The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  Brutus looked again around the table and found nothing but determination in those who were given tasks that meant hardship, pain and perhaps death for some or all of them. As Julius spread out his maps and began to move to the more detailed matters of terrain and supply, Brutus watched him, barely hearing the words. How many of the men in that room would see Rome again, he wondered. As Julius traced the line of the Rhine with his finger and told them his assessments, Brutus could not imagine a time when the man he followed could ever be made to stop.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  On the first autumn day of Julius’ fourth year in Gaul, Pompey and Crassus walked together through the forum, deep in conversation. Around them, the great open space at the centre of the city was filled with thousands of citizens and slaves. Orators addressed those who could be persuaded to listen and their voices carried over the heads of the crowd on a hundred different subjects. Slaves from wealthy houses hurried through, carrying packages and scrolls for their masters. It had become fashionable to dress house slaves in bright colours and many wore bright blue or gold tunics, a myriad of shades that wove through the darker reds and browns of workers and merchants. Armed guards made stately progress across the forum, each group surrounding their employer at the centre. It was the bustling, hurried heart of the city and neither Pompey nor Crassus noticed the subtle differences in the mood of the crowd around them.

  The first Pompey knew of the trouble to come was a rough shove as one of his legionaries was knocked into him. Sheer astonishment made Pompey forget his instincts for survival and he stopped. The crowd was thickening even as he hesitated and the faces were ugly with intent. Crassus recovered faster and pulled Pompey towards the senate house. If there was to be yet another riot, it was best to get clear as quickly as possible and send the guards out to restore order.

  The space around the senators was filled with pushing, jeering men. A stone flew over their heads and struck someone else in the crowd. Pompey saw one of his lictors brought down with a blow from a length of wood and felt a moment of panic before he gathered his courage. He drew a dagger from his belt and held it blade-down so that it could be used to stab or slash. When one of the crowd pressed too close, he opened the man’s cheek without hesitation, seeing him fall back with a cry.

  ‘Guards! To me!’ Pompey roared.

  The crowd bayed at him and he saw three burly men force one of his legionaries to the ground, stabbing at him over and over as they were lost to view. A woman screamed nearby and Pompey heard his call taken up by the horror-struck citizens beyond the men who were attacking him. Milo’s men, he was certain. He should have expected it after their leader’s isolation in Senate, but Pompey had only a handful of soldiers and lictors with him and they would not be enough. He used his dagger again and saw Crassus lash out a fist, snapping the nose of an attacker.

  The lictors were armed with a ceremonial axe and rods for scourging. Once they had freed them from the bindings, the hatchets were fearsome weapons in a crowd and they literally cut a path for Pompey and Crassus towards the senate house. Yet their numbers dwindled as knives were jabbed into them and the circle of safety around the two senators shrank until there was almost no room for them to move in the press.

  Pompey knew hope and despair in the same moment when he heard horns sounding across the forum. His legion had turned out for him, but it would be too late. Fingers yanked cruelly at his toga and he sliced his dagger into them, sawing in a frenzy until they fell away. Crassus was knocked from his feet by another stone and Pompey dragged him up and onward, holding him close as the older man gathered his wits. There was blood on his mouth.

  The noise hammered at them and then changed slightly. New faces appeared in even greater numbers and Pompey saw them cut down the ones who struggled to reach him. Knots of bellowing men separated from the mass, fighting not as legionaries, but with cleavers and meathooks and stones held in their hands. Pompey saw one man’s face smashed into pulp by repeated blows before he fell.

  All forward movement ceased and though Pompey could see the steps of the senate house only a short distance away, it was too far. He jabbed his dagger into everything he could reach in a fury and didn’t know he was shouting in a mindless rage.

  The press of bodies lightened without warning and Pompey saw the bloody knives of raptores held almost in salute as they backed away. Crushed bodies and screaming, wounded men lay all about them, but they did not attack. Pompey beckoned, holding his dagger ready, the blade parallel to his forearm. Sweat poured from him and he watched in astonishment as the men pulled back to form a pathway to the steps of the senate house. He darted a glance in that direction and considered how far he would get if he ran, then decided against it. He would not show them his back.

  In that moment, he saw the uniforms of his legions battering through the press and Clodius standing there, panting. The mob leader seemed terribly solid compared to the others. Though he was not a tall man, he was tremendously strong and the crowd gave ground instinctively around him, as wolves will look away from the most brutal of the pack. His shaven head gleamed with sweat in the morning sun. Pompey could only stare.

  ‘They’ve scattered, Pompey, the ones who lived,’ Clodius said. ‘Call off your soldiers.’ His right hand was wet with blood and the blade he carried had snapped off close to the hilt.

  Pompey turned as an officer of his legion raised his sword to cut Clodius down.

  ‘Hold!’ Pompey cried, understanding at last. ‘These are allies.’

  Clodius nodded at that and Pompey heard the order repeated as the legion gathered around him, forming a fighting square. Clodius began to be pushed away, but Pompey took his arm.

  ‘Do I need to guess who is behind this attack?’ he asked.

  Clodius shrugged his massive shoulders.

  ‘He is already in the senate building. There will be no link back to him, you can be sure. Milo is cunning enough to keep his hands clean.’ As if in irony, Clodius threw down his broken knife and wiped his bloody fists on the hem of his robe.

  ‘You had men ready?’ Pompey asked, hating the constant suspicion that was part of his life.

  Clodius narrowed his eyes at the implication. ‘No. I never set foot in the forum without fifty of my lads. They were enough to reach you in time. I knew nothing until it started.’

  ‘Then we owe our lives to your quick thinking,’ Pompey said. He heard a whimper cut off nearby and spun round. ‘Are there any left alive to be questioned?’

  Clodius looked at him. ‘Not now. There are no names given in that sort of work. Believe me, I know.’

  Pompey nodded, trying to ignore the inner voice that wondered if Clodius had staged the whole thing. It was an unpleasant thought, but he owed a debt to the man that would bind him for years. To many men in the Senate, such a debt would be worth the deaths of a few of their servants and Clodius was known to be ruthless in every part of his life. Pompey met Crassus’ eyes and guessed the old man was thinking along similar lines. Very slightly, Crassus lifted his shoulders and let them drop and Pompey looked back to the man who had saved them. There was no way of knowing and probably never would be.

  Pompey realised he was still gripping his dagger and uncurled his fingers painfully from the hilt. He felt old next to the bull-like strength of Clodius. While part of him wanted to wash the blood from his skin and soak in a hot bath somewhere private and above all, safe, he knew more was expected from him. Hundreds of men stood within earshot and before nightfall the whole grisly incident would be the talking point of every shop and tavern in the city.

  ‘I am late for the Senate, gentlemen,’ he said, his voice growing in strength. ‘Clean away the blood before I return. The corn taxes won’t be delayed for any man.’

  It wasn’t much in the way of wit, but Clodius chuckled.

  With Crassus at his shoulder, Pompey walked along the avenue of Clodius’ men and many bowed their heads respectfully as they passed.

  The Tenth withdrew in pan
ic, their orderly lines dissolving into the chaos of a complete rout. Thousands of the Senones cavalry pursued them, breaking off from the main battle where the Ariminum legions fought solidly and held the line.

  The fortified camp from the night before was less than a mile away and the retreating Tenth covered it at great speed, Julius with them. The extraordinarii protected the rear from the wild assaults by the Senones and not a man was lost as they reached the heavy gates of the fort and rushed inside.

  The Senones were proving to be difficult adversaries. Julius had lost large numbers of the Third Gallica in an ambush from woodland and others since then. The tribe had learned not to offer a direct battle against the legions. Instead, they skirmished and moved away, using their cavalry to harass the Roman forces without ever allowing themselves to be caught where they could be crushed.

  The extraordinarii followed the men of the Tenth under the gates of the fort and closed them behind. It was a humiliating position, but the fort had been designed for exactly that purpose. As well as giving protection for the night, it allowed the legions to retreat to a strong position. The Senones riders whooped and yelled as they rode round the huge banked walls, though they were careful to keep out of range. Twice before, Julius had been forced to bring back his entire force within the walls and the Senones hooted as they brought it about again.

  Their king rode with them and long banners waved from spears set into his saddle. Julius watched from the wall as the Senones’ leader brandished his sword at the men in the fort, mocking them. Julius showed his teeth.

  ‘Now, Brutus!’ he called down.

  The Senones could not see into the camp and their cheering continued unabated. Over the thunder of their own hooves, they did not hear the extraordinarii as they gathered at the far end and kicked their mounts into a gallop across the wide camp, straight at the wall near the gate.

  As they gathered speed, fifty men of the Tenth used lengths of wood to break down the loose blocks that made up the wall. It fell away just as Julius had designed it to do, leaving an open space wide enough for five horses to ride abreast.

  The extraordinarii came out like arrows, straight at the king. Before his riders could react, he was surrounded and dragged from his horse. They wheeled in the face of the enemy and galloped back inside the gap in the walls, with the king yelling across Brutus’ saddle.

  Julius opened the gates and the Tenth marched out in triumph. The panic and fear they had pretended had vanished and they hit the milling Senones with a roar. The Tenth hammered them with spears and swords and forced the Gauls further and further away from the fort and their captured king. Behind them, the hole in the wall was filled with carts that had been left for that purpose and Julius leapt into his saddle to race after them, glancing back to see the fort made secure once more.

  It had taken a moonless night to construct the false wall, but it could not have worked better. The King of the Senones had been crucial to their attacks, a man able to answer every stratagem with speed and intelligence. Removing him from the battle was a vital step in beating the tribe.

  Julius cantered to the front line of the Tenth and saw their pleasure at his presence. The Ariminum legions were holding their position as they had been told and now the Tenth could strike the rear of the Senones, smashing them between the two forces.

  From the first instant of the Tenth reaching their lines, Julius could feel the difference in the shifting mass of riders and foot soldiers. They had relied too much on their king, and without him they were already close to panic.

  Though they tried to detach in units as their king had ordered on previous days, the core of discipline had vanished. Instead of an orderly retreat for tactical advantage, two charges fouled each other as they tried to organise themselves. The Tenth smashed them down from their saddles and moved on. Riderless horses ran screaming around the battlefield and the Senones were crushed, hundreds of them throwing down their arms and surrendering as the news of the king’s capture spread.

  Three miles away lay their largest town and Julius marched the Tenth towards it as soon as the warriors were disarmed and bound as slaves. The price for them would swell his coffers still further and the town was known to be wealthy. After he paid his share to the Senate, he still hoped to have enough to increase his fleet and finally be able to cross the grim channel between Gaul and the islands. They had captured nine ships from the Veneti, but he would need another twenty galleys to take more than a scouting force to sea. One more year to build them and then he would take his best men to lands no Roman had ever seen before.

  As the Tenth marched towards the Senones’ stronghold, Julius laughed aloud with the excitement of such a prospect, even as his mind filled with the thousand details of supply and administration that his men required to take the field. He was to meet with a delegation from three tribes along the coast in two days and expected them to bring tribute and a new treaty. With the Veneti fleet sunk or run aground, that whole part of the north had surrendered to him and now that the Senones had been removed from the equation, a full half of Gaul was his. There were no tribes who hadn’t heard of the legions by then. Gaul was buzzing with the news of his conquests and he rarely saw a day when their leaders didn’t travel to his camps and wait for his signature on a treaty. Adàn was kept busy and had been forced to take on three other scribes to handle the endless copying and translation.

  Julius wondered what to do with the king he had captured. If he was left alive, Julius thought him capable of leading a rebellion in the years to come. The king’s own ability prevented mercy and Julius decided his fate without regret.

  As the Senones’ town came into view, Julius looked with pleasure on it, already imagining the temples within. It was known that the Senones showed their love of the gods with coins and jewellery, forming rooms of treasure over many years. After the legion smiths had melted the precious metal down into bars and struck new coins, Julius would strip anything of value from every house and public building. He would leave the people alive and under the protection of the legions, but he needed their wealth to go on.

  A cold wind touched him from across the plain and Julius shivered at the first chill of another winter. He narrowed his eyes as he looked east, imagining the Alps and the distance that he would have to cross. For the first time, he would not be spending the cold months in Gaul. Instead, he would travel to Ariminum for a meeting to decide the future.

  The letter from Crassus crackled against his skin as he rode and Julius hoped he could still trust the promises of the old man. It was not the time to be recalled, with Gaul opening up before him. The islands over the sea haunted his dreams. There were still some who said they did not exist, but Julius had stood on the coastal cliffs and seen them shimmering whitely in the distance.

  The Senones’ town surrendered and the gates were thrown open. Julius rode in under the arches, his mind already on Ariminum and the future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The legion guards on Ariminum’s walls were well protected against the cold. As night fell, they pulled heavy cloaks over their armour and wrapped their faces in strips of cloth so that only a thin slit was left.

  Fires were lit in braziers all along the stone crest and the legionaries were allowed to huddle around them. Most of them were new recruits, brought up from the towns in the south to replace those fighting for Caesar in Gaul. They showed their youth in the muttered wisecracks and the illicit flask of spirits that made them gasp and choke and clap each other on the back.

  The city of Ariminum was a working town and there were few lights in the windows as the winter night darkened. Before dawn, the streets would fill again with carts and produce for the ships. The tradesmen would grab a few hot mouthfuls for a bronze coin on their way to another day and the legionaries on the walls would be relieved.

  Against the backdrop of the silent city, one of the guards looked up and peered into the darkness.

  ‘Thought I heard horses out there,’ he sa
id.

  Two more left the warmth of their brazier to stand by him. They listened in perfect silence and just before they turned away, they heard something. Noise seemed to carry further in the strange stillness that comes from frozen ground.

  The youngest guard narrowed his eyes and moved his head back and forth. There was nothing but gloom outside the walls, yet he could have sworn the darkness shifted whenever he set his eyes on it.

  The shadows coalesced into sharper shapes and the young legionary stiffened, pointing.

  ‘There! Riders … can’t tell how many.’

  The others lacked his keen eyesight and could only stare where he pointed.

  ‘Are they ours?’ one of them said, hiding his fear. His mind was filled with the image of barbarian tribesmen storming their city walls and the cold seemed to intensify as he shuddered.

  ‘I can’t tell. Should we fetch Old Snapper?’

  The question made the three young soldiers pause. The possibility of raiders was one thing, but rousing their centurion for a false alarm was simply asking for trouble.

  Teras was the eldest of them. He had no more experience than the others, having joined up later in life after failing to make his way as a merchant. Yet they looked to him as they had learned to do in matters of money and young women. He didn’t know a great deal about either, but affected an air of worldly wisdom that had impressed the younger recruits.

  While they hesitated, the force of riders came closer and the metallic noise of harness was mingled with the steady tread of marching men. The night wind snapped at long pennants that rippled unpleasantly as the dark figures advanced towards the gate.