The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 26

Pompey leaned on the white marble balcony of the temple to Jupiter, the vast space of the forum stretching away below him. From the top of the Capitol, he could gaze on the heart of the city, and what he saw displeased him immensely.

Crassus showed nothing of his private amusement as he too looked over the swelling crowds. He kept his silence as Pompey muttered angrily to himself, turning at intervals to point out some newly infuriating aspect of the scene.

“There, Crassus. Can you see them? The bastards!” Pompey cried, pointing.

Crassus looked past the quivering finger to where a long line of men in black togas wound their way from one side of the forum toward the Senate house, pausing at intervals to burn incense. Over the wind,

Crassus thought he could hear the sound of the dirge that accompanied their steps, and it was all he could do not to laugh as Pompey stiffened at the wailing notes.

“What are they thinking to be mocking me in this way?” Pompey shouted, purpling with rage. “The whole city to see them in their mourners’ cloths. By the gods, they will love to see it. And what will we have as a result? I swear, Crassus, the people will use the Senate’s disobedience as an excuse for riots tonight. I will be forced to declare another curfew and again I will be accused of ruling without them.”

Crassus cleared his throat delicately, taking care to choose his words. Below, the long line of senators paused in sequence as incense billowed out of golden censers against the breeze.

“You knew they could rebel against our agreement, Pompey. You told me yourself that they were growing fractious,” he said.

“Yes, but I did not expect such a public display of disorder, for all the trouble they have been giving me in the Curia. That fool Suetonius is behind part of it, I know. He courts that trader Clodius as if he were something better than the gang leader he really is. I wish you had broken him properly, Crassus. You should see the way they discuss and scrutinize my legislation. As if any of them have been senators for more than the blink of an eye. It is insufferable! At times, they make me want to take the powers they accuse me of. Then we would see something. If I were made Dictator, even for six months, I could root out the dissenters and remove this… this…” Words failed him as he swept an arm at the forum below. The line of senators was nearing the Curia building, and Crassus could hear the crowd cheering their stand against Pompey.

Crassus had no sympathy for his colleague. Pompey lacked the subtlety to massage his opponents, preferring to use his authority to batter the Senate into obedience. Privately, Crassus agreed with many of the other senators that Pompey already acted as Dictator over a city that was quickly losing patience with his autocratic style.

In the distance, the procession reached the steps up to the Curia, and Crassus saw them pause. They played a perilous game in angering Pompey in such a way. Their mocking funeral for the death of the Republic was intended as a public warning, but the last embers of democracy could indeed be crushed if Pompey lost all restraint as a result of it. Certainly, if riots ensued, Pompey would be within his rights to clamp down on the city, and once pushed so far, Dictatorship was not such a great leap for him. If he declared himself in that position, Crassus knew only a war would wrest it from his hands.

“If you can see past your anger for a moment,” Crassus began gently, “you must realize that they do not want to force you further than you have already gone. Is it too much to reestablish the elections you have stopped? You have your creatures now as tribunes of the people. Could you not allow the voting again on future positions? That would take some of the sting out of the demonstrations against you, and at least gain you time.”

Pompey didn’t answer. The two men watched the senators disappear inside the Curia and the distant bronze doors swing closed behind them. The excited crowds remained, milling and shouting under the grim eyes of Pompey’s soldiers. Though the funeral procession had ended, the younger citizens especially had been infected by the display and were reluctant to leave. Pompey hoped his centurions would have the sense not to be too harsh with them. With Rome in that mood, a riot could spring from the slightest spark.

At last, Pompey spoke, his voice bitter. “They blocked me at every turn, Crassus. Even when I had the whole Senate with me, the whoreson tribunes stood up and vetoed my legislation. They set themselves against me. Why should I not put my own men into their positions? At least now I don’t have my work ruined for some petty point or whim.”

Crassus looked at his colleague, noting the changes in him over the previous year. Dark pouches had swollen under his eyes and he looked exhausted. It had not been an easy period, and with the citizens testing the strength of their leaders, Crassus was pleased enough to be free of the constant wrangling.

Pompey had aged under the responsibility and Crassus wondered if he secretly regretted the bargain he had struck. Julius had Gaul, Crassus his fleet of ships and his precious legion. Pompey had the struggle of his life, begun on the first day in Senate when he had forced through a bill with Julius’s proxy.

The Senate had borne the change in power well enough at first, but then the factions had begun to form, and with new men like the merchants Clodius and Milo entering the Senate, it had become a dangerous game for all of them. Rumors had spread that Bibilus had been killed or mutilated, and twice the Senate had demanded he be shown alive to them and made to explain his absence. Pompey had allowed them to send letters to the consul, but Julius’s word had been good. Bibilus had not come and visitors to his house found it barred and dark.

After two debates had come close to violence, Pompey had his soldiers stand guard over the sessions, ignoring the protests of the senators. Now they paraded their dissatisfaction in front of the people, making the dispute public. Though Crassus found Pompey’s fury amusing, he worried for what would come of it.

“No man rules Rome alone, my friend,” Crassus murmured.

Pompey glanced sharply at him. “Show me the laws I have broken! My tribunes are appointed rather than elected. They were never meant to bring the work of the Senate to a complete halt, and now they do not.”

“The balance in the system has been altered, Pompey. It is not a minor change you have brought about.

The tribunes were the voice of the mob. You risk a great deal in altering that. And the Senate are discovering new teeth if they act together against you,” Crassus replied.

Pompey’s shoulders slumped in weariness, but Crassus felt no sympathy. The man went at politics as if every problem could be met head-on. He was a fine general but a poor leader of a city, and the last one to know that truth was apparently Pompey himself. The very fact that he had asked to meet Crassus privately was proof of the problems Pompey faced, even though he would not ask outright for advice.

“They were meant to limit the power of the Senate, Pompey. Perhaps they were wrong to block you so completely, but replacing them has earned you nothing but anger in the city.”

Pompey flushed again and Crassus continued quickly, trying to make him understand. “If you restore their posts to the vote, you will regain a great deal of the ground you have lost,” he urged. “The factions will believe they have won a victory and fall apart. You should not let them grow any stronger. By Jupiter himself, you should not. You have made your point. Let it be known now that you care as much as they for the traditions of Rome. The laws you passed cannot be undone, after all.”

“Let those sneering dogs back in to veto me?” Pompey snapped.

Crassus shrugged. “Those, or whoever else the citizens elect. If it is the same men, you may have a difficult time of it for a while, but this is not an easy city to rule. Our people are fed on a diet of democracy from childhood. At times, I think they have dangerously high expectations. They do not like to see their representatives taken from them.”

“I will think about it,” Pompey said reluctantly, looking away across the forum.

Crassus doubted he fully understood the danger. As far as Pompey was concerned, the resistance in the Senate was a passing thing, not the kernel that could lead to open rebellion.

“I know you will make the right decision,” Crassus said.

Julius rubbed his face wearily. How long had he slept, an hour? He couldn’t remember exactly when he had passed out, but he thought the sky had been growing light. The colors seemed to have been washed out of the province, and Mark Antony’s voice had taken on a whining tone Julius had not noticed before.

While half the legions were bleary-eyed and pale, Mark Antony looked as if he were ready for a parade, and Julius was convinced he felt a moral superiority over those who had indulged the night before. The general’s lips pursed as he listened to Julius’s report of the agreement with Mhorbaine.

“I wish you had consulted me before you pledged your support,” Mark Antony said, barely hiding his irritation at what he had heard.

“From what Mhorbaine said, this Ariovistus would be trouble for us at some point. Better to deal with him now, before he is so deeply rooted we’d never be able to throw him back over the Rhine. We do need allies, Mark Antony. The Aedui have promised three thousand of their cavalry at my disposal.”

Mark Antony struggled with his temper for a moment. “Yes, they will promise us anything, sir. I will not believe it until I see them. I warned you Mhorbaine is a clever leader, but it looks as if he has somehow managed to set the two most powerful armies in Gaul at each other’s throats. No doubt Ariovistus has pledged friendship as well, with the Aedui profiting from a war that could break both of their enemies.”

“I’ve seen nothing in Gaul that could stand against us,” Julius said dismissively.

“You have not seen the Germanic tribes. They live for war, keeping a professional class in the field at all times, supported by the rest of their people. And in any case, Ariovistus is…” Mark Antony sighed.

“Ariovistus cannot be touched. He is already a friend of Rome, named so ten years ago. If you take the field against him, the Senate could well remove your command.”

Julius turned and gripped the larger man by the shoulders. “Do you not think this is something I should have been told?” he demanded.

Mark Antony looked back at him, flushing. “I did not think you would make such a promise to Mhorbaine, sir. You barely even know the man! How could I possibly have foretold that you would pledge the legions nearly three hundred miles across the country?”

Julius dropped his hands from his general and stood back. “Ariovistus is a ruthless invader, Mark Antony. My only allies have asked me to help them. I’ll tell you honestly that I do not care if Mhorbaine hopes to see us broken against each other or not. I do not care if Ariovistus is twice the warrior you tell me.

Why do you think I brought my legions to Gaul? Have you seen this land? I could drop a handful of seeds anywhere and see corn spring up before I could turn round. There are forests enough to build fleets, herds of cattle so great they could never be counted. And beyond Gaul? I want to see it all. Three hundred miles is just a step of the way I have in mind. We are not here for a summer, General. We are here to stay, just as soon as I have cut the path for the rest to follow.”

Mark Antony listened in astonishment. “But Ariovistus is one of ours! You can’t just-”

Julius nodded, holding up a hand. Mark Antony fell silent.

“It will take a month to build a road from here to the plain for the ballistae and onagers. I do not intend to go to war without them again. I will send a messenger to this Ariovistus, asking for a meeting. I will address him with the respect due to a friend of my city. Will you be satisfied then?”

Mark Antony sagged with relief. “Of course, sir. I hope you are not offended at my words. I was thinking of your position at home.”

“I understand. Perhaps you could send a messenger to me to receive the letter,” Julius replied, smiling.

Mark Antony nodded and left the room. Julius turned to Adàn, who had listened to the conversation with an open mouth.

“What are you gaping at?” Julius snapped, instantly regretting the words. His head throbbed and his stomach felt as if it had been squeezed dry by vomiting in the night. A vague memory came of staggering out to the bathhouse in the dark and losing great gushes of dark fluid into the gutters there. Only yellow bile remained, but still it churned and surged up his throat.

Adàn chose his words carefully. “It must have been this way for my country, once. Romans deciding the future for us, as if we had no say at all in the matter.”

Julius began a sharp reply, then thought better of it. “Do you think the men of Carthage wept over their conquests? And how do you think your people decided the fate of those they found when they came to Spain? These Celts came from some foreign land. Do you think your ancestors troubled themselves over the original inhabitants? Perhaps even they were invaders from some distant past. Do not think your people are better than mine, Adàn.”

Julius gripped the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes against the throbbing headache. “I wish I had a clear head to tell you what I mean. It is more than just the strength that matters. Carthage was strong, but beating them changed the world. Greece was once the greatest power, but when they weakened, we came and made them ours. Gods, I drank too much wine for an argument this early.”

Adàn 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, Adàn, 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, Adàn. 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?” Adàn asked.

Julius opened his eyes, the dark pupils gleaming. “I do not believe in a sword, Adàn, 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 Adàn’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?” Adàn asked.

Julius did not answer, but gestured for Adàn 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 Adàn, 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 Adàn 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.

Adàn 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, Adàn 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, Adàn could justify the respect he felt for him. If it was all a game, or a mask for conquest, then Adàn 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.”