The Gods of war

CHAPTER 11

In the darkness, Julius could see the stern lamp of a galley like a distant firefly, twitching with the motion of the sea.

"Tell the captain to take us a little closer," he said to Adan. He heard the young Spaniard's feet as he took the message forward, but the gloom swallowed him as if they were all blind. Julius smiled to himself. He had chosen the moonless night for exactly that quality and the gods had given him cloud to mask even the dim glow of the winter stars.

Huddled on the deck and in every space on the galley, the soldiers of the Tenth either dozed or applied one last coat of oil to protect their armor against the sea air. Only utter exhaustion could have dulled their tension into light sleep. They had launched knowing that there was just one chance to surprise the Greek ports. If that failed and the rising sun found them still far from the enemy coast, Pompey's sleek galleys would descend on them and destroy them all.

"No sign of dawn?" Octavian said suddenly, betraying his nerves.

Julius smiled unseen in the darkness. "Not yet, General. The night will keep us safe a little longer."

Even as he spoke, he shivered in the icy breeze and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The wind blew fitfully and Julius had seen the oars reach out for the dark waves three times since leaving Brundisium. At such a pace, the slaves below would be approaching their limits, but there was no help for that. They too would be drowned if they were caught by the coming day.

With only the shuttered lamp from the galley ahead to give them direction, it was easy to think they were alone on the sea. Around them were thirty galleys built in Ostia by the best Roman shipwrights. They carried Julius's fortune: his men and his life. With some bitterness, he acknowledged the fact that there would be no son and heir if he died in Greece. His disastrously short marriage had been the gossip of the city and he still smarted under the humiliation. In the aftermath, he had found a young woman named Calpurnia and married her with unseemly haste. His name had been the subject of comic songs as his enemies mocked his desperation to father a son.

Calpurnia had nothing of the beauty that marked Pompeia. Her father had accepted the suit without a moment of hesitation, as if he were relieved to be rid of her. Julius considered her somewhat bovine features with little affection, even with the gloss of memory. She stirred little passion in him, but she came from a noble house fallen on difficult times. No one in Rome could question her line and Julius doubted she would have the temptations that had undone his second wife.

He grimaced at the thought of their last meeting and the tears Calpurnia had shed on his neck. She wept more than any woman he had ever known, considering the short time they had been together. She wept for happiness, for adoration, and then at the slightest thought of him leaving. Her month's blood had started the day before he took ship and she had cried at that as well. If he failed against Pompey, there would be no other chance to leave more than a memory of his name. This was his path, his final throw of the dice. This was the real game.

He took a deep breath, letting the cold air slide into the deepest recesses of his chest. Even then, he felt weary and knew he should sleep. Somewhere nearby, a man was snoring softly to himself and Julius chuckled. His Tenth were not the sort to be frightened by a little journey of seventy miles in the dark.

The last three days had been hard on all of them. When Julius finally gave the order, all seven legions had marched from Rome to Brundisium, covering the miles at a brutal pace. He'd sent out two fast galleys to chase Pompey's spy ship clear of the coast, and the fleet had launched, moving swiftly to pick up the legions on the other side of the mainland. Even at that late point, Julius had been tempted to hold back the strike until he had a fleet to match the one that Pompey controlled. Yet every day delayed was another for Pompey to entrench himself. Every hour. With the gods' luck, the former consul would not be expecting Julius to arrive until spring.

Julius offered up a silent prayer that he was right. If Pompey's spies had reached the Greek shore first, dawn would bring the last hours of sunlight they would ever see. The stakes of the gamble both appalled and excited him, but there was no calling it back. The moment his galleys had glided free of Brundisium, new-laden with his legions, the course was set for all of them.

The snoring soldier made a sound like a honking goose and one of his companions jerked him awake with a muffled curse. Julius had given orders for silence, but the night seemed alive with the hiss of waves and the creaking of ropes and beams. His spirits rose as he recalled other voyages, some so distant as to seem like another life. In a sense, he envied the freedoms of the young man he had been. His choices had seemed simpler and he could only shake his head at how innocent he must have seemed to men like Marius or Sulla.

Adan returned to his side, staggering slightly as the galley pitched through a wave.

"The watch glass has been turned three times, sir. Dawn cannot be far away now," he said.

"Then we will know at last if they are waiting for us," Julius replied.

The night had seemed endless at the beginning and yet somehow it had flown. The generals of seven legions were aboard ships around him, waiting impatiently for the light. Each galley had a man at the highest point to call out the first gray gleam of dawn and scan the sea for the enemy. He felt an odd freedom as he realized there was nothing left for him to order or correct. It was a lull in the tension that he could almost enjoy and in the darkness he thought back to Renius, wishing he were there to see them. The old man would have enjoyed the gamble he had taken and seen the sense in it. Julius looked ahead, as if he could sight the coast of Greece by force of imagination. There were so many ghosts behind him, and somewhere ahead there was Brutus.

After the success of Caecilius reaching Pompey's legions, Julius had sent another five men to infiltrate the Greek towns. Caecilius had reported their executions month by month until he was again the only voice reporting Pompey's movements. It was galling to place so much trust in a single spy, and Julius worried constantly that the man had been turned against him.

In the dark, he shrugged off that weight with the rest. That too was beyond his power to change. If the reports were accurate, Pompey was in the north, around Dyrrhachium. His legions had been placed to defend the west coast, but they could not know exactly where Julius would land until it was too late. Unless they were ready for him. He smiled to himself, knowing the moment of peace had been an illusion. He could not stop his endless examination of the plans any more than he could stop the wind that froze his men where they lay.

A thump of hard bare feet on the wooden deck made him turn.

"Sir? Dawn's coming," the sailor said, pointing into the east.

Julius stared into unchanged darkness. Just as he was about to speak, a patch of gray became visible and with it the black line that separated the world from the heavens. He had seen the sun rise at sea before and still it caught his breath as the first line of gold wormed into existence and the underbelly of the clouds lit in bruised shades.

"Enemy sail!" another lookout called, shattering the vision.

Julius gripped the wooden rail, willing the light to come faster. Somewhere close, one of Pompey's captains would be roaring panicky orders as the fleet materialized. Julius would not alter course. He imagined he could smell land in the sea air and knew it was desperation.

Dim shapes appeared around him as his thirty galleys were lit by the dawn. The decks were busy with activity as they prepared and Julius could feel his heart beat more strongly, almost painfully, as he waited for the word that Greece could be seen.

Three of Pompey's galleys were visible now, the nearest close enough to see the flecks of white at its sides as the oarsmen churned the water.

"Land!" came the cry and Julius let out a roar of excitement, raising his fist to the sky.

His soldiers released the tension in a great cheer that echoed over the water as they saw the brown stain across their path that meant they would not be caught alone in the ocean.

The drums that had been silent all night came suddenly to life, setting an even faster, man-killing pace. Hearts would burst as they crossed the last length to land, but the drums pounded on at the charge and the galleys soared in together.

Julius could see the houses of a waking town and like the buzzing of an insect he heard alarm horns summon the soldiers of Greece to defend the inhabitants. Was it Oricum? He thought it was, though it had been almost twenty years since he last took ship from that port.

The sound of the drums fired his blood even higher as he watched the port come closer. Three galleys were in the dock there and even as Julius watched, they came alive with running, shouting men. He grinned at the thought of their fear. Let him just touch land and he would show them that Rome could still produce a general.

Brutus rose from the hard sleeping mat in his quarters and began the series of exercises with which he greeted every new dawn. Renius had set the original form, but Cabera's influence had altered the routine, so that now there were as many moves to increase suppleness as to maintain strength. After half an hour, his body was gleaming with sweat and the sun had risen above the distant city of Dyrrhachium. He took a sword and began the routines he had learned with Julius decades before, the simpler forms growing into more complex strikes, almost as a dance. The routine was so much a part of him as to leave his mind completely free, and he used the time to consider his position in Pompey's forces.

It had become a dangerous game with Labienus after the first evasion of his guards. The Greek general was still suspicious and Brutus knew he was spied upon at all times. He thought he could have slipped away from their sight with enough effort, but that would only have added to Labienus's mistrust. Instead, Brutus had confounded the man by complaining directly, dragging one of the watchers into Labienus's presence.

Brutus had enjoyed seeming as indignant as any other loyal general would be. Labienus had been forced to apologize and claim a mistake had been made. The spies who watched Brutus had been replaced with new faces the following day.

Brutus smiled to himself as he lowered slowly into a lunge that ended with his outstretched gladius held straight for five heartbeats. To see Julia was an intoxicating challenge, and simply vanishing from sight would begin another hunt for him. It was far better to act as an innocent man. On the two other occasions that he had stolen time with Julia since their first meeting in the garden, Brutus had gleefully ordered Seneca's men to arrest the watchers. It changed nothing. Brutus knew Labienus would never be truly sure of him until he fought Julius in the field and proved his loyalty beyond all doubt.

Brutus spun lightly in a move he had learned years before from a tribe that fought with bronze weapons. Renius would have disapproved of anything that broke contact with the ground, but the leap was spectacular and hid the movement of the sword for instants that had saved his life on two separate occasions. As Brutus landed, he gripped the wooden floor of the barracks with his bare feet, feeling his own strength. He had been first sword in Rome and a general in Gaul. To have Labienus sniffing around him for disloyalty was an affront he would one day repay in full. Not one of Pompey's men would ever appreciate what it had cost him to betray Julius. He knew they weighed his contribution to tactical discussion with a jaundiced eye. Part of him understood the necessity for their doubts, but still it was infuriating.

As he came to rest at last and brought his sword up to the legionary's first position, he considered the irony of his new role. He had only ever fought under Julius's command and he found Pompey merely competent in comparison. The man was a solid general, but he lacked the fire of innovation that Julius could bring to the direst situation. Brutus had seen Julius standing with arrows thumping into the ground around him as he turned a battle lost into a triumph. Though it did not sit easily with his pride, there were times when Brutus could admit he had learned more from Julius than he ever would from Pompey.

The silence of the night was broken as the soldiers around him woke and began to wash and dress. The temporary barracks had been sited near a stream that had its beginning above the snowline of distant mountains, and Brutus could hear the men swear at the cold as they bathed. He reached under the cloth at his groin and scratched himself idly. There was a bathing room nearby, with a fire to heat buckets of water, but it had become a point of pride for the men that their officers dared the icy river with them. He smiled at the thought of the transformation he had wrought in the road guards. Even Labienus had complimented him in his stiff way. Seneca's cohorts would hardly recognize the untrained soldiers they had been, after the months of drill and maneuvers. Brutus had undertaken their instruction with deliberate thoroughness, knowing that only their skill would keep him alive when Julius came to Greece.

He left his set of silver armor in the room, preferring a simple set of leather and iron with long woolen bracae to protect his legs from the cold. A call brought a slave to carry them and Brutus went out into the pale morning sun.

The city of Dyrrhachium was wreathed in mist in the distance, with the gray sea shining at its westernmost point. Brutus tilted his head in ironic appreciation of Labienus, somewhere within that place. He did not doubt that his orders to train away from the city came from the subtlety of the general, solving his problem by removing the man who caused them.

As he strolled to the river's edge, Brutus saw Seneca had risen before him and was standing naked on the bank, rubbing himself vigorously to revive his frozen flesh. The young officer grinned at Brutus, but then both men became still as they sighted movement near the city and peered into the distance.

"Now who could be joining us out here?" Brutus said to himself. The smudge of moving men was too far away to see details, and Brutus resigned himself to a quick plunge and scrub so as to be ready to receive them.

Seneca was already pulling on his clothing and tying laces and straps that gleamed with oil. As Brutus waded gasping into the water, the alarm was being given around the camp and the wooden buildings clattered with the noise of men gathering weapons.

Brutus bore the cold in tense silence as he ducked under the surface, though it numbed him in moments. He panted sharply as he came out and accepted a blanket to towel himself dry.

"I'm not due to report for another three days," he told Seneca as he pulled on his bracae and the wool sheaths that protected his feet from the worst cold. He did not voice his fear that Pompey had discovered his meetings with Julia. He was certain she would not have betrayed him, but Labienus could have had spies watching her as well, men he had not seen. He shook his head. Why send a column out to take him when he could be ambushed during his report?

Brutus and Seneca watched the soldiers from Dyrrhachium approach and both of them searched their consciences for some transgression, exchanging only a single baffled glance. The cohorts they commanded lined up in perfect order and Brutus took pride in their bearing. The days were gone when they could answer only a few horn calls in a battle line. They were as disciplined and hard as he could make them.

At the head of the approaching men, Brutus recognized Labienus himself, riding a black horse. He could not escape a chill at the sight of the second in command under Pompey coming out to see him personally. It did not bode well and he wished he had brought the silver armor from the barracks.

Labienus reined in only a few feet from the rigid figures that waited for him. Centurions cried the halt and the column stood facing them. Labienus dismounted with his usual care and Brutus noted again the quiet calm of the man that was so different from his own style. Battles won by Labienus were triumphs of discipline and economy. He never wasted men on pointless actions, but still had one of the finest records in Greece. Brutus detested his dry reserve on a personal level, though he could not deny the man understood tactics.

"General Brutus," Labienus said, inclining his head in greeting.

Though the title was still officially used, Labienus's eyes flickered over the tiny force Brutus commanded, apparently aware of the irony. Brutus let the silence stretch until Labienus grew uncomfortable. At last, he greeted Labienus by his own title and the tension receded.

"Pompey has given these men to your command, General," Labienus continued.

Brutus hid his pleasure as he replied, "Your recommendation is valuable, then. You have my thanks," he said.

Labienus flushed slightly. He spoke carefully, as he had always done, knowing that to voice his distrust openly would invite a duel of honor he could not possibly win. "It was not my recommendation, as I am sure you realize. Pompey has other advisers. It seems he has been reminded of your success with extraordinarii in Gaul. After the first battle, you will command these men as a mobile force to shore up weaknesses in the lines as you see fit."

"After the first battle?" Brutus queried, guessing what was coming.

Labienus produced a bound scroll from beneath his cloak, marked clearly with Pompey's seal. As he placed it in Brutus's hands, he spoke again with a glimmer of enjoyment. "For the first meeting of forces, your men will stand in the front rank against the enemy. That is Pompey's direct order."

He hesitated, choosing his words with extreme care.

"I am to say that Pompey hopes you will survive that first attack, that he may use your abilities to the full in the latter stages of the war."

"I'm sure he said exactly that," Brutus replied coldly.

He wondered if the advice to use his abilities came from within Pompey's own house. Julia had promised her influence and he had no other voice to speak on his behalf. Pompey was caught between a desire to use an extremely able general and the constant fear that Brutus was a spy for the enemy. Julia's influence could have been the whisper he needed to gain this small concession.

Labienus watched his reaction with mixed feelings. He found the Gaul general unsettling. In training with the Greek legions, he had shown an understanding of terrain and men that was second to none. At the same time, he was arrogant and occasionally disrespectful to the point of outright insolence. Like Pompey, Labienus was loath to waste a man who had more years of actual battle experience than any other three of Pompey's generals combined. Such a man could be vital in blunting Caesar's eventual attack. If only they could trust him.

"I will not take refreshment," Labienus said, as if any had been offered. "The fortifications are far from complete."

Brutus raised his eyes at the mention of an area of policy he had not been able to influence. At Pompey's order, vast stretches of walls and hill forts had been begun, stretching for miles around Dyrrhachium. They may have made the old man feel secure, but Brutus had scorned the very idea. As nothing else could, it showed that Pompey held Julius in too much respect as a commander, and preparing defensive positions before the enemy had even arrived did not inspire the men. Worse, Brutus thought it sapped at their courage to know that there were safe positions if they retreated.

"Let us hope it does not come to that, Labienus," he said, more curtly than he had intended. "When Caesar comes, we may be able to break his forces without hiding from them."

Labienus's cold eyes went hard at the implication, unsure whether he should react to the perceived insult or not. In the end, he shrugged. "As you say," he replied. He signaled to a personal guard of a century to fall out and escort him back to the city. The rest stood impassively by the river, shivering in the wind.

Brutus was pleased enough not to play his games any longer and he saluted Labienus, noting the man's relief as he returned the gesture.

"Tell Pompey I will obey his orders and that I thank him for the men," Brutus said.

Labienus nodded as he mounted his horse once more and their eyes locked as if Labienus thought he could discern loyalty by the intensity of his gaze. At last, he wheeled his mount and rode stiffly back to the city.

As the galleys reached the docks, the spiked corvus bridges came crashing down, followed immediately by the soldiers of Julius's legions. The galleys in the port were wedged in place before they could escape and many of the men who jumped onto Greek soil did so from their decks. Julius's men flooded ashore, killing the crews with merciless efficiency and moving on.

Oricum became jammed as they forced their way inland. The port town was manned by a thousand legionaries in billets and those were the first to be overwhelmed. Some of them managed to light signal fires of green wood and the plumes of smoke soared upwards to alert the country. Julius did not allow his men to show mercy before they were well established, and that first thousand were cut to pieces in the streets of Oricum.

The three galleys that had sighted their fleet had not attempted to land, but turned north to take word of the invasion. Julius knew he had to use the surprise attack to its utmost advantage. If he had had more men waiting to come across, he might have secured a safe area around the port. As it was, Julius had thrown his entire force at the coast. He needed to be mobile and chafed at every moment of delay as the heavy equipment began to be winched out of the galleys. He was safe from the sea for the present. No other force could land easily behind him, with his galleys blocking the port. When the last ballistae and scorpion bows had been lifted out, he ordered them all sunk, choking it completely.

Before the sun had reached its noon zenith, the veterans were ready to march inland. Spires of smoke rose from the port town around them, smudging the clear air as they waited in perfect rows and columns. Julius looked at them with pride and dropped his arm to signal the horns to sound.

The streets had given way to scrub fields by the time they saw the first of Pompey's legions in full array in the distance. The veterans of Gaul roared their challenge and there was no reluctance in them. Who could have guessed how they would feel when they sighted a Roman legion as an enemy? Julius saw the feral interest as the legionaries watched the moving force in the distance. Wolf brothers could tear each other to pieces, regardless of shared blood.

Whoever commanded the five thousand men clearly rejected the opportunity to have them destroyed by such an overwhelming force. Even as Julius watched, the heavy column changed direction and headed north. Julius laughed aloud at the thought of the consternation in those ranks. They had not expected him and now it was too late. He slapped his horse's neck in excitement, looking around at a country he had not seen for decades.

The land was bare in winter, with twisted trees bereft of their foliage and thin grass clinging to the soil. The stony earth was a dry dust that he remembered from fighting Mithridates many years before. Even the air smelled subtly different to Rome or Gaul. This was a hard land, where life had to be brought carefully into being. It was a good place to go to war. As he cast his eyes along the colorful lines of his legions, Julius thought of Alexander before him and straightened in the saddle.

His gelding was skittish as he rode along the silent ranks. One by one, he greeted his generals. Some, like Octavian, Domitius, Ciro, and Regulus, he had known for years. Others had proved themselves in Gaul and been promoted after Brutus's betrayal. They were good men and he felt his confidence soar. It seemed a dream to be actually on Greek soil, with the land opening up before them. He was back in his most natural element and all the stifling subterfuge of political Rome could be left behind. Flags snapped and fluttered in a winter breeze that could not cool the pleasure he felt to be at last in reach of his enemy. Pompey had almost twice as many men under his command, with the advantage of fighting on land they knew and had prepared. Let them come, Julius thought. Let them try us.