The Road To War Read online

As the watchkeeper crumpled silently into the gutter, Laenas reached down to jerk his dagger free. He rolled the corpse onto its back with a casual kick. He reached down again, to wipe his dagger clean on Gistin’s tunic, and to cut the dead man’s purse free of his belt. He straightened, hefting the leather bag in his hand. ‘I told you, Herrenius,’ he said, oozing satisfaction. ‘Every sestertius we paid him is still in here. They always do that. Too mean to share it and too scared of losing it. It’s always on their belts, which is more or less where the traitor Sospes’ bribes will be – with all the money he’s amassed from selling his possessions in preparation for his escape. How rich will all that make us?’

  ‘Is it worth waiting for the boy, then?’ asked Artemidorus. ‘What difference will one more head make?’

  ‘To me and my fortune, not a lot as I said,’ answered Laenas. ‘Oh but to Maecenas and Octavianus, all the difference in the world. Given what the boy knows about his mother, his sister and the young Caesar. As, I’m sure, my personal assurance that your tongue is forever silenced in the matter will do as well.’

  ‘And who will assure him of your silence, Laenas?’ asked Artemidorus. ‘Yours and Herrenius’? As you both seem to know as much as Messala, Lucius and I do? Who will guard the guards in the end?’

  ‘Me, perhaps,’ said a new voice as Felix joined the conversation by sliding his dagger across Herrenius’ throat.

  ii

  ‘Now this is interesting,’ purred Laenas. ‘Looks like you’re in trouble Herrenius – almost as much trouble as Septem. One wrong move, two cut throats and Felix and I will be moving on with our lives.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that, tribune,’ said Puella as she stepped out of the shadows behind Felix, sword in hand. Laenas gave a shout of laughter – which was cut off when Ferrata stepped out of the shadows behind him, sword in one hand dagger in the other. He didn’t need to say he still suspected Laenas was responsible for the damage to his face or the death of his friend. The simple hatred seemed to shine out of him like light from a lamp.

  ‘A dramatic moment,’ said Felix cheerfully. ‘Laenas, you get to choose whether the drama in question is a comedy by Plautus or a tragedy by Sophocles.’

  ‘I’d suggest we go with Plautus,’ said Artemidorus, ‘and die another day.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Laenas, beginning to recover his arrogance. ‘Plautus it is. The Pot of Gold seems appropriate. Herrenius, let’s get rid of this corpse and continue as planned. Our immediate plan, Septem, is to do nothing but await events, primarily the arrival of your man Quintus and young Lucius Calpurnius Bibulus, his head and his pardon; both, perhaps, for the taking.’

  Herrenius’ blade moved away from Artemidorus’ throat – at, he assumed, much the same speed as Felix’ moved away from his.

  *

  ‘He’s working on the assumption that there’s nowhere we can go,’ said Felix as the four of them walked back to the hospitium. ‘And, under the circumstances, precious little we can do. He’s going to bribe that poor fool Sospes to make sure none of us gets out of the city gates while using his vigiles to watch us while we’re trapped in the port.’

  ‘Which he’s probably done already,’ answered Artemidorus.

  ‘True.’

  ‘Just as he did by getting the vigiles to look for Messala and Lucius by describing them as the murderers. An intelligent move, especially as he’s now recovered some of the bribe money.’

  ‘Now that it’s worked – they did catch your young tribune, didn’t they? A clever move, which now looks as though it’s trapped us here ‘til Quintus arrives.’

  ‘I agree,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘But unless he’s thought a good deal further than that then he’s already failed. Because Laenas has only ever been a land-based legionary as far as I know. I would wager that he hasn’t realised that, by its very nature, it’s impossible to completely seal a port. Unless you have a navy to help you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You’ll see. Puella, Ferrata, can you do without anything to eat for a while longer?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Puella. ‘It’s a bath I want, not a feast.’

  ‘Each to his own,’ growled Ferrata who ranked sustenance over cleanliness on all occasions.

  ‘Right. You two go back to the hospitium. Puella, pick up my saddle bag with Mercury’s winged staff on the side and meet me at Sospes’ villa. Ferrata, sneak out as best you can. Steal a horse if you have to and ride for Legate Servius or Centurion Publius of the VIIth. Tell them what’s going on.’

  As the pair of them hurried off to do as ordered, Artemidorus turned to Felix. ‘Right, down to the harbour then. There’s someone there I want to talk to.’

  Artemidorus was fortunate. The man he wanted was just coming ashore, walking wearily down the gang-plank that reached up to the foredeck of his trireme. ‘Centurion Gaius Licinius,’ he said. ‘Going back to try and get them out again?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered the young soldier, managing to fill the single syllable with a world of bitterness.

  ‘Mind if we come along with you? I’m personally responsible for the one prisoner who does not belong to you. And one of my men is still waiting at the door.’

  ‘It won’t do you much good to come with me,’ said Gaius Licinius, ‘unless you have a bag of sestertii as big as a silver pig.’

  ‘Oh, I have that. And so much more,’ Artemidorus assured him.

  The three men walked side by side up to the prefect’s villa. Once again the janitor was hesitant to admit them, but the steward sensed trouble and asked them to wait while he summoned the master. It was growing very late now. But there was little doubt that Sospes had been summoned from his bed. The wait they endured alone hinted at that – for he was dressed in his formal toga when he finally arrived and was wearing all his badges of office. But even that measured insult turned out to be a good thing in more than one way. First, it gave the spy, interest piqued, a chance to examine the stripped room even more closely, mentally cataloguing the missing artefacts as he did so. And secondly, it allowed Puella to arrive with Artemidorus’ saddle bag. As she stood watching, he continued his inspection of the empty niches in the office walls until one at last brought him up short. More than a niche or alcove, it was a traditional household shrine. Fully adorned, with the names of dead forbears likely to visit from the Elysian Fields or wherever beyond the Styx they currently resided, all numbered and ranked in generation after generation. But the shrine was empty. Where the statues of Sospes’ household gods and lares should have stood, there was nothing.

  This more than anything told Artemidorus that – for all his airs and arrogance – the prefect was a desperate and terrified man on the verge of fleeing for his life. The spy’s first instinct was to warn him about Laenas’ murderous plans. And, had Sospes allowed him to take breath he might well have done so.

  iii

  The prefect launched straight into another patronising diatribe, his nostrils twitching along with his thin, pallid lips. ‘I see you have sunk to the depth of the common pauper Gaius Licinius. I suppose I should have expected nothing less. And now you come crawling, reeking like a stable slave, with your pleas for mercy and promises to pay for your friend’s freedom as soon as you are able. Disturbing the sleep of officials whose only motivation is to do their job in a manner that will bring credit to their name, advancement to their standing and glory to the Republic! Were my wife still alive, I would call the full weight of the noble house of the Papirii Masones on your heads. Even in these degenerate times, I believe their power and influence would have you both condemned to the Circus to fight and die or be consumed by wild beasts! I anticipate your questions and the answer is NO! And now you have left it too late even to bring them drink and sustenance, so the entire rabble can go without anything until I see them myself tomorrow. Or the day after.’

  Artemidorus simply held out his hand. Puella passed the saddle bag. The centurion pulled out a document, unrolled it and began to read as though the prefec
t had said nothing. ‘I, Marcus Antonius, Triumvir, through the power of the senate and people of Rome declare my good servant Centurion Iacomus Graecas Artemidorus my ambassador to speak with my voice and act with my will. I call upon any and every citizen of Rome no matter where in the Republic they may be, their dependents, families, servants and slaves to obey him in all things or face impeachment before the Senate or proscription forthwith depending on which the Centurion considers more expedient…’

  ‘Words!’ snarled Sospes. ‘And empty ones at that. Antony has no power here. And neither do you. I am the power here. I, my watchkeepers under the command of Chief Vigile Gistin! And, should I need to call on them, the marine detachment of the trireme Aegon under the command of centurion Severus Manlius Torquilatus.’ He glared around the room with the expression Marcus Licinius Crassus had worn while looking over the tattered remains of Spartacus’ defeated army. Never knowing that in the not-too-distant future his own army would be slaughtered with his son and himself on the Parthian battlefield of Carrhae.

  Sospes was drawing breath to continue with his diatribe when there came a thunderous knocking at the door. A moment or two of outraged vituperation, then Ferrata arrived with Centurion Publius of the VIIth legion. Both fully armed. Both crashing to attention the moment they entered. ‘My command is drawn up immediately outside, Centurion,’ Publius said to Artemidorus. ‘One century of legionaries, fully armed and mounted. Awaiting your orders!’

  *

  An hour later, Artemidorus, Puella, Ferrata, Furius, Hercules, Messala and Publius were seated around the largest table in the hospitium’s ample atrium. As they settled down to some serious eating and drinking, Felix joined them. Followed swiftly by Gaius Licinius, the navarchus captain of Galene, his pausator hammer-man and the gubernator pilot and helmsman who worked so closely with them. The bustle outside slowly died as Publius’ men and their horses were settled to rest in the ample dockside provision for legionaries and cavalry.

  ‘What I want you to do, Publius, is arrange patrols to work with the vigiles. Their new leader will be a man called Cessy. He’s not the brightest spark in the fire but he seems honest and willing. No more bribes. No fights. No arrests if you can help it. Licinius, can you offer secure accommodation aboard Galene if we need it?’

  ‘Of course…’ the slightly dazed young officer would have offered anything to the man who was so suddenly sorting his life out for him. It was like the unexpected discovery of a big brother willing to stand against the world with you.

  ‘Right. That circumvents Sospes and puts things back in our hands for the time-being, though we will have to keep a careful eye out for Popilius Laenas, who won’t be happy that we have emasculated his puppet law-keeper – and probably ruined several of his most devious get-rich-quick schemes. He’s helpless for the moment but he’ll think of a way round whatever we do, given time.’

  ‘Perhaps he should be in Sospes’ prison,’ suggested Gaius Licinius.

  ‘Too dangerous. Too dangerous even to slit his throat and dump him and Herrenius in the harbour,’ said Artemidorus. ‘He’s working for Octavianus – remotely, but even so. We have to handle Laenas very carefully indeed. Cross him when we can and block his murderous schemes. But never give him a genuine complaint to take back to young Caesar – unless there is no alternative.’

  ‘That’s like going into the Circus Maximus with one hand tied behind your back,’ said Gaius Licinius.

  ‘Even so. That’s just the way it is,’ Artemidorus answered. ‘Publius, could you send two of your fastest and most reliable men to Rome? They need to take a message for me to the tribune Enobarbus. He’ll pass it on to Antony. But I suspect that Brundisium is going to need a new praefectus any day now. And one who backs the Triumvirate. Navarchus, gubernator, I need Galene ready to sail at a moment’s notice the moment the weather moderates. We may get to use the sails but if not, get the oarsmen ready for a long haul towing a fat troop carrier or two if need-be. I know the sea will stay choppy for some time after the wind drops or shifts to a new quarter, but it is of critical importance that I get my men and equipment, Publius’ men and their horses to Dyrrhachium at the earliest opportunity. There’s only one other thing I need to do before I bathe and get to bed. Licinius, would you care to accompany me aboard Aegeon? It would be discourteous not to bring centurion Severus Manlius Torquilatus up to date with the new arrangements. And in any case, I’m on the hunt for a missing household statue.’

  iv

  As Artemidorus and Gaius Licinius hurried past Galene, there was the sound of muted cheering and the guard at the foot of the gangplank leading up to the foredeck slammed smartly to attention, as did the four soldiers also standing guard beneath the flambeau on the deck itself. The guard at the foot of Aegeon’s gangplank was asleep on his feet and hardly registered the two figures brushing past him to bound up aboard the ship he was supposed to be guarding. The legionaries at the head of the plank were no more wakeful, but Artemidorus had no intention of exploring the vessel unannounced. Especially as he had a strong impression that Severus Manlius Torquilatus was likely to be every bit as arrogant as Sospes had been. And one way or another, the spy was going to have to rely on his co-operation.

  He presented himself formally in a clipped, military tone that rode over the keening of the wind in the rigging. Explaining who he was and what he wanted, as the guards woke up properly, riding the rise and fall, pitch and roll of the deck as though he were a sailor rather than a spy. It was this fact, and that he was accompanied by the familiar figure of Gaius Licinius, that impressed the soldiers with the need to pay close attention. Then, as soon as Artemidorus had finished speaking, one of them turned and marched off to summon the centurion Severus.

  Severus did not keep them waiting as long as Sospes had done. But he was not happy at being roused in the middle of the night. As he approached down the deck, led by the returning guard who now carried a smaller version of the flambeau burning above on the foredeck, Artemidorus got an opportunity to compare the two centurions on whom, at least part of, the next stage of his mission relied. Gaius Licinius was slim, muscular and tall. Under most circumstances his movements were economical, decisive. Severus was unexpectedly portly. He puffed along behind his blue-clad marine, his black curls glinting in the light as though oiled. As he neared, Artemidorus saw brown eyes under frowning brows above little walls of fat which sat on top of his rubicund cheeks and ran into the jowls where his cheekbones should have been. Gaius Licinius had intelligent blue eyes, a long, lean nose and a square jaw. Severus’ was short, turned up and sat above a mouth that would have graced a Cupid on a wall-painting. There was little evidence of any chin at all. As he arrived, his face moved almost comically between the sneer it was accustomed to wearing when talking to Gaius Licinius and the respectful frown designed to flatter the unknown but clearly powerful man standing beside him. At least, until he noticed that the stranger had not bathed in some time and smelt distinctly of horses. ‘Centurion Iacomus Artemidorus,’ he said, eventually as he came to a stop but not to attention. ‘Do I know you?’ The implication being that were this dirty stranger anyone of standing then Severus would most certainly know him.

  ‘Primus pilum senior centurion of the old VIIth,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Seconded to Triumvir Mark Antony’s personal staff. I speak with his voice, as I have just finished explaining to praefectus Sospes. Soon to be ex-praefectus Sospes.’

  ‘Ahhhh…’ Much nervous revelation and calculation was contained in that one long syllable. ‘And how can I be of service to Triumvir Mark Antony and yourself, Centurion?’

  ‘Can your quarters accommodate the three of us while we talk things over?’

  ‘Certainly. I have a modest tablinum…’

  *

  Because two of the teams of oarsmen sat in boxes built onto the outside of the hull, some of the interior, especially at the lower levels, was available for accommodation and cargo stowage. The marines had their own section below – though th
e vessel had the facility to erect wooden-walled castles on the weather deck which could also be used as cabins as well as battle fortresses. The marines’ sleeping area was entered through a hatchway on the after deck and so Artemidorus got to walk almost the whole length of the ship, looking down into the rowers’ boxes with their oars stowed securely along the tops of the benches usually occupied by the triniti, top rowers. Out across the deck to the stormy anchorage, counting the number of transport vessels anchored there, by counting the signal lanterns suspended in their rigging. And, finally, up at the crosstrees of the naked mast with the sail tightly furled. Though none of it was quite as ship-shape as Galene’s. The rigging sighed and whispered. The fenders screamed as the waves threw the weight of the hull against them. The wind sounded in the open oar-holes, occasionally playing the entire ship as though it was a flute. He found himself humming the old rowers’ song, the words running through his head in the rhythm that guided the rowers:

  HEIA VIRI NOSTRUM REBOANS ECHO SONNET HEIA

  ‘Hey men! Echo resounding, send back our Hey!’ he sang softly to himself. Balling his fists and easing his shoulders as he sang. As though he was going to heave on his oar at each repetition of Hey!

  At the foot of the companionway was another legionary out of uniform, holding a terracotta lamp with three fat wicks burning with three tall flames. Severus took this, held it high, and stooping, led the way forward. Back towards the distant foredeck.

  In Aegeon’s aft section, with the main deck low above them supported by beams that made it lower still, rough wooden-walled cabins had been constructed on either side of a narrow corridor. Their entrances were ineffectually sealed by curtains, which swayed with the ship’s motion and fluttered in the breeze that somehow managed to sneak in.

  ‘Not far now,’ Severus assured them. But Artemidorus was hardly listening. Stooping with the practised ease of someone who had served on ships in the not too distant past, feeling his hair brush the rough wood of the beams. His head full of the old rowers’ song while his ears were filled with the familiar sounds of being on shipboard. His gaze moved to where the light of the lamp illuminated. Until, in the last cabin before Severus’ modest tablinum, he saw what he had been seeking. A shelf in an apparently vacant compartment revealed by a flapping curtain and lit for a moment by that three-flamed light. On which were standing precisely the sorts of family gods and lares so obviously missing from praefectus Sospes’ villa. But then he hesitated for a heartbeat before he followed the others and the light. His satisfaction at having found Sospes’ bolt-hole challenged by the suspicion that there was someone hidden in one of the other curtained chambers who was watching him.