The Gods of War

by Conn Iggulden

  “There you are!” Pompey said as he came into the garden. He stooped to kiss her on the forehead and she bore it with a tight smile. Their little son held out his arms and was ignored.

  “It is time, Julia. I will be leaving and I want you moved to a place of greater safety.”

  “He has landed?” she asked.

  Pompey frowned and searched her eyes. “Yes. Your father made it through my fleet.”

  “You will destroy him,” she said and without warning kissed her husband hard on the mouth. He flushed in pleased surprise.

  “I will,” he said, smiling. The heart of a woman was ever a mystery to him, he thought, but his wife had accepted her new loyalty without pain or argument. She was a fitting mother to his son.

  “And Brutus? You will use him?”

  “As soon as I am certain, I will set him free to wreak havoc where he can. You were right about his extraordinarii, Julia. The man works best when he is not too tightly tied into the chain of command. I gave him two more cohorts.”

  Gently, Julia placed her son on the ground and pushed him away. She stepped closer to her husband and enfolded him in a passionate embrace. She allowed her hand to slip down toward his groin and he jumped, laughing.

  “Gods, I haven’t the time!” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “You have grown more beautiful in Greece, wife. The air suits you well.”

  “You suit me,” she said.

  Despite his worries, he looked pleased. “Now have your slaves gather whatever you’ll need.”

  Her smile faltered. “Surely I am safe here?” she said. “I would not like to be moved to a strange place at this time.”

  Pompey blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, suddenly impatient.

  She forced herself to reach out to him again, taking his hand in hers. “You will be a father once more, Pompey. I would not risk the child.”

  Her husband’s face changed slowly as he took this in and considered. He eyed her figure. “It does not show.”

  “Not yet, but you could be in the field for months. It will.”

  He nodded, coming to a quick decision. “Very well. This city is far from any fighting, after all. I just wish I could persuade the Senate to stay here with you, but they insist on accompanying the legions.”

  The thought of having the Senate to question every order was enough to smother even the happiness of her news, Julia saw.

  “You must have their support, at least for the moment,” she said.

  He raised his eyes in exasperation. “It is a high price, Julia, believe me. Yet your father has been elected consul once again and I am forced to bend to the will of those fools. They know I need them now, that is the problem.” He sighed. “You will have the company of their families, at least. I will leave another century to keep you safe. Now, promise me you’ll not stay if there is any danger. You are too precious to me to risk in this.”

  She kissed him again. “I promise.”

  Pompey ruffled the hair of his son affectionately. His voice rose to its previous volume as he went back inside the house, calling fresh orders to the guards and staff. After a while, he was gone and the house began to settle back to its usual sleepy quiet.

  “Are you going to have a baby?” her son asked in his high voice, holding out his hands to be picked up.

  Julia smiled, thinking how Brutus would react when she told him. “I am, darling.”

  Her eyes were cold in the weak sunlight. She had made her choice. Knowing Brutus was ready to betray Pompey had proved a heavy burden since he had confided in her. Part of her felt pain at her own betrayal, but between her father and her lover, there was no loyalty left for Pompey.

  “Sir, there really is very little time,” Suetonius said.

  Cicero followed his gaze over the balcony of the meeting hall and his lips tightened. “Unless you would have me drag the great and good of Rome by the scruff of their necks, there’s little else to do but wait,” he said.

  The previous hour had seen Suetonius’s manner change from breezy confidence to indignation at the lack of progress. He watched as yet another group of slaves came in to add to the general confusion. It astonished him how many crates and packages were involved in moving the Senate, and he could imagine Pompey’s growing impatience.

  Below the pair, another argument erupted.

  “I should go down there,” Suetonius said reluctantly.

  Cicero considered letting him try. It would be amusing at the very least and he had little liking for the senator. Maturity had not brought him wisdom, Cicero decided, looking him over. Yet he was a link to the military machine under Pompey and must be cultivated if the Senate was to maintain any influence during the campaign. The gods knew they needed every advantage they could gather.

  “They are in no mood to take orders, Suetonius, even if Pompey himself were here. Better to wait it out.”

  They peered over the balcony again, looking for some sign that the chaos was lessening. Hundreds of slaves bore papers and materials in a snake of men that seemed to have no end. Suetonius tightened his grip on the railing, unable to hide his irritation.

  “Perhaps you could explain the urgency to them, sir,” he said at last.

  Cicero laughed aloud. “Urgency? Pompey has made it plain enough that we are nothing but baggage ourselves. What does he care if baggage take baggage with them?”

  In his frustration, Suetonius spoke with less than his usual care. “Perhaps it would be better to have them stay. What use would they be on a battlefield?”

  Cicero’s silence made him glance round. The orator was coldly angry, his words clipped. “We were to be a government in exile, young man, not held at a distance from every decision. Without us, Pompey has no right to wage war in the name of Rome. No more legitimacy than Caesar and perhaps even less.”

  He leaned forward and glared from under bushy eyebrows.

  “We have endured a year in this place, Suetonius, far from comfort and respect. Our families clamor to be taken home, but we tell them to endure until the lawful order is reestablished. Did you think we would not be a part of the campaign?” He nodded to the bustle in the hall. “You will find men here who understand the most rarefied subtleties of civilization, those ideals most easily broken under a soldier’s sandals. Amongst them are writers of law and mathematics, the very ablest of the great families. Minds to have working for you when you face an opponent like Caesar, don’t you think?”

  Suetonius did not want to be drawn, but he knew if the choice had been his, he would have left the Senate behind without a backward glance. He took a deep breath, unable to meet Cicero’s sharp anger.

  “Perhaps the decisions would be better left to Pompey now, sir. He is an able general.”

  Cicero barked a laugh that made Suetonius jump. “There is more to this than sending in the flank! Caesar commands Roman legions. He has assumed authority over a new Senate. You may think of nothing more than the flags and horns, but there will be political decisions to be made before the end, you may count on it. Pompey will need advisers, whether he knows it or not.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” Suetonius said, nodding, trying to placate him.

  Cicero was not so easily put off. “Is your contempt so strong that you will not even trouble to argue?” he demanded. “What do you think will happen if Caesar wins? Who will govern then, do you suppose?”

  Suetonius stiffened and shook his head. “He cannot win, sir. We have—” He broke off as Cicero snorted.

  “My daughters have sharper minds, I swear it. Nothing is certain in battle. The stakes are too high to simply throw armies at each other until there is one man left standing. Rome would be defenseless and our enemies would have nothing to stop them walking into the forum as they pleased. Do you understand that much? There must be a surviving army when all the posturing and bluster is finished.” He sighed at Suetonius’s blank expression. “What will next year hold for us, or the year after? If the victory is decisive, t
here is no one else to limit the authority of Pompey when Caesar has fallen. If he chooses to make himself a king, or an emperor, even, to abandon the Republic of his fathers, to launch an invasion of Africa—there will be no one who could dare to refuse. If Caesar is triumphant, the same applies and the world will change regardless. This is a new order, boy, no matter what happens here. When one general falls, there must be stability. That is when we will be needed.”

  Suetonius remained silent. He thought he could hear fear in Cicero’s warnings and he scorned the old man’s worries. If Pompey triumphed, Suetonius would know only joy, even if it led to an empire begun on the fields of Greece. Caesar was outnumbered and would soon be hungry. Even to suggest that Pompey might not win was an insult. He could not resist a final barb.

  “Perhaps your new order will need younger blood, Senator.”

  The old man’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “If the time for wisdom and debate has passed, then the gods help us all,” he said.

  Brutus and Seneca rode together at the head of a host of legions that blackened the countryside of Greece for miles. For once, Seneca was silent and Brutus suspected he was thinking of the orders from Labienus and what they would mean. Though in theory it was an honor to lead the vast army, both men knew the test of loyalty was likely to leave them dead on the field after the first charge.

  “At least we don’t have to tread through dung like the rest of them,” Brutus said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Seneca forced a tense smile. The legions were separated from each other by thousands of pack animals and carts, and it was true that those further back would march a path made deeply unpleasant by their passing.

  Somewhere ahead of them were the legions that had landed at Oricum, led by a general whose name was almost a byword for victory in the army. Every man there had followed the reports from Gaul, and even with the advantage of numbers, there were few who thought the battles to come would be anything but brutal.

  “I think Pompey is going to waste us,” Seneca said, almost too quietly for Brutus to hear. As he felt his general’s eyes on him, he shrugged in the saddle. “When I think of how far I’ve come since Corfinium, I would rather we were not slaughtered in the first moments of battle just to test your loyalty.”

  Brutus looked away. He had been thinking the same thing and was still struggling to find a solution. Labienus’s Fourth legion marched close behind his cohorts and the orders had been painfully clear. Any creative interpretation would invite a swift destruction from their own rear. Though it would throw Pompey’s initial attack into confusion, Brutus knew Labienus was quite capable of such a ruthless act, and it was all he could do not to look behind to see if the general was watching him. He felt the scrutiny as much as he had in Dyrrhachium and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  “I doubt our beloved leader will order a straight thrust against the enemy,” he said at last. “He knows Julius will be planning and scheming for advantage and Pompey has too much respect to go in at the charge when we meet. Julius—” He caught himself and shook his head angrily. “Caesar will likely have trapped and spiked the ground, dug pits and hidden flanking forces wherever there is cover. Pompey won’t let him have that advantage. Wherever we find them will be a trap, I guarantee it.”

  “Then we will be the men who die discovering it,” Seneca said grimly.

  Brutus snorted. “There are times when I forget your lack of experience, which is a compliment, by the way. Pompey will take up a position nearby and send out scouts to test the ground. With Labienus to advise him, we won’t be sent in until there’s a sweet wide path for us all to thunder through. I’d stake my life on it, if Labienus hadn’t done so already.” He laughed as Seneca’s spirits visibly improved. “Our legions haven’t charged in like madmen since Hannibal and his bastard elephants, Seneca. We learn from mistakes, while every new enemy is facing us for the first time.”

  Seneca’s smile faltered. “Not Caesar, though. He knows Pompey as well as anyone. He knows us.”

  “He doesn’t know me,” Brutus said sharply. “He never knew me. And we’ll break him, Seneca.”

  He saw Seneca’s grip on the reins was tight enough to make his knuckles white and wondered if the man was a coward. If Renius had been there, he would have snapped something to stiffen the young officer’s courage, but Brutus could not find the words he needed.

  He sighed. “If you want, I can send you back before the first charge. There’ll be no shame in it. I can order you to take a message to Pompey.” The idea amused him and he went on. “Something like ‘Now look what you’ve done, you old fool.’ What do you think?”

  Seneca didn’t laugh, instead looking at the man who rode so confidently beside him. “No. These are my men. I’ll go where they go.”

  Brutus reached over between the horses and clapped him on the shoulder. “It has been a pleasure to serve with you, Seneca. Now stop worrying. We’re going to win.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Despite the heavy winter cloak that protected him from the worst of the cold, Pompey felt frozen into his armor. The only heat seemed to be in the bitter liquid that roiled and surged in his throat and bowels, making him weak. The fallow fields were littered with ice-split clods and progress was painfully slow. As a young man, he remembered being able to shrug off the worst extremes of campaigning, but now it was all he could do to clench his jaw and prevent his teeth from chattering audibly. Twin plumes of vapor came from his horse’s nostrils and Pompey reached down absentmindedly to pat its neck. His mind was on the army he could see in the distance.

  He could not have asked for a better vantage point. Caesar’s legions had stationed themselves forty miles east of Oricum, at the end of a plain surrounded by forests. Pompey’s scouts had reached a crest of rising ground and immediately reported back to the main force, passing Brutus and Seneca without a sideways glance. Pompey had come forward to confirm their sighting and now he watched in suspicious silence.

  The biting air was at least clear of mist. Though Caesar’s forces must have been two miles away, they stood out against the scrub grass of the plain. From so far, they looked a pitiful threat, like tiny metallic brooches pinned to the hard ground. They were as still as the patchy forest that covered the hillsides, and Pompey frowned.

  “What is he doing?” he muttered from between clenched teeth.

  There was a part of him that had felt joy at finding the enemy within reach, but his more natural caution had reasserted itself. Julius would never stake his survival on a simple clash of arms. The plain where he had gathered his army was good land for a charge and Pompey knew his cavalry could smash through the smaller number of extraordinarii Julius had brought to Greece. It was far too tempting and Pompey shook his head.

  “How many legions can you count, Labienus?” he said.

  “Only six, sir,” Labienus replied immediately. From his sour expression, Pompey could see he shared the same doubts.

  “Then where is the seventh? What are they busy doing while we stand here watching the rest? Send the scouts wide. I want them found before we move on.”

  Labienus gave the order and the fastest of their cavalry horses galloped out in all directions.

  “Have we been seen?” Pompey asked.

  In answer, Labienus pointed to where a distant horseman was trotting along the rocky tree line that bordered the plain. As the two men watched, the man raised a flag and signaled to Julius’s forces.

  “I don’t like it,” Pompey said. “Those woods could hide anything. Yet it looks so much like a trap, I wonder if that is the conclusion he wants us to draw.”

  “You have men to spare, sir. With your permission, I will send a single legion out to test them—perhaps the cohorts with General Brutus, sir.”

  “No. Too few would not spring the trap, if it is one. He would let them close and then destroy them. We would lose men for nothing. I am reluctant to send more until I am better informed. Tell the men to stand down until the
scouts return. Get a hot meal inside them and tell them to be ready for anything.”

  The wind was increasing in force as the day waned. Dyrrhachium was a long way behind them and Pompey knew his men were tired. Perhaps it was better to set up hostile camps for the night and move on at dawn. He suspected Labienus was not impressed by his caution, but Pompey could still remember Julius gathering the old Primigenia legion around him and making them the core of his famous Tenth. Even those who hated Caesar admitted his ability to seize success against the odds. His skill could be read in the reports, and Pompey knew Julius was one of those rare ones who kept a sense of a battle even as it raged around him. Gaul had not fallen on its own, nor the shores of Britain. His men gave him their first loyalty, above the Senate and Rome. When he asked them to die, they went because he was the one asking. Perhaps because of that faith, they had become used to victory. Labienus had never even met the man, and Pompey was determined not to be another name on the list of those Julius had broken. His stomach twisted with a pang and he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

  “Sir! They are moving east!” one of the scouts called out, just as Pompey became aware of it himself. Ten heartbeats after the enemy legions began to shift, the distant whisper of their horns reached them, almost lost on the wind.

  “Your opinion, General?” Pompey murmured.

  “They could be trying to draw us in,” Labienus said doubtfully.

  “That is my feeling,” Pompey replied. “Have the scouts keep the widest chains back to us as we move around it. I want them in sight of each other at all times.”

  Labienus cast a concerned glance at the thick woodland that gripped the earth in patches all around them. Even in winter, the branches formed an impenetrable mass and it would be difficult to stay in contact on that terrain.

  “It will be dark in only a few hours, sir,” he said.

  “Do the best you can with the daylight left to us,” Pompey snapped. “I want them to feel us breathing down their necks as night comes. Let them fear what we will do when they can no longer see us. Tomorrow will be long enough to kill them all.”