The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  As he finished his list, both rowers paused at some instinct and sat absolutely motionless in the boat. Caecilius opened his mouth to whisper a question, but the nearest pressed a hand over his face. Caecilius froze and he too looked around into the darkness, his ears straining.

  Somewhere in the distance he could hear the soft hiss of waves on a pebble beach and he thought that was what had stopped their progress. Then, from the dark, he heard creaking and a noise like fish leaping from the water. He squinted into the blackness and saw nothing at first, until a moving shadow loomed up on them, a white flower of foam at the bow.

  Caecilius swallowed painfully as the little craft began to rock in the swell from the galley. As it closed on them, he could see the huge oars that dipped into the water and hear the muffled thumping of a drum somewhere close. The galley was going to smash them into splinters, he was sure of it. It seemed to be heading right at them and he knew he did not have the courage to sit and let the keel slice through the boat, taking him down along the slick green spine to be thrown out nicely bloody for the sharks. He began to stand in panic and the oarsman gripped his arm with the casual strength of his profession. A brief, silent struggle ensued before Caecilius subsided. The galley was a towering black mountain over them and he could see the dim light of lanterns on the deck above.

  His companions lowered their blades into the water with infinite care, using the noise of the galley’s passage to hide their own. With a few strong pulls, they were out of range of the crushing keel and Caecilius swore the galley oars had passed over his head on the upsweep. It was a moment of pure terror to imagine them coming down on the boat, but the oarsmen knew their business and the galley moved on without an alarm being sounded.

  Caecilius realised he had been holding his breath and panted in the bow as the two men resumed their steady stroke without a word. He could imagine their scornful glances and once again went through his lists to calm himself.

  It seemed forever before they brought in the oars once again and one of the men leapt out into the surf to hold the bobbing craft steady. Caecilius looked down at the black water and clambered out with enormous care, causing the man in the water to swear softly with impatience.

  Finally, he was clear of the boat, with gentle waves up to his waist and cold sand pressing between his unseen toes.

  ‘Good luck,’ one of the men whispered, giving him a gentle push to start him on his way.

  Caecilius turned and his companions seemed already to have vanished. For an instant, he thought he heard the sound of their oars and then they were gone and he was alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Pompey enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his armour as he waited, his horse whinnying softly to itself. The parade ground at Dyrrhachium had been built after his arrival in Greece and the walls and buildings enclosed a vast yard of hard red clay. The breeze lifted bloody swirls of the dust and overhead, seabirds called mournfully to each other. Three shining legions stood to attention in his honour, their ranks stretching into the distance. Pompey had completed his inspection and wished Caesar could see the quality of the men who would end his pretension to rule Rome.

  The morning had passed with pleasurable swiftness as Pompey watched their formal manoeuvres. The cavalry units were particularly impressive and he knew Caesar could not match more than a quarter of their number. Pompey had thrilled to see them gallop the length of the great yard in perfect formation, wheeling at a signal and sending stinging swarms of spears to destroy the practice targets. These were the men who would win Rome back from the usurper. Caesar was just the name of a traitor to them and Pompey had been warmed by the earnest support of their commanders as they gave their oaths of loyalty.

  Ten legions had marched across Greece to join the evacuated Senate on the west coast and he had found them well-led, disciplined men with high morale. He basked in their indignation at his having been forced from their home city. There was no political weakness to be found in the legions of Greece: he had given the order and they had come. They were hungry to meet the enemy and Pompey had been amused to find that the reports from Gaul had rankled with these professional soldiers. They relished the chance to destroy the vanity of Caesar’s veterans, feeling it to be unjustified arrogance. They were good men with whom to go to war.

  The quality of the Greek forces helped to diminish the constant irritation Pompey faced from the senators and their families. More than once he regretted bringing them at all, despite the weight of law they gave his position. They complained about the water, claiming it loosened their bowels; about the heat, about their accommodation in Dyrrhachium and a thousand other small gripes. Few of them appreciated how little use they were to Pompey now that he was in the field. Instead of giving him a free rein, they sought to influence his decisions and remain a force in an area for which they were poorly suited. Pompey had been tempted to ship them to one of the Greek islands for the duration. Only the fact that such a decision might undermine his authority prevented him giving the order.

  Every eye was on him as he kicked his Spanish charger into a gallop and raced towards the target. He felt the warm Greek air whistle past his ears, and the thunder of hooves merged into a drumming vibration that heightened his concentration. The bag of straw sewn into the likeness of a man seemed to grow, and he thought he could see every stitch of the thread that held it together.

  With the lines of soldiers watching, it had to be perfect, but he did not make a mistake. As the spear left his hand, he knew it would strike. The eyes of professional men followed the path of the spear and there were many who knew it was good before the straw figure jerked, twisting around with the impact. They cheered and Pompey raised his hand in salute, breathing hard. His face was pouring with sweat and his right shoulder ached terribly, answered by a blooming spot of pain in his gut. He had felt muscles tear as he released, but that did not matter. Romans respected strength and the demonstration would give them pride in their commander.

  Pompey turned and rode along the line of men, noting their fierce faces and discipline. Only their commanding officer, Labienus, met his eyes and saluted as Pompey reined in.

  ‘I am pleased with them, Labienus,’ Pompey said, loud enough for the legionaries to hear. ‘Dismiss them to eat, but not too much on each plate. I want them lean and hungry.’ His voice dropped to a more conversational tone. ‘Accompany me to the temple, General. There is much still to discuss.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Labienus replied. His sharp eyes noted how Pompey favoured his right arm, but it would be disrespectful to mention it if Pompey chose not to. Labienus was pleased to see no sign of discomfort on Pompey’s flushed face. The Dictator was a hard, proud man and he cut a fine figure on a horse, even at his age. ‘They are always hungry, sir,’ Labienus added. ‘They will not disappoint you.’

  ‘No they will not,’ Pompey told him grimly. ‘They will scatter Caesar’s raptores like seeds on the wind.’

  Labienus bowed his head in response, his eyes cast down. It was no hardship to show honour to such a man. What he had seen of Pompey had impressed him since his arrival. The Dictator carried his authority with an ease and dignity the men respected. Labienus knew the legionaries were confident and in truth many would welcome the chance to fight against a traitor. Greece had been peaceful too long for some, especially those who hoped for a bright career. As the lowest spear-carrier knew well, war brought promotion far faster than peace. The very least of them would be hoping to make his name against Caesar, to become a centurion and a respected member of the officer class.

  Pompey waited while Labienus mounted his own gelding and was pleased to find nothing to fault in the man or his manner. The general was physically unremarkable, with hair shaved close to his head and dark eyes in a face of hard planes. His record was excellent and Pompey had felt no qualms about including him in his councils. There was a solidity to Labienus that he appreciated, almost an antidote to the poisonous intrigues of the Senate. Officers such as he could be fou
nd in every port and city that bowed its head to Roman law. They took no bribes, nor wavered in their loyalty. Their iron discipline kept posts for years, and when they went to war, they knew no equals in the field. They were the hard bones of Rome. Pompey nodded to Labienus, showing his pleasure.

  Under that benign eye, Labienus gave the order and the lines of men dissolved as they fell out to head for the barracks. The smell of hot food was already wafting through the air and Pompey remembered Labienus would be as hungry as they were after such a long morning. He would have the best meats brought for the general. Labienus would understand the compliment without more having to be said.

  As they rode towards the temple Pompey had taken as his base, Labienus cleared his throat. From experience, Pompey knew the man would not speak without permission. He was a fine example to his men.

  ‘Speak, General. Tell me what is on your mind,’ Pompey said.

  ‘I would like to send a galley to watch Ostia, with your permission. If we know when they sail, we will be prepared to receive them. Our fleet could very well sink the enemy ships before they are even in sight of Greece.’

  ‘You would regret that, Labienus, I imagine? It would deprive us both of the chance to beat him here,’ Pompey replied.

  Labienus lifted his shoulders slightly. ‘A little, sir, but I would not ignore a chance to end it, even so.’

  ‘Very well, use my seal on the orders, but tell the captain to stay well clear of the coast. I have a spy in the port there to tell me when Caesar assembles his legions. We will not be surprised by them.’

  ‘I expected as much, sir,’ Labienus said. The two men glanced at each other and both smiled.

  The temple of Jupiter in Dyrrhachium had nothing like the opulence of the one in the forum in Rome. It had been built for Greek gods before its current role and Pompey had chosen it for its space and central location rather than any religious significance. Nonetheless, it seemed fitting to have the head of the pantheon watch his preparations and Pompey had noticed his servants and soldiers were subtly awed by their surroundings. There was no coarse language heard within its walls and it was rare that their voices were raised above murmurs. Pompey had made a large donation to the temple priests and it came as no surprise that they approved his choice. Jupiter Victor was a military god, after all.

  Leaving their horses in the hands of legion grooms, both men strode inside through the high white columns. Pompey paused for a moment on the threshold, his eyes watching for signs that the men within were not busy at their work.

  The air of quiet bustle was exactly as he had left it that morning. More than two hundred officers, clerks and slaves were there to administer his new legions and the clacking sound of hurrying sandals echoed in the space. Pompey had brought in heavy tables for his maps and at each of those were senior officers, their heads bent as they made marks and discussed the positions. Silence spread as they stood stiffly to salute. Pompey returned the gesture and the work resumed without ceremony.

  Labienus gave his helmet and sword to a waiting slave and Pompey ordered food brought for them as they walked down the central aisle together. The main map had been hung on the wall and Pompey went straight for it, already considering the problems of the campaign. As tall and wide as a man, it was painted onto squares of soft calfskin, smoothed to velvet with pumice stones. The whole of Italy and Greece lay there, rendered in perfect colour and detail.

  Pompey checked his hands were free of dirt and touched the key ports of the western coast of Greece.

  ‘I would appreciate your views, Labienus. If the fleet does not stop Caesar, he will have hundreds of miles of coast to choose for his landing, north and south. If I gather our army in any one place, he can avoid the area we control and establish his camps in perfect safety. Yet even with fifty thousand men, I cannot guard every single mile of Greece.’

  Labienus looked up at the map, his hard face resembling a man at prayer.

  ‘We must assume all seven of his legions survive the gauntlet of our ships,’ Labienus said. ‘It is not likely, but we must plan for it. They will need a huge amount of supplies each day and he will not be able to wait for us to come to him, unless he lets them starve. I have found that food and water win battles as readily as strength of arms.’

  ‘I have prepared,’ Pompey replied. ‘Dyrrhachium will be our main store. The city is bursting with grain.’ He expected a compliment and was surprised when Labienus frowned.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better not to leave such a resource in one single town. I do not say it can be done, but if he were able to cut us off from Dyrrhachium, where would we be? Eleven legions need even more meat than seven.’

  Pompey called a clerk and dictated an order. In the months since their first meeting, he had come to realise that Labienus had a mind for such details and a quick grasp of the problems of a long campaign. Simply gathering eleven legions in one place caused immense difficulties of supply. Labienus had first come to his attention as he had created lines from the farms and cities of Greece into the west. As far as Pompey knew, not a single man had been short of rations from the first month. It was an awesome achievement.

  ‘If he avoids our fleet and lands in the east,’ Labienus continued thoughtfully, ‘he will have been at sea for more than a month and be running low on fresh water. His men would have to march hundreds of miles just to reach us. If he were not given to the sort of innovation you have described, I would ignore the east completely. Far better for him to make for one of the main ports in the west, though our galleys are swarming here. Dyrrhachium in the north, Apollonia or Oricum would be my estimate. I would bet on those three, or some stretch of the coast in between. He will not want to be at sea longer than he has to, with our galleys ready to attack.’

  ‘Of those, which would be your choice?’ Pompey asked.

  Labienus laughed, a sound like chopping wood that disappeared as quickly as it came. ‘I can only guess at his choice, sir. If I were running his campaign, I would choose Oricum, knowing your legions will be spread around the cluster of ports further north. At least then I would not have to fight on two fronts.’

  The sound of loud footsteps interrupted them and Pompey looked down the length of the temple, his good humour evaporating. Brutus.

  Having one of Caesar’s most trusted men come over to him should have been a cause for rejoicing, Pompey knew. When Brutus had stepped ashore with his cohorts, the Greek legions had buzzed with the news and excitement. He had even saved the loyal members of the road guards from Caesar’s anger and the younger soldiers walked in awe of the Gaul veteran. Brutus had given up a great deal to risk his life with Pompey and he deserved to be honoured. If it were only so simple.

  Pompey watched coldly as Brutus strode up the central aisle towards him. The silver armour had been burnished till it glowed. He saw Brutus had removed his sword as ordered and took a deep breath as the general came close. He could feel Labienus’ eyes on him, noting his reaction even as he tried to mask it.

  Brutus saluted. ‘I am at your orders, sir,’ he said.

  Pompey frowned at him, unable to remember if he had arranged a meeting, but unwilling to admit such a thing in front of either man. There had been a time when his mind was as sharp as anyone’s in Rome, but age had taken the edge off his memory as much as his physical strength. His shoulder seemed to ache more fiercely as a reminder. Some of this irritation could be heard in his tone as he replied.

  ‘I have decided not to confirm your command of the Fifth legion, Brutus. Your cohorts will make up the numbers there and you will accept the orders of the Legate Selatis. I will watch you closely and if you do well … if I find you loyal, you will be quickly rewarded. You are dismissed.’

  Not a trace of disappointment showed on Brutus’ face. It was almost as if he had expected the answer.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, saluting and spinning on his heel.

  Pompey saw that every eye in the temple followed the silver general as he left and he sighed
to himself. The man was a thorn in his side, but he was also a legend. ‘What would you do with that one, Labienus?’ he said. ‘Would you trust him?’

  Labienus hesitated. He was far less comfortable speaking of other officers than he was of the sweep of tactics or the difficulties of supply. As Pompey turned to him, he spoke. ‘No more than you have, sir, though I would be ready to give him a legion as soon as I was sure of him. He is … a most interesting officer. I have never seen a better swordsman. The legionaries seem to revere him and his experience suggests he is capable of leading well under your command. If he has fallen out with Caesar, as he claims, he will strive to prove your trust.’

  ‘That is the heart of the problem, Labienus. If he has been thrust upon me by some stratagem of Caesar’s, he could do as much damage as another legion on their side in the right place. A key charge withheld, a deliberate withdrawal at a crucial point, a sudden move to block my reserves. Any of those things could lose me the war.

  ‘If I could only be certain of his loyalty, I would honour and parade him in that flashy silver armour. I could not have hoped to command one of Caesar’s own generals. I could use him, Labienus. As it is, I dare not even trust the information he brings. I’d rather be ignorant than misled into a disaster.’

  ‘It is better to be cautious at this point, sir. When he kills the first of Caesar’s soldiers, we will know he is loyal. Or I will have him taken.’

  The two men met each other’s eyes and Pompey nodded, accepting the suggestion.

  The food arrived on silver plates and Pompey made sure Labienus took the best of what was offered. They ate standing by the map, continuing to discuss the problems of the campaign. Long after the plates were empty, they were still talking and the sun was sinking towards the horizon before it was time for Pompey to visit the angry old men of his Senate once more.