The Last Caesar

by The Last Caesar (retail) (epub)

  Vindex raised his goblet. ‘To a glorious day tomorrow.’

  We both drank deeply, with Vindex coming up for air first. I carried on until there were just a few dregs at the bottom, and smacked my lips in appreciation. There was a slightly strange aftertaste, but I put that down to the dirtiness of the cups. After all, we had done a lot of travelling, and even the most fastidious of slaves forgets that a long journey will get dust into some of the most inaccessible corners of one’s baggage. Vindex looked much more relaxed now, and began to grin widely. He sat down in his ornate chair, watching me closely.

  All of a sudden I felt immensely weak and tired. Of course it had been a busy and nerve-racking day, and it was well after midnight by now, but that did not explain why one cup of wine had had such a dramatic effect. My knees began to quiver as I felt the strength drain out of them. All the while Vindex said nothing, but stared at me, with that unnerving smile and a fiendish look in his eyes.

  It finally dawned on me, and as I looked at that empty cup my legs gave way completely. A numb sensation was spreading throughout my entire body, and I was certain that I was dying. Still Vindex said nothing. As I felt myself losing consciousness, I had just enough energy to mouth one word at this backstabbing Gaul. ‘Why?’ In response he simply raised his cup in mock salute, and then took another drink. Thinking that my last hour had come, I started flailing about on the floor. I don’t know what I thought I could achieve, but men who have been poisoned are not likely to be in a rational frame of mind. My limbs were heavy now, and it took every last bit of strength that I had left to move them at all. Then it all went dark, and my spreadeagled body lay motionless on Vindex’s floor.

  XII

  Words cannot describe how happy I was to wake up that morning. I had been convinced that I was about to die in Vindex’s tent on some insignificant hill in eastern Gaul. But thank the gods I was alive. Alive but groggy.

  Strangely, I came to with the familiar sight of my own tent roof directly above me. Somehow I had gone from the governor’s tent to my own, so Vindex had obviously felt no pressing need to kill me. Then why had he drugged me?

  I swung my legs across, out of my cot, and placed my still-sandalled feet on the ground. I tried to stand but failed completely, crashing back on to the bed. Whoever had mixed the drugs had done a good job. My thoughts were just as jumbled and flimsy as my limbs were, so all I could do was sit still until I recovered enough to be able to walk around. Finding my sheathed sword beneath the bed, I was not so addled that I wasn’t able to put it on, and I attached it securely to my belt. After a huge effort, I raised myself up, clutching at the tent’s central pole for support, before my legs gave way again and I collapsed to the floor.

  While I tried to get back on my feet by grasping the pole and gingerly levering myself up, I was struck by how quiet it was. There was no noise at all outside my tent; normally a legion’s camp pulses with activity, the hammering of smiths, officers shouting, horses whinnying, but there was nothing. There were nearly 30,000 men inside the camp, and yet it was almost totally silent. I could hear was an occasional cawing of the crows, but precious little else. Bracing myself, I had another attempt at getting up, and this time succeeded. Still dizzy, I had to shuffle very slowly towards the tent flap to see what was going on, or rather what wasn’t going on.

  It was deserted. The whole camp was empty. The palisade and gates still stood, and the telltale marks of extinguished fires were dotted all over the place, but all signs of life were gone. I looked up at the sky, and dawn was about to break; I could just make out an orange glow from the eastern horizon.

  Then I heard a loud snort behind me, and I whipped round to see my horse, whose reins had been fastened to one of the many stakes that had been scattered round the camp. He was fully saddled and bridled, and ready to be ridden. I was in no fit state to ride, but that couldn’t be helped. Vindex had clearly marched off without me, and someone had to make sure that the obnoxious fool didn’t do something ridiculously stupid.

  After several failed attempts, I managed to mount up, and gingerly prompted the horse to head north-east, to Vesontio. We cantered along at a fair pace, following the army’s tracks. A column of tens of thousands of men isn’t too difficult to spot, and the ground, sodden from the night before, had been churned into a mass of squelching mud. The swathe of mud was about twenty yards across, and I could see it snaking its way for miles through the hills, leading inexorably towards the besieged town.

  Despite how foul I was feeling, I had to reach the army as soon as possible. So I dug my heels in, and the horse flew into a gallop. The change of speed made my innards lurch, forcing me to shift in the saddle and throw up on to the grass below. I don’t know how long I rode for. Every jolt was agonizing. My heart pounded, my mouth and lips were dry, except for the bitter aftertaste of vomit that I could not get rid of. Once or twice the stupid horse veered into the squelching mess that the army had made and its front legs got stuck in the ooze, which catapulted me forward out of the saddle.

  It was just after the third time that I had fallen into the mud and was trying to heave myself into the saddle yet again that I heard it: away in the distance, the tramp of the army ahead of me. The distant pounding of feet became a series of muffled thuds by the time it reached my ears; I still had a lot of catching up to do. As I made it over the next hill, the marching sound stopped. Obviously they had reached the town. I was praying that Vindex wouldn’t do anything stupid, as it was only half an hour after dawn, at the very latest, and Rufus had said that he would address his men an hour after dawn.

  I knew that I wasn’t far from Vesontio now. I had done the same journey yesterday, but in my delicate state I couldn’t be sure that my memory wasn’t playing tricks on me. I could just make out the westernmost spur that jutted into the river that almost encircled the town. I was three miles away at the most. With renewed energy, I mounted the sorry excuse for a horse for what I hoped was the last time. Tugging viciously at the reins to encourage it away from the mud, I set off once again. The terrain was as I remembered it. Valley, hill, valley, hill, again and again as I crossed the last range of foothills that separated rural Gaul from the towering Alps. Galloping up the final slope, at last I caught sight of the rearguard. Sextus’s cavalry division were milling around on the nearside of a small wood that crowned the top of the hill. I remembered this hill. Beyond it was the valley that rose up steeply towards Vesontio’s citadel. I spotted Sextus himself, idly chatting with a small group of horsemen. Tugging the reins to my left I bore down upon him, scattering the men in my way.

  He looked in my direction to see what had caused the commotion, and I was just close enough to see him freeze, mouth agape, like a man who has seen a ghost. I reined in close to him, and looked him directly in the eye.

  ‘Where’s that backstabbing shit your father?’ I said bluntly.

  ‘Er… with Quintus,’ he replied.

  He clearly had not expected me to appear, and had not leaped to his father’s defence, so I assumed he had at least known of the plan to drug me.

  ‘And where exactly is that? Tell me quickly, every second counts.’

  ‘My father won’t want to see you,’ he said nervously.

  ‘I don’t bloody care,’ I snarled at him, ‘what he wants or doesn’t want. Unless you tell me where he is, right now, you could be responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent men. Do you want that, Sextus?’

  He pointed towards the woods. ‘On the other side, with the infantry.’

  Dispensing with the pleasantries, I dug my heels in again and headed straight for the woods. I hadn’t ridden through these woods the day before, but from the outside they hadn’t looked that dense. But now that I was in the heart of them, my horse was having a lot of difficulty moving through at speed. The ash trees weren’t particularly big or sturdy, but the long narrow trunks everywhere made the wood a lot harder to cross. One man on foot would have no problem, but on horseback it was nigh impossib
le to go faster than walking pace.

  Eventually I came to the edge of the wood, only to be greeted with the sight of thousands of men in pristine ranks, stretching across the fields. Just behind them, in the centre, were two figures. One wore a deep red cloak.

  Taking my time, I trotted slowly over towards the pair. Vindex was surveying his troops, and Quintus looked round, nudging his father when he recognized me. Vindex’s head snapped round to look at me, and immediately he took a couple of steps back in shock. I pulled up and swung down out of the saddle, still fairly dizzy. I steadied myself, and walked slowly towards the governor. He tried to compose himself, and I was just about to demand what he thought he was playing at, when I heard in the distance, once again, that rhythmic tramping of an army on the march. The citadel and Roman siege-works were hidden behind a gentle rise to the north, but then a shrill blast of trumpets heralded the arrival of the Army of the Rhine. On the brow ahead of us an opposing force of metal-encased legionaries marched towards us, led by a thin line of skirmishers.

  While Vindex was staring at the army, I took another couple of steps forward and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to look at me, and I smashed him in the face. He flung his hands towards his nose and staggered back, blood streaming down his chin.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, you arrogant turd? Through your pride, you’ve just condemned your army to death,’ I shouted at him. ‘First you drug me, then you march off and force Rufus to fight a battle for which there was no need. What did you think would happen? A glorious victory, with a bunch of farmers led by someone who’s never held military command, against the finest army in the world? You’re even more stupid than I thought.’

  All the while, Vindex was shouting something in Gallic at Quintus, who stood still. Vindex shouted some more, but Quintus just turned to me and asked: ‘What do we do now?’

  I was about to order a rebel army into action against a highly trained Roman one, but there was nothing else for it. ‘Bring me Bormo, Martialis and the rest. We have to fight, otherwise their cavalry will cut us down in droves.’

  The commanders were duly summoned, and all the while rank upon rank of heavily armed infantry appeared to the north. The glow of dawn on their armour made the soldiers difficult to see individually, so it was hard to gauge how many had appeared so far, but from what Rufus had said, there ought to have been around 20,000 men, minus the cohorts who were guarding the city’s bridges. Yet even they would be here soon enough, with a full-scale battle in the offing.

  Carnunnos, Sextus, Bormo and the rest were soon assembled, all looking somewhat worried. Sextus in particular was awestruck by the military machine on the other side of the valley. Vindex was nowhere to be seen.

  Martialis was the first to speak. ‘I’ll bet ten denarii that we win.’

  ‘Anyone here fancy taking Martialis up on that bet?’ I looked at each of them in turn. Bormo and Quintus gave a chuckle. Carnunnos showed his contempt with a casual spit.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Because not only can we win, but we are going to win, so long as each man follows his orders. Is that clear?’

  The men nodded at me, looking a little less perturbed than they had done at the start of the conversation. Now I had to decide on tactics. The dilemma was whether to try and win the day, at the risk of throwing away thousands of lives and Galba’s hopes for the entire campaign, or to withdraw, to save lives but simultaneously destroy the credibility of the entire movement, leaving Galba isolated in Spain. We could end Roman lives in a battle that need not take place, or deny Rome a worthy emperor. For a patriotic Roman, neither choice was particularly appetizing.

  My decision made, I began to reveal my battle plans. ‘As we all know, in the open, we cannot hope to match the legions. So, we shall line up very much as we are now, just in front of this small wood here. No one is to move from their position until ordered. Clear so far?’

  Bormo spoke up. ‘So we wait for the Romans to come to us, and then we charge down the hill?’

  ‘Not quite. We will wait for them to come to us, and wear themselves out a little on the slope. Their usual strategy is to get within fifty yards, launch a volley of javelins and then charge home. We will take that first volley, and then retreat into the woods. It is vital that the retreat looks disorganized, shambolic even, just like the cowardly militia they think we are. With any luck, they will follow us into the woods, and then we will spring the trap.

  ‘While those thin ash trees may not look like much, the sheer number of them will disrupt their formations. All our archers will wait in the woods and give covering fire while our men re-form. Then, while our archers are pouring volley after volley into their disordered ranks, our men will be able to fight man to man with the Romans.’

  ‘And the cavalry?’ asked Martialis.

  ‘They will be waiting behind the woods on our left flank, hidden from the legions. Once most of the enemy are committed to entering the woods, the cavalry will swing round behind them and charge into the melee.’

  ‘I have a question,’ said Bormo. ‘If we are to withdraw into the woods anyway, why do we have to let the Romans throw a volley of spears at us?’

  Carnunnos interrupted, ‘Because, idiot, it would look a bit strange if we ran away as soon as they came close; the Romans aren’t that ugly!’ That provoked a round of nervous laughter from my men. I was thoroughly glad we had at least one older man among us who would not lose his head in a crisis.

  ‘And what of my father?’ Sextus queried.

  I allowed myself a small smile. ‘It has been decided that my uncle’s life is too precious to risk in battle, so he will wait at the back of the field while we win the battle for him. I am in command, unless you have any problems with that?’

  Given that he was surrounded by men who, I hoped, were more loyal to me than Vindex, it would have taken a brave man to contest my right to command the army. Fortunately, Sextus was not such a brave man, and he mutely nodded his assent.

  ‘That’s settled then. Now, each man to his troops. Quintus, you will command the archers, but be sure to hold fire until the enemy are fully committed to chasing us into the woods. I shall take my place with the infantry. And good luck to you all.’

  As the commanders made their separate ways to various parts of the line, it hit me that I had just referred to my fellow countrymen as ‘the enemy’. I realize that having been a part of the Vindex campaign all this time I should have been prepared for this, but I had never expected there to be a pitched battle. Strictly speaking, the vast majority of my army were themselves Roman citizens, making this day the beginning of a civil war. Not pleasant thoughts to have running through your head moments before your first command of a full-scale battle, but these misgivings were soon forgotten as the shrill blast of trumpets sounded the Roman advance.

  XIII

  It is a majestic sight, a Roman field army in those moments before battle is joined. Those great, shimmering columns of men in perfect formations, just as they had practised on the parade ground for hours on end. I remember something the men under Tiberius’s command said, when he was a general on the Rhine: his drills were bloodless battles; his battles, bloody drills. Over the centuries, the Roman army has adopted and adapted different formations and tactics to overcome almost every nation they have encountered, and for a military man like myself, it is a joy to watch them in action.

  Except for that day.

  You see, having served in the army, I had always watched the legions marching forward in perfect ranks towards a terrified enemy. This was the first time that they had been marching towards me. The assembled army numbered at most two-thirds of our own force, and even with a sound strategy in mind, not only was the outcome of the battle very uncertain, but I don’t mind saying that for a moment I was quaking in fear. I snapped out of it soon enough. A good leader should never reveal his fears to the men, but the sight of those legions marching unerringly towards me on that day is forever etched on my memory.

>   I delayed joining the ranks for a bit, staying further up the slope to keep my good view of the shallow valley, watching to see how the opposing army deployed. By the dress and formation, I judged there to be three regular legions and one legion of auxiliaries in Rufus’s force, with no reserve that I could see, and no cavalry, which was a blessing. In the centre of each legion stood the aquilifer, the standard bearer, whose duty it was to carry his legion’s eagle: a simple, metal bird that represented the honour and pride of the legion. I have seen men hurl themselves at the enemy to retrieve a lost eagle, for a legion without an eagle loses all respect and honour, despite perhaps a century of dedicated service. The rank and file lived for the legion and their comrades, and once battle was joined it would take a superhuman effort to defeat them. This was what I was hoping to achieve that day, all for a man I had promised to serve after less than a day in his company. I was just glad that, thus far, few people knew that Caecina Severus was in command of a rebel army. I silently prayed to all the gods I could think of to help me in this gamble that I had taken for Galba.

  * * *

  I could tell that our men were getting nervous at the prospect of finally joining battle with the Romans. As the legionaries in the front ranks reached the bottom of the valley and began to march up towards our position, the rearmost ranks of the Gauls began to take a step or two backwards, itching to get under the cover of the woods. The elder soldiers and junior officers growled at them to get back in line, and I had a look to make sure that each commander was setting his men a good example.

  Carnunnos stood still, a weathered rock for the younger men to cling to. I could see Martialis weaving about the ranks, making a joke here, a reassuring line there, cursing and cajoling according to the man. Bormo stood a few yards back from his men, limbering up for battle silently. He was the master of the sword-ring, but having nothing but a sword was a severe handicap in the chaos of a battle. As a shield would have impeded his natural speed and style, instead he opted to wield two swords, probably from his own smithy, and trust to his skill and agility. Sextus had rejoined his unit behind the leafy screen of the wood, so that just left Quintus. This was probably the first time that he had been out of his father’s shadow, I mused to myself. And what a first time too! To lead the archers is not usually the most prestigious of commands, but given how they fitted into our strategy, Quintus’s timing of that first volley would be crucial in deciding the outcome of the battle.