The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  Brutus cantered up and dismounted.

  ‘By Mars, he was a strange one,’ Brutus said. He noticed one of the Tenth near him making a protective sign with his fingers. He frowned, considering the effect on the more superstitious men under his command.

  ‘Cabera? You saw him,’ Julius said. ‘Was it a birth deformity?’

  Cabera looked into the distance after the rider.

  ‘I have never seen one that was so regular, as if it had been made deliberately. I don’t know, General. Perhaps if I could examine him more closely, I could be sure. I will think on it.’

  ‘I suppose this Ariovistus isn’t asking for peace and saving us the trouble of dealing with his ugly men?’ Brutus asked Julius.

  ‘Not yet. Now that we’re close to him, he has suddenly decided he will meet me, after all. Strange how Roman legions can influence a man’s mind,’ Julius replied. His smile faded as he thought of the rest of the king’s message.

  ‘He wants me to take cavalry alone to the meeting place, Brutus.’

  ‘What? I hope you refused. I will not leave you in the hands of our Gaulish riders, Julius. Never in this life. You must not give him the chance to trap you, friend of Rome or not.’ Brutus looked appalled at the idea, but then Julius spoke again.

  ‘Rome watches us, Brutus. Mark Antony was right about that. Ariovistus must be treated with respect.’

  ‘Mhorbaine said his people lived in the saddle,’ Brutus replied. ‘Did you see the way that ugly bastard rode? If they’re all like him, you won’t want to be caught in the open with just the Aedui and a handful of extraordinarii.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I will be,’ Julius said, a slow smile stealing across his face. ‘Summon the Aedui to me, Brutus.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Brutus asked, thrown by the sudden change in his general’s demeanour.

  Julius grinned like a boy. ‘I am going to mount the Tenth on horseback, Brutus. Three thousand of my veterans and the extraordinarii should be enough to clip his wings, don’t you think?’

  Pompey finished his address to the Senate and asked for speakers before the vote to come. Though there was a brittle tension in the three hundred men of the Curia, at least the threat of violence had diminished from their debates, if not the streets outside. At the thought, Pompey glanced over to where Clodius sat, a shaven-headed bull of a man who had been born in the gutters of the city and had risen simply by being more ruthless than any of his competitors. With Crassus’ stranglehold over trade, Clodius should have found himself a quiet retirement, but instead had cut his losses and stood for election to the Senate. Pompey shuddered as he considered the brutal, flat features. Some of the things he had heard were surely exaggerated, he told himself. If they were true, it would have meant another city hidden beneath Rome, one perhaps that Clodius already ruled. The bullish figure was to be seen at every session of the Senate and when he was baulked, gangs of raptores would rampage through the city, disappearing into the maze of alleys whenever the legion guards came after them. Clodius was cunning enough to denounce the gangs in public, throwing his hands up in amazement whenever their violence coincided with some check to his ambition.

  Restoring the tribune posts to the vote had removed one pillar of Clodius’ popular support. After the disgraceful funeral procession two months before, Pompey had followed Crassus’ advice. To his pleasure, only one of the original holders of the post had been brought back into the Senate. The fickle public had voted in a stranger for the second and though Pompey’s enemies courted him outrageously, he had not yet declared any particular loyalties. It was just possible that Clodius had no hand in the man’s election, though Pompey doubted it. The man was not above threatening families to achieve his aims and Pompey had already witnessed one vote where decent men had turned against him for no clear reason. They had not even met his eyes as they stood with Clodius, and Pompey had barely been able to restrain his rage in the face of the merchant’s cold triumph. As a result of that, the free corn issued to the citizens now took a fifth of the entire revenue of the city and thousands more flooded in each month for the entitlement. Pompey knew Clodius found his most brutal supporters from amongst those rootless scavengers who came to the city. He could not prove it, but he thought a heavy tithe of that grain never reached the hungriest mouths, instead going into that darker Rome where Clodius and men like him bought lives as easily as they sold grain.

  Pompey motioned for Suetonius to speak and sat down as the young Roman rose and cleared his throat. Nothing of his dislike showed on Pompey’s face, though he despised a man who would apparently follow any dog for scraps. Suetonius had grown in confidence as Clodius showered him with praise and funds. He spoke well enough to hold the attention of the Senate and his association with Clodius had given him a vicarious status he relished.

  ‘Senators, Tribunes,’ Suetonius began, ‘I am no friend to Caesar, as many of you know.’ He allowed himself a small smile at the chuckle from the benches. ‘We have all heard of his victory against the Helvetii in Gaul, a most worthy battle that had the citizens cheering in the markets. Yet the matter of his debts is not a minor concern. I have the estimate here.’

  Suetonius made a show of checking a paper, though he knew the figures by heart.

  ‘To Herminius, he owes just under a million sesterces. The other lenders together, another million, two hundred thousand. These are not small sums, gentlemen. Without these funds, the men who advanced them in good faith may well be forced into poverty. They have the right to appeal to us when Caesar shows no sign or inclination to return to the city. The law of Twelve Tables is quite clear on the matter of debt and we should not support a general who scorns the statutes in this way. I urge the Senate to demand his return to clear his slate with the city. Failing that, perhaps an assurance from Pompey that the term in Gaul has some clear end, so that those who struggle in the wake of these debts can look forward to settlement on an agreed date. I will vote in favour of recalling Caesar.’

  He sat down and Pompey was about to motion to the next speaker when he saw the new tribune had risen.

  ‘Have you anything to add, Polonus?’ Pompey said, smiling at the man.

  ‘Only that this seems a small stick with which to beat a successful general,’ Polonus replied. ‘As I understand the matter, these debts are personal to Caesar, despite his use of them to supply and outfit his soldiers. When he returns to the city, his creditors can lay hands on him for the sums and if he cannot pay, the penalties are harsh. Until then, I do not see a role for the Senate in demanding his return into the hands of coarse moneylenders.’

  A murmur of approval sounded from the senators and Pompey stifled a smile. Large numbers of them had debts and Suetonius would have to be a genius to make them call back a general to satisfy the grubby urging of men like Herminius. Pompey was pleased Polonus had spoken against the vote. Perhaps he was not in Clodius’ pay after all. Pompey caught the tribune’s eye and inclined his head as the next speaker rose, barely listening to the speech by some minor son of the nobilitas.

  Pompey knew there were many who described his dismissal and restoration of the tribunes as a masterful stroke. The older members especially looked to him for leadership and strength to face the new players of the game. Many of them had come to him in private, but in the Senate their fear made them weak. There were not many who dared to risk the enmity of one like Clodius. Even for Pompey, the thought of Clodius becoming consul one day was enough to make sweat break out on his skin.

  As the young senator droned through his speech, Pompey’s gaze drifted to another of the new men, Titus Milo. Like Clodius before him, he had come to the Senate when his merchant ventures were lost. Perhaps because of that shared background, the pair appeared to dislike each other intensely. Milo was red-faced from drink and fat where Clodius was solid. Both men could be as coarse as the worst gutter whore. Pompey wondered privately if they could be set at each other’s throats. It would be a neat solution to the problem.


  The vote was taken quickly and for once Pompey’s supporters did not waver. Clodius had not spoken and Pompey knew it was likely he had indulged Suetonius without pledging his full support. There would be no sudden reports of gangs rampaging through the markets that night. Clodius caught Pompey’s thoughtful gaze on him and nodded his massive head as one equal to another. Pompey returned the gesture out of habit, though his mind seethed with some of the ugliest rumours. It was said that Clodius employed bodyguards who used rape as a casual tool of persuasion when they were on his business. It was just another of the tales circulating like flies about the man. Pompey gritted his teeth as he saw the secret gleam of amusement in Clodius’ eyes. In that moment, he envied Julius in Gaul. For all the hardships of a campaign, his battles would be simpler and cleaner than those Pompey faced.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Brutus roared angry orders out to the Tenth as they trotted their Gaulish ponies towards the distant mass of horsemen at the foot of the crag of rock called the Hand. While he understood Julius’ desire to have the veterans of the Tenth with him, they rode like wayward children. Above a walking pace, horses drifted into each other and on anything but the smoothest ground, the red-faced soldiers were thrown off, suffering the humiliation of being forced to run alongside until they could heave themselves back into the saddles.

  As if that wasn’t enough, Brutus seethed inwardly at Mark Antony being given control of the legions waiting behind them. He could accept the fact that Julius wanted Brutus and Octavian with him to control the extraordinarii, but Mark Antony had not earned the right to be Julius’ second-in-command. Brutus was in a savage temper as he wheeled his mount to respond to a commotion behind him.

  ‘Gather up your reins, by Mars, or I will have you whipped!’ he shouted to an unfortunate, milling group of triarii. In their heavy armour, they sat their horses like clanking sacks of corn and Brutus rolled his eyes as another leaned too far forward and slipped from sight under his pony’s legs with a crash.

  It was no way to approach a possible battle. The Tenth were used to the rhythms of foot soldiers and the sweating, swearing men around him had nothing of the calm he was used to.

  Octavian cantered past him, using his powerful gelding to force a wobbling rank of ponies back into line. The two men exchanged glances as they passed and Octavian grinned, clearly amused by the situation. Brutus gave no answering smile, instead cursing the Tenth under his breath as two horses somehow became joined together ahead of him, their riders heaving at the reins until the tortured ponies panicked and bolted. Brutus caught them with a quick dart, holding on until the legionaries had regained control. They could not be expected to have the casual balance of thousands of hours of training and he only hoped Julius would have the sense to call a halt long before Ariovistus could see their lack of skill. For men born in the saddle, there could be no deception.

  Before they had set off, Julius had come to him. He had seen Brutus’ coldness and spoke to reassure him.

  ‘I must have you with me, Brutus,’ he had said. ‘The extraordinarii are the only competent riders I have and they are used to your orders.’

  Julius had stood close to him then, unwilling to be overheard.

  ‘And if I am forced to fight, I do not want Mark Antony at my side. He thinks too much of this Ariovistus and his friendship with Rome.’

  Brutus had nodded, though the words did not go far to appease his sense of betrayal. The post was owed.

  The outriders saw the Hand and reported back before noon. As the Tenth neared the crag, Brutus could see thousands of horsemen in perfect ranks ahead. They had chosen a place for the meeting where cavalry were hampered by steep defiles on either side. The rock they called the Hand formed the highest point to the east, with the western side choked with dense forest. Brutus wondered if Ariovistus had men hidden in the dark oaks. He knew he would have placed them there and hoped the legions were not heading into a trap. One thing was certain, if it came to a retreat against those German riders, the Tenth would have to accomplish it on foot or be destroyed.

  The cornicens sounded a dismount, a signal of two tones they had agreed on before leaving the camp. With relief, Brutus saw the Tenth lose their awkwardness as they touched the ground.

  Only the extraordinarii stayed in the saddle to guard the flanks. The Tenth walked their ponies forward in grim bad humour. Brutus continued to harry them, calling out to the centurions to keep order as they advanced towards the meeting place and the King of the Germanic Suebi. The tension grew as they marched closer to the enemy and Brutus could see the details of the men they faced. He saw Ariovistus for the first time as the king rode out with three others and halted two hundred feet from his front line. Julius went forward to meet him with Domitius and Octavian, the tension visible in their stiff backs.

  Brutus took a last look at the ranks of the Tenth.

  ‘Be ready!’ he called as he trotted out to join his general.

  The noise of four thousand nervous horses dwindled behind them as he joined Domitius and Octavian, all three resplendent in their silver armour. Julius wore the full-face helmet and when he turned in the saddle to acknowledge Julius, Brutus saw the effect of the cold features that stared back at him.

  ‘Now let’s see what this little king has to say to me,’ Julius’ voice came from beneath the iron mouth.

  The four men kicked their horses into a canter in perfect formation as they moved across the broken ground.

  Julius recognised Redulf at Ariovistus’ right shoulder and saw with astonishment that the other two warriors with the king were as strangely deformed as the messenger. One of them was shaven bald, but the other had a crown of black hair that did nothing to disguise the strange double ridge, as if some great fist had gripped his skull and squeezed it. They were all bearded and fierce-looking, clearly chosen for strength. All were adorned with gold and silver, making Julius pleased he had his sword tourney finalists as his honour guard. The perfect sets of silver armour outshone the Suebi warriors and Julius knew that, man for man, his companions would be more deadly.

  Ariovistus himself did not have the ridged brow of the warriors at his side. His face was dominated by dark eyebrows and an untrimmed beard that covered most of his face, leaving only the cheeks and forehead clear. His skin was pale and the eyes that glowered at Julius were as blue as Cabera’s. The king remained perfectly still as Julius rode up and halted without saluting.

  The silence held as Julius and the king regarded each other, neither willing to be the first to speak. Brutus looked behind them to the ranks of horses and still further to where a greater force marked the southern tip of the lands Ariovistus had taken, fifteen miles down from the wide Rhine river. In the distance, Brutus could see two fortified camps that could have been twins of the Roman style. The mass of Suebi riders were not in formal array, but Brutus could see they had cleared the ground and could leap into a charge at short notice. He began to sweat as he saw the long spears they carried. Every man of the Roman infantry knew horses would not charge a shield wall any more than they could be forced to run into a tree. As long as the legions could hold their squares, they could advance through the forces of Ariovistus without real danger. The theory was little comfort in the face of so many of the pale, bearded warriors.

  Julius lost patience under the calm scrutiny of the king.

  ‘I have come to you as you asked, friend of my city,’ he began. ‘Though this is not your land, I have ridden to it and honoured your terms. Now I tell you that you must remove your armies across the natural barrier of the Rhine. Remove them immediately and there will be no war between us.’

  ‘This is Roman friendship?’ Ariovistus snarled suddenly, his voice a bass boom that startled them. ‘I fought against your enemies ten years ago and the title was given to me, but for what purpose? So that I can be turned away from lands I have rightfully won as it suits you?’ His teeth were deeply yellow in his beard and his eyes glinted under the heavy brows.
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br />   ‘It was not the right to take whatever lands you wanted,’ Julius retorted. ‘You have your home across the river and that is enough. I tell you, Rome will not allow you to have Gaul, or any part of it.’

  ‘Rome is far away, General. You are all that represents your city in this place and you have never known the fury of my white soldiers. How do you dare to speak to me in this way? I rode in Gaul when you were no more than a child! What lands I have won are mine by right of conquest, by more ancient law than yours. They are mine because I have shown the strength to hold them, Roman!’

  The angry rumble caused Julius’ horse to shy nervously and Julius reached down to pat the gelding’s neck. He controlled his temper to reply.

  ‘I am here because you were named friend, Ariovistus. I honour you for my city, but I tell you again, you will cross the Rhine and leave the lands of Rome and Roman allies. If you live by right of conquest, then I will destroy your armies by the same right!’

  Julius felt Brutus shift uncomfortably in the saddle on his right shoulder. The meeting was not going as he had intended, but the arrogance of Ariovistus nettled him.

  ‘And what are you doing, Caesar? By what right do you take the lands of the tribes from them? Were they given to you by your Greek gods perhaps?’ Ariovistus sneered as he raised his hands and gestured at the verdant countryside around them.

  ‘You had answer enough when I sent back your messengers with empty hands,’ he went on. ‘I want nothing from you or your city. Go on your way and leave me in peace, or you will not live. I have fought for these lands and paid the blood price. You have done nothing but send a pack of Helvetii scavengers back to their homeland. Do you think that gives you the right to deal with me as an equal? I am a king, Roman, and kings are not troubled by men like you. I do not fear your legions, particularly those riders behind you, who cannot even keep their mounts still.’