The Last Caesar

by The Last Caesar (retail) (epub)

  The ruse worked well. If I was to manage the campaign, I could hardly conduct all our meetings in secret, given everything that needed doing. As yet I was the only Roman who had joined with Vindex, the rest chiefly made up of country boys seeking to emulate the glorious deeds of their ancestors in an otherwise peaceable age. Plus my status as a close relation of the governor would go a long way to explaining why I had such access to him and such influence within the campaign.

  One of the first things I did was try to establish how many men we had in Vienne, and how many were keeping watch on Lugdunum. It was especially hard to count those who were with us in Vienne, partly because many of them had billeted themselves in the town, and also because there was no proper command system or any military units, so in the end we had to give a general order: anyone of military age, from seventeen to forty-five and able to fight, was summoned to the hill with the fort at its summit. There they were divided into groups of one hundred and counted. This was tricky at times, for there were a surprising number of men who had difficulty in counting as far as a hundred, so we had to make a rough estimate. We reached an astounding total: 20,000 in Vienne alone, plus the 10,000 at Lugdunum. This may not seem so massive, given the size of Gaul, but when you bear in mind that Vindex had sent out messengers only just over a week ago, it was a staggering achievement. Whereas I had ridden flat out, and changing horses, from Forum Julii, most of our would-be recruits would have travelled slowly on foot, and from different directions, so to have 30,000 within a week was more than any realistic man would have dared to hope for.

  Governor Vindex, however, was not a realistic man. Though I tried to explain to him that 30,000 men at this early stage was phenomenal, he honestly expected all Gaul to rise up and fight with him. He was buoyant when I promised to take care of training the recruits. Then his brow furrowed. ‘But we don’t have enough weapons to go round.’

  I smiled. ‘You don’t need weapons for what I’ve got in store for them.’

  * * *

  Before a legionary claps eyes on his first gladius, he is given a sack and told to fill it with rocks. Our legions have conquered most of the world not through numbers but through discipline and efficiency. Roman soldiers are expected to be able to march thirty miles every day in full armour, and still have enough energy left to build a fortified camp for the night, or even fight. Having detailed a party to collect stones and rocks from the river, I split the recruits into two divisions: two legions under me, and another two under Quintus, Vindex’s eldest son. Thankfully he had not inherited his father’s complacency, and had a shrewd enough brain for me to have few worries about giving him command of two legions. Of course it pleased his father no end. Quintus was to march his men due east for fifteen miles, no matter what the terrain, and I due west, then about turn and back to Vienne. Of course a crack legion would have done it in a day, but I wanted the Gauls to make up for their lack of battle experience with immense stamina.

  There were many grumbles when the news was sprung on the men the night before, but I told them that they could either do as they were told or be dragged before Vindex to explain why they weren’t pulling their weight. No one wanted to disappoint their precious governor and leader, so both Quintus and I left with a full complement the next morning. I was determined to show that the march could be done, so I arranged to march with the men, with my own sack of rocks, making sure that Quintus did the same. If men are to have any respect for their officers, those officers have to match their men for courage and commitment. I realize that this may sound rather old-school military discipline, but I have often found that a bit of sweat now and again can make the rigours of command less of an ordeal. Imagine how an ordinary legionary would react if he was given a particularly dangerous mission by an officer whose greatest physical strain was mounting his mighty stallion for a parade now and again, before returning to his comfortable quarters for a gourmet dinner!

  I had been wary of using Roman military groupings, such as legions and cohorts, but the tactical superiority they afforded outweighed any mutterings from the ranks about how free Gauls shouldn’t march in maniples. Getting 10,000 untrained men to march in step was a task for a centurion, not an ex-tribune like me, so I dispensed with that task and had my legions assemble at dawn on the western hill, while Quintus’s troops were on the eastern side of the river. The youngest stood at the front and the more senior recruits formed the rearguard. It was not a particularly impressive sight, two groups of 5,000 men in various states of attire. Many hadn’t bothered to cover their top halves, while some of the older and wiser heads had kept a small barrier of material between their skin and the straps of their heavy-laden sacks. Silently I prayed that they would be even half as fit as a legion should be.

  ‘Forward… march!’ I bellowed, and we trundled off.

  * * *

  I took my place at the head of the marching column, swinging the sack on to my back at the last possible moment, and then strode purposefully away into the orange glow of the rising sun. Phoebus and his fiery chariot would drive directly over our heads as we headed up into the western hills whose slopes caught the waters that would trickle down into the Rhone. Little farmsteads dotted the landscape, and I felt for their owners as 20,000 feet tramped over the fields. Though I had said that we would be marching due west, I tried to make sure that we took the route that caused as little damage as possible, keeping to small roads and tracks as and when we could. I was wary of stretching the two legions into a marching column that too much resembled a piece of string, as that would only encourage the less fit among my men to drop out when the army went round a bend. Instead a shorter, wider column made its way through the valleys and up into the hills.

  I did hope that we wouldn’t lose too many on the first leg of the march, but I was prepared in case anyone waited in the long grass for our eventual return and spared themselves several hours of painful exercise. After three hours I decided to drop back a bit and see how the older ones were doing. Telling the front ranks to keep the pace up or face a flogging, I marked time, waiting for the rear to catch up. The ranks walked on past, a little ragged but still resembling a military machine. I was pleasantly surprised to see the older men were bearing up well. Most had sacrificed good posture for comfort, their backs helping to prop up the heavy sacks, forcing their heads to stare at the ground about three yards ahead of them. Many of them didn’t notice me, while of those who did, some managed a brief smile before returning to the monotony of the march. Thankfully, a few years’ soft living hadn’t knocked me badly out of shape, so I was able to quicken my pace and resume my position at the head of the column.

  Come midday, with the sun beating down mercilessly, some of the men began to suffer. But it was not the older men. While they were indeed a bit hotter with the extra layer of clothing, the young bucks who had deemed a top layer unnecessary were starting to rue their mistake. Not only was their skin burning, but the cloth straps of their sacks were wearing great sores on their chests and shoulders. I managed to catch a few sneaking some rocks out of their packs, and had them jog in front of me for an hour, then put them in the front rank. Others tried grabbing dock leaves, of which there were plenty at the side of the track, and packed several beneath the skin-burning straps. At last, some had showed proper initiative! I took their names as potentials for promotion.

  I decided it was time for a pause as we reached the brow of an especially tricky slope, and gave the order to halt. The men dropped to the ground, some of them gasping, so shattered that they did not care one bit about falling flat on the rough edges of the stones that they had been carrying all these miles. By my reckoning we had done about fifteen miles, perhaps a fraction less than what a legion would have done in the same time, but I doubted that we would make it back to Vienne before dark.

  A small brook trickled down the hill that we had reached, and I reckoned that an hour would be enough time for all the men to have a drink and a breather. More importantly, I needed the w
ater for another reason. We’d brought along a couple of packhorses, who carried a few sacks of blue dye as well as some brushes and bowls. Mixing some water with the dye, we splashed a streak of blue on the left forearm of every man who had made it that far.

  We slowed the rate down on the way back, and I won’t bother to describe the tedious return journey to you. This time I spent most of the march at the rear, giving stragglers encouragement or a kick, depending on my mood or the man in particular. Eventually, a long time after dark, we made it back to Vienne. I immediately had a count-up. Of the 10,000 or so who had set off with me that morning, there were about eight hundred who hadn’t received the splash of dye. These men were told to leave the town and return home. Tired, moaning, the veterans of the march wandered off to their lodgings, whether in tents on the hill or in the town.

  Heading back into town towards my own bed, I met young Quintus coming down from the hill that had the town’s theatre carved into its side.

  ‘How many?’ I called up to him.

  He shook his head. ‘Fourteen hundred or thereabouts. I can’t believe it. Did we really have to send them all home?’

  ‘Quintus, thankfully you’ve never seen how deadly the legions can be. These men are never going to fight like legionaries, so the best we can do is make them as fit as we possibly can.’

  He still looked fairly downhearted, so I ruffled his thick, tousled hair and said, ‘Keep your chin up. Officers have to set an example to the men. Who knows? You could become a great commander.’

  He looked up, his eyes shining. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. Now, off to your father and make your report. Tell him I sent eight hundred men packing, and I shall see him at the third hour in the basilica tomorrow.’

  ‘Good night, sir.’

  I smiled. ‘You don’t need to call me sir now. I’m meant to be your cousin, remember? You’re supposed to call me Gnaeus.’

  ‘Sorry… Gnaeus,’ he apologized.

  ‘That’s all right. Now off with you, I need to sleep just as much as anyone else in this army of your father’s.’ He nodded, and disappeared down one of the side streets that led to the back entrance to Vindex’s quarters. Though my billet was the villa next door, I was the only occupant and had no one to disturb, so I made for the front door.

  I knocked, and heard the tinkle of a chain’s links sliding across the floor as someone on the other side grumbled and fumbled for the key. The sound of a stubborn bolt being drawn back was followed by the appearance of two blue eyes in a small window in the solid door, which was closed as quickly as it had been opened. It seemed to be taking the old janitor an age to let me in, and I was reminded of a snatch of Ovid: ‘The hours of the night are passing, remove the bolt from the door.’ Calling for him to hurry up, I turned my back and leaned on the obstinate door.

  Suddenly, I glimpsed a small movement out of the corner of my eye, and in the dark made out a hooded figure in the shadows, peering out from around a street corner about twenty yards away.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I shouted.

  The figure turned and fled, and I started to run after him. The hard slap of leather sandals on the cobbles was unmistakable, but the figure was well hidden beneath the hood and thick folds of a dark cloak. He dived off into another street, and I followed as quickly as I could. Vienne was an absolute maze, with tiny little alleys and passageways forming a giant honeycomb, and when I turned the corner I only just made out the flicker of an outstretched leg heading off down yet another alleyway. If I hadn’t been marching with the army all day I might have made a better chase of it, but I was already flagging after only a few minutes’ pursuit. Cursing, I slowed to a stop, and bent double to catch my breath.

  Having admitted defeat, still wheezing somewhat, I made my slow way back to my billet, and asked the janitor if he had seen anyone, or if there had been people asking for me. He swore that no one had come calling, and returned to his bed by the door. Too tired to worry about it any longer, I decided to follow his example.

  VII

  Rising at the second hour, I called for a slave to bring some hot water for my shave. You might think it a bit strange, me shaving myself. Nero’s wife Poppaea, the woman who used to be married to Otho, had started a fashion in Rome of using some strange concoctions of cream to remove hair. I’ve heard that they put some weird and wonderful things in the creams: resin, pitch, white wine, ivy gum extract, ass’s fat, she-goat’s gall, bat’s blood and powdered viper. Anyway, it wasn’t for me. Most decent men had their own barber, but after serving in the legions I didn’t have time for such luxuries, so I had got into the habit of shaving myself.

  Midway through my shave, one of Vindex’s runners burst into my room. ‘Sir! Sir!’ he shouted. My hand jerked in surprise, making a searing lash on my cheek. I can still remember the boy’s face as he saw me, razor in hand and a slow trickle of blood reaching my neck.

  ‘Have you never learned to knock, you feckless idiot?’

  Staring open-mouthed at me, he began to apologize.

  ‘Never mind, what’s so urgent that you need to barge into my private chambers?’ I asked.

  The boy stammered, ‘Governor Vindex requests your presence in the basilica immediately, sir. He says he has vital news.’

  ‘Thank you. Now perhaps you’ll let me repair the damage?’

  Nervously smiling, he nodded and closed the door behind him.

  I tended to my wound as best I could, then quickly threw on some clothes and headed out to meet my lord and master. Figuratively speaking. I was walking hurriedly along the street when someone grabbed my arm. I was about to give him an earful when I spotted the shock of ginger hair. Lugubrix started walking me back in the direction that I had come from.

  ‘Bloody man didn’t think it would be clever to talk with his own spy somewhere private!’ Lugubrix muttered angrily.

  Soon we were outside my villa, and then approaching the same back entrance that Quintus had used the night before.

  ‘What’s the big news?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll talk inside.’

  We used the small back door to enter the place, only to find the governor waiting for us in the garden. He did not look all that pleased. Testily, he stated, ‘I do not take kindly to being given orders by my own staff. Why did you feel the need to tell me publicly to go home, Lugubrix?’

  ‘Precisely because we were in public, Governor. Is there somewhere we can go where we can’t be overheard?’

  ‘My study, I suppose.’

  He didn’t seem to take the hint. ‘So shall we…?’ I asked, motioning for him to take us inside.

  Vindex led us into the villa, and along a corridor or two. Though he had commandeered the place very recently, I was surprised to see several marble busts of Greeks lining the wall. There was even one of Alexander. Sheer vanity.

  At last we came to his study, and Vindex took his seat behind a small desk. Though there was another chair in the room, he did not offer us the use of it. My eyes flicked from the chair to Lugubrix, and he smiled and nodded. I dragged the chair to the side of the room, so that I could watch both men while Lugubrix made his report.

  ‘So, Lugubrix, what is so important that it needs to be said in such secrecy?’

  ‘Only this, sir: the legions are stirring.’

  ‘What?’ Vindex sat bolt upright, his eyes bulging.

  ‘The emperor has ordered the First Italica to end your rebellion, and they have broken camp. At this moment they are heading towards the Alpine passes to their west, and will march towards Massilia and then north to meet us.’

  ‘It’s not as if this was entirely unexpected, Governor,’ I interrupted. ‘Did you honestly believe that Nero’s favoured legion would just sit tight and leave you alone while you rebel against him?’

  Vindex fidgeted. ‘Well, no, but I didn’t expect it so soon. Severus, do you think that we can take care of one legion?’

  ‘Since we outnumber them by six to one, a
nd given the right location, certainly.’

  ‘Excellent, we can march south and catch them in the mountains,’ the governor proclaimed.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise that, Governor,’ Lugubrix said. ‘The Rhine legions are coming too.’

  This time Vindex looked truly stunned. ‘I… I… thought you said that they wouldn’t support Nero?’

  ‘It seems that Verginius Rufus, the governor of Upper Germania, is a bit of a constitutionalist. He has no love for Nero, despite being appointed by him, but he doesn’t think it right to rebel against the emperor, even if it is justified. But that’s not the main reason why he is coming. From where he’s sitting, it sounds too much like a Gallic rebellion for comfort.’

  ‘What is the condition of the Rhine legions?’ I asked.

  Lugubrix looked solemn. ‘Militarily, as strong as they’ve ever been. They’ve been carrying out some raids on the barbarians, and are in good shape. However, since they’ve all been posted there so long, there is something that could help us.’ He paused for a moment, probably for the benefit of Vindex. ‘The legions are very independent, each with their own rivalries. Now if we were to convince Rufus that we were a strong and organized force, he would have no choice but to counter us with a strong army of his own. He can’t empty a part of the Rhine frontier of troops, so he will have to take detachments from all of the legions. Then we can try and play them off against each other.’