The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 13

Llight rain began to fall as Julius walked through the empty city. With dawn on the horizon, the streets should have been filled with workers, servants, and slaves, bustling along on a thousand errands. The cries of vendors should have been heard, coupled with the din of a thousand trades.

Instead, it was eerily quiet.

Julius hunched his shoulders against the rain, hearing his own footsteps echo back from the houses on either side. He saw faces at the high windows of the tenements, but no one called down to him and he hurried on toward the forum.

Pompey’s men stood at every corner in small groups, ready to enforce the curfew. One of them gripped his hilt as he caught sight of the lonely figure. Julius threw back his riding cloak to reveal the armor underneath, and they let him pass. The whole city was nervous and Julius felt a prickling anger at the part Crassus had played in it.

He strode quickly along the Alta Semita, following the Quirinal hill down into the forum. The great flat crossing stones kept him clear of the sluggish filth of the roadbed below his feet. The rain had begun to wash the city clean, but it would take more than a brief shower to finish the task.

In all his life, he had never seen the vast space of the forum so empty. A wind that had been blocked by the rows of houses hit him as he passed into it, making his cloak snap out behind. There were soldiers at the entrances to the temples and the Senate house itself, but no lights showed within. The temple priests had lit flickering torches for those who prayed inside, but Julius had no business with them. As he passed the temple to Minerva, he muttered under his breath to her, that he might have the wisdom to see his way through the tangle Crassus had made.

The iron studs of his sandals clacked on the flagstones of the great space as he approached the Senate building. Two legionaries held station there, absolutely still despite the rain and wind that bit at their exposed skin. As Julius set his foot on the first step, both men drew their swords and Julius frowned at them. They were both young. More experienced men would not have drawn with so little provocation.

“By order of Consul Pompey, no one may enter until the Senate is called again,” one of them said to Julius, filled with the importance of his duty.

“I need to see the consuls before that meeting,” Julius replied. “Where are they?”

The two soldiers glanced at each other for a moment, trying to decide whether it would be right for them to volunteer the information. Soaked to the skin by then, Julius felt his temper rising.

“I was told to report as soon as I returned to Rome. I am here. Where is your commander?”

“The prison house, sir,” the soldier answered. He opened his mouth to continue, then thought better of it, resuming his position as before and sheathing his gladius. Once again they were like twin statues in the rain.

There were dark clouds over the city by then and the wind was growing in strength, beginning to howl as it rushed across the empty forum. Julius resisted the urge to run for cover and stalked over to the prison that adjoined the Senate house. It was a small building, with only two cells belowground. Those who were to be executed were held there on the night before their death. There were no other prisons in the city: execution and banishment prevented the need to build them. The very fact that Pompey was there told Julius what he would find, and he prepared to face it without flinching.

Another pair of Pompey’s men guarded the outer door. As Julius approached, they nodded to him as if he were expected and threw open the locking bars.

The armor he wore was marked with the insignia of the Tenth, and he was not questioned until he reached the steps leading down to the cells. Three men moved subtly apart as he announced himself, and another went down the steps behind them. Julius waited patiently as he heard his name spoken somewhere below and Pompey’s answering rumble. The men who watched him were stiff with tension, and so he leaned against the wall in the most relaxed fashion he could, brushing some of the surface water from his armor and squeezing it from his hair. The actions helped him to relax under their silent stares, and he was able to smile as Pompey came up with the soldier.

“That is Caesar,” Pompey confirmed. His eyes were hard and there was no answering smile. At the confirmation from their general, the men in the room took their hands from their sword hilts and moved away, leaving the entrance to the steps open.

“Is there still a threat to the city?” Pompey asked.

“It is ended,” Julius replied. “Catiline did not survive the battle.”

Pompey swore softly. “That is unfortunate. Come down with me, Caesar. You should be part of this,”

Pompey said.

As he spoke, he wiped sweat from his hairline and Julius saw a smear of blood on his hand. He followed Pompey down the steps with his heart thumping in anticipation.

Crassus was there in the cells. The blood seemed to have drained from his face, so that under the lamplight he looked like a figure of wax. He looked up as Julius entered the low room, and his eyes glittered unhealthily. There was a sickly smell in the air and Julius tried not to look at the figures bound to chairs in the center of it. There were four of them and the smell of fresh blood was one he knew well.

“Catiline? Did you bring him back?” Crassus asked, putting a hand on Julius’s arm.

“He was killed in the first charge, Consul,” Julius replied, watching the man’s eyes. He saw the fear go out of them as he had expected. Catiline’s secrets had died with him.

Pompey grunted, motioning to the torturers who stood by the broken bodies of the conspirators. “A pity.

These creatures named him as their leader, but they know nothing of the details I wanted. They would have told us by now.”

Julius looked at the men and repressed a shudder at what had been done to them. Pompey had been thorough and he too doubted the men could have held anything back. Three of them lay as still as the dead, but the last rolled his head toward them with a sudden jerk. One of his eyes had been pierced and wept a shining stream of liquid down his cheek, but the other peered around aimlessly, lighting up as he saw Julius.

“You! I accuse you!” he spat, then cackled weakly, dribbling blood over his chin.

Julius fought against a rising gorge as he caught sight of small white shards on the stone floor. Some of them still had the roots attached.

“He has lost his mind,” he said softly and, to his relief, Pompey nodded.

“Yes, though he held out the longest. They will live long enough to be executed and that will be the end of it. I must thank you both for bringing this to the Senate in time. It was a noble deed and worthy of your ranks.” Pompey looked at the man who would stand for the position of consul in only two months.

“When my curfew is over, I suppose the people will rejoice at being saved from bloody insurrection.

They will elect you, don’t you think? How can they not?”

His eyes belied the light tone and Julius did not look at him as he felt the man’s gaze. He felt shamed by all of it.

“Perhaps they will,” Crassus said softly. “We three will have to work together for Rome. A triumvirate will bring its own problems, I am sure. Perhaps we should-”

“Another time, Crassus,” Pompey snapped. “Not now, with the stink of this place in my lungs. We still have a Senate meeting at sunrise and I want to visit the bathhouse before that.”

“Dawn is here now,” Julius said.

Pompey swore softly, using a rag to wipe his hands clean. “It’s always night down in this place. I am finished with these.”

He gave orders to the torturers to have the men cleaned and made presentable before turning back to Crassus. As Julius watched, dark sponges were dipped in buckets and the worst of the blood began to be sluiced away, running in stone gutters along the floor between his legs.

“I will set the execution for noon,” Pompey promised, leading them up the stairs to the cool rooms above.

The gray light had taken on a reddish tint as Julius and Crassus stepped out into the forum. The rain pounded on the stones, rebounding in thousands of tiny spatters that drummed in the emptiness. Though Julius called his name, Crassus walked quickly away into the downpour. No doubt a bath and a change of clothes would remove some of the sickly pallor from his skin, Julius thought. He hurried to catch up with the consul.

“Something occurred to me when I was destroying the rebels gathered in your name,” Julius called, his voice echoing.

The consul stopped dead at that, looking around. There was no one close.

“In my name, Julius? Catiline led them. Did his followers not murder your soldiers in the street?”

“Perhaps, but the house you showed me was a modest one, Crassus. Where would Catiline have gathered enough gold to pay ten thousand men? Very few in this city could have paid for such an army, don’t you think? I wonder what would happen if I sent men to investigate his accounts. Would I find a traitor with huge reserves of hidden wealth, or should I look for another, a paymaster?”

Crassus could know nothing of the burnt papers Brutus had found at the house, and the spark of worry Julius saw was all he needed to confirm his suspicions.

“It strikes me that such a large force of mercenaries, coupled with riots and fires in the city, could well have worked with only Pompey’s legion to guard Rome. It was not an empty offer they made you, Crassus, do you realize? The city could well have been yours. I am surprised you were not tempted. You would have been left standing on the heap of corpses, and Rome might have been ready for Dictatorship.”

As Crassus began to reply, Julius’s expression changed and his mocking tone became hard.

“But without warning, another legion is brought home from Spain and then…? Then you must have been in a very difficult position. The forces are set, the conspiracy is in place, but Rome is guarded by ten thousand and victory is no longer guaranteed. A gambling man might have risked it, but not you. You are a man who knows when the game is over. I wonder when you decided it was better to betray Catiline than see it through? Was it when you came to my home and planned my campaign with me?”

Crassus put a hand on Julius’s shoulder.

“I have said I am a friend to your house, Julius, and so I will ignore your words-for your own good, I will.” He paused for an instant. “The conspirators are dead and Rome is safe. An excellent outcome, in fact.

Let that be enough for you. There is nothing else that should trouble your thoughts. Let it go.”

Ducking his head against the rain, Crassus walked away, leaving Julius staring after him.