The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 12

Brutus rode with his extraordinarii at the head of the Tenth, covering many times the distance of the marching ranks as they scouted ahead and to the sides of the column. Of necessity, they were north and west of the city as the bulk of the legion had to be summoned from the camp near the coast and made their way across country to meet the single century Brutus had brought from the old Primigenia barracks.

When they had joined, some of the nerves that had affected Brutus vanished in the excitement of leading the legion against an enemy for the first time. Though he hoped to see Julius coming up behind them, another part of him wanted to be left alone to lead them in battle. His extraordinarii wheeled at his order as if they had fought together for years. Brutus reveled in the sight and felt more than a little reluctance at the thought of giving it up to anyone.

Renius had stayed at the coast with five centuries to protect the equipment and gold from Spain. It had to be done, but Brutus begrudged every man lost while the numbers of the enemy were unknown. As he cast a professional eye back down the column, he felt a thrill of pride at the men who marched for him.

They had started with nothing more than a gold eagle and a memory of Marius, but were once again a legion, and they were his.

He cast an eye up to the position of the sun and remembered the maps his scouts had drawn. Catiline’s forces were more than a day’s march away from the city, and he would have to decide whether to make a fortified camp or to march through the night. The Tenth were undoubtedly as fresh as they could ever hope to be, long recovered from the sea journey that had brought them home. As well as that, a rebellious thought reminded him that Julius would be able to catch them if they camped and the command would shift to him once more. The broken ground would be treacherous in the dark, but Brutus resolved to drive his men on until they met the enemy.

The region of Etruria, of which Rome formed the southernmost point, was a land of hills and ravines, difficult to cross. The Tenth were forced to spread into wider lines to negotiate their way around ancient tors and valleys, and Brutus was pleased to see the formations change with speed and discipline.

Octavian galloped across his line of vision, turning his gelding in a flashy display of skill as he came abreast.

“How much farther?” he called over the jingle and tramp of the ranks.

“Another thirty miles to the villages we scouted,” Brutus replied, smiling. He could see the excitement he felt mirrored in Octavian’s face. The boy had never known a battle, and for him the march was untempered by thoughts of death and pain. Brutus should have been immune, but the Tenth shone in the sun and the boy he had once been reveled in command.

“Take a century to scout the back trail,” Brutus ordered, ignoring the look of disappointment that flashed across the younger man’s face. It was hard on him, but Brutus knew better than to allow Octavian the first charge before he had learned a little more of the reality of battle.

He watched as Octavian gathered riders and moved in perfect formation to the rear of the column.

Brutus nodded in satisfaction, taking pleasure from the chance to think as a general.

He remembered how, years before, he had handed Primigenia over to Julius, and a bitter regret stole over him before he crushed it. The command he exercised was only a proxy until Julius arrived, but he knew the moments of this march would stay in his memory for a long time.

One of the scouts came in fast, the horse skidding in the loose earth as the rider yanked on the reins.

The man’s face was pale with excitement.

“The enemy is in sight, sir. They are marching toward Rome.”

“How many?” Brutus snapped, his heart racing.

“Two legions of irregulars, sir, in open squares. No cavalry that I could see.”

A shout went up from behind and Brutus turned in his saddle with a feeling almost of dread. Behind the column, two riders galloped toward them. He knew then that Domitius had done his duty and brought Julius to the Tenth. He clenched his jaw against the anger that swamped him.

He turned to the scout and hesitated. Should he wait for Julius to arrive and take command? No, he would not. The order was his to give and he took a cool breath.

“Pass the word. Advance and engage the enemy. Have the cornicens sound maniple orders. Velites on point to meet them. Extraordinarii to the flanks. We’ll break these bastards on the first charge.”

The scout saluted before galloping away and Brutus felt empty as he watched the dust cloud that promised blood and battle. Julius would take them in now.

As they sighted the legion coming at them, the ranks of mercenaries wavered and slowed. The Tenth were sliding over the land toward them like some great silvered beast, and the ground shivered delicately with the cadence of their march. A host of flags had been raised into the wind, and the wail of the cornicens could be heard thinly against the breeze.

Four thousand of those who had come for Catiline’s gold were from Gaul, and their leader turned to the Roman, resting a powerful hand on his shoulder.

“You said the way to the city would be undefended,” he growled.

Catiline shook the hand free. “We have the numbers to take them, Glavis,” he snapped. “You knew it would be bloody work.”

The Gaul nodded, squinting through the dust to the Roman ranks. His teeth showed through his beard as he pulled a heavy sword from a scabbard across his back, grunting as he took the weight. All around him, his men followed the gesture, until a host of blades were raised above their heads to meet the charge.

“Just this little legion, then, and one more in the city. We’ll eat them,” Glavis promised, tilting back his head to roar. The Gauls around him responded and the front ranks separated and moved faster, sprinting across the broken ground.

Catiline drew his own gladius and wiped sweat from his eyes. His heart pounded with unaccustomed fear and he wondered if the Gaul had seen it. He shook his head in bitterness and cursed Crassus for his lies. There may have been a chance to take Rome in confusion and panic and the dark, but a legion in the field?

“We have the numbers,” he whispered to himself, swallowing hard. Ahead of him, he saw a flowing mass of horses overtake the ranks. The ground shook with the weight of the charge, and Catiline suddenly believed he was going to die. In that moment, his fear vanished and his feet were light as he ran.

Julius took command without hesitation as he rode his lathered mount up to Brutus. He handed over the wax tablet signed by the consuls.

“Now we are legitimate. You have given the battle orders?”

“I have,” Brutus replied. He tried to hide the coldness he felt, but Julius was looking away from him, judging the line of approach to the rebel forces.

“The extraordinarii are ready on the flanks,” Brutus said. “I would like to join them there.”

Julius nodded. “I want these mercenaries broken quickly. Take the right and lead them in on my signal. Two short notes from the horns. Listen well for it.”

Brutus saluted and moved away, relinquishing his command without a backward glance. His extraordinarii had taken station in ranks. They let his horse through to the front as they saw him join them, and a few cheerful voices called out a welcome. Brutus frowned at that, hoping they were not too confident. As with Octavian, there was a difference between smashing target shields to pieces and sending spears into living men.

“Hold your line,” Brutus bellowed over their heads, glaring at them.

They quieted then, though the excitement was palpable. The horses whinnied and pulled to be allowed to run, but were reined in with tight hands. The men were nervous, Brutus could see. Many of them checked their spears over and over, loosening them in the long leather holders that hung down by the horses’ sides.

They could see the faces of the rebels now, a mass of shouting, running men who held swords high over their shoulders for one smashing blow. The blades caught the sun.

The centuries of the Tenth tightened their formations, each man ready with his drawn gladius, his shield protecting the man on his left. There were no gaps in their lines as they trotted forward. Then the cornicens blew three short blasts and the Tenth broke into a run, holding silence until the last moment, when they roared as one and heaved their spears into the air.

The heavy iron points punched men from their feet along the enemy line, and Brutus had the extraordinarii launch a fraction behind, their more accurate strikes aimed at anyone trying to rally the enemy. Before the armies met in earnest, hundreds had died without a Roman life taken. The extraordinarii circled on the wings and Julius could see the riders bring their shields around automatically to cover their backs as they wheeled. It was a superb display of skill and training, and Julius exulted at the sight of it as the main lines crashed together.

Glavis spent his first mighty blow on a shield, smashing it through. As he tried to recover, a sword entered his stomach. He winced in expectation of the pain to come, dragging his blade up again. As he tried for a second blow, another Roman crashed his shield into him and he fell sideways, the sword knocked from numb fingers. Glavis panicked then as he looked up and saw the forest of legs and swords beginning to pass over him. They kicked and stamped at him and in seconds his body had been stabbed four more times. The blood poured out of him and he spat wearily, tasting it in his throat. He struggled to rise, but they kept pounding at his body. No one could have marked the exact instant of his death. He didn’t have time to see the front line of his Gauls collapse as they found they could not break the fighting rhythm of the Tenth.

As Glavis was seen to fall, the Gauls wavered, and that was the moment Julius had waited to see. He shouted to his signaler and two short notes rang out.

Brutus heard and felt his heart leap in his chest. Despite the advantage of numbers, the mercenaries were breaking against the Roman charge. Some of them were already streaming away, dropping their swords. Brutus grinned as he raised his fist in the air, sweeping it down toward the enemy. Their spear holders were empty and now they would prove their true worth. The extraordinarii responded as if they had fought together all their lives, wheeling away to give themselves room and then hitting the enemy like a knife into their ranks, tearing them. Each rider guided his mount with one hand on the reins and his long spatha sword cutting heads from those that faced them. The horses were heavy enough to smash men from their feet, and nothing could stand against the sheer weight of them as they plunged into the lines, deeper and deeper, breaking the rebels apart.

The front rank of the Tenth moved quickly over their enemies, each man using his blade and shield in the knowledge that he was protected by his brother on the right. They were unstoppable and after the first ranks went down they picked up speed, heaving and grunting with the strain as arms began to tire.

Julius called the maniple orders and his centurions roared them out. The velites moved back on light feet and let the triarii come forward in their heavier armor.

The rebels broke then as the fresh soldiers came at them. Hundreds threw down their weapons and hundreds more sprinted away, ignoring the calls of their leaders.

For those that surrendered too early, there could be no mercy. The Roman line could not afford to let them through the advance, and they were killed with the rest.

The extraordinarii flowed around the rebels, a black mass of snorting horses and shouting riders, splashed red with blood and wild enough for nightmares. They hemmed them in and, as if there had been a general signal, thousands of men dropped their swords and raised empty hands, panting.

Julius hesitated as he saw the end. If he did not have the cornicens sound the disengage, his Tenth would continue until the last of the rebels were dead. Part of him was tempted to let that happen. What would he do with so many prisoners? Thousands of them had been left alive, and they could not be allowed to go back to their lands and homes. He waited, sensing the eyes of his centurions on him as they waited for the signal to stop the killing. It was butchery by then and already those closest to the Roman ranks were beginning to reach for their weapons again, rather than die unarmed. Julius swore softly to himself, chopping a hand down. The cornicens saw the motion and blew a falling tone. And it was finished.

Those left alive had been disarmed as quickly as the Tenth could spread amongst them. In small groups, they searched the mercenaries, a single Roman removing blades while the others watched in grim concentration, ready to punish any sudden movement.

The mercenary officers had been called out of the ranks to stand in front of Julius. They watched him in silent resignation, a strange group, dressed in rough cloth and mismatched armor.

A breeze blew coldly through the battlefield as the sun sank toward the horizon. Julius looked at the kneeling prisoners arranged in a semblance of ranks, with corpses breaking the neat lines. Catiline’s body had been found and dragged to the front. Julius had looked down at the pierced and bloody thing that had been a senator. There would be no answers from him.

Though Julius thought he knew the truth of the failed rebellion, he suspected Crassus would remain untouched by his part in it. Perhaps some secrets were better kept from the public gaze. It could not hurt to have the richest man in Rome in his debt.

He glanced over as Octavian slapped his mount’s neck, practically glowing with the fading thrill of speed and fear. The extraordinarii had been blooded at last. Horses and men were spattered with gore and earth thrown up in the charge. Brutus stood amongst them, exchanging quiet words of praise while he waited for Julius to end it. It was not an order he would have enjoyed, Brutus admitted to himself, but Rome would not allow a show of mercy.

Julius signaled to the men of the Tenth to herd the officers closer to him. The optios thumped their staffs into the mercenaries, knocking one of them sprawling. The man cried out in anger and would have thrown himself at them if another hadn’t reached out to hold him. Julius listened as they argued, but the language was unknown to him.

“Is there a commander amongst you?” he asked them at last.

The leaders looked at each other and then one stood forward.

“Glavis was, for those of us from Gaul,” the man said. He jerked a thumb back at the piles of bodies that littered the ground. “He’s back there, somewhere.”

The man returned Julius’s cold appraisal before looking away. He gazed over the battlefield with a sad expression before his eyes snapped back.

“You have our weapons, Roman. We’re no threat to you anymore. Let us go.”

Julius shook his head slowly. “You were never a threat to us,” he said, noting the spark of fire that shone in the man’s eyes before it was hidden. He raised his voice to carry to all of them.

“You have a choice, gentlemen. Either you die at my word…” He hesitated. Pompey would go berserk when he heard. “Or you take an oath as legionaries for me, under my orders.”

The babble of noise that followed was not restricted to the mercenaries. The soldiers of the Tenth gaped at what they were hearing.

“You will be paid on the first day of each month. Seventy-five silver coins to each man, though part of that will be kept back.”

“How much of it?” someone called.

Julius turned in the direction of the voice. “Enough for salt, food, weapons, armor, and a tithe to the widows and orphans. Forty-two denarii will be left for each man to spend as he sees fit.” A thought struck him then and made him hesitate. The pay for so many men would amount to thousands of coins. It would take huge wealth to keep two legions, and even the gold he had brought back from Spain would quickly dwindle under such a demand. How had Catiline found the money? He thrust the sudden suspicions aside to continue.

“I will seed your ranks with my officers and train you to fight as well as the men who made you look like children today. You will have good swords and armor and your pay will come on time. That or you die now. Go amongst your men and tell them. Warn them that if they are thinking of slipping away, I will hunt them down and hang them. Those who choose to live will be marched back to Rome, but not as prisoners.

The training will be hard, but they have courage enough to make a beginning. Anything else can be taught.”

“Will you give us back our weapons?” the voice came from the officers.

“Don’t be a fool,” Julius said. “Now move! One way or another, this will be over by sunset.”

Unable to meet his glare, the mercenaries moved off, heading back to their brothers kneeling in the mud. The legionaries let them pass through, exchanging glances of amazement.

While they waited, Brutus walked over to stand at Julius’s side.

“The Senate will not be pleased, Julius. You don’t need any more enemies.”

“I am in the field,” Julius replied. “Whether they like it or not, in the field I speak for the city. I am Rome, here, and the decision is mine.”

“But we had orders to destroy them,” Brutus said quietly enough not to be overheard.

Julius shrugged. “It may come to that yet, my friend, but you should be hoping they will take the oath.”

“Why should I be hoping that?” Brutus asked suspiciously.

Julius smiled at him, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.

“Because they will be your legion.”

Brutus held himself very still, taking it in.

“They broke against us, Julius. Mars himself couldn’t make a legion out of this lot.”

“You did it once, with Primigenia. You will do it with these. Tell them they survived a charge by the best legion ever to come out of Rome, under a general blessed. Raise their heads for them, Brutus, and they will follow you.”

“They will be mine alone?” Brutus asked.

Julius looked into his eyes then. “If you will still be my sword, I swear I will not interfere, though the overall command must be mine when we fight together. Aside from that, if you walk my path, it will be by your own choice-as it has always been.”

One by one, the mercenary officers were gathering again. As they met, they nodded sharply to each other, visibly relaxing. Julius knew he had them before their spokesman walked toward him.

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” the man said.

“There are no… dissenters?” Julius said softly. The Gaul shook his head.

“Good. Then have them stand. When every man has taken the oath, we will light torches and march through the night back to Rome. There is a barracks there for you and a hot meal.” Julius turned to Brutus.

“Send out the freshest riders carrying messages for the Senate. They won’t know whether we’re the enemy or not, and I don’t want to set off the very rebellion we have fought to prevent.”

“We are the enemy,” Brutus muttered.

“No longer, Brutus. Not one of them will take a step before he is bound by oath. After that, they will be ours, whether they know it or not.”

As Julius rode up to the city with a picked guard of the extraordinarii, he saw the gates had been closed against them. The first gray light of dawn was already showing on the horizon and he felt a gritty tiredness in his joints. There was still more to be done before he could sleep.

“Open the gate!” he shouted as he reined in, looking up at the shadowed mass of timber and iron that blocked his way.

A legionary wearing Pompey’s armor appeared on the wall, looking down at them. After a glance at the small group of riders, he peered out along the road, satisfying himself that there was no hidden force waiting to storm into the city.

“Not till dawn, sir,” he called down, recognizing Julius’s armor. “Pompey’s orders.”

Julius swore under his breath. “Throw me a rope, then. I have business with the consul and it won’t wait.”

The soldier disappeared, presumably to see his superior officer. The extraordinarii stirred restlessly.

“We were told to escort you to the Senate house, General,” one of them ventured.

Julius turned in his saddle to look at the man. “If Pompey has sealed the city, his legion will be out in force. I’ll be in no danger.”

“Yes, sir,” the rider replied, discipline preventing him contesting the order.

On the walls, an officer appeared in full armor, his helmet plume moving slightly in the night breeze.

“Aedile Caesar? I’ll send a rope down to you if you give me your word to come alone. The consuls made no allowance for you to return this early.”

“You have my oath,” Julius replied, watching as the man signaled and heavy coils came thumping down to the ground at the foot of the gate. He saw archers covering him from the gate towers and nodded to himself. Pompey was no one’s fool.

As he dismounted and took hold of the rope, Julius looked back at the extraordinarii.

“Return to the old Primigenia barracks with the others. Brutus is in command until my return.”

Without another word, he began to climb hand over hand.