Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (31 page)

    “Yes. There is something here I do not understand. Their forces are swift and together they outnumber us perhaps two to our one. Ariovistus should attack unless he was bluffing, though I can’t see how he could have been. I will not risk the lives of my Tenth on a trap until we are supported.”

    The soldiers who heard this exchanged pleased glances, though Julius didn’t see it as he stared toward the enemy. A commander who looked after his men was a valuable one, as far as they were concerned.

    The horsemen of the Suebi stood silently a thousand paces from the Tenth, and a fly buzzed around Julius’s face as he looked over their lines.

    “Stand ready, gentlemen. For now, we wait.”

    By the time the vast column of legions had joined the Tenth, Ariovistus too had summoned his main force. At the best estimate of the scouts who dared the darts and arrows of the enemy horsemen, there must have been sixty thousand of the Suebi warriors. Each rider brought a running soldier, keeping up a terrific pace as one hand gripped the mane of the horse he ran alongside. Julius was reminded of the Spartans running to battle in the same way and hoped he would not face opponents of a similar caliber. Brutus had made a wry remark about the battle of Thermopylae, remembered from their tutors years before, but the Spartan king had been able to defend a narrow pass in mountains, whereas Julius could be flanked or even surrounded by such a mobile force. A better model was the battle of Cannae, he thought, where the Romans had been annihilated, though he did not voice the worry aloud.

    Two hours after noon, Julius had his sixteen scorpion bows set up and pointing toward the enemy. They were perfect defensive weapons against a charge, but were so poorly maneuverable that they fell behind an advance after the first shots.

    “I have never known a battle like this, Brutus, but they have waited too long now. Have Octavian protect our flanks with the extraordinarii. The rest is up to us.”

    He chopped his hand down and all along the lines, cornicens blew their long horns in a single note that matched no order. The sound was intended merely to frighten the enemy, and Julius saw a restless shifting amongst the Suebi as they reacted to it. Moments later, the scorpions fired and bolts as long as a man blurred across the distance between them, faster than could be seen or avoided. Horses in the front lines were spitted, the great bolts continuing on to kill indiscriminately behind them. As the scorpion teams worked feverishly to reload, Julius signaled the advance, and with the Tenth at their head, the legions began their loping run toward the enemy, spears ready in their hands. Though they moved quickly, no man left his position, and if the Suebi charged them, they could form impregnable squares with barely a check to their pace.

    With the perfection of discipline, the legions spread out as soon as they were through the pinch between the forest and the Hand. Brutus commanded the Third on the right flank and Mark Antony took the left.

    As they came into range for archers, the men readied their shields, but without warning the Suebi lines began to move away once more, faster by far than the Roman advance. Thousands of warriors cantered clear and re-formed half a mile distant.

    It was not too far, though Julius feared being drawn out onto the green fields. Ahead of him, he could see the first of the Suebi camps struggling to close its gates. Hundreds of cart drivers were in a panic as they tried to get in. Julius shook his head in amazement that Ariovistus had abandoned them.

    Bericus detached to the west to handle the stockade, and another of the Ariminum legions moved smoothly up to the front to take the place of that five thousand. They swept past the stockade as Bericus took the people there without fuss or bloodshed. Julius saw their arms raised in panic as he passed them, but the rest of the Suebi were once again on the move, the solid formations becoming liquid as they broke apart to re-form another half mile distant.

    Julius signaled the halt and the legions crashed to a panting stop. Brutus came galloping in from the right wing.

    “Let me take the extraordinarii. I can stop them long enough for you to bring up the rest,” he said, glaring at the enemy in the distance.

    “No, I won’t risk the only good horsemen I have,” Julius said, casting an eye over the whooping, ragged-looking Aedui, overjoyed to be reunited with their ponies. “We are deep in his lands now. I want a hostile camp set up around the stockade as a base. I am not going to exhaust the men by charging all over Gaul after him. I want the legions behind camp walls and gates before nightfall. Have the ballistae readied when the carts come up behind us. Some hot food as well. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

    Julius looked over at the black mass of horsemen of the Suebi and shook his head.

    “Ariovistus is no fool. There has to be a reason for this cowardice. When the camps are ready, summon my council to me.”

CHAPTER 29

    Building fortified camps under the very noses of the enemy was a new experience for the six legions. Every man who could be spared dug the outer trenches, throwing the loose earth up into great ramparts, shifting many tons of earth to the height of three men. The extraordinarii patrolled the perimeter, and twice during the long afternoon, small groups had ridden hard at them, sending javelins flying before racing back to their own lines. It had been no more than young men showing their courage, but Julius could make nothing of Ariovistus’s plans. His warriors seemed eager enough, but still the main army kept their distance, watching as the Romans raised earthworks and felled trees. Julius had smelled spices on the breeze as the day wore on and knew the Suebi were busy preparing food for their own men as he was about to do for his.

    By the early evening, the huge camps were finished and the legions marched inside gates as solid as anything in Gaul. The legion carpenters were old hands at turning heavy trunks into shaped beams, and the earthern ramparts were spiked solidly enough to resist the most determined attack. Julius could sense a mood of optimism amongst his men. The sight of a retreating enemy had raised their morale enormously, and he hoped it would continue.

    He gathered his council in the generals’ tent inside the walls after a hot meal had been prepared and eaten. The Aedui horses had munched their way through a good part of his grain supply, but there could be no grazing outside with the Suebi so close. As night fell, Julius waited for Brutus to come and join the others. Lamps were lit and the first night watch went on duty without their shields, climbing wooden steps to the ramparts to scan the darkness for an attack.

    Julius looked around at his council with a quiet satisfaction. Octavian had grown into a fine leader of men, and Ciro too had justified his promotion to the position of centurion. Publius Crassus was a fearless commander and Julius would be sorry when he was sent back to lead his father’s legion. Renius continued to train the men in gladius technique, and Julius never hesitated in promoting those he recommended. If Renius said they were able to lead, they were. Domitius was capable of commanding a full legion, and the men loved the silver armor he now wore constantly. At that time, in that place, they were in their prime, and Julius was proud of them all.

    As Brutus joined them, Cabera brought out a ball of clay he had wrapped in damp cloth. It shone in the lamplight as he massaged the brown ball into a semblance of a face, pinching out a nose and poking eyes with his fingernails.

    “If ropes were placed in this way, you could alter the shape of the skull,” he said, winding a piece or cord around the little head and tightening it with a stick that he twisted until the clay began to bulge. When he had created a heavy ridge above the eyes, he repeated the process above it, until a copy of the odd Suebi features stared back at them.

    “But the skull would break, surely?” Octavian said, wincing at the image.

    Cabera shook his head. “For a man, yes, but for a newborn child, when the skull is still soft, such a binding would produce the ridges. No demons, these men, for all the gossip in camp. They are brutal, though. I have never heard of a race that could mistreat their young in such a way. The first year, perhaps two, of their lives must be spent in agony, with these things pressing against their bones. I doubt they are ever fully free of pain. If I am right, it would mean they mark their warrior castes almost from birth.”

    “You must show it around the camps if they are talking, Cabera,” Julius said, fascinated by the contorted head. “The Suebi need no other advantages with their numbers, and our men are superstitious.”

    A commotion outside the tent brought the council to their feet in an instant. The guards who were stationed there snapped muffled words at someone, and then the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle could be heard. Brutus strode to the flap and flung it back.

    Two of the Gaulish slaves taken by the Suebi were writhing on the ground.

    “Sorry, sir,” one guard said quickly as he saluted Brutus. “Consul Caesar said he should not be disturbed and these two ignored my warning.”

    “You did well,” Brutus replied. He reached down and helped one of the Gauls to his feet. “What was so important?” he asked.

    The man glared at the guard before speaking, but Brutus didn’t understand a word of the torrent that came in reply. Raising his eyebrows, Brutus exchanged glances with the guard.

    “I don’t suppose he understood your warning, either. Adŕn? Would you come and translate for me, please?”

    With Adŕn there, the man spoke even faster. By then, his companion had risen to his feet and stood sullenly rubbing his stomach.

    “Are you going to stand out here all night?” Julius said, coming out to them.

    “I think you’re going to want to hear this, sir,” Adŕn said.

    “It explains why we couldn’t bring them to battle, at least,” Julius said. “If this Ariovistus is fool enough to listen to his priests, we can only benefit from it. I make it three days until the new moon. If he won’t fight us till then, we can push him right back to the Rhine and hammer him against it.”

    Julius’s mood of worry and anger had disappeared at the news brought by the Gaulish slaves. His riders had rejoiced to find some of their own people amongst the rest, and the crucial piece of information explained a great deal of the Suebi king’s behavior.

    Julius listened as Adŕn translated the man’s torrent of words for his benefit. Ariovistus had been told he would die if he fought before the new moon. It meant the angry meeting had been a bluff of sorts, and Julius had called it when he ordered the Tenth into battle formation. Julius remembered the glimpse of fear he had seen in the king’s eyes and understood it at last. It was a weakness in a leader to allow his priests so much sway over his army, Julius was certain. The Greeks had been crippled by their reliance on oracles. Even Roman generals had been known to delay and lose positions if the entrails of birds or fish showed disaster waiting to fall. Julius refused to bring such men to his battlefields, convinced they did more harm than good.

    Julius had his rough map of the area held with lead weights on the table. He pointed to the black line that marked the winding Rhine to the north, less than fifteen miles away. Even with the heavy carts of the baggage train, it was a distance they could cross easily before the new moon, and he blessed the gods for delivering Aedui slaves into his hands.

    “We will break camp an hour before dawn, gentlemen,” Julius told his generals. “I want the ballistae, onagers, and scorpions with us as far as the ground will allow. If they fall behind, they are to be brought up slowly for the final battle. Octavian will command the extraordinarii, Mark Antony will take my right flank. Bericus on the left and all the scorpions to be brought to the front of any halt. The Tenth and Third Gallica will hold the center. The men are to have a good breakfast tomorrow and fill their waterskins from the casks. Let them all know what we have learned tonight. It will give them heart. Make sure each man has his spears and weapons in good order.”

    He paused as Mark Antony filled his cup, the Roman flushed with pleasure at the position he had been given. Mark Antony had heard about the arrogance of Ariovistus at the meeting and accepted that the friendship with Rome was at an end. No doubt Caesar’s enemies would make much of it in the Senate, but that was a problem for another day.

    Crassus sighed as Servilia’s slave girl massaged the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders. The frozen fruit he had eaten lay cold in his stomach, and after he had been fully relaxed on the table, the luxury of a hot pool awaited him, steaming in the open night. Across from him, Servilia lay along a padded couch, looking up at the stars. Though there was no moon to light the heavens, the sky was clear and she could see the tiny red disk of Mars above the line of the tiled roof that surrounded the open courtyard. The hot pool gleamed under the light of lamps, and heavy moths fluttered into the flames, crackling as they died.

    “This place is worth every coin,” Crassus murmured, wincing slightly as the slave girl worked a painful point between his shoulder blades.

    “I knew you would appreciate it,” Servilia replied, smiling with real pleasure. “So few who come to my house have an eye for the beautiful things, but what are we without them?”

    Her gaze fell on the freshly painted plaster of the new wing of her town house. Crassus had secured the land and she had paid a full market rate for it, without resentment. Anything else would have meant a shift of their relationship, and she liked and honored the old man who lay so comfortably under the strong fingers of her Nubian girl.

    “Are you not going to press me for information, then?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Am I no longer useful to you?”

    Servilia chuckled, sitting up. “Old father, be silent if that is what you want. My house is yours for as long as you need it. There is no obligation.”

    “Ah, the worst kind,” he replied, smiling to himself. “What is it you want to know?”

    “These new men in the Senate, Clodius and now Titus Milo, the owner of the meat market. Are they dangerous?” she said. Though she spoke lightly, Crassus knew her full attention was on the answer.

    “Very much so,” he replied. “I would not like to enter the Senate when they are there.”

    Servilia snorted. “You don’t fool me with your sudden devotion to trade, old man. I doubt there is a word spoken there that doesn’t find its way back to you.”

    She smiled sweetly at him then and he opened his eyes and winked at her before shifting under the hands of the slave to guide her to a new place. Servilia shook her head at his games.

    “How is your new legion shaping?” she asked.

    “Well enough, my dear. When my son Publius returns from Gaul, I may find a use for them. If I survive the current unrest.”

    “Is it that bad?” she asked.

    Crassus propped himself up on his elbows, his expression becoming serious. “It is. These new men sway the mob of Rome and recruit more and more to their gangs each day. The streets are no longer safe even for members of the Senate, Servilia. We must be thankful that Milo occupies so much of Clodius’s time. If either one of them should destroy the other, the victor would be free to wreak havoc in the city. As it is, each man is the check on his colleague, at least for the moment. I have heard they consider parts of the city their own, so that the followers of Clodius may not cross certain streets without a beating, even in the day. Most of Rome cannot see the struggle, but it is there nonetheless. I have seen the bodies in the Tiber.”

    “And Pompey? Does he not see the threat?”

    Crassus shrugged. “What can he do against their code of silence? The raptores fear their masters more than anything Pompey can do to them. He at least will not attack their families after they are dead. When a trial is considered, the witnesses disappear or become unable to remember. It is a shameful thing to see, Servilia. It is as if a great sickness has come into the city, and I do not see how it can be cut out.” He sighed in distaste.

    “The Senate house is the core of it and I spoke the truth when I said I was glad my business takes me away from it. Clodius and Milo meet openly to sniff and taunt each other before their animals terrorize the city at night. The Senate do not have the will to control them. All the little men have fallen in with one or the other, and Pompey has less support than he realizes. He cannot match their bribes, nor their threats. At times, I wish Julius would come back. He would not see Rome descend into chaos while he had life in him.”

    Servilia looked up at the bright evening star, trying to hide her interest. When she glanced at Crassus, she saw his eyes were open, studying her. There was little the old man didn’t know or guess.

    “Have you heard from Julius?” she asked at last.

    “I have. He offers me trade concessions with the new lands in Gaul, though I think he paints a prettier picture than the full truth to tempt me in. Mind you, if half of what he says is true, I would be a fool to miss the opportunity.”

    “I saw the notices around the city,” Servilia said softly, thinking of Julius. “How many will respond?”

    “With Clodius and Milo making life a misery with their struggle, I would think there will be thousands crossing the Alps in the spring. Land for the taking: who can resist such an offer? Slaves and trade for every man with enough energy to make the trip. If I were younger and poor, I might consider his offer myself. Of course, I am ready to provide the stores and supplies to anyone who wants to go to his fabulous new provinces.”

    Servilia laughed. “Always the merchant?”

    “A merchant prince, Servilia. Julius used the term in one of his letters, and I rather like it.” He waved away the slave girl and sat up on the long bench.

    “He is more useful than he knows, is Julius. When the city looks too long inward to its own affairs, we create men like Clodius and Milo, who care nothing for the greater events of the world. The reports Julius pays to be read on every street corner raise the spirits of the lowest tanner or dyer in the markets.” He chuckled. “Pompey knows it, though he hates to see Julius so successful. He is forced to fight for him in the Senate whenever Suetonius objects to some little breach of the laws. Such a bitter draft for that man to swallow, but without Julius and his conquests, Rome would become a stagnant pool, with all the fish eating each other out of desperation.”