The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 43

It was dark in the tent and Adàn had only a single tallow candle to give him enough light to write. He sat in perfect silence and watched as Caesar sprawled on a bench with his arm outstretched to be bandaged. There was blood on the first layers and the strip of cloth itself was dirty, having been taken from a corpse. Julius grunted as the doctor made a knot and pulled it tight. For a moment, his eyes opened with the pain, and Adàn saw they were dim with exhaustion.

The doctor gathered his sack of equipment and left, letting a blast of air into the stuffy interior that made the candle flicker. Adàn looked over the words he had recorded and wished Julius would sleep. They were all hungry, but the winter had burnt flesh from the commander as much as any of the men. His skin was tinged with yellow and tight across his skull, and Adàn saw dark hollows underneath his eyes that gave him a look of death.

Adàn thought Julius had slid into sleep and began to gather his scrolls to steal away without waking him. He froze as Julius scratched at the sweat stains of his tunic and then rubbed his face. Adàn shook his head slowly at the changes in the man since he had first known him. Gaul had taken more than it had given.

“Where did I finish?” Julius said, without opening his eyes. His voice was a croak that made Adàn shiver in the gloom.

“Avaricum. The doctor came in as I was writing about the final day.”

“Ah yes. Are you ready to go on?”

“If you wish it, sir. It might be better if I left you to get some rest,” Adàn said.

Julius did not respond past scratching his unshaven chin.

“Avaricum came soon after the murder of three cohorts under Bericus. Are you writing this?”

“I am,” Adàn whispered. To his surprise, he felt the sting of tears begin as Julius forced himself on, and the Spaniard could not explain them.

“We built a ramp up to the walls and stormed the town. I could not hold the men back after what they had seen. I didn’t try to hold them.” Julius paused and Adàn could hear his breath as a harsh susurration above the noise of the legions outside.

“Eight hundred survived us, Adàn. Record the truth for me. Out of forty thousand men, women, and children, only eight hundred lived when we were finished. We burned the town around them and stripped what grain they had left in their stores. Even then, you could count the ribs on the soldiers with me.

Vercingetorix had moved on, of course, and every town we came to was destroyed. He drove the cattle before him and left us nothing but birds and wild hares to trap. To feed forty thousand men, Adàn. Without the stores of Avaricum, we would have been finished.

“We routed them over and over whenever we caught them in the open, but all the tribes of Gaul had joined him and he outnumbered us every time. Bericus was killed in the third month, or the fourth, I cannot remember. His own irregulars caught him in an ambush. We did not find his body.”

Julius lapsed into silence as he remembered how Bericus had refused to believe that the men he had trained would kill him. He had been a decent man and he paid with his life for that belief.

“Vercingetorix moved on south to Gergovia and the hill forts there, and I could not break those walls.”

Adàn looked up at the silence and saw Julius’s mouth twist in anger. Still, he lay back with his eyes closed and the croaking voice seemed to come from deep within.

“We lost eight hundred men at Gergovia and as spring came I saw my soldiers eat green corn until they vomited. Still, we destroyed the armies who dared to take the field against us. Brutus and Octavian did well against the banners there, but the numbers, Adàn… Every tribe we have called friends has risen against us and there are times… no. Strike that out, my doubts are not to be written.

“We could not starve him out in Gergovia and our own men were weakening. I was forced to move west to gather supplies, and still we could barely find enough to stave off death. Vercingetorix sent his generals against us and we fought all the way while he raced ahead by night. I have marched a thousand miles this last year, Adàn. I have seen death walking with me.”

“But now you have trapped him in Alesia,” Adàn said softly.

Julius struggled to sit up and leaned over his knees, his head sagging. “The greatest hill fort I have ever seen in Gaul. A city on four hills, Adàn. Yes, I have him trapped. We starve on the outside while he waits for us all to die.”

“Grain and meat are coming in from the south now. The worst is over,” Adàn said.

Julius shrugged so lightly it could have been a breath. “Perhaps. Write this for me. We have built trenches and fortifications for eighteen miles around Alesia. We have thrown up three great hills from the earthworks, so massive as to allow us to build watchtowers on them. Vercingetorix cannot leave as long as we remain here-and we will remain. Our prisoners talk of him as king of all the Gauls, and until he is dead or captured, they will continue to rebel. We have cut them down in thousands and they will still come each spring until their king is dead. Let them know in Rome, Adàn. Let them understand what we are doing here.”

The tent flap opened and Brutus was there in the darkness, glancing over at Adàn as he saw the light of the tiny flame.

“Julius?” he said.

“I am here,” came the voice, barely a whisper.

“You must come out once more. The scouts are back and they say an army of Gauls is coming to relieve the forts.”

Julius looked at him with red-rimmed eyes that seemed more dead than alive. He stood and swayed from exhaustion and Brutus stepped in to help him pull on the armor and scarlet cloak that the men needed to see.

“So those men who escaped the fort were to bring an army back,” Julius murmured as Brutus began to lace the chestplate to the strips of iron around his neck. Both men were dirty and stank with sweat, and Adàn was struck by the tenderness as Brutus took a rag and wiped the armor down with it, handing Julius his sword from where it lay propped and forgotten against a pole. Without a word, Adàn took the red cloak from its peg and helped Brutus drape it around the shoulders. It could have been his imagination, but in the armor he thought Julius stood a little straighter, sheer will forcing some of the weariness from his face.

“Summon the council, Brutus, and bring the scouts to me. We shall fight on both sides if need be, to put an end to this king.”

“And then we shall go home?” Brutus said.

“If we live, my friend. Then we shall go home at last.”

The Roman generals who came to the central camp at the foot of Alesia showed the marks of the wars they had fought. Drinking water had been rationed as well as food, and not one of them had enough to shave or wash the grime of months in the field from their faces. They sank onto the benches and sat listlessly, too tired to talk. The scorched earth and months of war since returning from Britain had hurt them all, and now this last blow had brought them to the edge of despair.

“Generals, you have heard from the scouts and there is little more for me to tell you,” Julius said. He had taken a pouch of precious water from a guard and upended it into his mouth to take away the dust from his throat.

“The men are eating at last, though supplies are thin and of poor quality. Without the sacrifices of our settlers, we would have even less. Now the Gauls have gathered all the tribes against us, and even the Aedui cavalry have vanished to join them. Mhorbaine has betrayed me at the last.”

Julius paused and rubbed a hand over his features.

“If the scouts are right, we have little chance of surviving the battle. If you ask it of me, I will try for an honorable surrender and save the lives of our legions. Vercingetorix has shown he is no fool. We would be allowed to travel back to the Alps with our settlers. Such a victory would establish him in his role of High King, and I think he would accept. Is this what you want?”

“No, it isn’t,” Domitius said. “The men would not accept it from us, and not from you. Let them come,

Caesar. We will destroy them again.”

“He speaks for me,” Renius added, and the others nodded. Brutus and Mark Antony joined the voices and Octavian rose to his feet. Despite their tired faces, there was determination there still. Julius smiled at their loyalty.

“Then we will stand or fall at Alesia, gentlemen. I am proud to have known you all. If this is where the gods say it ends, then let it be so. We will fight to the last.”

Julius scratched the bristles on his face and smiled ruefully.

“Perhaps we should use a little of the drinking water to look like Romans for tomorrow. Bring me my maps. We will make plans to humble the tribes one more time.”

Vercingetorix stood at the high walls of Alesia, looking out over the plain. He had rushed up to the windswept heights at the first reports from his watchmen, and he gripped the crumbling stone fiercely as he saw a mass of torches moving toward them.

“Is it Madoc?” Brigh asked eagerly.

The king looked at his youngest brother and held his shoulder in a sudden burst of affection. “Who else would it be? He has brought the armies of Gaul to sweep them away.” With a glance around him, he leaned his head close. “The princes of the Arverni are hard men to defeat, are we not?”

Brigh grinned at him. “I had begun to lose hope. There’s not more than a month of food left…”

“Tell the men to eat well tonight, then. Tomorrow we will see the Romans broken and then we will cut our way out past their forts and walls and reclaim Gaul from them. We will see no more of these legions for a generation.”

“And you will be king?” Brigh asked.

Vercingetorix laughed. “I am king, little brother. King of a greater nation. Now the tribes remember the call of blood, there is nothing in the world to hold us down. Dawn will end it and then we will be free.”

The first gray light revealed a camp of Gaulish horsemen that stretched for three miles across the land.

As the legions awoke, they heard a dim and tinny cheering from the great linked forts of Alesia as the inhabitants saw those who had come to relieve them.

The morning was cold, despite the promise of summer. The food that had been brought in from the Roman province at the foot of the Alps was prepared and handed out on tin plates, the first hot meal in days for many of the men. With the Gauls arrayed before them, they ate without joy and the plates emptied too quickly. Many of the men licked them clean for the last scrap of sustenance.

The Roman fortifications around Alesia were high enough to give the Gauls pause as they considered the best manner of attack. The walls reached twenty feet and were manned by forty thousand of the best foot soldiers in the world. It was no easy task, even with the colossal numbers Madoc had assembled.

Madoc did not know himself how many were with him, just that he had never seen such an army gathered in one place. Even then, he was cautious, as Vercingetorix had told him to be when he escaped from Alesia to summon the tribes.

“Remember the Helvetii,” Vercingetorix had said.

Even when vastly outnumbered, the Romans had beaten every army sent against them, and those who still lived were veterans and survivors, the ones hardest to kill. Madoc wished his brother was out there to direct the horsemen. He could feel the scrutiny and hope of the defenders in the Alesia forts, and it intimidated him. He knew by then that his brother was a better king than he would have been. Madoc alone could not have bound the tribes together, more closely than they had known for a thousand years.

Old disputes had been forgotten and in the end they had all sent their best men to aid the High King and break the back of the Roman occupation.

Now it all depended on his word, and tens of thousands waited on him as the sun rose.

Julius climbed a hill to address the men he had fought with for nine years in Gaul. He knew hundreds by name, and as he reached the crest and steadied himself against the base of the watchtower, he saw familiar faces waiting for him to speak. Did they know how weary he was? He had shared the privations of the march and the battles across Gaul. They had seen him push himself further than any of them, going without sleep for days at a time until there was nothing left in him but an iron will that kept him on his feet.

“I will not ask you to fight for Rome!” he roared out to them. “What does Rome know of us here? What does the Senate understand of what we are? The merchants in their houses, the slaves, the builders, and the whores have not been with us in our battles. When I think of Rome, I cannot think of them, so far away. My brothers are those I see before me.”

The words came easily in front of the legions. He knew them all and a thin cheer began as they gazed up at the scarlet-cloaked figure. He could not have explained the bond to a stranger, but that had never been necessary. They knew him for what he was. They had seen him injured with them and exhausted after a march. Each man there had a memory of when he had spoken to them that they treasured more than the silver coins they were paid.

“I will not ask you to fight this last time for Rome. I will ask it for me,” he said, and they lifted their heads higher to hear him, the cheering swelling in the ranks.

“Who dares to call themselves Rome while we live? The city is just stone and marble without us. We are its blood and its life. We are its purpose.” Julius swept a hand out to the massed hordes of the Gaulish army.

“What an honor it is to have so many come against us! They know our strength, my legions. They know we are unbreakable in spirit. I tell you, if I could change places and be out there, I would be afraid of what I see before me. I would be terrified. For they are not us. Alexander would be proud to walk with you as I do.

He would be proud to see your swords raised in his name.” He looked down at the crowd and saw Renius there, staring at him.

“When our hearts and arms are tired, we go on,” Julius roared at them. “When our stomachs are empty and our mouths dry, we go on.”

He paused again and smiled down at them.

“Now, gentlemen, we are professionals. Shall we cut these bastard amateurs to pieces?”

They clashed their swords and shields together and every throat bellowed their approval.

“Man the walls! They are coming!” Brutus shouted, and the legions ran to their positions. They stood straight as Julius climbed down and walked amongst them, proud of them all.

Madoc felt a touch of fear as he saw the full extent of the Roman lines around Alesia. When he had escaped only a month before, the first trenches were being dug into the clay, and now the walls were solid and manned with soldiers.

“Light torches to burn their gates and towers!” he ordered, seeing the lines of light spring up amongst the tribes. The crackle of flames was the sound of war, and he felt his heart race faster in response. Still he worried as he looked over the vast fortifications that crouched on the land and waited for them. The speed of the Gaulish horses would be wasted against such a barrier. If the Romans could not be tempted out,

Madoc knew each step would be bloody.

“Spears ready!” he called down the line. He felt thousands of eyes on him as he drew his long sword and pointed it at the Roman forces. His beloved Arverni were ready on the right flank, and he knew they would follow his orders. He wished he could be as sure of the others in the heat of battle. As soon as they began to die, Madoc feared they would lose what little discipline he had been able to impose.

He raised his fist and brought it down in a sharp movement, kicking his horse into a gallop to lead them in. Behind him came a thunder that drowned out all other sound, and then the Gauls roared. The horses flew toward the walls and every hand held a spear ready to throw.

“Ballistae ready! Onagers, scorpions ready! Wait for the horns!” Brutus shouted left and right. They had not been idle in the dark hours and now every war machine they possessed was facing outward to smash the greater enemy. Every eye on the walls watched as the horde galloped toward them, and their faces were bright with anticipation.

Huge logs soaked in oil were lit and gave off a choking smoke that did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of those who were ready to smash them down onto the heads of the Gauls.

Brutus nodded as he gauged the range, and tapped the nearest cornicen on the shoulder. The man took a deep breath and the long note sounded, almost swallowed in the release of hundreds of massive oak arms slamming into their rests. Stone and iron flew through the air with a whining sound, and the Romans showed their teeth as they waited for the first touch of death.

Madoc saw the launch and for a moment he shut his eyes and prayed. He heard the cracks and thumps of missiles all around him and dwindling screams that he left behind. When he opened his eyes, he was amazed to find himself alive and whooped aloud for the sheer pleasure of it. Gaps had been broken open amongst the tribes, but they closed as the distance to the legions shortened and now their blood was up.

The Gauls released their spears with all the fury of men who had survived the Roman machines. They arced up and over the walls, and before they could land, Madoc had reached the wide pits that ran along the edge of the Roman walls. Thirty thousand of his best men vaulted from their saddles and began to scramble up, digging their swords into the earth to climb over the spikes meant to hinder them.

Madoc saw the legionaries above in a glimpse as he climbed, and without warning the earth gave way and he dropped down at the base. He shouted in anger and began the climb again, but he heard the crackle of flames and saw a group of Romans lever something massive over the edge and drop it toward him. He tried to leap away, but it hammered him down in a splinter of bone and blackness.

From the walls, Julius watched as the first attack was sent reeling. He ordered the war machines to fire again and again, using logs and stones that broke the legs of horses as they rolled amongst them. The gates in the walls were burning, but it did not matter. He did not intend to wait for them to fall.

All along the miles of fortifications, the Roman legionaries were battering those who reached them, using shields and swords in a frenzy. The bodies began to pile at the foot of the wall, and Julius hesitated.

He knew his soldiers could not fight at such a pace for long, weak as they were. Yet the Gauls seemed intent on a direct assault, throwing their lives away on Roman iron.

The vast bulk of the horsemen had not even been able to reach the Roman lines through their own people, and Julius feared that if he sent the legions out, they would be engulfed. His face hardened as he made the decision.

“Octavian. Take the extraordinarii against them. My Tenth and Third will be behind you, just as we were against the Britons.”

Their eyes met for an instant and Octavian saluted.

Ropes were attached to the gates to pull them inward, once the great iron bars had been removed. The wood was burning well by then and when the gates fell the rush of air made the flames leap. The extraordinarii galloped through the fire to smash the enemy, their hooves clattering on the gates as they passed over. They vanished into the smoke and the Tenth and Third poured out after them.

Julius saw teams beat out the flames and heave the gates back into position before the Gauls could take advantage of the breach. It was a dangerous time. If the extraordinarii could not force the Gauls back, those legions ready to charge out and support them would not be able to move. Julius squinted through the smoke, following a legion eagle as it pounded through the boiling mass of tribesmen. He saw it fall and be dragged up by an unknown soldier. The Twelfth Ariminum were ready to go out, and Julius did not know what they would find.

He glanced up at the forts of Alesia and the men he had permanently watching for them to attempt an attack. How many could he leave as the reserve? If Vercingetorix broke out, Julius was sure his legions would falter at last, hammered on two sides. It must not be allowed to happen.

Renius caught his eye as the distinctive figure hovered near him with a shield ready to hold over Julius’s head. Julius smiled briefly, allowing him to stay. The gladiator looked pale and old, but his eyes scanned the field ceaselessly to protect his general.

Julius saw a clear space appear on the bloody ground, covered in feebly moving bodies and the dead.

Some of them were Roman, but the vast majority were the speared and crushed enemy. A huge arc was opening in the press as the Tenth heaved them back and walked over flesh with a barrier of their shields.

Julius saw the last spear throws disappear into the Gauls and he judged it was time.

“Twelfth and Eighth in support!” he called. “Bring down the gates!” Once more the ropes were yanked taut and ten thousand more rushed out to replenish those who had gone before.

The war engines were silent then, as the legions carved their way through the Gauls. The tight squares were engulfed and lost to view, then appeared like stones in a flood, still surviving, still solid as they disappeared again.

With four legions in the field, Julius sent one more to follow them, keeping barely enough men to hold the walls and watch the forts at their backs. The cornicens stood waiting at Julius’s shoulder and he glanced at them, his eyes hard.

“On my word, sound the recall.”

He gripped the edge of his cloak with his free hand and twisted it. It was hard to see what was going on, but he heard Roman voices shout orders and all along the walls the Gauls were falling back to meet the threat that had come out to take them on. Julius made himself wait.

“Now blow the horns. Quickly!” he snapped at last, looking out onto the battlefield as the long notes wailed over it. The legions had gone far and fought on all sides, but they would not allow a rout, he knew.

The squares would retreat step by ordered step against the horsemen, killing all the time.

The Gauls moved like bitter liquid in swirls of screaming, dying men as the legions fought their way back. Julius shouted wildly as he saw the eagles appear once more. He raised his arm and it trembled. The gates came down and he saw the legions stream in and rush back to the walls to shout defiance at the enemy.

The Gauls surged forward and Julius looked to the teams of ballistae men, waiting with desperate impatience. The whole of the Gaulish army was rushing in then and the moment was perfect, but he dared not order them to fire without knowing his legions were safely back.

He barely saw the launch of spears, but Renius did. As Julius turned away, Renius threw up the shield and held it against the numbing impact of the whining heads. He grunted and Julius turned to acknowledge the act, his face going slack as he saw the bloody ruin of Renius’s neck.

“Clear! All clear, sir!” his cornicen shouted.

Julius could only stare as Renius fell.

“Sir, we must fire now!” the cornicen said.

Barely hearing him, Julius dropped his arm and the great ballistae crashed their response. Tons of stone and iron sliced through the horsemen of Gaul once more, cutting great swaths of empty space on the field. The tribes were too closely packed to avoid the barrage, and thousands were mown down, never to rise again.

A powerful silence swelled as the tribes pulled back out of range. Dimly Julius heard his men cheering as they saw the numbers of dead left behind on the field. He went to Renius’s side and closed the staring eyes with his fingers. He had no more grief left in him. To his horror, his hands began to shake and he tasted metal in his mouth.

Octavian trotted through the legionaries to look up to where Julius knelt, chilled in sweat.

“One more, sir? We’re ready.”

Julius looked dazed. He could not have a fit in front of them all, he could not. He struggled to deny what was happening. The fits had been quiet in him for years. He would not allow it. With a wrench of will, he stood swaying, forcing himself to focus. He pulled off his helmet and tried to breathe deeply, but the ache in his skull built and bright lights flashed. Octavian winced as he saw the glazed eyes.

“The legions still stand, General. They are ready to take the battle to them once more, if you wish it.”

Julius opened his mouth to speak, but could not. He crumpled to the ground and Octavian leapt from his saddle, scrambling up to hold him. He barely noticed the body of Renius at his side and shouted to the cornicen to fetch Brutus.

Brutus came at a scrambling run, paling as he understood.

“Get him out of sight, quickly,” he snapped to Octavian. “The command tent is empty. Take his legs before the men see.” They lifted the twitching figure that had been lightened by the months of starvation and war, dragging him into the shadowed interior of the command post.

“What are we going to do?” Octavian said.

Brutus pulled the metal helmet from Julius’s rigid fingers and lifted it.

“Strip him. Too many men saw us take him in. They must see him come out.”

The men cheered as Brutus strode into the weak sun, wearing the full helmet and armor of his friend.

Behind him, Julius lay naked on a bench, with Octavian holding a rope of twisted tunic between his teeth as he writhed and shuddered.

Brutus ran to the wall to assess the state of the enemy and saw they were still reeling from the second smashing attack of the ballistae. In the darkness of the tent, it had seemed longer. He saw the legions look to him, waiting for orders, and knew a moment of the purest panic. He had not been alone in command since setting foot in Gaul. Julius had always been there.

Behind the mask, Brutus looked out desperately. He could think of no stratagem but the simplest of all. Open the gates and kill everything that moved. Julius would not have done it, but Brutus could not watch from the wall as his men went out.

“Fetch me a horse!” he bellowed. “Leave no reserve. We are going out to them.”

As the gates reopened, Brutus rode through, leading the legions. It was the only way he knew.

As the Gauls saw the full force of legions coming onto the field, they milled in chaotic fear, wary of being drawn in again to be crushed by the war engines. Their lines were in disarray without the leaders who had been killed in the first attacks.

Brutus saw many of the lesser tribes simply dig in their heels and ride from the battlefield.

“Better that you run!” he shouted wildly.

Around him, the extraordinarii forced their mounts into a gallop, their bloody weapons ready. The legions roared as they accelerated across the plain, and when they crashed into the first lines, there was nothing to hold them.