The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 31

When spring came, more than seven thousand families choked the roads north of Rome. Out of the teeming streets of the city, the exodus started to claim the new land that Julius promised. Those who feared the strength of Clodius and Milo took to the wide roads to start a new life away from the crime and dirt of the city, selling everything they owned to buy tools and grain and oxen to pull their carts. It was a perilous journey, with more than three hundred miles to the foothills of the Alps and unknown dangers beyond.

The legions Julius had taken from Ariminum had stripped the north of patrolling soldiers, stretching the protection of Rome to breaking point. Though the roadside inns and forts were still manned, long stretches in between were plagued by thieves, and many of the families were attacked and left by the road in despair. Some were picked up by those who took pity on them, while others were left to beg for a few coins or starve. Those who could afford to hire guards were better off, and they kept their heads down when they passed the wailing, crying people who had gone before them, standing in the spring rain with hands outstretched.

In special sessions of the Senate, Pompey read out the reports of Julius’s victories as he received them.

It was a bittersweet role he had found for himself, and he could only shake his head at the irony of supporting Caesar as a way of controlling the new men of the Senate. Crassus had made him see that the victories in Gaul were all that kept the city from erupting in sheer panic as Clodius and Milo fought for supremacy in their secret, bloody battles. Despite the real power they had gained and the influence they wielded as brutally as a club, they had done nothing for Rome but feed on her. Neither Clodius nor Milo ever missed one of the reports. They had been formed in the gutters and the back alleys of the city, but they thrilled to the details of battles in their name like any other citizen.

At first, Pompey had been prepared to declare a Dictatorship to control them. Freed from the restraints of the law, he could have had both men executed without a trial. Crassus had advised against such a final step. If they were killed, Crassus said, others would take their place, and Pompey, perhaps Rome herself, would not survive. The Hydra of the Roman mob would grow new heads, and whoever replaced them would know better than to walk in the open and attend the Senate. Crassus had spoken for hours to his old colleague, and Pompey had seen the wisdom of his suggestions. Instead of resistance, he had gone out of his way to flatter and reward the men. He had sponsored Clodius for the position of chief magistrate and thrown a great dinner in his honor. Together, they had chosen candidates for the consular elections, lesser men who would do nothing to alter the fragile state of truce. It was a delicate balance that Pompey had found, knowing Clodius had chosen it in part to aid him against Milo as their own struggle continued.

Pompey considered the men as he read the latest report on the rostrum in front of him. In raising one, he had earned the enmity of the other, and there was nothing but hatred in the eyes of Milo when he met them. Yet Clodius now spoke his name with pride of association, and as spring had turned to summer,

Pompey had even visited the man’s home in the city and been flattered and courted in his turn. It was a dangerous game, but better than scattering the pieces and trying for Dictator. As things stood, it would mean civil war and he was not at all sure he would emerge the victor by the end.

As Pompey cleared his throat to speak, he inclined his head to Clodius and saw the man’s pleasure at even the slightest mark of respect. That was what Crassus had seen in the newcomers to the Senate.

Though they were savage, they craved the respectability of office, and since Pompey had begun his new course, not one of his clients had suffered at the hands of Clodius’s bullies. When Pompey had announced his desire to refurbish the racetrack, it was Clodius who had come to him with the offer of unlimited funds.

Pompey had raised a statue to him in gratitude, praising his generosity in the Senate. Milo had responded with an offer to rebuild the Via Appia, and Pompey had masked his delight at the man’s transparency, allowing him to place his name on the Porta Capena, where that road entered the city from the south. For the first time in more than a year, he felt that he had control of the city once again in his hands as the two men directed their energies more subtly, each as hungry as the other for recognition and acceptance. The new consuls were made aware of their precarious position and did nothing without first checking with their masters. It was stalemate and the private battles went on.

Pompey read the list of tribes Julius had smashed in the first battles of the spring, taking pleasure in the riveted stillness of the Senate. They listened with awe to the numbers of slaves that had been sent back over the Alps. The Remi had become vassals. The Nervii had been destroyed almost to the last man. The Belgae had been forced to give up their arms and surrender. The Atuatuci had been confined to a single walled town and then stormed. Fifty-three thousand had been sold back to the slave markets of Rome from that last tribe alone.

Pompey read Julius’s reports and even he could barely comprehend the hidden strife that lay behind the simple lines. Julius did nothing to sell his victories to the Senate, but the dry tone was all the more impressive for what it did not say. Pompey read it through to the concluding remarks, where Caesar commended the report to the Senate and estimated the yearly revenues in tax from the lands he had taken.

Not a sound could be heard in the Curia as Pompey reached the last line.

“‘I declare that Gaul has been pacified and will now submit to the lawful rule of Rome.’ ”

The Senate rose to their feet and cheered themselves hoarse in a spontaneous display, and Pompey had to raise his hand to quiet them.

When they had managed to restrain themselves, Pompey spoke, his voice filling the chamber.

“Our gods have granted us new lands, Senators. We must prove that we are worthy to rule them. As we brought peace to Spain, so shall we bring it to that wilder land. Our citizens will build roads and raise crops there to feed our cities. They will be heard in distant courts that take their authority from us. We will bring Rome to them not because of the strength of our legions, but because we are right and because we are just and because we are beloved of the gods.”

“Pacified? You told them Gaul was pacified?” Brutus said in amazement. “There are places in Gaul where they haven’t even heard of us! What were you thinking?”

Julius frowned. “You would prefer I said ‘still dangerous, but almost pacified’? Hardly the most inspiring words to bring our settlers over the Alps, Brutus.”

“I would have stopped short of ‘almost pacified’ as well. It’s more truthful to say that these savages nearly did for us all on more occasions than I care to think of. That they fought each other for generations until they found a common enemy in Rome and now we’ve stuck our hands into the worst wasps’ nest I have ever seen. That would have been more truthful, at least.”

“All right, Brutus. It is done and that’s the end of it. I know the situation as well as you, and those tribes who have never seen a Roman soldier will see us soon enough as we build our roads across the country. If the Senate sees me as the conqueror of Gaul, there will be no more talk of recalling me or forcing me to pay my debts. They can count the gold I send back to them and use the slaves to lower the price of wheat and corn. I will be free to run right through to the sea and beyond, even. This is my path,

Brutus; can’t you see I’ve found it? This is what I was born for. All I ask is another few years, five perhaps, and Gaul will be pacified. You say they have never heard of us? Well then, I will take lands that Rome does not even know exists! I will see a temple to Jupiter rise above their towns like a cliff of marble. I will bring our civilization, our science, our art to these people who live in such squalor. I will take our legions right up to where the lands meet the sea and over it. Who knows what lies beyond the far coasts? We don’t even have maps of the countries there, Brutus. Just legends from the Greeks about foggy islands on the very edge of the world. Does it not fire your imagination?”

Brutus looked at his friend without answering, unsure if any response was really expected. He had seen Julius in this mood before and at times it could still touch him. At that moment, however, he was beginning to worry that Julius would not contemplate an end to their battles of conquest. Even the veterans compared their young commander to Alexander, and Mark Antony did so shamelessly. When the handsome Roman had made the reference in the council, Brutus had expected Julius to scorn it for the clumsy flattery it was, but he had only smiled and gripped Mark Antony by the shoulder, refilling his cup with wine.

The plain of the Helvetii had been enclosed, the vast swaths of land sliced into farms for the settlers from Rome. Julius had been rash with his promises and, just to fulfill them, he had to stay in the field.

Simply to pay his legions in silver, he was forced to sack towns and fight not for glory but to fill the coffers and send the tithe back to the senators. Brutus could see no end to it and, alone amongst Julius’s council, he had begun to doubt the purpose of the war they fought. As a Roman, he could accept the destruction that was the herald of peace, but if it was all to satisfy Julius’s desire for power, he could not take joy in it.

Julius never wavered. Though the coalition of the Belgae had pressed them cruelly in the spring, the legions had taken on some of their commander’s confidence and the tribes were swept away without mercy.

It was as if they were all touched by fate and could not lose. At times, even Brutus was infected by it and could cheer the man who raised his sword to them, his iron-faced helmet glittering like some malevolent god. But he knew the man beneath it and he knew him too well to walk quietly around him as the legionaries did. Though they won their victories with strength and speed, they saw Julius as the one responsible for all of it. While he lived, they knew they could not be beaten.

Brutus sighed to himself. Perhaps they were right. The whole of eastern Gaul was under the control of the legions, and the roads were being built over hundreds of miles. Rome was growing out of the ground there and Julius was the bloody seed for the change. He looked at his friend and saw the fierce pride. Apart from the thinning hair and his scars, he was much the same man he had always known. Yet the soldiers said he was blessed by the gods. His presence on the battlefield was worth an extra cohort at least as they strove to fight well for him, and Brutus felt ashamed of his own small grievances and the kernel of dislike that he fought to deny.

Publius Crassus had been given the command of two legions to travel to the north, and Julius’s current mood was owed to the fact that the senator’s son had brought about the complete surrender of the tribes there. They had their path to the sea and, though Brutus had argued against it, he knew nothing would prevent Julius taking his precious legions to the coast. He dreamed of Alexander and the edge of the world.

Julius’s council entered the long room of the fortified camp. They too had changed in their time in Gaul, Brutus noted. Octavian and Publius Crassus had lost the last traces of their youth in the years of campaign. Both men bore scars and had survived, now stronger. Ciro commanded his cohort with a devotion to Julius that reminded Brutus of a faithful hound. While Brutus could still discuss his doubts with Domitius or Renius, he had found Ciro would leave any room where he found the slightest hint of criticism. Both Romans regarded the other with dislike, forcibly masked for Julius’s sake.

How we pretend for him, Brutus thought to himself. While Julius was there, they all acted the part of brothers, leaving their professional disagreements outside. It was almost as if they couldn’t bear to see him disappointed in them.

Julius waited for the wine to be poured and laid his notes down on the table. He had already memorized the reports and would not need to refer to them again. Even as Brutus was submerged in his misgivings, he felt himself sit a little straighter under that blue gaze and saw the others respond in like fashion.

At the end of the day, we are all his dogs, Brutus thought, reaching for his cup.

“Your treaty with the Veneti has failed, Crassus,” Julius told the young Roman.

The senator’s son shook his head in disbelief and Julius spoke to relieve his distress.

“I did not expect it to last. They are too strong by sea to feel bound by us, and the treaty was only to hold them until we could reach the northwest. I will need control of that coast if I am ever to cross the sea.”

Julius looked into the distance as he contemplated the future, then shook himself free of it. “They have taken prisoners from the cohort you left and are demanding the release of their hostages in exchange. We must destroy them at sea if we are to bring them back to the negotiating table. I suspect they think that Rome fights only on the land, but there are a few of us who know better.”

He paused to let them chuckle and met Ciro’s eyes with a smile.

“I have engaged shipwrights and carpenters to build a new port and ships. Pompey will provide crews to sail through the Pillars of Hercules and beat round Spain to meet us in the north. It suits my plans well enough in any case, and we cannot let their oath breaking go unanswered. Mhorbaine tells me the other tribes are restless and watch any challenge like hawks to see if we cannot respond.”

“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.