Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (29 page)

    Adŕn did not interrupt. He sensed that Julius was on the edge of something important, and he strained forward in his chair to hear. Julius’s voice had a hypnotic quality, almost a whisper.

    “Countries are taken in blood. Women are raped, men killed, every horror you can imagine occurs a thousand times over, but then it ends and the victors settle the land. They farm and build cities and make laws. The people thrive, Adŕn, whether you like it or not. Then there is justice and rule of law. Those who prey on their neighbors are executed, cut out from the rest. They have to be, because even conquerors grow old and value peace. The blood of the invaders is mingled with the people on the land until a hundred years later they are not Celt or Carthaginian, or even Roman. They are like… wine and water, impossible to separate. It begins in battle, but they are raised by each wave, Adŕn. I tell you if I ever find a country that has not been tempered in fire, I will show you savages where we have built cities.”

    “You believe this?” Adŕn asked.

    Julius opened his eyes, the dark pupils gleaming. “I do not believe in a sword, Adŕn, because I can see it. It is just the truth. Rome is more than iron swords and harder men. I will bring them up, kicking and screaming. Gaul will suffer under my hand, but I will make them greater than they can imagine by the time I’m done.”

    The messenger sent by Mark Antony arrived at the door, clearing his throat softly to draw their attention. Both men snapped out of the reverie and Julius groaned, holding his head.

    “Find me a cold cloth and see if Cabera has any of his powders for pain,” he told the young man. As he turned back, he saw Adŕn’s expression was grim.

    “It is a strange view, General,” the young Spaniard ventured. “I can see why you would think such a thing, with an army poised to rush over Gaul. But it will be little comfort to the families that lose their men in the days to come.”

    Julius felt anger spike in him as the headache throbbed. “Do you think they are weaving flowers for each other while we sit here? The tribes are at each other’s throats, boy. At forty years old, Mhorbaine’s one of the tribal ancients. Think of that! Disease and war take them before they go gray. They may hate us, but they hate each other a great deal more. Now, let us leave this for another time. I have a letter to dictate for this Ariovistus. We will ask this ‘Friend of Rome’ to go quietly back from the lands he has conquered and leave Gaul behind him.”

    “Do you think he will?” Adŕn asked.

    Julius did not answer, but gestured for Adŕn to take up his writing tablet and began to dictate the letter to the king of the Suebi.

    Clearing the forests for the new road out to the plain took longer than Julius had hoped. Though the legions worked full days in the summer heat, each massive oak had to be cut down and then dragged out by teams of axmen and oxen. Cabera had begun to train some of the legion boys as assistants to deal with the broken bones and wounds that were the inevitable result of such labor. Two months passed agonizingly slowly before the first stone could be laid, but by the end of the fourth, the flat stones stretched almost forty miles, wide and strong enough to take the great catapults and siege machines without a tremor. New quarries had been dug in the hills and granite posts marked the miles from Rome, spreading the shadow farther than it had reached before.

    Julius gathered his council in the hall of the Roman buildings, Mhorbaine and Artorath sitting with them as his favored allies. He looked round at them all, resting his gaze at last on Adŕn, who was looking strangely at him. The young Spaniard had translated the messages that had flown between Ariovistus and the Roman province, and, of all of them, he knew what Julius was about to say. Julius wondered if there had ever been a time when he was as innocent as the young Spaniard. If there had been, it was too far back to remember.

    Ariovistus had not been an easy man to reach. The first two messengers had been sent back with the briefest of replies, disdaining any further interest in Julius or his legions. Mark Antony had managed to impress Julius with the need to walk carefully around the king, but the wording was dismissive and infuriating. At the end of the first month, Julius was waiting only for the road to be finished before taking his legions out to crush Ariovistus, friend of Rome or not. Yet he needed to be seen to have made every attempt to settle the issue peacefully. He knew Adŕn was not the only one of his men sending letters back to Rome. Pompey would have spies keeping him well informed, and the last thing Julius wanted was to have Rome declare him an enemy of the state for his actions. Such a thing was far from impossible with Pompey at the head of the Senate. No doubt the man had the senators trained to perfection, and a single vote could remove Julius’s authority at a stroke.

    The weeks had passed slowly enough, with the days filled with meeting the tribal leaders, promising them whatever they wanted if they would allow passage through their lands and provide supplies for the army as they marched. Brutus had taken to the language with a flair that surprised them both, and already he was able to take part in the negotiations, though his efforts reduced the Gauls to tears of laughter on occasion.

    Adŕn looked away as Julius smiled at him. The longer he spent in the company of the Roman leader, the more confused he felt. At times, when Julius tried to put him at his ease, Adŕn could feel the immense personal charm and understand why others followed him. Then there were moments when he could not believe the utter callousness of the generals as they decided the fate of millions in their councils. He could never decide if Julius was as ruthless as men like Renius, or whether he truly believed bringing Rome to Gaul was a better path for the tribes than any they could have found on their own. It did matter to the young man. If he thought Julius believed his own words about the glories of civilization, Adŕn could justify the respect he felt for him. If it was all a game, or a mask for conquest, then Adŕn had made the biggest mistake of his life in leaving Spain to follow him.

    “Ariovistus has scorned my messengers once again,” Julius said to his generals. They exchanged glances. “Though Mark Antony has expressed a desire for me to uphold the title of friend conferred on him, I cannot ignore the arrogance of this king. The scouts have reported a large army gathering on his borders for further conquest, and I have agreed to safeguard Aedui lands with our legions.”

    Julius flickered a glance at Mark Antony, who kept his eyes on the long table.

    “Mhorbaine’s cavalry will accompany the extraordinarii, for which I thank him,” Julius continued. Mhorbaine inclined his head with a wry smile.

    “As this Ariovistus has given service to Rome in the past, I will continue to send my messengers as we march. He will have every chance to meet me and create a peaceful resolution. I have informed the Senate of my actions and await a reply, though it may not come before we leave.”

    As they watched, Julius unrolled a map of the thinnest calfskin vellum. He placed lead weights at the corners and the men rose from their chairs to look at the land he revealed to them.

    “The scouts have marked the hills for us, gentlemen. The region is named Alsatia, three hundred miles to the north and west.”

    “It borders the Helvetii land,” Brutus murmured, poring over the map Mhorbaine had given them. It was little better than a set of painted regions, without detail, but none of the Romans in the room had seen that part of Gaul and were fascinated.

    “If we do not send the Suebi back over the Rhine, the Helvetii will not survive the next summer,” Julius replied. “After that, Ariovistus may look farther south to our own province. It is our duty to establish the Rhine as the natural border for Gaul. We will resist any attempt to cross it, no matter what the source. If necessary, I will bridge it and lead punishment raids deep into their own land. This Ariovistus has become arrogant, gentlemen. The Senate has let him run loose for far too long.”

    He ignored Mark Antony’s wince at his words.

    “Now let us prepare the marching order. Though I can hope for peace, we must prepare for war.”

CHAPTER 27

    After the rush to meet and turn the Helvetii, the more formal march along the new road was almost restful for the legion veterans. Though the days were still heavy with heat, the trees had begun their turn, already tinged with a thousand shades of red and brown. Crows lifted from the forests as they passed through, their voices harsh with warning. On the empty plains, it was easy for the legionaries to imagine they were the only men for a thousand miles.

    Julius kept the Tenth and extraordinarii at the front. The Aedui riders were given into the care of Domitius and Octavian and began to learn the discipline Julius required of his allies. Though he had been grateful to Mhorbaine for the added force, he had made it clear that they had to learn to follow orders and structure themselves in the Roman fashion. The extraordinarii had a busy time with the Gaulish riders, who seemed individualists to a man and not at all used to any form of organized attack.

    The great war machines accompanied the march, strapped down and safe while they were on the move, but with their expert teams close to them. Each of the heavy ballistae had a personal name cut into the great blocks of beech, and each legion preferred to use its own, loyally certain that they could throw farther and more accurately than any of the others. The scorpion bows looked little more than cartloads of spars and iron before assembly. The heavy arms took three men to reset after each shot, but the bolt could punch through a horse and kill another behind it. They were valued weapons and the legionaries who came close would often reach out to touch the metal for luck.

    The six legions stretched for ten miles on the road to the Helvetii plain, though that halved as Julius ordered a wider formation over open ground. As near as he was to Aedui land, he did not yet fear an attack, but he was painfully aware of the exposed column and the vast array of equipment and baggage that accompanied them. There were weak links in the chain from the province, but at the first sign of danger, the legions could re-form into wide protective squares, proof against anything he had seen thus far in Gaul. Julius knew he had the men and generals he needed. If he failed, the disgrace would be his alone.

    Mhorbaine had resisted the temptation to join them against his enemy. Though he had been torn, no leader of the Aedui could spend so long away from his people without usurpers rushing to take his place. Julius had bidden him farewell from the very edge of the Roman province, with the shining legions in a vast line behind him, standing with the tension of hunting hounds.

    Mhorbaine had cast his eyes over the still ranks waiting for their general and shaken his head at their discipline. His own warriors would have been milling around aimlessly before a march, and he found the Romans both depressing and frightening in comparison. As Julius turned away from him, Mhorbaine had called out the question he’d been turning over in his mind ever since he saw the strength of the force being sent against Ariovistus.

    “Who guards your land while you are gone?” he called.

    Julius turned back to him, his dark eyes boring into the Gaul. “You do, Mhorbaine. But there will be no need for guards.”

    Mhorbaine had looked askance at the Roman general in his polished armor. “There are many tribes who would be willing to take advantage of your absence, my friend. The Helvetii may return, and the Allobroges would steal anything they can lift.”

    He watched as Julius pulled his full-face helmet over his head, the iron features making him look like a statue come to life. His breastplate shone with oil and his brown arms were strong and scarred with a pattern of white lines against the darker skin.

    “They know we will return, Mhorbaine,” Julius had said, smiling beneath the mask.

    After the first mile, the iron helmet had come off, when the sweat pouring into his eyes began to sting and blur his vision. For all her best intentions, Alexandria had never walked a hundred miles in armor, no matter how well designed.

    When they came across a town, Julius accepted grain or meat as tribute. There was never enough food to become complacent, and he fretted at the guards he had to leave behind to keep the supplies coming from Mhorbaine. Using the legion night camps as way stations, the first links to the north were laid down. Later would come more-permanent roads and the merchants of Rome would reach farther and farther into the country, bringing anything they could sell. Given two or three years, he knew the roads would be manned by forts and guardposts. Those who had no land in Rome would come then to mark out new farms and start afresh, and fortunes would be made.

    It was a heady dream for Julius, though on that first march to Ariovistus his legions were never more than ten meals from starvation, a margin as desperately important as any other factor of their strength. Julius felt as if his force were being bled as he gave orders for mixed groups of cavalry and velites to keep the ground clear for the lifeline behind. He stretched his supply line as thinly as he dared, but Gaul was too vast to keep a thread right back to the Aedui, and he vowed to find other allies when he had dealt with Ariovistus.

    There were times when the land itself seemed to impede them. The ground was covered in heavy mounds of grass that shifted and turned underfoot, slowing the legions still further. It was a good day when they were twenty miles from the previous camp.

    When his scouts reported riders spying on the legions, Julius had thrown aside his lists and tallies with relief. The first sightings had been little more than glimpses of armed men, but the legions tautened subtly at the news. The soldiers oiled their blades with extra care each night, and there were fewer names on the discipline lists. He ordered the fastest of the extraordinarii out to search, but they lost their quarries in the woods and valleys, one of the best geldings breaking his leg at full gallop and killing his rider.

    Julius was convinced the spies were from Ariovistus, but he was still surprised when a lone rider appeared as the legions paused to eat their noon meal. The man trotted his mount from an arrowhead of trees on a sharp slope of granite in the line of march, causing a flurry of signals and warning horns. At the sound, the extraordinarii left their food untouched and ran to their horses, leaping into their saddles.

    “Wait!” Julius called to them, holding up a hand. “Let him come to us.”

    The legions formed ranks in a terrible silence, every eye focused on the rider who approached them with no sign of fear.

    The stranger dismounted as he reached the first ranks of the Tenth. Briefly, he looked around him and then nodded to himself as he saw Julius in his armor and the array of flags and extraordinarii around him. As their eyes met, Julius struggled not to show the discomfort he felt. He could hear his legionaries murmuring nervously and one or two of them made protective signs with their hands at the rider’s unearthly appearance.

    He was dressed in leather armor over rough cloth, his lower legs bare. Round iron plates capped his shoulders, making him seem even more massive than he already was. He was tall, though Ciro topped his height by inches and Artorath would have dwarfed him. It was his face and skull that made the Romans glance uneasily at each other as he passed.

    He looked like no race of men Julius had ever seen, with such a line of bone above his eyes that they seemed to peer out from constant shadow. His skull was shaved bare except for a long tail of hair at the joint of his neck that swung behind him as he walked, weighed down with dark metal ornaments wound into its length. The skull itself was heavily deformed, with a second ridge above the first.

    “Do you understand me? What is your name and tribe?” Julius asked.

    The warrior studied him without replying and Julius shook himself mentally, suddenly aware that the man must know the effect he had. Indeed, Ariovistus had probably chosen him for that reason.

    “I am Redulf of the Suebi. I learned your words when my king fought for you and was named friend for life,” the man replied.

    It was eerie to hear Latin from such a demonic-looking individual, but Julius nodded, relieved not to have to depend on the interpreters Mhorbaine had provided.

    “You are from Ariovistus, then?” Julius said.

    “I have said it,” the man replied.

    Julius felt a prickle of irritation. The man was as arrogant as his master.

    “Say what you have been told then, boy,” Julius replied. “I will not suffer a delay from you.”

    The man stiffened at the taunt and Julius saw a slow flush spread along the bony ridges of his brow. Was it a deformity of birth, or the result of some strange ceremony amongst the men across the Rhine? Julius beckoned a messenger to him, murmuring that Cabera should be brought up to the front of the column. As the messenger darted away, the warrior spoke, his voice pitched to carry.

    “King Ariovistus will meet you by the rock known as the Hand in the north. I am to say he will not allow your walking soldiers to accompany you. He will come with his riding men only and will allow the same for you. Those are his terms.”

    “Where is this rock?” Julius asked, narrowing his eyes in thought.

    “Three days’ march north. Fingers of rock crown the peak. You will know it. He will wait for you there.”

    “And if I choose to ignore the terms?” Julius said.

    The warrior shrugged. “Then he will not be there and will consider himself betrayed. You may expect war from us until one of our armies is broken.”

    His sneer as he looked around at the Roman officers made his view of such an outcome perfectly clear. Redulf glanced at Cabera as he arrived, moving slowly on a stick and the messenger’s arm. The old healer was haggard from the privations of the march, but still his blue eyes looked with fascination at the warrior’s unusual skull.

    “Tell your master I will meet him where you say, Redulf,” Julius said. “I will honor the friendship my city has given him and meet him in peace at the rock you named. Run back now and tell him all you have seen and heard.”

    Redulf glared at this dismissal, but contented himself with another sneer at the Roman ranks before striding back to his horse. Julius saw that Brutus had brought the extraordinarii up to form a wide avenue down which the man was forced to ride. He looked neither left nor right as he passed their ranks and dwindled quickly into the distance of the north.

    Brutus cantered up and dismounted.

    “By Mars, he was a strange one,” Brutus said. He noticed one of the Tenth near him making a protective sign with his fingers. He frowned, considering the effect on the more superstitious men under his command.

    “Cabera? You saw him,” Julius said. “Was it a birth deformity?”

    Cabera looked into the distance after the rider. “I have never seen one that was so regular, as if it had been made deliberately. I don’t know, General. Perhaps if I could examine him more closely, I could be sure. I will think on it.”

    “I suppose this Ariovistus isn’t asking for peace and saving us the trouble of dealing with his ugly men?” Brutus asked Julius.

    “Not yet. Now that we’re close to him, he has suddenly decided he will meet me, after all. Strange how Roman legions can influence a man’s mind,” Julius replied. His smile faded as he thought of the rest of the king’s message.

    “He wants me to take cavalry alone to the meeting place, Brutus.”

    “What? I hope you refused. I will not leave you in the hands of our Gaulish riders, Julius. Never in this life. You must not give him the chance to trap you, friend of Rome or not.” Brutus looked appalled at the idea, but then Julius spoke again.

    “Rome watches us, Brutus. Mark Antony was right about that. Ariovistus must be treated with respect.”

    “Mhorbaine said his people lived in the saddle,” Brutus replied. “Did you see the way that ugly bastard rode? If they’re all like him, you won’t want to be caught in the open with just the Aedui and a handful of extraordinarii.”

    “Oh, I don’t think I will be,” Julius said, a slow smile stealing across his face. “Summon the Aedui to me, Brutus.”

    “What are you going to do?” Brutus asked, thrown by the sudden change in his general’s demeanor.

    Julius grinned like a boy. “I am going to mount the Tenth on horseback, Brutus. Three thousand of my veterans and the extraordinarii should be enough to clip his wings, don’t you think?”

    Pompey finished his address to the Senate and asked for speakers before the vote to come. Though there was a brittle tension in the three hundred men of the Curia, at least the threat of violence had diminished from their debates, if not the streets outside. At the thought, Pompey glanced over to where Clodius sat, a shaven-headed bull of a man who had been born in the gutters of the city and had risen simply by being more ruthless than any of his competitors. With Crassus’s stranglehold over trade, Clodius should have found himself a quiet retirement, but instead had cut his losses and stood for election to the Senate. Pompey shuddered as he considered the brutal, flat features. Some of the things he had heard were surely exaggerated, he told himself. If they were true, it would have meant another city hidden beneath Rome, one perhaps that Clodius already ruled. The bullish figure was to be seen at every session of the Senate, and when he was balked, gangs of raptores would rampage through the city, disappearing into the maze of alleys whenever the legion guards came after them. Clodius was cunning enough to denounce the gangs in public, throwing his hands up in amazement whenever their violence coincided with some check to his ambition.