The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 29

Building fortified camps under the very noses of the enemy was a new experience for the six legions.

Every man who could be spared dug the outer trenches, throwing the loose earth up into great ramparts, shifting many tons of earth to the height of three men. The extraordinarii patrolled the perimeter, and twice during the long afternoon, small groups had ridden hard at them, sending javelins flying before racing back to their own lines. It had been no more than young men showing their courage, but Julius could make nothing of Ariovistus’s plans. His warriors seemed eager enough, but still the main army kept their distance, watching as the Romans raised earthworks and felled trees. Julius had smelled spices on the breeze as the day wore on and knew the Suebi were busy preparing food for their own men as he was about to do for his.

By the early evening, the huge camps were finished and the legions marched inside gates as solid as anything in Gaul. The legion carpenters were old hands at turning heavy trunks into shaped beams, and the earthern ramparts were spiked solidly enough to resist the most determined attack. Julius could sense a mood of optimism amongst his men. The sight of a retreating enemy had raised their morale enormously, and he hoped it would continue.

He gathered his council in the generals’ tent inside the walls after a hot meal had been prepared and eaten. The Aedui horses had munched their way through a good part of his grain supply, but there could be no grazing outside with the Suebi so close. As night fell, Julius waited for Brutus to come and join the others. Lamps were lit and the first night watch went on duty without their shields, climbing wooden steps to the ramparts to scan the darkness for an attack.

Julius looked around at his council with a quiet satisfaction. Octavian had grown into a fine leader of men, and Ciro too had justified his promotion to the position of centurion. Publius Crassus was a fearless commander and Julius would be sorry when he was sent back to lead his father’s legion. Renius continued to train the men in gladius technique, and Julius never hesitated in promoting those he recommended. If Renius said they were able to lead, they were. Domitius was capable of commanding a full legion, and the men loved the silver armor he now wore constantly. At that time, in that place, they were in their prime, and Julius was proud of them all.

As Brutus joined them, Cabera brought out a ball of clay he had wrapped in damp cloth. It shone in the lamplight as he massaged the brown ball into a semblance of a face, pinching out a nose and poking eyes with his fingernails.

“If ropes were placed in this way, you could alter the shape of the skull,” he said, winding a piece or cord around the little head and tightening it with a stick that he twisted until the clay began to bulge.

When he had created a heavy ridge above the eyes, he repeated the process above it, until a copy of the odd Suebi features stared back at them.

“But the skull would break, surely?” Octavian said, wincing at the image.

Cabera shook his head. “For a man, yes, but for a newborn child, when the skull is still soft, such a binding would produce the ridges. No demons, these men, for all the gossip in camp. They are brutal, though. I have never heard of a race that could mistreat their young in such a way. The first year, perhaps two, of their lives must be spent in agony, with these things pressing against their bones. I doubt they are ever fully free of pain. If I am right, it would mean they mark their warrior castes almost from birth.”

“You must show it around the camps if they are talking, Cabera,” Julius said, fascinated by the contorted head. “The Suebi need no other advantages with their numbers, and our men are superstitious.”

A commotion outside the tent brought the council to their feet in an instant. The guards who were stationed there snapped muffled words at someone, and then the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle could be heard. Brutus strode to the flap and flung it back.

Two of the Gaulish slaves taken by the Suebi were writhing on the ground.

“Sorry, sir,” one guard said quickly as he saluted Brutus. “Consul Caesar said he should not be disturbed and these two ignored my warning.”

“You did well,” Brutus replied. He reached down and helped one of the Gauls to his feet. “What was so important?” he asked.

The man glared at the guard before speaking, but Brutus didn’t understand a word of the torrent that came in reply. Raising his eyebrows, Brutus exchanged glances with the guard.

“I don’t suppose he understood your warning, either. Adàn? Would you come and translate for me, please?”

With Adàn there, the man spoke even faster. By then, his companion had risen to his feet and stood sullenly rubbing his stomach.

“Are you going to stand out here all night?” Julius said, coming out to them.

“I think you’re going to want to hear this, sir,” Adàn said.

“It explains why we couldn’t bring them to battle, at least,” Julius said. “If this Ariovistus is fool enough to listen to his priests, we can only benefit from it. I make it three days until the new moon. If he won’t fight us till then, we can push him right back to the Rhine and hammer him against it.”

Julius’s mood of worry and anger had disappeared at the news brought by the Gaulish slaves. His riders had rejoiced to find some of their own people amongst the rest, and the crucial piece of information explained a great deal of the Suebi king’s behavior.

Julius listened as Adàn translated the man’s torrent of words for his benefit. Ariovistus had been told he would die if he fought before the new moon. It meant the angry meeting had been a bluff of sorts, and Julius had called it when he ordered the Tenth into battle formation. Julius remembered the glimpse of fear he had seen in the king’s eyes and understood it at last. It was a weakness in a leader to allow his priests so much sway over his army, Julius was certain. The Greeks had been crippled by their reliance on oracles. Even Roman generals had been known to delay and lose positions if the entrails of birds or fish showed disaster waiting to fall. Julius refused to bring such men to his battlefields, convinced they did more harm than good.

Julius had his rough map of the area held with lead weights on the table. He pointed to the black line that marked the winding Rhine to the north, less than fifteen miles away. Even with the heavy carts of the baggage train, it was a distance they could cross easily before the new moon, and he blessed the gods for delivering Aedui slaves into his hands.

“We will break camp an hour before dawn, gentlemen,” Julius told his generals. “I want the ballistae, onagers, and scorpions with us as far as the ground will allow. If they fall behind, they are to be brought up slowly for the final battle. Octavian will command the extraordinarii, Mark Antony will take my right flank. Bericus on the left and all the scorpions to be brought to the front of any halt. The Tenth and Third Gallica will hold the center. The men are to have a good breakfast tomorrow and fill their waterskins from the casks. Let them all know what we have learned tonight. It will give them heart. Make sure each man has his spears and weapons in good order.”

He paused as Mark Antony filled his cup, the Roman flushed with pleasure at the position he had been given. Mark Antony had heard about the arrogance of Ariovistus at the meeting and accepted that the friendship with Rome was at an end. No doubt Caesar’s enemies would make much of it in the Senate, but that was a problem for another day.

Crassus sighed as Servilia’s slave girl massaged the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders. The frozen fruit he had eaten lay cold in his stomach, and after he had been fully relaxed on the table, the luxury of a hot pool awaited him, steaming in the open night. Across from him, Servilia lay along a padded couch, looking up at the stars. Though there was no moon to light the heavens, the sky was clear and she could see the tiny red disk of Mars above the line of the tiled roof that surrounded the open courtyard. The hot pool gleamed under the light of lamps, and heavy moths fluttered into the flames, crackling as they died.

“This place is worth every coin,” Crassus murmured, wincing slightly as the slave girl worked a painful point between his shoulder blades.

“I knew you would appreciate it,” Servilia replied, smiling with real pleasure. “So few who come to my house have an eye for the beautiful things, but what are we without them?”

Her gaze fell on the freshly painted plaster of the new wing of her town house. Crassus had secured the land and she had paid a full market rate for it, without resentment. Anything else would have meant a shift of their relationship, and she liked and honored the old man who lay so comfortably under the strong fingers of her Nubian girl.

“Are you not going to press me for information, then?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Am I no longer useful to you?”

Servilia chuckled, sitting up. “Old father, be silent if that is what you want. My house is yours for as long as you need it. There is no obligation.”

“Ah, the worst kind,” he replied, smiling to himself. “What is it you want to know?”

“These new men in the Senate, Clodius and now Titus Milo, the owner of the meat market. Are they dangerous?” she said. Though she spoke lightly, Crassus knew her full attention was on the answer.

“Very much so,” he replied. “I would not like to enter the Senate when they are there.”

Servilia snorted. “You don’t fool me with your sudden devotion to trade, old man. I doubt there is a word spoken there that doesn’t find its way back to you.”

She smiled sweetly at him then and he opened his eyes and winked at her before shifting under the hands of the slave to guide her to a new place. Servilia shook her head at his games.

“How is your new legion shaping?” she asked.

“Well enough, my dear. When my son Publius returns from Gaul, I may find a use for them. If I survive the current unrest.”

“Is it that bad?” she asked.

Crassus propped himself up on his elbows, his expression becoming serious. “It is. These new men sway the mob of Rome and recruit more and more to their gangs each day. The streets are no longer safe even for members of the Senate, Servilia. We must be thankful that Milo occupies so much of Clodius’s time. If either one of them should destroy the other, the victor would be free to wreak havoc in the city. As it is, each man is the check on his colleague, at least for the moment. I have heard they consider parts of the city their own, so that the followers of Clodius may not cross certain streets without a beating, even in the day. Most of Rome cannot see the struggle, but it is there nonetheless. I have seen the bodies in the Tiber.”

“And Pompey? Does he not see the threat?”

Crassus shrugged. “What can he do against their code of silence? The raptores fear their masters more than anything Pompey can do to them. He at least will not attack their families after they are dead. When a trial is considered, the witnesses disappear or become unable to remember. It is a shameful thing to see,

Servilia. It is as if a great sickness has come into the city, and I do not see how it can be cut out.” He sighed in distaste.

“The Senate house is the core of it and I spoke the truth when I said I was glad my business takes me away from it. Clodius and Milo meet openly to sniff and taunt each other before their animals terrorize the city at night. The Senate do not have the will to control them. All the little men have fallen in with one or the other, and Pompey has less support than he realizes. He cannot match their bribes, nor their threats.

At times, I wish Julius would come back. He would not see Rome descend into chaos while he had life in him.”

Servilia looked up at the bright evening star, trying to hide her interest. When she glanced at Crassus, she saw his eyes were open, studying her. There was little the old man didn’t know or guess.

“Have you heard from Julius?” she asked at last.

“I have. He offers me trade concessions with the new lands in Gaul, though I think he paints a prettier picture than the full truth to tempt me in. Mind you, if half of what he says is true, I would be a fool to miss the opportunity.”

“I saw the notices around the city,” Servilia said softly, thinking of Julius. “How many will respond?”

“With Clodius and Milo making life a misery with their struggle, I would think there will be thousands crossing the Alps in the spring. Land for the taking: who can resist such an offer? Slaves and trade for every man with enough energy to make the trip. If I were younger and poor, I might consider his offer myself. Of course, I am ready to provide the stores and supplies to anyone who wants to go to his fabulous new provinces.”

Servilia laughed. “Always the merchant?”

“A merchant prince, Servilia. Julius used the term in one of his letters, and I rather like it.” He waved away the slave girl and sat up on the long bench.

“He is more useful than he knows, is Julius. When the city looks too long inward to its own affairs, we create men like Clodius and Milo, who care nothing for the greater events of the world. The reports Julius pays to be read on every street corner raise the spirits of the lowest tanner or dyer in the markets.” He chuckled. “Pompey knows it, though he hates to see Julius so successful. He is forced to fight for him in the Senate whenever Suetonius objects to some little breach of the laws. Such a bitter draft for that man to swallow, but without Julius and his conquests, Rome would become a stagnant pool, with all the fish eating each other out of desperation.”

“And you, Crassus? What does the future hold for you?”

Crassus rose from the table and lowered himself into the warm bath set in the floor, oblivious of his nudity. “I find that old age is the perfect balm for raging ambition, Servilia. My dreams are all for my son.”

His eyes twinkled in the starlight and she did not believe him.

“Will you join me?” he asked.

As an answer, Servilia stood and undid the single clasp that held the cool material to her. She was naked underneath and Crassus smiled at the unveiling.

“How you do love drama, my dear,” he said with amusement.

Julius swore as the Roman squares faltered. After two days of pursuit, he had forced the Suebi to face them only a few miles short of the Rhine. He knew he should have expected the attack, but when it came, the reversal had been so sudden that the armies clashed before the Roman legions could even untie their spears.

The warriors of Ariovistus were every bit as brutal as they had expected. They gave no ground unless it was over the corpses of their men, and the cavalry swirled like smoke around the battlefield, with charges forming the instant the Romans broke their squares to attack.

“Mark Antony! Support the left!” Julius bellowed, glimpsing the general in the heaving mass. There was no sign of his order having been heard over the clash of arms.

The battlefield was in chaos and, for the first time, he began to fear a defeat. Every Suebi rider ran with another man hanging on the horse’s mane, and that speed of movement was making it almost impossible to counter them. Julius saw with horror that two of the Ariminum legions were close to being overwhelmed on the left flank and there was no sign of a supporting force arriving to help them. He could no longer see Mark Antony, and Brutus was embroiled in the fighting, too far away to help. Julius tore a shield from a legionary’s grasp and raced on foot across the battlefield.

The clash of arms and dying men grew in intensity as he neared them. Julius could feel the fear amongst his own legionaries and he began to call them by name. The chain of command seemed to have been broken in the attack, and Julius was forced to gather optios and centurions to him to give his orders.

“Join the Twelfth and Fifth together. Double the square!” he told them, watching as they began to create order from the milling ranks around him. His extraordinarii were off on the flanks holding the Suebi from surrounding them. Where was Mark Antony? Julius craned around him, but could see no sign of him in the press.

Under Julius’s constant barrage of orders, the two legions joined together and then wheeled to fight back to back as the Suebi crumbled the edges of their squares, picking men off with sudden flights of darts and stones. Again and again, the horses galloped at the legions only to halt in the face of the unbroken shield walls. The legionaries charged forward as the riders tried to turn, and the carnage was horrific.

With the Rhine behind them, the Suebi had nowhere to run and Julius knew panic when he saw the front ranks of his beloved Tenth being smashed down by spears thrown at the gallop. The shields saved many and they rose in a daze, brought back to their position by their friends around them.

Still the legions forced themselves onward. The great ballistae and onagers were brought up and tore red ribbons in the enemy. The Tenth roared as Julius rejoined them, fighting all the harder under his watchful eye.

Julius saw the left and right flanks were holding. Brutus controlled the right, and the extraordinarii and Aedui cavalry had blunted the Suebi’s attacks with wild courage. He advanced the center and the Suebi were forced to fall back by the sheer ferocity of the legion formations.

Julius saw with pride that his officers knew their business, even without orders. When the foot soldiers of the Suebi rushed them, they widened their line to bring as many swords as possible into the attack.

When the cavalry charged, they clashed into squares and fought on. The ballistae and onagers launched again and again until they were too far behind to risk their missiles falling on the Roman troops.

Julius saw Ariovistus gather his bodyguard around him, a thousand of the very best of the Suebi. Each one stood a head taller than the Romans and was marked with the strange ridges that frightened the legionaries. They charged the Tenth in the center and Julius saw the square formed just too late to prevent the armored warriors from reaching them.

The center buckled and then, with a roar, the Tenth fought back like maniacs in a blood rage. Julius remembered how they had been created from the deaths of those who had faltered, and he smiled with a vicious pleasure. The Tenth were his and they would not be turned. They would never run.

He surged forward with the soldiers around him, calling out for the flanks to form horns to compress the enemy. Julius caught a glimpse of the dark horses of the Aedui coming from the left and isolating a block of the Suebi from the main force. The Tenth climbed over bodies to reach the enemy. The ground was red and shining as they built speed into a charge, and Ariovistus was forced to ride back from the front before the roaring Tenth and Third could reach him.

The whole of the Roman lines saw the king retreat and they responded, raising their heads. Julius exulted. The Rhine was less than a mile distant and he could see the shining water. He called his cornicens to him and ordered spears to be thrown, watching as the mass of missiles hampered any attempt by Ariovistus to re-form. A gap opened between the armies and Julius urged them all forward, calling to the men he knew. As he mentioned their names, they stood a little straighter and forgot their weariness under his gaze.

“Bring up the ballistae and scorpions!” he ordered, and his messengers weaved their way back to help the sweating teams over the rough ground.

Without an apparent signal, the entire mass of the Suebi formed another charge and thundered down toward the Roman lines. Spears plucked some of them from their saddles and killed mounts that fouled those behind. Julius knew it was their last charge and his men moved into tight squares before he could order it.

The long Roman shields were overlapped and the men behind braced themselves to take an impact, their swords ready. Not one part of the Roman lines fell back from the terrifying sight of the horses coming at them. When the Suebi faltered, the legions tore them apart.

The army of Ariovistus began to be compressed against the river. Without the extraordinarii and the Aedui, Julius knew they could have overwhelmed the Romans, but though they hammered the flanks again and again, the legions continued their advance, killing anything that faced them.

The banks of the Rhine seethed with men and horses as they risked their lives to cross against the current. The great river was almost a hundred yards wide and those without mounts to cling to were swept away and drowned. Julius could see tiny fishing boats crammed with desperate men and watched as one of them overturned, the dark bobbing heads of the Suebi disappearing under the water.

On the left flank, a thousand of the enemy threw down their arms and surrendered to the Ariminum legions they had failed to break. Julius pushed on with his Tenth until they were standing on the banks of the river, looking at the mass of drowning men that choked the water from his side right to the deepest center. Those of the Tenth who had been able to salvage or keep their spears threw them at the men in the water, and Julius saw many struck in that way, slipping beneath the surface with no more than a single cry.

On the far bank, Julius saw a boat make it into the shallows and watched as the figure of Ariovistus climbed out and collapsed onto his knees for a moment.

“Ciro!” Julius called, his voice echoing as the name went back into the ranks of the Tenth, producing the powerful figure of the legionary, still panting with the strain of the battle. Julius handed him a single spear and pointed to the figure on the far bank.

“Can you reach him?”

Ciro hefted the spear in his hand. The soldiers around him stood back to give him room as he stared across the wide river.

“Quickly, before he rises,” Julius snapped.

Ciro took five steps back and then ran forward, heaving the spear into the air. The men of the Tenth watched it in fascination as it rose high into the sun and then fell.

Ariovistus stood to face the Romans on the far bank and never saw it. The spear hammered him off his feet, puncturing his leather armor over the stomach. The king flailed limply as the survivors of his bodyguard dragged him into the trees.

After a moment of awed silence, the legions cheered themselves hoarse. Ciro raised a single arm to them in salute and grinned as Julius clapped him on the back.

“A hero’s throw, Ciro. By the gods, I have never seen a finer. Hercules himself could not have done better.” Julius roared his triumph with the others then and felt the exultation that comes from victory, when the blood seemed to rush like fire through the veins and tired muscles surged with fresh strength.

“My glorious Tenth!” Julius shouted to them. “My brothers! Is there anything you cannot achieve? You,

Belinus, I saw you strike down three of the warriors in the line. You, Regulus, you gathered in your century when poor Decidas fell. You will do him honor when you wear his plume.”

One by one, he called the names of the men who were with him, praising their courage. He had missed nothing of the day’s fighting, and they stood tall as his gaze swept the faces of his men. The other legions came closer to hear him and he could feel their pride and pleasure. He raised his voice to carry as far as it could.

“What can we not achieve, after this?” They cheered the words. “We are the sons of Rome and I tell you this land will be ours! Every man who has fought for me will have land and gold and slaves to work it for him. You will be the new nobilitas of Rome and drink wine good enough to make you weep. I swear it before you all, on my honor. I swear it as consul. I swear it as Rome in Gaul.”

Julius reached down into the churned mud of the riverbank, mixed with the blood of the Suebi. He pulled up a handful and held it up to the assembled men.

“You see this clay? This bloody clay I hold? I say it is yours. It belongs to my city as much as the chariot races or the markets. Take it up, hold it in your hands. Can you not feel it?”

He watched with wild pleasure as the legions copied his action, joking and laughing as they did so.

They grinned at him as they held up their pieces of the land, and Julius squeezed his fist closed, so that the clay dripped from between his fingers.

“I may never go home,” he whispered. “This is my time. This is my path.”