The Gods of war

CHAPTER 22

The legions of the Tenth and Fourth were tired and gaunt after many days of marching. The carts had been stripped of provisions and the spring grain was still little more than dark green shoots. Their water had soured and they were always hungry. Even the horses of the extraordinarii showed their ribs under a coat of dark dust, but they did not falter. Whenever Julius thought they had reached the end of endurance, another village gave news of Pompey's riders and drew them ever farther into the east. They knew they were closing on Pompey as he raced to reach the sea.

Julius rubbed weary eyes as he stood on the docks and looked out over the gray waves. There were six galleys there, slim and deadly as birds of prey. They guarded the strait between Greece and Asia Minor and they waited for him.

Pompey had reached the coast just the night before and Julius had hoped he would be trapped, forced to face his pursuers. Instead, the Dictator's ships had been ready to take him off. Pompey had hardly paused in his flight and the plains of Greece had been left behind.

"To come this far…" Julius said aloud.

He felt his men look up all around him. If the way had been clear, Julius would not have hesitated. The east coast of Greece was busy with merchant vessels and he could have crossed. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Pompey's ships maneuver over the deep water, their prows white with spray. They could not be well manned, with most able soldiers taken out of them, but that was no comfort. In the open sea, they could tear merchant shipping apart. Even a night crossing was impossible, now that his legions had been seen. He could not hope to surprise the enemy galleys and the response would be brutal.

Despairing, he wondered how many more lay up and down the rocky coast out of sight. They made a wall of wood and iron that he could not break.

On the docks, his men waited patiently. Though Pompey had stripped the port of almost everything, there was water enough to wash the dust from their faces and fill the skins and barrels. They sat in quiet groups of eight or ten across the docks, gambling and sharing what little food they had been able to find. The problem of the crossing was not theirs, after all. They had done their part.

Julius clenched his fist, tapping it on the heavy wooden column he leaned against. He could not turn back and let Pompey go after such a chase. He had come too far. His gaze fell on a fishing boat, its owners busy with ropes and sails.

"Stop those men," he ordered, watching as three soldiers of the Tenth grabbed hold of the little boat before the fishermen could pull away. The sail flapped noisily in the breeze as Julius strode over to the stone quay.

"You will take me to those ships," he said in halting Greek. They looked blankly at him and he called for Adan.

"Tell them I will pay for passage out to the galleys," he said as the Spaniard approached.

Adan produced two silver coins and tossed them to the men. In elaborate mime, he pointed to the ships and Julius until the fishermen's frowns disappeared.

Julius looked at his interpreter in disbelief. "I thought you said you were learning Greek?" he said.

"It is a difficult language," Adan replied, embarrassed.

Octavian walked to the edge and looked into the tiny boat. "Sir, you can't be thinking of going alone," he said. "They'll kill you."

"What choice do I have? If I go out in force, the galleys will attack. They may listen to me."

Julius watched as Octavian handed his sword to a soldier and began to remove his armor.

"What are you doing?" Julius asked.

"I'm coming with you, but I can't swim in this if they sink us." He looked meaningfully at his general's breastplate, but Julius ignored him.

"Go on then," Julius said, gesturing to the frail craft. "One more will make no difference."

He watched carefully to see how Octavian found a place on the slippery nets, wincing at the smell of fish. Julius followed him, making the boat rock dangerously before he was settled.

"Up sail," Julius said to the fishermen.

He sighed at their expressions before pointing to it and raising his hands. In a few moments, the boat was easing away from the quayside. Julius looked back to see the worried expressions of his soldiers and he grinned, enjoying the motion.

"Are you ever seasick, Octavian?" he asked.

"Never. Stomach like iron," Octavian lied cheerfully.

The galleys loomed and still both men felt an inexplicable rise in spirits. The fishing boat passed out of the sheltering bay and Julius breathed deeply, enjoying the pitch and roll of the sea.

"They've seen us," he said. "Here they come."

Two galleys were backing oars and swinging round to face the boat that dared the deep water. As they grew closer, Julius heard the lookouts call. Perhaps a fishing crew would have been ignored, but the sight of soldiers on board was enough to bring them heeling swiftly round. Julius watched flags go up to the highest point of the masts, and in the distance more of the deadly craft began to turn.

His lightness of mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. He sat stiff-backed as the galley sculled toward him and the fishermen dropped the sail. Without the hiss of speed, the only noise came from Roman throats calling orders, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for his own days on the swift ships on a different coast.

As they drew closer Julius looked up at the soldiers lining the sides, wishing he could stand. He felt fear, but the decision was made and he was determined to see it through. He could not have escaped them then, even if he had wanted to. The galleys could outrace the little boat under oars alone. With an effort, he swallowed his nervousness.

The galley's side was green and slick, showing they had been at sea for months while Julius struggled against Pompey. The oars were raised and Julius shivered as cold water dripped onto his upturned face as the boat passed next to them. He saw the uniform of a centurion appear amongst the soldiers.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Consul Gaius Julius Caesar," Julius replied. "Throw me a rope."

The motion of the two vessels made it impossible for him to hold the centurion's gaze, though Julius tried. He appreciated the man's difficulty. No doubt Pompey had given strict orders to sink and burn those who followed.

Julius did not smile as a long rope ladder came clattering down the side of the galley, its weighted ends disappearing beneath the surface of the sea. With difficulty, he reached for it, ignoring the warning shouts of the fishermen as their boat threatened to spill.

He climbed carefully. It did not help his composure to be watched by the crews of more than three galleys close by, nor the thought that his armor would drown him if he fell. His breathing was heavy by the time he reached the railing and accepted the captain's arm to help him over it. The ropes creaked as Octavian followed him up.

"And your name, Captain?" Julius said as soon as he stood on the deck.

The officer did not reply and stood frowning, tapping one hand on the other.

"Then I will tell you mine once more. I am Julius Caesar. I am Consul of Rome and the only elected authority you are sworn to serve. All orders given by Pompey are revoked. You are under my command as of this moment."

The captain opened his mouth but Julius went on, unwilling to lose the momentary advantage. He spoke as if there was not the slightest chance of being disobeyed.

"You will pass the word to the other galleys to summon their captains here to be given orders. I have six thousand men and horses waiting to be picked up on the docks. You are my transport to Asia Minor, Captain."

Deliberately, Julius turned away to help Octavian over the railing. When he faced the captain once more, he showed the first sign of anger.

"Did you not understand the orders I gave you, Captain? As consul, I am the Senate in transit. The orders I give take precedence over any others you may have received. Acknowledge now, or I will have you relieved."

The captain struggled to reply. It was an impossible position. He was being asked to choose between two commanders and the conflict slowly brought a flush to his cheeks.

"Acknowledge!" Julius roared, standing closer.

The captain blinked in desperation. "Yes, sir. The orders are acknowledged. You have authority. I will send the signals to the other galleys."

He was sweating as Julius nodded at last and the crew ran to raise the flags that would bring the other captains in.

Julius felt Octavian staring at him and did not dare risk a smile.

"Return to the docks and get the men ready to leave, General," he said. "We go on."

Brutus stood on the stone dock, scratching a scab under his sling as he watched the galleys. His arm and ribs were healing at last, though he'd thought being carried in a jolting cart would drive him mad at first. It had been a clean break, but he had seen enough injuries to know it would take as long to build back the muscle as it did to heal the bones. He still wore the sword he had carried at Pharsalus, but he could draw it only with his left hand and felt as clumsy as a child. He hated to be weak. The soldiers of the Tenth and Fourth had grown bold with their sneers and insults, perhaps because he had too much pride to complain. They would not have dared when he was well. Though it burned him, Brutus could do nothing but wait, his fury well hidden.

With him stood Domitius, Octavian, Regulus, and Ciro, their nervousness showing as they strained their eyes on the darkening sea. Octavian had returned with the news and they had all watched as the galley captains were rowed across to meet Pompey's enemy. No word had come since the last of them had climbed onto the deck and the tension mounted by the hour.

"What if they're holding him?" Domitius said suddenly. "We'd never know."

"What can we do if they are?" Octavian replied. "Take those fat merchant ships out to do battle? They'd sink us before we could get close and you know it." He spoke without his eyes ever leaving the sleek shapes of the galleys as they rocked in the swell outside the port. "He chose the risk."

Ciro glanced at the setting sun, frowning to himself. "If he's not back by dark, we could slip out. If we packed onto a single ship, we'd have enough to storm one of the galleys. Take one and you can take another."

Brutus looked at him in surprise. The years had subtly altered the men he thought he knew. Ciro had become accustomed to command and his confidence had grown. Brutus replied without thinking.

"If they hold him, they'll expect us to try that. They'll anchor as far out as they can get and spend the night in close formation. That's if they don't head straight for Asia Minor with Julius, to give him to Pompey."

Octavian stiffened as he spoke. "Shut your mouth," he said flatly. "You hold no command. You are here only because my general did not see fit to execute you. You have nothing to say to us."

Brutus glared back at him, but dropped his gaze under the combined stares of the men he had known. It did not matter, he told himself, though he was surprised how much they could still hurt him. He noted how they looked to Octavian in Julius's absence. Perhaps it was something in the blood. He took a deep, angry breath and his right hand twitched in the sling before he gained control.

"I don't think-" he began.

Octavian rounded on him. "If it were my choice, I would nail you to a cross on these docks. Do you think the men would object?"

Brutus did not have to consider it. He knew the answer very well indeed. "No, they'd love a chance at me. But you won't let them, will you, boy? You'll follow his orders even if it means everything you value is destroyed."

"You can still try to justify what you did?" Octavian demanded. "There aren't words enough. I don't understand why he brought you here, but I will tell you this. If Julius expects you back as one of us, I won't do it. The first time you ever try to give me an order, I'll cut your throat."

Brutus narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. "You're brave now, boy, but bones heal. When they do…"

"I'll do it now!" Octavian said, raging.

He surged at Brutus, and Regulus and Ciro grabbed hold of his arm as it came up with a blade. Brutus staggered back out of range.

"I wonder how you would explain killing me to Julius," he said. His eyes were full of malice as the younger man struggled to reach him. "He can be cruel as well, Octavian. Perhaps that's why he let me live."

Octavian subsided as Ciro prized the knife from his hand.

"You think you'll heal, Brutus?" he said. "What if I had the men take you somewhere quiet and smash your arm properly? They could shatter your hand so badly you'd never use a sword again."

Octavian smiled as he saw a trace of fear in Brutus's eyes.

"That would hurt you, wouldn't it? You'd never ride a horse, or write your name, even. That would break the arrogance out of you at last."

"Ah, you're a noble man, Octavian," Brutus said. "I wish I had your principles."

Octavian went on, his hatred barely in check. "One more word out of you and I'll do it. No one will stop me, not to save you. They know you deserve it. Go on, General. One more word."

Brutus stared at him for a long time, then shook his head in disgust before turning and walking away from the group. Octavian nodded sharply, shaking with reaction. He hardly felt Domitius's grip on his shoulder, steadying him.

"You shouldn't let it show," Domitius said softly, looking after the broken man he had once revered.

Octavian snorted. "I can't help it. After all he's done, he stands with us as if he has a right. I don't know what Julius was thinking, bringing him here."

"Neither do I," Domitius replied. "It's between them, though."

Regulus hissed in a breath, making them all turn back to the sea. As the sun sank in the west, the galleys were moving, their great oars sweeping them in toward the dock.

Octavian looked at the others. "Until we know he is safe, I want the men in formation to repel an attack. Get spears ready. Domitius, have the extraordinarii stand back as foot reserves. They're no good to us here."

Caesar's generals moved away quickly to give the orders, not thinking to question his right to command them. Octavian was left alone to watch the galleys sweep in.

The little port could not take all six of the ships that clustered around the bay. Two of them came in together and Octavian watched as one bank of oars withdrew, leaving the other to scull the final gap to the dock. In the gloom, he could hardly make out the details of the great corvus bridges that were sent crashing down. Crewmen carrying ropes thumped across them and then Octavian saw Julius on the wooden slope. He sagged in relief.

Julius raised an arm in formal greeting. "Are the men ready to board, General?" he called.

"They are, sir," Octavian replied, smiling. Julius could still astonish him, he realized with amusement.

"Then get them on. There is no time to waste. The galleys carried his horses only two days ago-we have almost closed the gap." He paused, feeling again the thrill of the hunt. "Tell them there are good stocks of food on board and they'll move a little faster."

Octavian saluted and walked over to the men he commanded. Julius would have noted the formations and ready spears, though he could hardly mention it with the galley crews in earshot. Octavian could not help but grin as he relayed the order to the centurions of the Fourth legion. Though there would be harder days of marching ahead, he felt a growing confidence. Pompey would not escape them.

The slow dawn brought the coast of Asia Minor into view, with sharp, gray-green mountains plunging into the sea. Geese called overhead, and pelicans floated high above the galleys, watching for silver shoals beneath the surface. The first touches of spring were in the air and the morning seemed full of promise.

It was a new land for all of them, farther east from Rome than Britain lay to the west. Asia Minor supplied the cedar that built galleys for Rome. Its figs, apricots, and nuts would pack the holds of merchant ships heading for home markets. It was a golden land, an ancient one, and somewhere in the north were the ruins of Troy. Julius remembered how he had bothered his tutors to be told the stories of that place. Alexander had been there and offered sacrifice at the tomb of Achilles. Julius ached to stand where the Greek king had stood.

He shivered in the spray from the bows as the oar slaves propelled them toward a tiny port.

"When I return to Rome after all this," he said to Domitius, "I will have seen the ends of Roman land, both east and west. It makes me proud to be so far from home and still hear the speech of my city. To find our soldiers here, our laws and ships. Is it not wonderful?"

Domitius smiled at Julius's enthusiasm, feeling it himself. Though the pursuit across Greece had been hard, a different mood was stealing through the legions. Perhaps it was the aftermath of Pharsalus, as they realized they had come to the end of their years of battle. The sight of Julius commanding the enemy galleys had made it a reality. They were no longer at war. Their task was merely to stamp out the last embers of Pompey's rule. Those who had been with Julius from Spain and Gaul felt it most strongly of all. They clustered at the rails of the six galleys, laughing and talking with unaccustomed lightness.

Domitius glanced up to where Adan had climbed the mast. Even so far above their heads, the Spaniard's voice could be heard as he sang some ballad from his youth.

The quaestor of the tiny coastal port spoke excellent Latin, though he had grown up in sight of the local barracks. He was a short, dark man who bowed as Julius entered the dock buildings and did not rise until permission came.

"Consul," he said. "You are welcome here."

"How long since Pompey's riders left this place?" Julius asked impatiently.

The little man did not hesitate and Julius realized Pompey had left no orders to stop the pursuit. He had not expected them to cross against his galleys. It gave Julius hope that Pompey might have slowed his pace.

"The Dictator left last night, Consul. Is your business urgent? I can have messengers sent south if you wish."

Julius blinked in surprise. "No. I am hunting the man. I do not want him warned."

The quaestor looked confused. In two days, he had seen more foreign soldiers than at any other point in his life. It would be a story for his children that he had spoken with not one but two of the masters of Rome.

"Then I wish you luck in the hunt, Consul," he said.