The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 46

Pompey leaned against the columns of the temple to Jupiter and looked over the moonlit city below the Capitol. Dictator. He shook his head and smiled in the darkness at the thought.

The city was quiet and already it was hard to imagine the gangs and rioting that had once seemed like the end of the world. Pompey looked over to the new Senate house and remembered the flames and screams in the night. In a few years, Clodius and Milo would be all but forgotten in the city, but Rome went on and she was his alone.

The Senate had extended his Dictatorship without the slightest pressure from him. They would do it again, he was sure, for as long as he wanted. They had seen the need for a strong hand to cut through all the laws with which they had bound themselves. Sometimes it was necessary, just to make the city work.

Part of Pompey wished Crassus had lived to see what he had made out of the chaos. The strength of grief Pompey had felt when he heard of his death had surprised him. They had known each other for the best part of thirty years, through war and peace, and Pompey missed the old man’s company. He supposed it was possible to grow used to anything.

He had seen so many fall in his life. There were times when he could not believe that he was the one to have survived the turbulent years, where men like Marius and Sulla, Cato and Crassus had all gone over the river. Yet he was still there and there was more than one race in life. Sometimes the only way to triumph was to survive while others died. That too could be a skill.

A feather of breeze made Pompey shiver and consider going back to his home to rest. His thoughts turned to Julius then and the letters he had sent north. Would Regulus take the decision out of his hands?

Pompey wished it could be so. The part of him that held his honor felt ashamed at what he had ordered and still contemplated. He thought of Julius’s daughter, heavy with new life inside her. She had a hard edge that had brought her through the pressure of being wife to the most powerful man in Rome. Still, he could not share his plans with one of Caesar’s blood. She had done her duty well and fulfilled an old agreement he had made with her father. There was nothing more he needed from her.

There could be no sharing of power, now that he understood it. Julius would either be killed in the north, or he would obey his orders and the result would be the same.

Pompey sighed at the thought and shook his head with genuine regret. Caesar could not be allowed to live, or one day he would come into the Senate and the years of blood would begin again.

“I will not allow it,” Pompey whispered into the breeze, and there was no one to hear him.

Julius sat on the banks of the Rubicon and looked south. He wished Cabera or Renius were there to advise him, but the decision was his alone in the end, as so many others before it. His legions stretched away into the night around him, and he could hear the sentries walk their routes in the darkness, calling out the passwords that meant routine and safety.

The moon was bright under a clear spring sky and Julius smiled as he looked over the men who sat with him. Ciro was there at his shoulder and Brutus and Mark Antony sat on the other side, looking over the bright thread of the river. Octavian stood nearby with Regulus, and Domitius lay on his back and looked up at the stars. It was easy to imagine Renius there and Cabera with him. Somehow, in imagination, they were the men he remembered, before illness and injury had taken their toll. Publius Crassus and his father had gone, and Bericus, too. His own father and Tubruk; Cornelia. Death had followed them all and brought them down one by one.

“If I take the legions south, it will be civil war,” Julius said softly. “My poor battered city will see more blood. How many would die this year, for me?”

They were silent for a long time and Julius knew they could barely imagine the crime of attacking their own city. He hardly dared to give voice to it himself. Sulla had done it and was despised in memory. There was no way back for any of them after such an act.

“You said Pompey promised safe passage,” Mark Antony said at last.

Brutus snorted. “Our Dictator has no honor, Julius. Remember that. He had Salomin beaten half to death in the tournament, and where was honor then? He isn’t fit to walk where Marius walked. If you go alone, he will never let you leave. He’ll have you under the knife as soon as you step through the gates. You know it as well as any of us.”

“What choice do you have, though?” Mark Antony said. “A civil war against our own people? Would the men even follow us?”

“Yes,” Ciro’s bass growl sounded out of the darkness. “We would.”

None of them knew how to respond to the big man, and a strained silence fell. They could all hear the river whisper over the stones and the voices of their men around them. Dawn was near and Julius was no closer to knowing what he would do.

“I have been at war for as long as I can remember,” Julius said softly. “Sometimes I ask myself what it has been for if I stop here. What did I waste the lives of my friends for if I go meekly to my death?”

“It may not be death!” Mark Antony said. “You say you know the man, but he promised-”

“No,” Regulus interrupted. He took a step closer to Julius as Mark Antony looked up at him. “No,

Pompey will not let you live. I know.”

Julius saw the strained features of the centurion in the moonlight and he rose to his feet.

“How?” he asked.

“Because I was his man and you were not meant to leave Ariminum. I had his order to kill you.”

All of them came to their feet and Brutus put himself solidly between Regulus and Julius.

“You bastard. What are you talking about?” Brutus demanded, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Regulus didn’t look at him, instead holding Julius’s gaze. “I could not obey the order,” he said.

Julius nodded. “There are some that should not be obeyed, my friend. I’m glad you realized that. Sit down, Brutus. If he was going to kill me, do you think he would have told us all first? Sit down!”

Reluctantly, they settled back onto the grass, though Brutus glared at Regulus, still unsure of him.

“Pompey has only one legion guarding Rome,” Domitius said speculatively. Julius glanced at him and Domitius shrugged. “I mean, it could be done if we moved too quickly for him to reinforce. We could be at the walls in a week if we pushed the pace. With four veteran legions against him, he couldn’t hold the city for even a day.”

Mark Antony looked appalled at this and Domitius chuckled as he saw his expression. There was already more light as dawn approached, and they looked at each other guardedly as Domitius continued, raising his hands.

“It could be done, that’s all. One gamble for the whole pot. One throw for Rome.”

“You think you could kill legionaries?” Julius asked him.

Domitius rubbed his face and looked away. “I’m saying it might not come to that. Our soldiers have been hardened in Gaul and we know what they can do. I don’t think Pompey has anything to match us.”

Brutus looked at the man he had followed from childhood. He had swallowed more bitterness in their years than he would ever have believed, and as they sat together, he did not know if Julius even understood what he had been given. His pride, his honor, his youth. Everything. He knew Julius better than any of them and he saw the glitter in his friend’s eyes as he contemplated another war. How many of them would survive his ambition? he wondered. The others looked so trusting, it made Brutus want to close his eyes rather than be sickened. Yet despite it all, he knew Julius could bring him with a word.

Domitius cleared his throat. “It’s your choice, Julius. If you want us to go back to Gaul and lose ourselves, I’m with you. The gods know we’d never be found in some of the places we’ve seen. But if you want to go to Rome and risk it all one last time, I’m still with you.”

“One last throw?” Julius said, and he made it a question for all of them.

One by one, they nodded, until only Brutus remained. Julius raised his eyebrows and smiled gently.

“I can’t do it without you, Brutus. You know that.”

“One last throw, then,” Brutus whispered, before looking away.

As the sun rose, the veteran legions of Gaul crossed the Rubicon and marched on Rome.