Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (32 page)

    “And you, Crassus? What does the future hold for you?”

    Crassus rose from the table and lowered himself into the warm bath set in the floor, oblivious of his nudity. “I find that old age is the perfect balm for raging ambition, Servilia. My dreams are all for my son.” His eyes twinkled in the starlight and she did not believe him.

    “Will you join me?” he asked.

    As an answer, Servilia stood and undid the single clasp that held the cool material to her. She was naked underneath and Crassus smiled at the unveiling.

    “How you do love drama, my dear,” he said with amusement.

    Julius swore as the Roman squares faltered. After two days of pursuit, he had forced the Suebi to face them only a few miles short of the Rhine. He knew he should have expected the attack, but when it came, the reversal had been so sudden that the armies clashed before the Roman legions could even untie their spears.

    The warriors of Ariovistus were every bit as brutal as they had expected. They gave no ground unless it was over the corpses of their men, and the cavalry swirled like smoke around the battlefield, with charges forming the instant the Romans broke their squares to attack.

    “Mark Antony! Support the left!” Julius bellowed, glimpsing the general in the heaving mass. There was no sign of his order having been heard over the clash of arms.

    The battlefield was in chaos and, for the first time, he began to fear a defeat. Every Suebi rider ran with another man hanging on the horse’s mane, and that speed of movement was making it almost impossible to counter them. Julius saw with horror that two of the Ariminum legions were close to being overwhelmed on the left flank and there was no sign of a supporting force arriving to help them. He could no longer see Mark Antony, and Brutus was embroiled in the fighting, too far away to help. Julius tore a shield from a legionary’s grasp and raced on foot across the battlefield.

    The clash of arms and dying men grew in intensity as he neared them. Julius could feel the fear amongst his own legionaries and he began to call them by name. The chain of command seemed to have been broken in the attack, and Julius was forced to gather optios and centurions to him to give his orders.

    “Join the Twelfth and Fifth together. Double the square!” he told them, watching as they began to create order from the milling ranks around him. His extraordinarii were off on the flanks holding the Suebi from surrounding them. Where was Mark Antony? Julius craned around him, but could see no sign of him in the press.

    Under Julius’s constant barrage of orders, the two legions joined together and then wheeled to fight back to back as the Suebi crumbled the edges of their squares, picking men off with sudden flights of darts and stones. Again and again, the horses galloped at the legions only to halt in the face of the unbroken shield walls. The legionaries charged forward as the riders tried to turn, and the carnage was horrific.

    With the Rhine behind them, the Suebi had nowhere to run and Julius knew panic when he saw the front ranks of his beloved Tenth being smashed down by spears thrown at the gallop. The shields saved many and they rose in a daze, brought back to their position by their friends around them.

    Still the legions forced themselves onward. The great ballistae and onagers were brought up and tore red ribbons in the enemy. The Tenth roared as Julius rejoined them, fighting all the harder under his watchful eye.

    Julius saw the left and right flanks were holding. Brutus controlled the right, and the extraordinarii and Aedui cavalry had blunted the Suebi’s attacks with wild courage. He advanced the center and the Suebi were forced to fall back by the sheer ferocity of the legion formations.

    Julius saw with pride that his officers knew their business, even without orders. When the foot soldiers of the Suebi rushed them, they widened their line to bring as many swords as possible into the attack. When the cavalry charged, they clashed into squares and fought on. The ballistae and onagers launched again and again until they were too far behind to risk their missiles falling on the Roman troops.

    Julius saw Ariovistus gather his bodyguard around him, a thousand of the very best of the Suebi. Each one stood a head taller than the Romans and was marked with the strange ridges that frightened the legionaries. They charged the Tenth in the center and Julius saw the square formed just too late to prevent the armored warriors from reaching them.

    The center buckled and then, with a roar, the Tenth fought back like maniacs in a blood rage. Julius remembered how they had been created from the deaths of those who had faltered, and he smiled with a vicious pleasure. The Tenth were his and they would not be turned. They would never run.

    He surged forward with the soldiers around him, calling out for the flanks to form horns to compress the enemy. Julius caught a glimpse of the dark horses of the Aedui coming from the left and isolating a block of the Suebi from the main force. The Tenth climbed over bodies to reach the enemy. The ground was red and shining as they built speed into a charge, and Ariovistus was forced to ride back from the front before the roaring Tenth and Third could reach him.

    The whole of the Roman lines saw the king retreat and they responded, raising their heads. Julius exulted. The Rhine was less than a mile distant and he could see the shining water. He called his cornicens to him and ordered spears to be thrown, watching as the mass of missiles hampered any attempt by Ariovistus to re-form. A gap opened between the armies and Julius urged them all forward, calling to the men he knew. As he mentioned their names, they stood a little straighter and forgot their weariness under his gaze.

    “Bring up the ballistae and scorpions!” he ordered, and his messengers weaved their way back to help the sweating teams over the rough ground.

    Without an apparent signal, the entire mass of the Suebi formed another charge and thundered down toward the Roman lines. Spears plucked some of them from their saddles and killed mounts that fouled those behind. Julius knew it was their last charge and his men moved into tight squares before he could order it.

    The long Roman shields were overlapped and the men behind braced themselves to take an impact, their swords ready. Not one part of the Roman lines fell back from the terrifying sight of the horses coming at them. When the Suebi faltered, the legions tore them apart.

    The army of Ariovistus began to be compressed against the river. Without the extraordinarii and the Aedui, Julius knew they could have overwhelmed the Romans, but though they hammered the flanks again and again, the legions continued their advance, killing anything that faced them.

    The banks of the Rhine seethed with men and horses as they risked their lives to cross against the current. The great river was almost a hundred yards wide and those without mounts to cling to were swept away and drowned. Julius could see tiny fishing boats crammed with desperate men and watched as one of them overturned, the dark bobbing heads of the Suebi disappearing under the water.

    On the left flank, a thousand of the enemy threw down their arms and surrendered to the Ariminum legions they had failed to break. Julius pushed on with his Tenth until they were standing on the banks of the river, looking at the mass of drowning men that choked the water from his side right to the deepest center. Those of the Tenth who had been able to salvage or keep their spears threw them at the men in the water, and Julius saw many struck in that way, slipping beneath the surface with no more than a single cry.

    On the far bank, Julius saw a boat make it into the shallows and watched as the figure of Ariovistus climbed out and collapsed onto his knees for a moment.

    “Ciro!” Julius called, his voice echoing as the name went back into the ranks of the Tenth, producing the powerful figure of the legionary, still panting with the strain of the battle. Julius handed him a single spear and pointed to the figure on the far bank.

    “Can you reach him?”

    Ciro hefted the spear in his hand. The soldiers around him stood back to give him room as he stared across the wide river.

    “Quickly, before he rises,” Julius snapped.

    Ciro took five steps back and then ran forward, heaving the spear into the air. The men of the Tenth watched it in fascination as it rose high into the sun and then fell.

    Ariovistus stood to face the Romans on the far bank and never saw it. The spear hammered him off his feet, puncturing his leather armor over the stomach. The king flailed limply as the survivors of his bodyguard dragged him into the trees.

    After a moment of awed silence, the legions cheered themselves hoarse. Ciro raised a single arm to them in salute and grinned as Julius clapped him on the back.

    “A hero’s throw, Ciro. By the gods, I have never seen a finer. Hercules himself could not have done better.” Julius roared his triumph with the others then and felt the exultation that comes from victory, when the blood seemed to rush like fire through the veins and tired muscles surged with fresh strength.

    “My glorious Tenth!” Julius shouted to them. “My brothers! Is there anything you cannot achieve? You, Belinus, I saw you strike down three of the warriors in the line. You, Regulus, you gathered in your century when poor Decidas fell. You will do him honor when you wear his plume.”

    One by one, he called the names of the men who were with him, praising their courage. He had missed nothing of the day’s fighting, and they stood tall as his gaze swept the faces of his men. The other legions came closer to hear him and he could feel their pride and pleasure. He raised his voice to carry as far as it could.

    “What can we not achieve, after this?” They cheered the words. “We are the sons of Rome and I tell you this land will be ours! Every man who has fought for me will have land and gold and slaves to work it for him. You will be the new nobilitas of Rome and drink wine good enough to make you weep. I swear it before you all, on my honor. I swear it as consul. I swear it as Rome in Gaul.”

    Julius reached down into the churned mud of the riverbank, mixed with the blood of the Suebi. He pulled up a handful and held it up to the assembled men.

    “You see this clay? This bloody clay I hold? I say it is yours. It belongs to my city as much as the chariot races or the markets. Take it up, hold it in your hands. Can you not feel it?”

    He watched with wild pleasure as the legions copied his action, joking and laughing as they did so. They grinned at him as they held up their pieces of the land, and Julius squeezed his fist closed, so that the clay dripped from between his fingers.

    “I may never go home,” he whispered. “This is my time. This is my path.”

CHAPTER 30

    Tabbic and Alexandria wrapped their cloaks tight against the cold as they approached the locked door of the shop. The streets were rimed with dirty ice, making every step a danger. Alexandria held on to Tabbic’s arm to help steady them both. Her two guards made their habitual inspection of the area as Tabbic pushed his key into the lock and swore under his breath when it jammed. All around them, the workers of Rome went to their jobs and shops, and one or two nodded stiffly to Alexandria as they passed, miserable in the biting wind.

    “Lock’s frozen,” Tabbic said, pulling out the key and thumping his fist against the ornate doorplate.

    Alexandria rubbed her arms while she waited, knowing better than to offer advice. Tabbic may have been an irritable old man, but he had made the lock himself and if anyone could open it, he could. While she tried to ignore the wind, Tabbic reached for his jewelry tools and used a tiny pick to clear the ice. When that failed, he tried a few drops of oil and pressed one hand after another against the metal in an attempt to warm the mechanism, blowing on his fingers as they froze on contact.

    “There she goes,” he said as the lock clicked at last and the door swung open to reveal the dark recesses of the workshop.

    Alexandria’s teeth chattered and her hands shook. It would be some time before she was warm enough to attempt any fine work, and as usual she wished Tabbic would employ a slave to come in early and light the forge for them. He wouldn’t hear of it. He had never owned slaves and had been irritated at Alexandria’s suggestion, saying she of all people should know better.

    If that hadn’t been enough, it was even possible that the slave would be provided by one of the gangs and all their precious stock would disappear into the coffers of Clodius or Milo. The same reason prevented them from hiring a night guard, and Alexandria was thankful every morning when they found the shop untouched. For all Tabbic’s traps and locks, they had been lucky so far. At least it wouldn’t be long before they completed the purchase of a spacious new place in an area less troubled by the raptores. Tabbic had agreed to that at last, if only to fill the large orders that were the backbone of their business.

    Tabbic hurried over to light the forge and Alexandria shut the door securely against the wind, unclenching her stiff fingers in something like ecstasy.

    “We’ll be going, then, mistress,” Teddus said.

    As always after the morning walk to the shop, his leg was barely holding him and Alexandria shook her head. Teddus never changed from one morning to the next, and though she had never sent him straight back into the cold, he still gave her the opportunity.

    “Not until you have something hot inside you,” she said firmly.

    He was a good man, though his son might as well have been mute for all the interest he took in those he guarded with his father. In the mornings, he was particularly sullen.

    They could all hear the welcome crackle of the spills and wood chippings in the furnace as Tabbic nursed it into life. With the great iron block to warm them, the shop needed no other fire. Alexandria broke the ice on a water bucket she had filled the day before and poured it into the old iron kettle Tabbic had made in that same forge. The routine was comforting and the three men with her began to relax as the room temperature eased above freezing.

    Alexandria was startled when the door opened behind them.

    “Come back later,” she called, then fell silent as three hard-looking men entered the confined space and carefully shut the door behind them.

    “I hope we won’t have to,” the first said.

    He was a typical product of the back alleys of Rome. Too cunning to be interested in the legions and too vicious for any sort of normal work. Alexandria realized she could smell him, an unwashed stale reek that made her want to take a step back. The man grinned at her, revealing dark yellow teeth in shriveled gums. He didn’t have to go on for her to know he was one of the raptores who clustered under Clodius or Milo. The shop owners in the area told terrible tales of their threats and violence, and Alexandria found herself hoping Teddus would not provoke them. The leering menace of the men made her face the truth that her guard was just too old for his sort of work.

    “We’re closed,” Tabbic said behind her.

    Alexandria heard a faint clink as he picked up some sort of tool. She didn’t look round, but the eyes of the intruders fastened on him. The leader snorted contemptuously.

    “Not to us, old man. Unless you want to be closed to everyone else,” he said.

    Alexandria hated him for his knowing arrogance. He built and made nothing, but still seemed to think he had the right to enter the shops and homes of hardworking people and make them afraid.

    “What do you want?” Tabbic asked.

    The leader of the three scratched his neck and examined what he found there before cracking something dark between his nails.

    “I want your tithe, old man. This street isn’t safe unless you pay your tithe. Eighty sesterces a month and nothing will happen. No one will be beaten as they walk home. Nothing valuable will be burnt.” He paused and winked at Alexandria. “No one will be dragged into an alleyway and raped. We’ll keep you safe.”

    “You filth!” Tabbic shouted. “How dare you come into my shop with your threats? Get out now, or I will call the guards. Take your grinning friends with you!”

    The three men looked bored at the outburst.

    “Come on, old man,” the first said, rolling his massive shoulders. “See what I’ll give you if you don’t put that hammer down. Or perhaps the lad? I’ll do him here in front of you, if you want. Either way, I’m not leaving until I have your first month’s payment. Clodius don’t like those who make a fuss, and this street is his now. Better just to pay what you owe and be left in peace.” He chuckled and the sound made Alexandria shudder. “The trick is not to think of it as your money. It’s just another city tax.”

    “I pay my taxes!” Tabbic roared. He waved a heavy hammer in the man’s direction, making him flinch. The other two behind him shuffled in closer, and Alexandria could see knives in their belts.

    Teddus drew his short gladius in one sweeping movement, and the atmosphere in the shop changed. All three of the men produced their knives, but Teddus held the sword with a wrist stronger than his lame leg. Alexandria could see the irritation in the leader’s face. None of them looked round as Teddus’s son drew his own dagger and held it. The younger man was nothing like the threat of his father, and the leader of the raptores knew it. More importantly, he knew he would either have to kill the swordsman or leave.

    “I won’t warn you, whoreson. Get out,” Teddus said slowly, looking the leader in the eye.

    The leader of the raptores lunged his head forward and back in a sudden spasm like a fighting cock. Teddus moved, but the man guffawed, his coarse laughter filling the shop.

    “Bit slow, aren’t you? I could take you here, but why should I bother when it’s so much easier to wait for you in the dark?” He ignored Teddus then and looked back at Tabbic, still standing with his hammer raised to one shoulder.

    “Eighty sesterces on the first of each month. First payment by the end of today. It’s just business, you old fool. Will I take it with me now, or shall I come back for you one at a time?”

    Once again, he winked at Alexandria and she recoiled from the knowledge in that glance.

    “No. I’ll pay you. Then, when you’re gone, I’ll tell the guards and see you cut.”

    Tabbic reached into his cloak and the chink of coins made the three men smile. The leader tutted aloud.

    “No you won’t,” he said. “I have friends, me. Lots of friends who would be angry if I was taken out to the Campus and shown the butcher’s knife. Your wife and children would be very sorry if my friends were angry about something like that.”

    Deftly, he caught the thrown pouch of coins, counting them quickly before placing it inside his grubby tunic next to the skin. He chuckled at their expressions and spat a wad of dark phlegm onto the tiled floor.

    “That’s the way. I hope business is good, old man. I’ll see you next month.”

    The three of them opened the door, leaning into the wind that came rushing into the shop. They left it open behind them and disappeared into the dark streets. Teddus walked over and shoved it closed, pulling down the locking bar. Tabbic did indeed look like an old man as he turned away from Alexandria, unable to meet her gaze. He was pale and shaking as he laid the hammer down on the bench and picked up his long brush. He began to sweep the clean floor in slow strokes.

    “What are we going to do?” Alexandria demanded.

    For a long time, Tabbic remained silent, until she wanted to shout the question at him and break the stillness.

    “What can we do?” he said at last. “I won’t risk my family for anything.”

    “We can shut the shop until the new place is ready. It’s halfway across the city, Tabbic. In a better area. It will be different there.”

    Despair and weariness showed in Tabbic’s face. “No. That bastard didn’t say anything about whether the shop was open or closed. He’ll still want his money if we don’t sell a single piece.”

    “Just for a month, then. Until we close up and get out,” she said, wanting to see some spark of life break his stunned misery.

    Tabbic hated thieves. Handing over coins he had worked days for hurt him more deeply than a physical pain. His hands shook with reaction as he changed his grip on the broom. Then he looked up at her.

    “There is nowhere else, girl. Don’t you know that? I’m just surprised they haven’t been to us earlier. You remember little Geranas?”

    Alexandria nodded. The man had been a jeweler longer even than Tabbic and produced beautiful work in gold.

    “They used a hammer on his right hand when he wouldn’t pay. Can you believe that? He can’t earn with the mess they made of him, but they don’t care about that. They just want the story to spread, so men like me will just meekly give up what we worked so hard for.” He stopped then, tightening his grip on the broom until it snapped loudly.

    “Better lay out your tools, Alexandria. We have three pieces to finish today.”

    His voice was hard and flat and Tabbic made no move to continue the morning routine as the shop was readied for customers.

    “I have friends, Tabbic,” Alexandria said. “Julius and Brutus may be away, but Crassus knows me. I can try to bring pressure on them. It must be better than doing nothing.”

    Tabbic’s grim expression didn’t change. “You do that. It can’t hurt,” he said.

    Teddus sighed, sheathing his sword at last. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

    Tabbic heard him. “Don’t be. That cocky bastard didn’t like the look of you, for all his words.”

    “Why did you pay him, then?” Alexandria asked him.

    Tabbic snorted. “Because your man would have killed him and they’d have come back to burn us out. They can’t let even one of us win, girl, or the rest stop paying.”

    He turned to Teddus and clapped his big hand on the man’s shoulder, ignoring his embarrassment. “You did well enough, though I’d find a man to replace your son, you understand me? You need a killer for your kind of work. Now I’ll give you a hot drink against the cold and a bite to eat before you go on your way, but I want you here in plenty of time tonight, understand?”

    “I’ll be here,” Teddus promised, glancing at his son’s flushed face.

    Tabbic looked him in the eye and nodded, satisfied. “You’re a good man,” he said. “I just wish courage was all it took.”

    Brutus examined the cracked glass of the water clock. Even with fur gloves, his fingers were numb with cold. All he wanted was to go back to his barracks and wrap himself up like a hibernating bear. Yet the routines of the legions had to continue. Though the cold ate into the men worse than anything they had ever known, the legion watches had to be marked by the three-hour trickle of water from one glass bowl into another. Brutus swore softly to himself as his touch removed a piece of the glass, which fell with a thud into the snow. He rubbed the growth of beard that covered his face. Julius had seen the benefit of suspending shaving in the cold months, but Brutus found the moisture of his breath would crust into ice after only an hour outside.

    “The shelters aren’t working. We’ll have to light fires under them. Just enough to keep the water from freezing. You have my permission to take a few billets of wood from the supply for each one. The sentries can keep it going during their watch. They’ll be glad of the heat, I should think. Have the smiths make you an iron sheath to protect the glass and wood from the flames, or you’ll boil half of it away.”

    “I will, sir. Thank you,” the tesserarius replied, relieved he was not to be criticized. Privately, Brutus thought the man was an idiot not to have thought of it and the result was the destruction of the only way the Tenth had to fix the length of a watch.

    The soldiers of Rome had finally understood why the tribes did not go to war in winter. The first snow had fallen heavily enough to break the roof of the barracks, turning the snug bunks into a chaos of wind and ice. The following day had seen the drifts made deeper, and after a month Brutus could barely remember what it felt like to be warm. Though they lit huge fires below the walls each night, the heat reached only a few feet, blown away on the endless wind. He had seen ice floes the size of carts on the Rhine, and sometimes the snow fell so heavily as to make a shifting crust from one bank to the other. He wondered if the river would freeze solid before spring.