He was on the point of calling men he knew over to him when one of the scouts reported. The three riders had reached the mile perimeter and were being escorted in. Labienus let his hand fall, irritated that his own hesitation had stolen the chance. Perhaps that was the secret of Caesar's genius, he thought, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. Those who faced him tied themselves in knots guessing what he would try next. Labienus wondered if he would prove as vulnerable as Pompey seemed to be and took heart from the city of soldiers they had brought out of the north. No matter what cleverness Caesar summoned to the field, he had never faced Roman legions in their full strength. Gaul would not have prepared him for their onslaught.
By the time the three riders appeared out of the darkness, the camps were taking shape. Thousands of legionaries had dug trenches and banked earth to the height of two men. Every tree for miles around had been cut and pegged, sawn and strapped into place. Banks of earth and grass sod buttressed the columns, proof against fire and enemy missiles. They built fortresses out of nothing in just hours, havens of order and safety in the wilderness. Torches stood on iron stands all around the camp and lit the night in flickering yellow. Labienus could smell meat cooking on the night wind and his empty stomach creaked. His own needs would have to wait a little longer and he forced down his body's weakness.
He waited for the three riders as they were passed through the scout lines into the camp, noting the insignia of the Tenth legion and their centurion's armor. Julius had sent senior men to speak to Pompey, Labienus observed. They had been forced to walk through the defensive rings with drawn blades at their backs. Labienus watched them with narrowed eyes. At his order, their horses were taken and the three soldiers quickly surrounded.
Labienus walked across the frozen ground toward them. They exchanged a glance as he approached, and their leader spoke first.
"We have come at the order of Gaius Julius Caesar, consul of Rome," he said. The centurion stood confidently as if he were not ringed with men willing to cut him down at the first sudden move.
"You seem a little blunt for diplomacy, soldier," Labienus replied. "Speak your message, then. I have a meal waiting."
The centurion shook his head. "Not to you, Labienus. The message is for Pompey."
Labienus regarded the men, his face showing nothing of his irritation. He had not missed the fact that his name was known to them and wondered how many spies Caesar had in Greece. He really should have had them killed before they had reached his position, Labienus thought ruefully.
"You may not approach the general with weapons, gentlemen," he said.
They nodded, and removed swords and daggers, letting them fall at their feet. The wind howled around them and the nearest torches fluttered madly.
"Remove the rest of your clothes and I will have more brought to you."
The three men looked angry, but they did not resist and were soon shivering and naked. Their skins showed each of them had fought for years, collecting a web of scars. The man who had spoken had a particularly fine collection and Labienus thought Caesar must have excellent healers for him to have survived. They stood without embarrassment and Labienus felt a touch of admiration at how they refused to hunch against the cold. Seeing their arrogance, he considered ordering a more intimate search, but decided against it. Pompey would be wondering about the delay as it was.
Slaves brought rough wool shifts, which the centurions draped over their skins, already turning blue.
Labienus examined their sandals for anything unusual and then shrugged and tossed them back.
"Escort them to camp one-to the command tent," he said.
He watched their faces closely, but the men were as impassive as the soldiers around them. Labienus knew his meal would have to wait a little longer. He was too curious to find out why Caesar would send valuable men to such a meeting.
Camp one contained eleven thousand soldiers and the key links in the command chain. It was surrounded by four others of similar size, so that from above they would look like the petals of a flower drawn by a child. Three roads crossed the heart of the camp and as Labienus walked along the Via Principalis toward Pompey's command tent, he noted how the centurions took in every detail around them. He frowned at the thought that they would carry their observations back to an enemy and once again considered having them quietly dispatched. Rather than waste another chance, he broke away from the escort and gave quick instructions to a tribune from his own Fourth legion. Without hesitation, the man saluted and went to gather a dozen others for the task. Labienus hurried along the main road to catch up with Caesar's men, feeling better about their mission.
The praetorium tent was an enormous leather construction near the northern gate of the camp. Reinforced with beams and taut with ropes, it was as solid as a stone building and proof against rain or gale. The whole area was well lit with oil torches partially shielded by a lattice of iron. Their flames streamed out with the wind, casting odd shadows as Labienus reached his men and had them halt outside. He gave the password of the day to the outer guards and ducked inside, finding Pompey in discussion with a dozen of his officers. The tent was simply furnished, with one long table and an ornate oak chair for Pompey. Benches rested against the walls for meetings and it had a spartan air of which Labienus approved. More important, the tent was far warmer than the outside. Braziers glowed on the packed earth, making the air thick and sluggish with heat. Labienus felt sweat break out on his skin at the sudden change.
"You've brought them here?" Pompey asked. His hand crept toward his stomach as he spoke.
"I've stripped and searched them, sir. With your permission, I will have my men bring them in."
Pompey gestured to the maps that lay across a heavy table and one of the officers quickly gathered them into neat scrolls. When there was nothing important visible, he seated himself carefully, twitching his toga into perfect folds over his legs.
The three centurions held themselves well as they came into Pompey's presence. Even dressed as they were, their short-cropped hair and scarred arms marked them immediately for what they were. The escort kept their weapons bared as they took positions around the walls of the tent and left the three men facing Pompey. Labienus found himself breathing more heavily as he waited, his hunger forgotten.
"So tell me what Caesar has to say that is so important as to risk your lives," Pompey said.
In the silence, only the crackle of the braziers could be heard.
The centurion who had spoken before took a step forward and, as one, the guards in the tent went from stillness to a knife edge of danger. He glanced around at them and raised his eyes for a moment as if he was amused by their stance.
"My name is Decimus, sir. Centurion of the Tenth legion. We have met once before, in Ariminum."
"I remember you," Pompey said. "At the meeting with Crassus. You were there when Caesar brought gold back from Gaul."
"I was, sir. Consul Caesar preferred to send a man you would recognize to show his good faith."
Despite the neutral tone, Pompey colored with anger immediately. "Do not use a false title in my presence, Decimus. The man you follow does not have the right to claim consul in front of me."
"He was elected by the voting centuries, sir, in accordance with the most ancient traditions. He claims his authority and rights as given him by the citizens of Rome."
Labienus frowned, wondering what Decimus could hope to achieve by antagonizing Pompey so early in the meeting. He could not escape the worrying thought that the words were intended for the other men there, who could be counted upon to discuss them with friends and colleagues. As if he shared the suspicion, Pompey glanced around the men in the tent, his eyes narrowing.
"As Dictator, even false consuls are answerable to my orders, Decimus, but I suspect you are not here to argue that point."
"No, sir. I have been ordered here to request that soldiers loyal to Rome leave this camp and either quit the field or join Caesar's legions against you."
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br /> There was immediate uproar. Pompey rose from his seat and at his signal all three men were hammered to their knees by the guards closest to them. None of them made a sound. Pompey controlled himself with difficulty.
"Your master is insolent, Decimus. There are no traitors here."
Decimus looked a little dazed from a blow to the back of his head. He raised a hand to rub where he had been struck and then thought better of the action. The guards around him were eager to cut him down at any provocation.
"In that case, I have his authority to offer peace, sir. For the good of Rome, he asks that you listen."
Pompey remembered his dignity with difficulty. He raised his hand in preparation for ordering the deaths of the centurions, and Decimus watched its movement, his eyes glittering in the light of the torches.
"Be warned, Decimus," Pompey said at last. "I will not be rebuked in my own camp. Choose your words carefully or you will be killed."
Decimus nodded. "Caesar wishes it to be known that he serves Rome above his own safety or ambition. He does not wish to see her armies broken against each other and so leave the city poorly defended for a generation. He offers peace, if certain conditions are met."
Pompey clenched the fist he held up and one of the men with Decimus flinched slightly, expecting to feel cold iron in his back at any moment. Decimus did not respond to the threat, and as Pompey held his gaze they all heard voices raised outside the tent.
An instant later, Cicero entered with two other senators, sweeping into the warmth with crystals of ice on their cloaks. They were pale with the cold, but Cicero took in the scene before him immediately. He bowed to Pompey.
"General, I have come to represent the Senate at this meeting."
Pompey glowered at the old man, unable to dismiss him while the three centurions watched.
"You are welcome, Cicero. Labienus, draw up a bench for the senators, that they may witness the impertinence of Caesar."
The senators settled themselves and Decimus raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "Should I repeat myself, General?" he said.
His calm was unnatural for a man with sharp iron at his neck, and Labienus wondered if he had chewed one of the roots that were said to dull fear. Pompey resumed his seat and his long fingers fussed with the lines of his toga while he thought.
"Caesar has offered peace," he said to Cicero. "I suspect it is yet another attempt to sow discord amongst our men."
Decimus bowed his head for a moment and took a deep breath. "My master claims the rights granted him by the people of Rome in lawful election. With those rights, he accepts the responsibility to avoid a war if it is possible. He fears that a conflict between us would leave Greece stripped and Rome undefended. He thinks first of Rome."
Cicero leaned forward like an old hawk. "But there is a sting to be borne, yes? I would not expect Caesar to brave our fleet to reach Greece and then meekly give up his ambition."
Decimus smiled. "No, Senator. He looks for a peaceful resolution only because he would not see Rome weakened."
"What does he offer?" Cicero said.
Pompey flushed at the old man's interruptions, but pride prevented him from showing his anger in front of his most senior officers.
As if he sensed Pompey's discomfort, Decimus turned away from Cicero and addressed Pompey directly. "Caesar offers a truce between the two armies. No man will be punished or held responsible for his officers at this time."
He took another deep breath and Labienus tensed, sensing the strain Decimus was under.
"He asks only that Pompey take a small honor guard and leave Greece, perhaps to peaceful allies. His army will return to their posts and no harm will come to them for taking arms against the lawfully elected consul of Rome."
Pompey rose once again, standing over the kneeling men. His voice was choked with fury. "Does your master think I would accept a peace under those terms? I would rather be ashes than take my life at his generosity!"
Labienus looked around at the other men in the tent. He was bitter with regret and knew he should have had the men killed before they could reach Pompey. Who could tell what damage the offer might achieve by the time it had spread to the lowest ranks?
"I will let him know your response, General," Decimus said.
Pompey shook his head, his expression hard. "No, you will not," he said. "Kill them."
Cicero rose in horror and Decimus too stood up as he heard the order. A legionary stepped toward the centurion and with a sneer Decimus opened his arms to receive the blade.
"You are not fit to lead Rome," he said to Pompey, gasping as the gladius was shoved hard into his chest.
The pain distorted his features and yet he did not fall, but reached out to the hilt with both hands. Holding Pompey's gaze, Decimus pulled it further into himself, letting loose an animal cry of rage. As the other two had their throats opened, Decimus collapsed and the sickly smell of blood filled the tent. Some of the men made the hand gesture against evil spirits, and Pompey himself was shaken by the man's extraordinary courage. He seemed to have shrunk in his chair and he could not tear his gaze from the bodies at his feet.
It was left to Labienus to give orders and he had the dead men removed, the guards following them. He could not believe what he had seen Decimus do, or his complete disregard for his own death. Caesar had chosen wisely in sending such a man, he was forced to acknowledge. Before dawn, every soldier in Pompey's camp would have heard of the centurion's words and actions. Above all things, they respected courage. Labienus frowned as he thought how best to handle the spread of information. Could he blunt the force of the tale with a counter rumor? It would be difficult, with so many witnesses. He knew his soldiers. Some of them would indeed wonder if they followed the right man.
As he stepped out into the howling wind and pulled his cloak more tightly around him, he could applaud the use of three lives for such an effect. They faced a ruthless enemy, and when it came he would relish Caesar's eventual destruction all the more.
He looked away into the distance as he considered his own commander. Labienus had known men who survived for years with ulcers or hernias. He remembered an old tentmate who delighted in showing a shiny lump that stood out from his stomach, even taking coins from those who wanted to force it back in with a finger. Labienus hoped Pompey's illness was not the source of his weakening spirits. If it was, there could only be worse to come.
CHAPTER 14
Julius could not remember ever having been so cold. Knowing he would make the crossing to Greece in winter, he had paid for his men to be outfitted in the best cloaks and woolen layers for their hands and feet. After marching through the night with only a few mouthfuls of rubbery meat to keep up his strength, his very thoughts seemed to flow more slowly, as if his mind was sluggish with ice.
The night had passed without catastrophe as his legions took a wide berth around Pompey's camp. The gibbous moon had given them enough light to make good progress, and his veterans had stuck to the task doggedly, without a word of complaint.
He had met with Domitius's legion ten miles west of Pompey's camp and delayed two hours there while the cart animals were bullied and struck into movement. They too had been sheltered with blankets from the stores and they had eaten better than the men.
As dawn came he could only estimate how far north they had come. Pompey's army would be preparing to march against an abandoned position and it could not be long before his absence was discovered. Then they would be hunted, by men who were rested and well fed. It would not take long for Pompey to guess his destination, and seven legions left a trail that could hardly be disguised. Their iron-shod sandals beat the earth into a wide road a child could find.
"I… I do not remember Greece being this cold," Julius stammered to the muffled figure of Octavian at his side. The younger man's features were hidden by so much cloth that only the plume of white breath proved he was somewhere within the mass.
"You said a legionary should rise above the discomforts
of the body," Octavian replied with a slight smile.
Julius glanced at him, amused that his relative appeared to remember every conversation they had ever had.
"Renius told me that a long time ago," he confirmed. "He said he'd seen dying men march all day before they fell. He said the true strength was in how far we could ignore the flesh. I sometimes think the man was a Spartan at heart, except for the heavy drinking." He looked back at the column of his legions as they marched in grim silence. "I hope we can outrun our pursuers."
He saw Octavian's head turn stiffly toward him and he met the eyes that were deep within the folds of the hood.
"The men understand," Octavian said. "We will not let you down."
Julius felt a tightness in his throat that had nothing to do with the cold. "I know, lad. I do know," he said gently.
The wind battered against them like the pressure of a warning hand as they pushed on. Julius could not speak for the pride he felt. He thought he hardly deserved the simple faith his men placed in his leadership. The responsibility was his alone to see them survive their time in Greece, and he knew what he had been given in their trust.
"Pompey will be in our camp by now," Octavian said suddenly, looking at the sun as it fought clear of the eastern hills. "He'll come fast when he sees where we're going."
"We'll run them into the ground," Julius said, not sure if he believed it.
He had planned and prepared as much as he could before leaving Rome, but the simple fact was that he needed to find food for his men. Caecilius had said Dyrrhachium held the main supply, and Julius would have to push his legions on through exhaustion to reach it. He had other reasons for going to the city, but without food, his campaign would come to a shuddering halt and everything they had fought for would be lost.
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