The Road To War Read online

  *

  Together with the body-slave, Porcia hurried through to her chamber. The walls were hung with warmly coloured rugs and tapestries, further heated by the golden light of the lamps and candles all over the room. The bed was piled with coverings. But the floor was a mosaic of marble tiles whose chill seemed to burn through the soles of the soft leather slippers she was wearing. The mosaic itself pictured Amphitrite frolicking with mermaids and dolphins in an icy blue ocean. Two more slaves waited for her there, one she recognised as coming from her daughter Calpurnia Messala Corvinus’ household, re-established now the proscription had been lifted, even though Messala, like Lucius, had sneaked away in secret. ‘What is it?’ she demanded, pulling the soft robe more tightly about herself, in a fruitless attempt to dispel the chill.

  ‘Domina, my mistress sends her respects and deepest affection.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Get on with it.’ Calpurnia, like the absent Lucius and even Messala, for whom she had a soft spot, was currently an unpleasant reminder of the near disaster of her visit to Octavianus.

  ‘It is the matter of the slave Deuterus, Domina. My mistress wondered whether you had finished considering his fate.’

  Porcia’s eyebrows rose. ‘He betrayed my son and my son-in-law to the mob. He would have taken his silver and his freedom when they were slaughtered and beheaded. He dies.’

  ‘Of course, Domina. But you were considering crucifixion…’

  Porcia was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘Well, he may be a traitor to our household, but he’s hardly Spartacus. And he’s served us since childhood I understand. Let us be merciful. Strangle him.’

  ‘Strangle him. Yes, Domina.’

  ‘Use the method Cicero used on that pig Antony’s stepfather during the Catiline affair. Do it with a bowstring.’

  ‘Yes, Domina.’

  ‘But don’t be too quick about it. I want him to have time to reflect on his treachery.’

  The slave hurried out to oversee Deuterus’ lingering Ciceronian execution.

  ‘I am still cold,’ snapped Porcia to the remaining servants. I want more light, a writing desk and a brazier. Stoke it up really high. Maybe I can get some warmth into my body as I write to my maritus the dominus!’

  As the slaves hurried to obey her orders, Porcia changed into a new, more formal robe that was warmer and dryer. Her mind was filled with what she was planning to tell Brutus in her next letter. The treacherous slave Deuterus’ fate didn’t even enter her mind. After all, what was a slave? – a possession that talked. However, Septem’s part in her salvation did linger in her memory; he was a soldier and of little more social account than a plebeian freedman. But he had managed to serve her and Brutus well. And there was something unexpectedly powerful about him. Something, oddly, that reminded her of Divus Julius himself.

  *

  The final item to be brought into the room was the brazier. As soon as it arrived, she dismissed all her slaves and pushed a rolled carpet across the bottom of the door to keep out the icy draught. Then she returned to the little desk beside the brazier and settled to writing her letter. This was something she always did alone, for even under normal circumstances it required her full attention. But the brazier kept distracting her with its brightness and its heat. It was a filigreed metal box on four solid legs, piled with charcoal that had, as she ordered, been well-stoked up. The main body of the burning mass in the metal container was cherry red but the top was a wavering crown of bright blue flames. The heat it gave off was fierce. Even so, Porcia found herself moving closer and closer to it as she settled to writing the letter. As one of the most educated women in the Republic, daughter of a famously eccentric father who educated her almost as though she were a boy, her handwriting was clear and fluent. She prided herself on the fact that she always wrote to Brutus herself – without having to insert an amanuensis between them. He too always wrote back himself – though his handwriting, in the Greek style after his education in Athens, lacked the simple flowing beauty of hers.

  Soon she was in the act of communicating with the man she loved so completely. Her shivering eased, but her eyes began to water, and her nose started to run. Thoughtlessly, she wiped it on the sleeve of her robe, wondering whether she was catching a cold. She moved even nearer to the brazier, just in case. By the time she had completed the second lengthy paragraph, she realised she had a headache. She looked up blearily, feeling a little light-headed. She would summon a physician in case she had caught anything serious, she decided. But she would finish the letter first. Then, she settled to work once again. Her concentration on the careful phrasing was such that she hardly noticed her heart was racing and her breath was shortening until she was panting as though she herself had just completed the race around the city at Lupercalia.

  By the time the letter was complete, she was feeling sick and dizzy. She signed it, blew it dry, rolled it and sealed it. Wrote Marcus’ name on the outside as she always did, and stood only to keel over and tumble headlong to the floor. The shock of falling brought her briefly to her senses. She saw the letter rolling across the colourful mosaic which seemed to be brightening and darkening as she watched – heaving, as though it really was the sea. As though Amphitrite, her mermaids and dolphins were beginning to come to life. Her stomach wrenched, and bile burned the back of her throat. She managed to control herself, though it required an enormous effort of will. She decided the time had come to get up and summon her slaves. But when she tried, she discovered that she could not. Her arms and legs seemed too heavy to move; she could hardly stir at all. She took a deep breath to call for help, but no sooner had she sucked in the air than her heart was pounding painfully, her head was splitting, and she was panting like a dog on a hot day.

  She panicked then, writhing helplessly and calling feebly. Twisting and turning as she tried to roll towards the door. But darkness was gathering around her as though the lamps and candles were being snuffed, one by one. She had no idea what was happening to her. It was just a strange draining away of all her energy, as though every laboured breath she took was strangling her – as she had just ordered Deuterus the slave to be strangled.

  She thought she saw her beloved Brutus in the shadows by the door and with one last effort she tried to reach him. She kicked the brazier instead and it topped over, vomiting burning coals over the floor towards her. The clots of fire hissed and spat, spreading across the marble mosaic until they were stopped by her drool-slick chin and her gaping mouth. The red-hot coals piling up against the blistering flesh almost as though she had been trying to eat them.

  But mercifully by that time she was dead.

  III: The Mission

  i

  ‘Had you any idea she would do anything so foolish?’ mused the tribune Enobarbus as he and Artemidorus and hurried towards Antony’s tablinum office. His tone was an unusual mixture of shock and concern, eventhough it was now some time after the discovery of Porcia’s body.

  ‘So foolish to go to Octavianus with her daughter, hoping for mercy for her son and son in law?’ asked Artemidorus, cynically.

  ‘So foolish as die by swallowing burning coals!’ The tribune shook his head in sad wonderment.

  Artemidorus shrugged. The news of Porcia’s death was still the major talking-point in Rome, eclipsing the faintest whisper of her secret appeal to Octavianus’ better nature. Which resided in his subigaculum underwear these days, he thought. News of her terrible fate was heading eastwards, no doubt, as fast as a galloping horse. Apparently with Porcia’s last letter to Brutus.

  In the days since the discovery of Porcia’s body, her mother-in-law, Brutus’ mother Servilia, had taken control of the situation. Safely ensconced in rooms in the great villa belonging to Cicero’s friend Atticus, beyond the reach of Antony or Octavianus, she had organised a funeral and a cremation for her dead daughter-in-law. Whose ashes were currently awaiting formal entombment in the Brutus family’s great vault. She had also taken Calpurnia under her wing, and put her in a
guest suite in Atticus’ villa. Servilia was irresistible, thought the spy as he followed his superior into his commander’s briefing; a force of nature like an earthquake or a great storm. Like Fulvia.

  ‘No,’ the spy answered Enobarbus’ question. ‘I had no idea she would do anything like eating hot coals.’ However, he had wondered more than once, during the intervening days, whether he had said or done anything to push Porcia into her desperate act.

  ‘Only Cato’s daughter could have dreamed of such an exit,’ said the tribune, still shaking his head.

  ‘Cato, who fell on his sword after the battle of Utica,’ said the spy. ‘Cut his stomach open. Eviscerated himself but didn’t die. Did you know that? Then, when his physician tried putting his guts back into his belly he pulled them out again, handful after handful until he did manage to kill himself. So maybe the way his daughter went wasn’t so strange after all.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Enobarbus, clearly unconvinced. The praetorian, guarding the entrance to the corridor leading out of the massive atrium to Antony’s tablinum, slammed to attention as they walked past, heading towards the second praetorian guard standing at the newly installed office door itself. ‘Even the general is feeling the weight of public disapproval,’ said Enobarbus, nodding towards the new security arrangements. ‘Though there hasn’t been a serious attempt on his life since the incident with Myrtillus. Off the battlefield, that is.’

  ‘It was Minucius Basilus who hired the assassin Myrtillus,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Though I know Antony is still half-convinced Octavianus had something to do with it. But Basilus was chopped to pieces by his slaves late last year and Myrtillus is long gone. What little was left of him after Antony’s interrogation, was thrown off the Tarpean Rock then dragged on a massive hook to the Tiber and chucked in. Nothing to worry about there.’

  ‘I think it was his attempt to tax the women and their reaction that really rattled him. Not to mention his own mother sheltering a boy on the proscription lists then publicly demanding that he execute her too if he took the boy’s head…’

  ‘Mothers!’ said Artemidorus. ‘Sometimes I think they’re more trouble than they’re worth!’

  ‘That’s only because you have no idea who your mother was. Or your father, come to that,’ said the tribune, as the praetorian opened the door to Antony’s office.

  Artemidorus glanced away from Enobarbus with a snort of laughter. Instead he found himself looking at the shining praetorian guard disdainfully, with the professional soldier’s contempt for the young man in his special silver-coloured armour, all gleaming. Parade-ground ready – never soiled on a battlefield; someone who clearly spent more time polishing his sword than using it. Typical of the kind, he thought. All show, no substance.

  *

  There were four people in Antony’s tablinum, all of them looking down at a diagram spread across a large table, held in place by two amphorae and a couple of glasses. It was just possible to see it was a map of the eastern section of the Republic: triumvir Antony’s empire. The east coast of Italy was sketched down one side, only the ports of Brundisium and Barium to the north of it drawn in any detail, for Italy was Lepidus’ responsibility, just as everywhere west of Italy was Octavianus’. The rest of the map covered Macedonia, Greece, Thrace, Asia Province, Syria, Judea and Egypt in detail, the inland provinces behind them less so. More distant countries like Dacia, Armenia and Parthia were simply names written across blank spaces. Waiting to be invaded and pillaged before being added to the Republic – and the chart.

  Fulvia stood beside her husband, her attention focused on the most detailed section, one finger pointing to the middle of Macedonia, just north of the city of Philippi. It was not unusual to find Fulvia attending Antony’s briefings. Like Divus Julius his friend and mentor, Antony was happy to allow an unusual breadth of opinion in his planning meetings. He had a simple rule – if you were in the room, you were welcome to have your say. So Fulvia was no stranger here. As Cleopatra had been no stranger to Divus Julius’ briefings in Alexandria. Or, of course, to his bed – something Antony was still immensely jealous about.

  Opposite Antony and his wife stood two men that Artemidorus recognised at once. Proper soldiers, he thought, the fancy parade-ground splendour of the praetorians lingering in his memory. These were Gaius Norbanus Flaccus and Lucius Decidius Saxa. Both Norbanus and Saxa were widely experienced commanders as well as powerful politicians and reliably quick-thinking generals. Both had served with distinction under Divus Julius. And Saxa had aided Antony at the battle of Mutina.

  ‘Ah,’ said Antony glancing up. ‘There you are. Tribune. Septem. Welcome. As you can see, we were just discussing my campaign through Macedonia in pursuit of those murderous bastards Brutus and Cassius. Laying down some plans for when the fighting season opens.’

  ‘If we have the legions, of course,’ added Fulvia. ‘Even my Lord Antony’s reputation can only carry them so far.’

  ‘Over the Alps and back, for instance,’ he added, beaming with self-satisfaction.

  ‘They need paying as well.’ Fulvia snapped.

  ‘Feeding, equipping and paying,’ agreed Antony. ‘And that’s where the problems start. Tribune, have you and Septem had any thoughts on the matter during the week or so since our last meeting?’

  The two men glanced at each-other and then at generals Norbanus and Saxa. They had already been mulling over Antony’s situation with the rest of the contubernium at some length over the last few days in preparation for this meeting.

  Spy and spymaster joined the others at the table’s edge. Tribune Enobarbus spoke first. ‘Any and all preparations you undertake, General, will have to be lengthy and detailed. And, unfortunately, as the lady Fulvia observes, expensive. As far as we know, Brutus and Cassius have seventeen legions between them. Brutus is in Sardis with seven. He pointed to a spot just north-east of Ephesus in Asia Province. Cassius is in Syria with ten.’ His gesture over Syria was much less precise. ‘All seventeen legions are well equipped from the caches of arms that Divus Julius left ready for his Parthian campaign, which Brutus, Cassius and their supporters have managed to steal. The legions are also well paid from last year’s taxes which were all collected and on their way to Rome, until Brutus and Cassius captured them as well. But they have been scouring the local communities for more. Some cities have apparently been told to pay ten years’ taxes in advance at once. Other, poorer, cities have had part, or all of their populations sold into slavery.’ He looked around the table. No-one showed much emotion. It was not unusual for cities to sell citizens into slavery to pay their taxes.

  ‘The legions in the east are well led. ’Artemidorus added, taking over the intelligence analysis. ‘Brutus is the weaker, less experienced, general but he is largely served by men who followed Pompey the Great and were decommissioned after he lost the battle of Pharsalus – who have no liking for Divus Julius, his memory, friends and relatives. On the other hand, Cassius is at the head of an army at least partly made up of men who followed him to safety out of the bloodbath at Carrhae – who would follow him to Hades and back if he asked them to. But an important element of his army – nearly half, in fact – is comprised of the four legions that Divus Julius left in Egypt to protect the grain supply and the pro-Roman Ptolemaic dynasty…’

  ‘Cleopatra…’ said Antony, almost under his breath. Fulvia shot him a look that would have done credit to a gorgon.

  ‘Those are the legions under the imperium of general Aulus Allienus which Cleopatra sent to support Caecilius Bassus in his stand against Cassius,’ continued Enobarbus. ‘But Bassus’ own legions went over to the enemy before Allienus arrived. And when he did, his men changed sides as well and joined Cassius. This leaves Egypt relatively undefended, just as Cassius is massing his armies in Syria.’ Enobarbus’ finger pointed to the border of Syria south of Tyre, where only the boundaries of Judea with Galilee to the north and Jerusalem at its heart reached down to the shore of Mare Nostrum and stood between Syria and Egypt.


  Enobarbus’ light, slightly nasal baritone continued as he explained the thinking of Septem and his contubernium. ‘We believe he would have invaded Egypt already but for two things. First, there is severe drought there. The Nile has not inundated for two years. Consequently, the grain harvest has failed. The stores set aside for the Egyptians – as opposed to those sold on to Rome – are exhausted. The population is starving. On the verge of open riot, in fact, a situation Lepidus will have to be careful to avoid here in Rome if and when the Egyptian corn supplies dry up. Secondly, there is plague all throughout the country from the Delta right down beyond the city of Waset, which we call Thebes. Though Alexandria seems relatively untouched so far. The most recent reports suggest more than half the population of Egypt is sick, dying or dead. As you can readily imagine, there are few things Cassius wants less than responsibility for a starving nation ready to riot and riddled with a highly contagious sickness for which there is no cure. He hesitates, therefore, within easy reach of Egypt. Tempted by the fabulous wealth it represents, worried by the terrible risks. But nevertheless he remains a potent threat…’

  ii

  ‘And that is important,’ Artemidorus took over the intelligence briefing once more, his voice more clipped and urgent. ‘Because at least one vital element of your proposed campaign must turn on Egypt and Queen Cleopatra. I assume that is at least part of the point of sending such a detailed message about Sextus Pompey to Octavianus…’

  ‘Which is accurate in every point,’ inserted Fulvia.

  ‘Indeed, domina, which makes it all the more potent. But the real objective was not to inform him of the danger Sextus Pompey represents. It was to distract him from one or two other obvious truths while putting him under some very real pressure. He is clever and insightful, after all. Not to mention well advised. But he and his advisers are young and inexperienced, especially in the arena of political contests. He is, perhaps, over-awed by the weight of his responsibilities, having accepted his portion of the Republic on the mistaken assumption that because it was the smallest and most overlooked it would also be the quietest. Assuming that this would allow him to focus on his real task – which is to outdo you, General, to outdo you at every possible occasion and work towards his long-term goal of ultimate power. Sextus Pompey is an unexpected, unwelcome but unavoidable distraction.’