“You can’t possibly think of invading Italy without a great deal more money,” said Hemicillus to Brutus and Cassius.
“More money?” gasped Brutus. “But there’s no more to be had!”
“Why?” asked Cassius, frowning. “Between what I squeezed out of Syria and what Cimber and I collected on the way here, I must have two thousand gold talents.” He turned on Brutus with a snarl. “Have you managed to collect none, Brutus?”
“Far from it,” Brutus said stiffly, resenting the tone. “Mine is all in coin, about two-thirds silver, a third gold, and amounts to—?” He looked at Hemicillus enquiringly.
“Two hundred million sesterces.”
“All up, then, we have four hundred million sesterces,” said Cassius. “That’s enough to mount an expedition to conquer Hades.”
“You forget,” Hemicillus said patiently, “that there will be no spoils, always the difficulty in civil war. Caesar took to giving his troops cash donatives in lieu of a share of spoils, but what he gave out was nothing compared to what soldiers demand now. Octavianus promised his legions twenty thousand per man, a hundred thousand for centurions of highest rank down to forty thousand for a junior centurion. Word travels. The men expect big money.”
Brutus got up and walked to the window, looked out across the port, filled with hundreds of warships and transports.
His appearance had surprised Cassius, used to the mournful dark mouse; this Brutus was brisker, more—martial. His success against the Bessi had endowed him with much needed confidence, and Porcia’s death had hardened him. The recipient of most of Servilia’s letters, Cassius too had been appalled by her callous acceptance of Porcia’s horrible suicide, but, unlike Brutus, he believed it had been a suicide. The Servilia he loved was not the woman Brutus had known and feared since memory began. Nor had Brutus voiced his conviction of murder to Servilia’s favorite male relative, who would have rejected it adamantly.
“What has happened to Rome?” Brutus asked the multitude of ships. “Where is patriotism? Loyalty?”
“Still there,” Cassius said harshly. “Jupiter, you’re a fool, Brutus! What do ranker soldiers know about warring factions among their leaders? Whose definition of patriotism is a ranker soldier going to believe? Yours, or the Triumvirs’? All men know is that when they draw their swords, it will be against fellow Romans.”
“Yes, of course,” said Brutus, turning with a sigh. He sat down and stared at Hemicillus. “Then what do we do, Gaius?”
“Find more money,” Hemicillus said simply.
“Where?”
“To start with, in Rhodes,” said Cassius. “I’ve been talking to Lentulus Spinther, who tried several times to prise ships and money out of the Rhodians without getting either. So did I. According to Rhodes, their treaties with Rome don’t include providing a specific side in a civil war with any aid whatsoever.”
“And,” said Hemicillus, “another part of Asia Minor that has never really been tapped—Lycia. Too difficult for the governors of Asia Province to get at to be bothered trying.”
“Rhodes and Lycia,” said Brutus. “I presume we’re going to have to go to war to persuade them to help our enterprise?”
“In the case of Rhodes, definitely,” said Cassius. “It may be that a simple request to—say, Xanthus, Patara and Myra—will suffice, if they know the alternative is invasion.”
“How much should we ask from Lycia?” Brutus asked Hemicillus.
“Two hundred million sesterces.”
“Rhodes,” Cassius said grimly, “can give us twice that and still have some left over.”
“Do you think that one thousand million will see us through to Italy?” Brutus asked.
“I’ll do my sums later, when I know exactly what our strength will be,” said Hemicillus.
Wintering in Smyrna was comfortable, even in this dry year. Of snow there was none, of wind little, and the broad valley of the Hermus enabled the Liberators to scatter their massive army over sixty miles of separate camps, each of which soon acquired its satellite community providing wine, whores and entertainment for the soldiers. Small farmers brought vegetables, ducks, geese, chickens and eggs to sell to eager buyers, sticky confections of oily pastry and syrup, an edible snail of the region, even plump frogs from the marshes. Though the big merchants in the urban settlements did not profit much from an army that had its own staples with it, these commercially unversed yet enterprising peasants, taxed to poverty, began to see a trace of prosperity return.
For Brutus and Cassius, living in the governor’s residence alongside Smyrna port, the chief advantage of this winter location was the swiftness of news from Rome. So they had learned, aghast, of the formation of the Triumvirate, and understood that Octavian deemed the Liberators a far greater threat to his Rome than he did Marcus Antonius. The Triumviral intention was clear: Brutus and Cassius would have to be eliminated. War preparations were going on all over Italy and Italian Gaul, and none of the forty-plus legions the Triumvirs could call upon had been discharged from service. Rumor said that Lepidus, now senior consul with Plancus as his junior, was to remain in Rome to govern, while Antony and Octavian were to deal with the Liberators; the most quoted commencement date for their campaign was May.
More horrifying even than all this was the news that Caesar had officially been declared a god, and that the cult of Divus Julius, as he was to be known, would be propagated all over Italy and Italian Gaul, with temples, priests, festivals. Octavian now openly called himself “Divi Filius,” and Mark Antony had not voiced an objection. One of the Triumvirs was the son of a god, their cause must be the right one! So much had Antony’s attitude changed since his own disastrous consulship that he now joined with Octavian in forcing the Senate to swear an oath to uphold all of Divus Julius’s laws and dictates. And an imposing temple to Divus Julius was being built in the Forum Romanum on the site where his body had been burned. The People of Rome had won their battle to be allowed to worship Caesar.
“Even if we beat Antonius and win Rome, we’re going to have to suffer Divus Julius forever,” Brutus said miserably.
“The place has gone downhill,” Cassius answered, scowling. “Can you imagine some lout raping a Vestal Virgin?”
That news had come too, that Rome’s most revered women, used to walking freely about the city unaccompanied, now had to take a lictor as a bodyguard; Cornelia Merula, strolling alone to visit Fabia on the Quirinal, had been attacked and molested, though rape was Cassius’s word, not mentioned in Servilia’s letter. In all the history of Rome, the Vestals, clad in their unmistakable white robes and veils, had been free to come and go without fear.
“It represents a milestone,” Brutus said sadly. “The old values and taboos are no longer respected. I’m not even sure I want to enter Rome ever again.”
“If Antonius and Octavianus have anything to do with it, you won’t, Brutus. All I know is that they’ll have to fight hard to prevent my entering Rome,” said Cassius.
With nineteen legions, five thousand cavalry and seven hundred ships at his disposal, Cassius sat down to work out how to extract six hundred million sesterces out of Rhodes and the cities of Lycia. Brutus was present, but had learned over the preceding few nundinae to be suitably deferential when Cassius had command on his mind; to Cassius, Brutus had simply had a stroke of luck in Thrace rather than generaled an authentic campaign.
“I’ll take Rhodes,” he announced, “which means a maritime war, at least to begin with. You’ll invade Lycia, a land business, though you’ll have to bring your troops in by sea. I doubt that there’s much use for horse in either case, so I suggest that we send all but a thousand of our cavalry to Galatia for the spring and summer.” He grinned. “Let Deiotarus bear their cost.”
“He’s been very generous and helpful” from Brutus, timidly.
“Then he can be even more generous and helpful” from Cassius.
“Why can’t I march overland from Caria?” Brutus asked.
“I suppose you could, but why would you want to?”
“Because Roman foot hate sea voyages.”
“All right, please yourself, but you can’t muddle along at a snail’s pace, and you’ll have some nasty mountains to cross.”
“I understand that,” Brutus said patiently.
“Ten legions and five hundred horse for scouting.”
“No baggage train if there are nasty mountains. The army will have to use pack mules, which means it can’t afford to be on the march for longer than six nundinae. I’ll have to hope that Xanthus has sufficient food to feed me when I get there. I do think Xanthus ought to be my first target, don’t you?”
Cassius blinked, rather startled. Who would have thought to hear so much military common sense from Brutus? “Yes, Xanthus first,” he agreed. “However, there’s nothing to stop you sending more food by sea and picking it up when you reach Xanthus.”
“Good idea,” said Brutus, smiling. “And you?”
“As I said, sea battles, though I’ll need four legions—who will board transports and endure the deep whether they like it or not,” said Cassius.