The Horse Changer (41 page)

At midmorning dogs found us. Soon after that the slaves whose herds the dogs guarded arrived. Nero, pretending incompetence with his Greek, explained that his master had been hurt by highwaymen. We had escaped and found shelter in the forest until the fire drove us away. We had stumbled about all night, lost in the hills.

The slaves did not care to question his tale. They could see the stripe on my tunic and the fine horse I rode. This was a matter for the manager of the estate. With one look, the manager saw I was close to death and brought the farm’s animal doctor to me; this fellow was a slave with only a rudimentary training in medicine. He drained my belly wound of bile, then washed the cuts on my arm and back with salt and vinegar. He dared not attempt more but put me to bed with instructions that I must promise a sacrifice to Asclepius. Then he added that in his experience it did not hurt to include promises to another deity, especially if I had a favourite.

I told the fool Artemis had special regard for me, and so he insisted that I must make promises of splendid sacrifices to her – a whole pig, if I could afford it; she loved swine more than other sacrifices. ‘I will capture a wild boar still living and take it to her altar,’ I groaned.

‘Yes, if you could manage such a feat, that might save you.’

Fortunately, the vinegar and salt had more potency than Artemis, and sometime the following day I came out of the darkness. Nero and Livia and the child had stayed in my room keeping me warm and watching over me. Another night saw my fever break and, though I was not yet whole again, I was now fully conscious and on the mend. On my fourth morning I had an appetite, but my doctor warned me not to indulge it. Better to keep drinking broth and offering prayers to Asclepius, and I must not forget my promise of a wild boar for Artemis.

On the fifth or sixth morning I was well enough to travel in a wagon and sent a boy to Sparta with a letter to my most senior tribune. As we waited for my men to arrive, the manager of the estate entered my bedroom. He had avoided visiting me until then but thought I might enjoy the latest news: Claudius Nero had been killed by bounty hunters. Nero of course stood at my bedside playing the faithful servant as I heard this news, so I had no worries. I simply feigned surprise. ‘I thought Nero was in Sicily with Pompey!’

‘It turns out he has been in Sparta for several months. Caught in the same fire that nearly killed you. How is that for a coincidence?’

‘Then they have no proof of his death?’

‘On the contrary, they got their proof. No head, no money. They waded in after the worst of the fire and took his head, charred as it was. What I hear is they’ve already presented it to the magistrates in Sparta for their reward.’

Twenty horsemen arrived that afternoon. The tribune commanding the party questioned me in private about my servants. Was there something he should know? I thought he recognised Nero or at least suspected that something was up, but I knew if I told him the truth I would invite him into a dangerous conspiracy. So I confessed to having survived an attack by highwaymen. ‘These two might have stolen my horse and left me to die,’ I told him. ‘Instead, they brought me out of the forest at risk to their own health. After such service, I couldn’t very well let them go on down the road without a reward. They were hardly in better shape than I was; so I claimed them as my property so that they might be allowed to stay in my room.’

‘Shall I give them some money and send them on their way?’

‘I mean to give them a proper reward once I’m on my feet,’ I answered. ‘Until then, keep them close to me.’

‘As you wish, Prefect. By the way, did you hear some men brought in the head of Claudius Nero?’

Once we had returned to Sparta I put guards on the room where Nero and his family stayed without explaining my reasons to anyone. Not having to explain one’s actions is of course one of the perks of command. Nobody entered their room and nobody was allowed to leave it for any reason. I did, however, provide them with one of the guard’s servants, who brought them their meals and emptied the chamber pot.

I was still weak and in need of recovery, but a day or two later I drafted a letter to Antony, which I sent by courier to Athens. The rider would change horses every ten miles; this allowed him to make excellent time on his sixty-mile journey. If Antony gave his immediate attention to the matter, we could expect a return letter before sunset.

In my letter I admitted to having Claudius Nero under house arrest. On Antony’s orders I said I would see the man executed, but in the circumstances I thought it best for Antony to decide Nero’s fate after speaking with him. He had come, I said, from Pompey’s court in Sicily and had news of vital importance to Antony’s interests.

I said no more, for I knew Antony’s new wife, Octavia, might learn the contents of that letter. I hoped Antony would trust my judgment, but I told Nero I was not sure if he would take my advice. I did not care to play Nero’s friend in the morning and bring his executioner to him that evening. ‘Once Antony answers my letter,’ I told him, ‘I will call you to me before I read it.’ I meant this as a sort of kindness, but of course there is no such thing when it comes to executing a criminal.

At any time our courier might have returned from Athens with Antony’s response: ordering Nero’s death or giving him a reprieve. So the hours passed slowly. For Nero it must have been awful. At sunset, when there was still no response I sent a note to Nero informing him that I had no answer from Antony. Should a message now arrive, I promised I would not read it until next morning. In this way I hoped Nero might enjoy one more night in the arms of the woman he loved.

Late next morning a courier brought me the answer we had waited for. I ordered Nero escorted to my court before I broke the seal on the letter. I had armed men standing by should Antony have refused my recommendations. At my signal, they were to take him down with their swords at once.

By my orders, Livia and the boy waited in their room. I certainly did not care for her to witness the murder of her husband; I should add I did not care to see it myself, for I had come to have no small degree of affection for the old fellow. Slow and ponderous he might have been, but Claudius Nero had survived where wiser and swifter men had failed.

I read the letter in silence, fearing the worst, but Antony bid me to bring Nero to him and named him in the letter that I might use the document as a defence, should Caesar’s bounty hunters find us on the open road.

I rode in a carriage with Nero and Livia, for I was still not fully recovered from my wounds. We had an escort of twenty of my best men. I did not identify either Nero or Livia to my subordinates, but I did tell them that Antony had ordered the man to his palace for a meeting. I expect some of the men knew Nero on sight; a great many of my best men were Spartan auxiliaries, some from the best families in the Peloponnese, but if they did recognise him, not one of them protested or even bothered asking questions.

As there were too many of us to change horses at the post stations we went slowly, stopping at one of the inns where we stayed overnight. This put us into Athens late next day. Antony was seldom in a hurry, either for business or war, and proved consistent on this occasion. His freedman informed me that I should bring Nero to Antony’s court early next morning.

That gave me the chance to get Nero dressed in a clean white tunic, though without any stripe to advertise his former rank. Nero of course would have preferred a toga for the occasion, even a plain one, which would have announced his citizenship; but proscribed men enjoyed none of the rights of a Roman citizen and to wear such clothing might tempt Antony’s patience. Better to come humbly before the great man and beg mercy. Humble however did not preclude a haircut and shave; so at least Nero looked the presentable petitioner and not like some bearded Germanic wild man dragged into court.

Uninvited for the hearing, Livia waited with her son in a room inside the great house Antony used as his headquarters. I had told her that Nero would have no appeal; if he was not given amnesty he would likely be executed at once. That she might know her husband’s fate, I told her I would come to her if the news was bad. Nero would return to her if Antony had granted him amnesty.

Antony remained seated as Nero and I entered his praetorium. Not a good sign. ‘I authorised payment for your head only a few days ago, Nero!’ Antony announced cheerfully. ‘It is encouraging to see that Death proves unable to hold you.’

‘The rumours of my death, sir, have been greatly exaggerated.’

To this Antony roared with laughter, I suppose because it was the first joke he had ever heard Nero utter. ‘So tell me, old friend,’ he said, still smiling but with cooling eyes, ‘what news do you bring from Sextus Pompey?’

‘Caesar negotiates with Pompey for a treaty that will allow them to turn their combined armies against you. They will attack your rear the very moment Quintus Labienus brings his Parthian mercenaries against you in Syria.’

Antony held up his hand to stop him. The gesture was an odd one. I certainly had never seen him use it before. I thought he feared spies and did not care for Octavia to know more. I believe now he only meant to stop Nero that he might consider how to respond. Finally, in the judicial tones he might have used in a civil trial, Antony said, ‘You offer an interesting theory, Nero, but, if I may ask – with all due respect – where is your proof for such a charge?’

‘Caesar asked Pompey to turn over several men for execution before he offered a grant of amnesty for the remainder. These were all assassins of the divine Julius Caesar, but Caesar included my name for the sake of my actions in northern Italy, with Fulvia and your brother Lucius. When I learned of the request I escaped Sicily before Pompey could lay hands on me. The only proof I have of any of it is my willingness to flee the safety of Sicily and risk capture by bounty hunters.’

‘You are mistaken about one thing, friend. Caesar and I have kept no secrets from one another. When Pompey approached me about forming an alliance last year, I informed Caesar of the matter at once; now, as he negotiates with Caesar this year, Caesar happily relays to me all that Pompey is willing to give us. That Caesar has asked for certain men to be turned over to him proves nothing more than his determination to execute them. You along with the rest, I’m afraid.’