Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (34 page)

    “How long before the ships are built, though?” Renius asked.

    “They will be ready by next spring, if I can find funds to pay for them. I have written to request the Senate take on the burden of paying for our new legions. Crassus has assured me he will make the loan if the Senate fails us, but there is every reason to suppose they are pleased with our progress here. Perhaps too, the winter will not be so hard this year and we can make our preparations in the dark months.”

    Julius drummed his fingers on the table.

    “I have a single report from a scout on the Rhine. More of the Germanic tribes have crossed into our land and must be repulsed. I have sent five of the Aedui to confirm the sightings and bring a fresh estimate of their numbers. I will engage them before they come too far into our own land. Once they have been beaten, I plan to cross the river and pursue them as I should have done with the Suebi. I cannot allow the wild tribes over the river to attack our flanks whenever they smell a hint of weakness. I will make them a reply they will not forget in a generation and seal the Rhine behind me when I return.”

    He looked around the table as they digested the news.

    “We must move quickly to crush each threat as it appears. Just one more at this time and we would be stretched from one end of Gaul to another. I will take my Tenth and the Third Gallica under Brutus to the Rhine. One of the new Gaul legions will accompany us in the rear. There will be no conflict of loyalty against such an enemy. Mhorbaine has agreed to have his cavalry travel with me once again. The rest of you will act independently in my name.

    “Crassus, I expect you to return to the northwest and destroy the land forces of the Veneti. Burn their ships, or at least force them off the coast and prevent them landing for supplies. Domitius, you will take the Fourth Gallica with him in support. Mark Antony, you will remain here with your legion. The Twelfth and Fifth Ariminum will stay with you. You will be my center and I expect you not to lose any of the lands we have won while I am away. Use caution, but strike if the need arises.

    “The last task is an easy one, Bericus. Your Ariminum legion has earned a rest and I need a good man to oversee the new settlers coming over the Alps. The Senate will be sending four praetors to govern the new provinces, and they will need to be shown the realities of our situation here.”

    Bericus groaned and rolled his eyes, making Julius laugh. The thought of having to play nursemaid to thousands of green Roman settlers was hardly an ideal appointment, but Bericus was a sound administrator and Julius had spoken the truth when he said the legion had earned a period away from the pace of constant battle they had endured.

    Julius continued to give out his orders and positions until each man there knew his lines of supply and the extent of his authority. He smiled when they replied with wit and he answered every query with the complete knowledge they had come to expect from him. The legionaries claimed that he knew the name of every man under his command, and whether that was true or not, Julius had mastered every aspect of the legion life. He was never at a loss or unable to provide a quick answer to any question put to him, and it all went further to establish the confidence of the men.

    Brutus looked again around the table and found nothing but determination in those who were given tasks that meant hardship, pain, and perhaps death for some or all of them. As Julius spread out his maps and began to move to the more detailed matters of terrain and supply, Brutus watched him, barely hearing the words. How many of the men in that room would see Rome again? he wondered. As Julius traced the line of the Rhine with his finger and told them his assessments, Brutus could not imagine a time when the man he followed could ever be made to stop.

CHAPTER 32

    On the first autumn day of Julius’s fourth year in Gaul, Pompey and Crassus walked together through the forum, deep in conversation. Around them, the great open space at the center of the city was filled with thousands of citizens and slaves. Orators addressed those who could be persuaded to listen, and their voices carried over the heads of the crowd on a hundred different subjects. Slaves from wealthy houses hurried through, carrying packages and scrolls for their masters. It had become fashionable to dress house slaves in bright colors, and many wore bright blue or gold tunics, a myriad of shades that wove through the darker reds and browns of workers and merchants. Armed guards made stately progress across the forum, each group surrounding their employer at the center. It was the bustling, hurried heart of the city, and neither Pompey nor Crassus noticed the subtle differences in the mood of the crowd around them.

    The first Pompey knew of the trouble to come was a rough shove as one of his legionaries was knocked into him. Sheer astonishment made Pompey forget his instincts for survival, and he stopped. The crowd was thickening even as he hesitated, and the faces were ugly with intent. Crassus recovered faster and pulled Pompey toward the Senate house. If there was to be yet another riot, it was best to get clear as quickly as possible and send the guards out to restore order.

    The space around the senators was filled with pushing, jeering men. A stone flew over their heads and struck someone else in the crowd. Pompey saw one of his lictors brought down with a blow from a length of wood and felt a moment of panic before he gathered his courage. He drew a dagger from his belt and held it blade-down so that it could be used to stab or slash. When one of the crowd pressed too close, he opened the man’s cheek without hesitation, seeing him fall back with a cry.

    “Guards! To me!” Pompey roared.

    The crowd bayed at him and he saw three burly men force one of his legionaries to the ground, stabbing at him over and over as they were lost to view. A woman screamed nearby and Pompey heard his call taken up by the horror-struck citizens beyond the men who were attacking him. Milo’s men, he was certain. He should have expected it after their leader’s isolation in the Senate, but Pompey had only a handful of soldiers and lictors with him and they would not be enough. He used his dagger again and saw Crassus lash out a fist, snapping the nose of an attacker.

    The lictors were armed with a ceremonial axe and rods for scourging. Once they had freed them from the bindings, the hatchets were fearsome weapons in a crowd and they literally cut a path for Pompey and Crassus toward the Senate house. Yet their numbers dwindled as knives were jabbed into them, and the circle of safety around the two senators shrank until there was almost no room for them to move in the press.

    Pompey knew hope and despair in the same moment when he heard horns sounding across the forum. His legion had turned out for him, but it would be too late. Fingers yanked cruelly at his toga and he sliced his dagger into them, sawing in a frenzy until they fell away. Crassus was knocked from his feet by another stone, and Pompey dragged him up and onward, holding him close as the older man gathered his wits. There was blood on his mouth.

    The noise hammered at them and then changed slightly. New faces appeared in even greater numbers and Pompey saw them cut down the ones who struggled to reach him. Knots of bellowing men separated from the mass, fighting not as legionaries but with cleavers and meathooks and stones held in their hands. Pompey saw one man’s face smashed into pulp by repeated blows before he fell.

    All forward movement ceased and though Pompey could see the steps of the Senate house only a short distance away, it was too far. He jabbed his dagger into everything he could reach in a fury and didn’t know he was shouting in a mindless rage.

    The press of bodies lightened without warning and Pompey saw the bloody knives of raptores held almost in salute as they backed away. Crushed bodies and screaming, wounded men lay all about them, but they did not attack. Pompey beckoned, holding his dagger ready, the blade parallel to his forearm. Sweat poured from him and he watched in astonishment as the men pulled back to form a pathway to the steps of the Senate house. He darted a glance in that direction and considered how far he would get if he ran, then decided against it. He would not show them his back.

    In that moment, he saw the uniforms of his legions battering through the press and Clodius standing there, panting. The mob leader seemed terribly solid compared to the others. Though he was not a tall man, he was tremendously strong and the crowd gave ground instinctively around him, as wolves will look away from the most brutal of the pack. His shaven head gleamed with sweat in the morning sun. Pompey could only stare.

    “They’ve scattered, Pompey, the ones who lived,” Clodius said. “Call off your soldiers.” His right hand was wet with blood and the blade he carried had snapped off close to the hilt.

    Pompey turned as an officer of his legion raised his sword to cut Clodius down.

    “Hold!” Pompey cried, understanding at last. “These are allies.”

    Clodius nodded at that and Pompey heard the order repeated as the legion gathered around him, forming a fighting square. Clodius began to be pushed away, but Pompey took his arm.

    “Do I need to guess who is behind this attack?” he asked.

    Clodius shrugged his massive shoulders. “He is already in the Senate building. There will be no link back to him, you can be sure. Milo is cunning enough to keep his hands clean.” As if in irony, Clodius threw down his broken knife and wiped his bloody fists on the hem of his robe.

    “You had men ready?” Pompey asked, hating the constant suspicion that was part of his life.

    Clodius narrowed his eyes at the implication. “No. I never set foot in the forum without fifty of my lads. They were enough to reach you in time. I knew nothing until it started.”

    “Then we owe our lives to your quick thinking,” Pompey said. He heard a whimper cut off nearby and spun round. “Are there any left alive to be questioned?”

    Clodius looked at him. “Not now. There are no names given in that sort of work. Believe me, I know.”

    Pompey nodded, trying to ignore the inner voice that wondered if Clodius had staged the whole thing. It was an unpleasant thought, but he owed a debt to the man that would bind him for years. To many men in the Senate, such a debt would be worth the deaths of a few of their servants, and Clodius was known to be ruthless in every part of his life. Pompey met Crassus’s eyes and guessed the old man was thinking along similar lines. Very slightly, Crassus lifted his shoulders and let them drop, and Pompey looked back to the man who had saved them. There was no way of knowing and probably never would be.

    Pompey realized he was still gripping his dagger and uncurled his fingers painfully from the hilt. He felt old next to the bull-like strength of Clodius. While part of him wanted to wash the blood from his skin and soak in a hot bath somewhere private and, above all, safe, he knew more was expected from him. Hundreds of men stood within earshot and before nightfall the whole grisly incident would be the talking point of every shop and tavern in the city.

    “I am late for the Senate, gentlemen,” he said, his voice growing in strength. “Clean away the blood before I return. The corn taxes won’t be delayed for any man.”

    It wasn’t much in the way of wit, but Clodius chuckled.

    With Crassus at his shoulder, Pompey walked along the avenue of Clodius’s men, and many bowed their heads respectfully as they passed.

    The Tenth withdrew in panic, their orderly lines dissolving into the chaos of a complete rout. Thousands of the Senones cavalry pursued them, breaking off from the main battle where the Ariminum legions fought solidly and held the line.

    The fortified camp from the night before was less than a mile away, and the retreating Tenth covered it at great speed, Julius with them. The extraordinarii protected the rear from the wild assaults by the Senones, and not a man was lost as they reached the heavy gates of the fort and rushed inside.

    The Senones were proving to be difficult adversaries. Julius had lost large numbers of the Third Gallica in an ambush from woodland and others since then. The tribe had learned not to offer a direct battle against the legions. Instead, they skirmished and moved away, using their cavalry to harass the Roman forces without ever allowing themselves to be caught where they could be crushed.

    The extraordinarii followed the men of the Tenth under the gates of the fort and closed them behind. It was a humiliating position, but the fort had been designed for exactly that purpose. As well as giving protection for the night, it allowed the legions to retreat to a strong position. The Senones riders whooped and yelled as they rode round the huge banked walls, though they were careful to keep out of range. Twice before, Julius had been forced to bring back his entire force within the walls, and the Senones hooted as they brought it about again.

    Their king rode with them and long banners waved from spears set into his saddle. Julius watched from the wall as the Senones’ leader brandished his sword at the men in the fort, mocking them. Julius showed his teeth.

    “Now, Brutus!” he called down.

    The Senones could not see into the camp and their cheering continued unabated. Over the thunder of their own hooves, they did not hear the extraordinarii as they gathered at the far end and kicked their mounts into a gallop across the wide camp, straight at the wall near the gate.

    As they gathered speed, fifty men of the Tenth used lengths of wood to break down the loose blocks that made up the wall. It fell away just as Julius had designed it to do, leaving an open space wide enough for five horses to ride abreast.

    The extraordinarii came out like arrows, straight at the king. Before his riders could react, he was surrounded and dragged from his horse. The extraordinarii wheeled in the face of the enemy and galloped back inside the gap in the walls, with the king yelling across Brutus’s saddle.

    Julius opened the gates and the Tenth marched out in triumph. The panic and fear they had pretended had vanished and they hit the milling Senones with a roar. The Tenth hammered them with spears and swords and forced the Gauls farther and farther away from the fort and their captured king. Behind them, the hole in the wall was filled with carts that had been left for that purpose and Julius leapt into his saddle to race after them, glancing back to see the fort made secure once more.

    It had taken a moonless night to construct the false wall, but it could not have worked better. The king of the Senones had been crucial to their attacks, a man able to answer every stratagem with speed and intelligence. Removing him from the battle was a vital step in beating the tribe.

    Julius cantered to the front line of the Tenth and saw their pleasure at his presence. The Ariminum legions were holding their position as they had been told, and now the Tenth could strike the rear of the Senones, smashing them between the two forces.

    From the first instant of the Tenth reaching their lines, Julius could feel the difference in the shifting mass of riders and foot soldiers. They had relied too much on their king, and without him they were already close to panic.

    Though they tried to detach in units as their king had ordered on previous days, the core of discipline had vanished. Instead of an orderly retreat for tactical advantage, two charges fouled each other as they tried to organize themselves. The Tenth smashed them down from their saddles and moved on. Riderless horses ran screaming around the battlefield and the Senones were crushed, hundreds of them throwing down their arms and surrendering as the news of the king’s capture spread.

    Three miles away lay their largest town and Julius marched the Tenth toward it as soon as the warriors were disarmed and bound as slaves. The price for them would swell his coffers still further, and the town was known to be wealthy. After he paid his share to the Senate, he still hoped to have enough to increase his fleet and finally be able to cross the grim channel between Gaul and the islands. They had captured nine ships from the Veneti, but he would need another twenty galleys to take more than a scouting force to sea. One more year to build them and then he would take his best men to lands no Roman had ever seen before.

    As the Tenth marched toward the Senones’ stronghold, Julius laughed aloud with the excitement of such a prospect, even as his mind filled with the thousand details of supply and administration that his men required to take the field. He was to meet with a delegation from three tribes along the coast in two days and expected them to bring tribute and a new treaty. With the Veneti fleet sunk or run aground, that whole part of the north had surrendered to him, and now that the Senones had been removed from the equation, a full half of Gaul was his. There were no tribes who hadn’t heard of the legions by then. Gaul was buzzing with the news of his conquests, and he rarely saw a day when their leaders didn’t travel to his camps and wait for his signature on a treaty. Adŕn was kept busy and had been forced to take on three other scribes to handle the endless copying and translation.

    Julius wondered what to do with the king he had captured. If he was left alive, Julius thought him capable of leading a rebellion in the years to come. The king’s own ability prevented mercy and Julius decided his fate without regret.