They will approach along here, the Via, and you can expect them within a matter of days. Three at the outside. By the fourth day before the ides. By the tenth.’

  ‘Time to further strengthen our defences at least,’ rumbled Norbanus.

  ‘You would be wise to do so, General. But my assessment, which I will share with Antony and young Caesar at the earliest opportunity, is that Brutus and Cassius would be unwise to waste time, effort and manpower on attacking you. Amphipolis is a port, certainly, but Neapolis is far superior. Further to which I have already established that they are using the island of Thasos as their main supply base, under the overall authority of Marcus Antistius Labeo by land and Tillius Cimber by sea while the Casca brothers hold Neapolis and await their arrival. The island is within easy reach of Neapolis but not of Amphipolis. And, as I say, Neapolis has a wide and welcoming deep-water harbour while Amphipolis merely has the broad, shallow estuary of the River Strymon, which is in no way comparable. And consider, if Brutus and Cassius really wanted to use Amphipolis as a base for their war against Antony, they would have to take their armies back eastwards onto the great plain below Philippi before they had sufficient room to confront him legion to legion. I know they have fairly limited experience as tacticians compared to Antony, but I’m certain they will see at a glance what a waste of time and effort that would be. No. I am certain they will arrive at the River Gangites, where the de facto front line stands at the moment, and fortify the heights above the plain there between the hill-slopes of Philippi and the great marsh to the south. They will cut the Via before it turns south past the marsh and runs to Neapolis, so that they have the best possible supply-route to the coast behind their lines and access to their supply base on Thasos within their exclusive control.’

  ‘Then what?’ demanded Norbanus.

  ‘Then they will dig in and wait for Antony.’ Artemidorus shrugged.

  ‘We’re all waiting for him!’ said Saxa. ‘I would give the greatest sacrifice I could afford to any god willing to tell me when Antony is due to arrive!’

  ‘Sacrifice to Poseidon, God of horses, then, General; and to Mercurius the trickster, God of speed. With your permission, I will take the swiftest horses I and my crypteia can find, then we will ride west as fast as we can to hunt down Antony for you.’

  *

  ‘No,’ repeated the black-skinned woman who said her name was Hecate. ‘Of course you cannot go with them. Look at your legs and culo backside! You cannot sit on a horse for however many days the mission may require.’ She spoke gently, as though quieting a fractious filly herself, and Voadicia was forced to admit the wisdom of her words with every throb of her still-painful nether regions, even though it was soon after dawn on the next day and she had bathed, slept, taken her medicine and anointed herself with the sage and honey salve in the interim.

  ‘I will not be going with them either,’ Hecate continued, soothingly, her Latin coloured by an accent almost as impenetrable as Voadicia’s. ‘But there is a great deal for us to do here to get ready for their return.’

  ‘Woman’s work, no doubt,’ Voadicia’s lip twisted.

  Hecate chuckled. ‘You wait and see. We’ll likely have to start by sharpening all our weapons – those that they don’t take with them. And you’ll never believe how many weapons we have. We are not a crypteia for nothing. Then we will start on the armour. After that, if time allows, there will be some weapons training.’

  ‘For me?’ She could scarcely credit her ears or believe her luck.

  ‘For both of us.’

  ‘Well,’ said Voadicia, mollified. ‘If we must stay behind, who will go with Septem, then? Other than Felix. I am certain Felix will be at his side. They could almost be brothers, those two.’

  ‘He will certainly take Quintus,’ answered Hecate. ‘Quintus is his right hand and may even be a stronger, deadlier soldier than Septem. Quintus is a triarius – amongst the oldest, wisest, strongest and best-armed soldiers of the Seventh Legion – one of the men who always stand in the third battle-line waiting to destroy the enemy who have worn themselves out hacking through the first two lines. Then he will also take Ferrata, named Iron because he is from the Sixth Legion the Ironsides. He is a Hispanic bull of a man. Once he gets going, nothing and no-one can stop him. He lost his eye, his ear and much of his face in an ambush when they were on their way to kill Marcus Tullius Cicero - commissioned by Antony himself – but was still in at the death. And Septem will take the giant Hercules if they can find a horse strong enough to bear him. Hercules was tutor to the son of Marcus Lepidus who commanded the Seventh and kept Rome calm after Caesar’s murder and who is now, with Antony and young Caesar, one of the three rulers of the Republic at war with Brutus and Cassius. Hercules taught the boy horsemanship, wrestling and swordsmanship as well as history, rhetoric and philosophy. And he will take Furius. Furius is the most ruthless and dangerous of us all. He is our carnifex torturer. He will leave we two, Kyros and Notus behind, because we can add nothing to his mission. Kyros was slave to Spurinna the soothsayer who warned Divus Julius Caesar he was about to be murdered on the Ides of March two and a half years ago, even as Artemidorus put in Caesar’s hand a list of the men whose daggers were honed and ready for him. Kyros is the most cunning of us all and our code-master. And Notus is our forger. They have in the past changed secret coded messages between Brutus and Cassius in order to save Queen Cleopatra’s lands from invasion by Cassius and his legions.’

  ‘Cleopatra! I have heard wonderful things of Cleopatra! Has Septem ever met her?’

  ‘They are old friends. He has
saved her life on more than one occasion and now he has saved her kingdom too. It was from Cleopatra’s flag-ship Alexandros he fell overboard when we thought him drowned and dead in that dreadful storm which so nearly killed us all. He had just, a moment earlier, saved the lives of Queen Cleopatra and her son by Divus Julius Caesar, the boy Caesarion.’

  ‘And now he will be going to speak with his friends Mark Antony and Caesar Octavianus…’ Voadicia shook her head, still scarcely able to believe it all.

  The golden haired young Greek Kyros came into the room just in time to hear the end of this conversation. ‘Going?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘That shows how much you have to learn about our resurrected leader. He’s already gone.’

  ii

  The six riders took the twelve fastest horses they could find. Each man rode one and led another by a long guide rein. Their plan was simple. After a set time they would stop and swap mounts so that they always had one horse fresh to ride and one resting – galloping but unladen. Their saddle-bags contained the same supplies as those Felix and Voadicia had added to the fire in the carcer on Neapolis’ docks. They had no intention of stopping at any wayside mansiones - no intention of stopping other than to sleep until they met up with Antony and his legions. Or until they reached Dyrrachium and knew for certain that he was not coming after all.

  Artemidorus had decided on six riders, the number being small enough to give reasonable hope of speed while also being large enough to see off all but the most determined attempts to stop, rob or murder them. This was an important consideration, because the sixty-mile section of the Via between Amphipolis and Thessalonica went through some of the wildest, remotest and most dangerous sections of the entire road. In theory they should be able to cover that distance within hours. However, much of it wound through precipitous mountains and along the wandering shores of freshwater lakes as well as saltwater gulfs. Although it was a wide and well-built military road, travelling along it at full gallop would be out of the question for much of the time.

  In common with most travellers heading east Artemidorus had covered this part of his journey, as he went from Rome to Alexandria with Antony’s secret messages to Cleopatra, by boat. But there was no use taking to the sea in search of an army marching by land, and so he led his swift unit westwards into the least-travelled section of the Via with the wide eyes of someone experiencing things for the first time.

  At the first hour, just after dawn, they thundered out of Amphipolis’ western gate and almost immediately over the bridge across the River Strymon, with the warmth of the rising sun upon their backs. Moments later they went past the carved Lion of Amphipolis which had guarded the tomb of Laomedon, one of Alexander’s generals for four centuries - since the days of Tarquin the Proud, last king of Rome, and the foundation of the Republic. The Via then led them along the coast with a great gulf stretching away southward beyond a wide, pebbled beach on their left while yet another mountain massif gathered precipitously on their right, its westward-facing slopes still dark in contrast with its gilded eastern faces. They pounded eastwards in silence as the sun mounted the sky behind them and the Via ran on seemingly eternally ahead.

  *

  They made excellent time along the road around the foothills of the next set of mountains, cantering along the coast, changing horses every hour or so. At the far end of the great bay they stopped to change horses once more and grab some food as the sun stood overhead at noon. ‘It looks as though the easy section of the journey ends here,’ said Felix. Artemidorus could see what he meant and he agreed. The Via ahead vanished inland between two precipitous spurs and it was obvious to all of them that it would soon be slow going as their path led away increasingly steeply into the forest-covered mountains. They mounted up and trotted on but soon were forced to a walk.

  Although they had covered the better part of twenty military miles in the morning, sunset found them only five miles further on at the top of a sharp ridge in the saddle between two tall peaks looking down into a huge depression. The floor of the wide valley below was filled with a lake whose surface was as still as a mirror and whose volume was enhanced maybe one hundred-fold by the shadows sitting above it. The dazzling sun seemed perfectly level with them as it set beyond the next ridge in the far distance. The Via beneath their horses’ hooves dropped near-vertically into the flat-floored valley. ‘We’ll be able to make good time down there,’ said Felix.

  ‘As long as we don’t cripple the horses getting down in the first place,’ rumbled Hercules. ‘Not only is it steep but we’re losing the light.’

  ‘You have a point,’ allowed Felix.

  ‘We’ll camp here and go down first thing tomorrow,’ decided Artemidorus. ‘If Fortuna is with us, we will have a repeat of today but the other way round – a slow start until noon, then a fast ride until evening. By my calculation, and counting the mile stones, we have come twenty five miles so far. Another twenty-five tomorrow will see us well on our way. Now, let’s find a camp-site, hobble the horses and settle down for the night.’

  Autumn was here and winter was approaching fast. There was a chill in the air so they built a camp fire and sat around it talking inconsequentially until, almost as tired as their hobbled horses, they bedded down. They set no guards, but they all slept with their weapons close at hand. The night passed quietly. Jewel-bright stars speckled a black silken sky, the moon rose and fell like a pearl of mythic size, nearing the full. Wolves howled in the distance and bears scuffled, grunting, in the trees closer to hand. But the fire kept everything away except the moths. So that when the rising sun sent golden blades of brightness between the trees next morning, they rose refreshed and keen to proceed – if rather stiff and sore from yesterday’s hard ride. They grabbed a quick breakfast of flat bread and watered wine then they unhobbled their horses and led them out of the forest and back onto the Via.

  With the sun behind them once more – briefly on their backs until they were immersed in the shadow of the valley – they walked their horses carefully down the steep slope towards the lakeside. By the time they made it onto the flat littoral curving round the massive inland sea, the sun had caught up with them and they galloped forward through the gathering heat of an autumn afternoon. On their right, Lake Volvi reached into Apollonia Bay – named for the township that sat on the slopes to their left overlooking it. Like its namesake beside Dyrrachium on the distant coast, named for the God Apollo.

  ‘It was here or near here,’ observed Hercules, ‘that Euripides died and is supposed to be buried.’

  ‘And it was here or near here,’ added Felix, ‘that your namesake Hercules fed King Diomedes to his ravenous horses. Though to be fair, Diomedes started feeding strangers and slaves to the bloodthirsty beasts first. Not unlike that bastard Vedius Pollio feeding slaves to his eels…’

  ‘Wait!’ interrupted Artemidorus with unaccustomed rudeness. He reined to a halt and the others did likewise. ‘What is that?’ he asked, shading his eyes.

  Dead ahead of them, where the distant Via came down the slopes on the far side of the great lake-floored valley, a huge plume of dust was rising like smoke on the still afternoon air, with silver and gold gleaming like flames at the base of it.

  Then Artemidorus answered his own question, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. ‘It’s Antony. At last!’

  iii

  Antony was marching at the head of his army. Artemidorus knew the General was a cavalryman at heart and usually rode, but he was also aware that if Antony was asking his men to do something challenging, he made sure he was down there doing it alongside them. It was one of the reasons that they loved him. This time, he was clearly leading a quick march eastwards. Whether or not he had an actual objective in view was open to question, but he clearly wanted to get across Macedonia and into Thrace as fast as possible. Following in the footsteps of his forefather Hercules, thought Artemidorus, but instead of Diomedes he was preparing to face Brutus, Cassius, their close-knit but dwindling coterie of Caesa
r’s murderers - and their seventeen legions.

  Artemidorus and his crypteia reined to a halt beside the Via as Antony approached. The General’s sharp brown eyes narrowed and he held up his hand. He, his standard bearers, officers, military musicians and legionary slaves moved off the Via and onto the broad beach of the lake’s shore. The legions following him did not slow but continued to move past at a fast march.

  ‘Septem!’ bellowed Antony. ‘What in the name of Hercules’ hairy backside are you doing here? I thought you were still in Alexandria! Where is that Egyptian bitch with the ships I asked for?’ He made a pantomime of looking around as though expecting to see the Egyptian navy sailing across the lake.

  ‘In Alexandria, General. But I and my men have a detailed report to offer that goes far beyond Queen Cleopatra’s ships.’

  ‘Do you indeed?’ Antony glanced around the group of soldiers closest to him as Artemidorus too met their familiar gazes. They were all men he had come across during Antony’s briefings during the years since Divus Julius’ death. There was Lucius, Antony’s brother. Beside him, the widely experienced Asinius, who had crossed the Rubicon at Divus Julius’ side and stayed faithful to him and his memory ever since. There was the young patrician Lucius Pinarius who was related to Divus Julius. Pinarius seemed to have inherited some of relative’s military ability and had been mentioned in his will. And there was Ventidius Bassus, who had supported the General when he was trapped and apparently doomed behind the Alps after Mutina. A number of others nodded in recognition of the spy – and of the importance of his undercover work. ‘Far beyond Queen Cleopatra, eh?’ said Antony, his interest clearly piqued.