The Gods of War (13 page)

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.

                                                      
CHAPTER
12
                                                      

P
ompey paced the central length of the temple he had made his headquarters, his hands clasped tightly at his back. All other sound had ceased and his iron-shod sandals threw back a perfect single echo from the walls, as if his footsteps were stalked by an unseen enemy.

“So he is among us,” he said. “Despite the vaunted promises of my captains, he slips through them and takes Oricum from my control. He strikes at the heart of the coast and meets nothing more than a token resistance! Tell me again how this is possible!”

His last steps brought him face to face with Labienus, who stood at the entrance to the temple. His expression was as hard to read as ever, but he sought to soothe his commander's anger.

“There were good reasons not to expect him to cross in winter, sir. He gained the length of darkness he needed to avoid the fleet, but the ground is barren.”

Pompey gestured for him to continue, a spark of interest showing in his eyes.

Labienus cleared his throat. “He has risked a great deal to make a secure landing, sir. Until the spring crops have ripened, his men, his pack animals must survive on nothing more than they brought with them. At best, they can have two weeks' rations in dried meal and meat. After that, they will grow weak. The decision could only have been made in desperation, sir. He
will
regret it.”

Pompey's eyes seemed to darken as fury overtook him once more. “How many times have I heard that he has overreached himself? Yet still he seems to go on, while my advisers tell me he should be long dead. His luck is uncanny, Labienus.”

“Sir, we
have
his measure. I have ordered our fleet to block the coast behind him. He cannot be supplied by sea. No matter how lucky he is, he cannot put grain that doesn't exist into the stomachs of seven legions. Perhaps if he were left unchallenged, he could raid the cities to steal food, but when we are there to harry his flank, he will command slowly starving men.”

“Oh I shall be there, Labienus. Gather our legions ready to move against him. I will not let him roam Greece as if he owns it!”

“Yes, sir,” Labienus replied swiftly, pleased to have been given the order after an hour of enduring Pompey's temper. He saluted and turned to leave, but Pompey's voice interrupted once again.

“Be sure that Brutus is there to be seen by all of Caesar's followers,” Pompey said, his voice strained. “He will prove loyal or be cut down.”

Labienus nodded. “My own legion will never be far from him, sir. There are men I trust to contain him if he is false.” He would have left then, but could not help but voice the concern that nagged at him. “It would be easier, sir, if he had only the cohorts he arrived with. The extra thousand you gave him will be an obstacle if he turns against your authority.”

Pompey looked away from his general's coolly assessing eyes. “If he honors his oath to me, they will play a key part in the conflict to come. I would be a fool to hamstring the man who knows Caesar's tactics best of all with only two cohorts. The decision is final, Labienus.”

Labienus left, still wondering who could have been influencing Pompey. Perhaps it was a voice in the exiled Senate that claimed so much of his time. Though it was uncomfortable even to think such disloyal thoughts, Labienus had found little to respect in the bickering old men Pompey had brought from Rome. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he could honor the senators for their position, no matter how much he disliked them personally.

Seven of the eleven legions Pompey commanded were encamped around Dyrrhachium. The main force would meet and absorb the others as they moved south to counter the invasion. Labienus found the sight of the host pleasing and was certain he had given Pompey the right advice. Fifty thousand men were the largest army he had ever seen in one place. The best reports of Caesar's legions gave him no more than twenty-two. Labienus was of the opinion that Pompey had far too much respect for the upstart who had usurped the Senate of Rome. That the Gaul legions were veterans was beyond dispute, but veterans could be holed by spears as well as any other man.

In the near distance, Labienus heard the bellowing of a white bull, slaughtered by the takers of auspices. He would see their report before Pompey and alter it, if necessary. Standing in the sun, he rubbed his thumb over the tip of his sword hilt, polishing it in a nervous habit. He could not have imagined seeing Pompey so shaken by Caesar's landing at Oricum. There would be no more bad news to jar his confidence.

Labienus watched as messengers approached to take his word out to the waiting legions.

“We march,” he told them, bluntly, his mind already on the campaign to come. “Give the order to break camp. General Brutus will form the vanguard, with my Fourth legion behind him.”

The messengers scattered down the roads out of the city, competing to be first on the field with the news. Labienus took a deep breath and wondered if he would have the chance to see the face of the enemy who could shake the confidence of Pompey. He shrugged to himself. Caesar would regret coming to Greece with his ambition. They had not forgotten the rule of law.

         

Julia was sitting in Pompey's town house playing with her son on her lap when her husband came home. The peace of the day was shattered as he bellowed for servants to attend him. She winced at the strident tone and the child on her knee giggled at her expression, trying to copy it. The boy carried the promise of his father's heavy features and she wondered if he would inherit the same brooding disposition. A clatter of dropped dishes nearby told her that Pompey had made his way through the main rooms and was coming out to see her. She could hear every word as he called for his best armor and sword to be brought. She knew then that Julius had come to Greece at last and her heart thumped as she rose.

“There you are!” Pompey said as he came into the garden. He stooped to kiss her on the forehead and she bore it with a tight smile. Their little son held out his arms and was ignored.

“It is time, Julia. I will be leaving and I want you moved to a place of greater safety.”

“He has landed?” she asked.

Pompey frowned and searched her eyes. “Yes. Your father made it through my fleet.”

“You will destroy him,” she said and without warning kissed her husband hard on the mouth. He flushed in pleased surprise.

“I will,” he said, smiling. The heart of a woman was ever a mystery to him, he thought, but his wife had accepted her new loyalty without pain or argument. She was a fitting mother to his son.

“And Brutus? You will use him?”

“As soon as I am certain, I will set him free to wreak havoc where he can. You were right about his extraordinarii, Julia. The man works best when he is not too tightly tied into the chain of command. I gave him two more cohorts.”

Gently, Julia placed her son on the ground and pushed him away. She stepped closer to her husband and enfolded him in a passionate embrace. She allowed her hand to slip down toward his groin and he jumped, laughing.

“Gods, I haven't the time!” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “You have grown more beautiful in Greece, wife. The air suits you well.”

“You suit me,” she said.

Despite his worries, he looked pleased. “Now have your slaves gather whatever you'll need.”

Her smile faltered. “Surely I am safe here?” she said. “I would not like to be moved to a strange place at this time.”

Pompey blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, suddenly impatient.

She forced herself to reach out to him again, taking his hand in hers. “You will be a father once more, Pompey. I would not risk the child.”

Her husband's face changed slowly as he took this in and considered. He eyed her figure. “It does not show.”

“Not yet, but you could be in the field for months. It will.”

He nodded, coming to a quick decision. “Very well. This city is far from any fighting, after all. I just wish I could persuade the Senate to stay here with you, but they insist on accompanying the legions.”

The thought of having the Senate to question every order was enough to smother even the happiness of her news, Julia saw.

“You must have their support, at least for the moment,” she said.

He raised his eyes in exasperation. “It is a high price, Julia, believe me. Yet your father has been elected consul once again and I am forced to bend to the will of those fools. They know I need them now, that is the problem.” He sighed. “You will have the company of their families, at least. I will leave another century to keep you safe. Now, promise me you'll not stay if there is any danger. You are too precious to me to risk in this.”

She kissed him again. “I promise.”

Pompey ruffled the hair of his son affectionately. His voice rose to its previous volume as he went back inside the house, calling fresh orders to the guards and staff. After a while, he was gone and the house began to settle back to its usual sleepy quiet.

“Are you going to have a baby?” her son asked in his high voice, holding out his hands to be picked up.

Julia smiled, thinking how Brutus would react when she told him. “I am, darling.”

Her eyes were cold in the weak sunlight. She had made her choice. Knowing Brutus was ready to betray Pompey had proved a heavy burden since he had confided in her. Part of her felt pain at her own betrayal, but between her father and her lover, there was no loyalty left for Pompey.

         

“Sir, there really is very little time,” Suetonius said.

Cicero followed his gaze over the balcony of the meeting hall and his lips tightened. “Unless you would have me drag the great and good of Rome by the scruff of their necks, there's little else to do but wait,” he said.

The previous hour had seen Suetonius's manner change from breezy confidence to indignation at the lack of progress. He watched as yet another group of slaves came in to add to the general confusion. It astonished him how many crates and packages were involved in moving the Senate, and he could imagine Pompey's growing impatience.

Below the pair, another argument erupted.

“I should go down there,” Suetonius said reluctantly.

Cicero considered letting him try. It would be amusing at the very least and he had little liking for the senator. Maturity had not brought him wisdom, Cicero decided, looking him over. Yet he was a link to the military machine under Pompey and must be cultivated if the Senate was to maintain any influence during the campaign. The gods knew they needed every advantage they could gather.

“They are in no mood to take orders, Suetonius, even if Pompey himself were here. Better to wait it out.”

They peered over the balcony again, looking for some sign that the chaos was lessening. Hundreds of slaves bore papers and materials in a snake of men that seemed to have no end. Suetonius tightened his grip on the railing, unable to hide his irritation.

“Perhaps you could explain the urgency to them, sir,” he said at last.

Cicero laughed aloud. “Urgency? Pompey has made it plain enough that we are nothing but baggage ourselves. What does he care if baggage take baggage with them?”

In his frustration, Suetonius spoke with less than his usual care. “Perhaps it
would
be better to have them stay. What use would they be on a battlefield?”

Cicero's silence made him glance round. The orator was coldly angry, his words clipped. “We were to be a government in exile, young man, not held at a distance from every decision. Without us, Pompey has no right to wage war in the name of Rome. No more legitimacy than Caesar and perhaps even less.”

He leaned forward and glared from under bushy eyebrows.

“We have endured a year in this place, Suetonius, far from comfort and respect. Our families clamor to be taken home, but we tell them to endure until the lawful order is reestablished. Did you think we would not be a part of the campaign?” He nodded to the bustle in the hall. “You will find men here who understand the most rarefied subtleties of civilization, those ideals most easily broken under a soldier's sandals. Amongst them are writers of law and mathematics, the very ablest of the great families. Minds to have working
for
you when you face an opponent like Caesar, don't you think?”

Suetonius did not want to be drawn, but he knew if the choice had been his, he would have left the Senate behind without a backward glance. He took a deep breath, unable to meet Cicero's sharp anger.

“Perhaps the decisions would be better left to Pompey now, sir. He is an able general.”

Cicero barked a laugh that made Suetonius jump. “There is more to this than sending in the flank! Caesar commands
Roman
legions. He has assumed authority over a new Senate. You may think of nothing more than the flags and horns, but there will be political decisions to be made before the end, you may count on it. Pompey will need advisers, whether he knows it or not.”

“Maybe, maybe,” Suetonius said, nodding, trying to placate him.

Cicero was not so easily put off. “Is your contempt so strong that you will not even trouble to argue?” he demanded. “What do you think will happen if Caesar wins? Who will govern then, do you suppose?”

Suetonius stiffened and shook his head. “He cannot win, sir. We have—” He broke off as Cicero snorted.

“My daughters have sharper minds, I swear it.
Nothing
is certain in battle. The stakes are too high to simply throw armies at each other until there is one man left standing. Rome would be defenseless and our enemies would have nothing to stop them walking into the forum as they pleased. Do you understand that much? There must be a surviving army when all the posturing and bluster is finished.” He sighed at Suetonius's blank expression. “What will next year hold for us, or the year after? If the victory is decisive, there is no one else to limit the authority of Pompey when Caesar has fallen. If he chooses to make himself a king, or an emperor, even, to abandon the Republic of his fathers, to launch an invasion of Africa—there will be no one who could dare to refuse. If Caesar is triumphant, the same applies and the world will change regardless. This is a new order, boy, no matter what happens here. When one general falls, there must be stability. That is when we will be needed.”