The Gods of war e-4

by Conn Iggulden

  She took a step away, unable to reply. Dark circles made her eyes looked bruised. She looked at Publius and they shared a glance of despair.

  "I doubt that dry womb of yours will ever be filled, but if it shows life while I am gone, the child will be a bastard," Julius told her. He wanted to hurt and was pleased as she flinched.

  When Julius faced Publius again, he snorted at the look of hope on the young man's face. "Please tell me you're not expecting to get through this, boy? You've lived long enough to know what must happen, surely? No one can be that young and stupid."

  "If you are letting Pompeia go free, it's enough," Publius said.

  His eyes were bright with righteousness and Julius was tempted to hit him again. Instead, he nodded to two of his men. "Take her out and leave her in the street. Nothing in this house is hers."

  Pompeia began to scream then, as the soldiers grabbed her and dragged her outside. The sound continued in the background as Publius and Julius looked at each other.

  "Will you kill me now?" Publius asked, holding his head up.

  Julius was ready to give the order, but the boy's courage was extraordinary. Even in the absolute certainty of death, he remained calm and almost aloof from what was going on around him.

  "If it hadn't been you, the whore would have had someone else in her bed," Julius said softly.

  Publius lurched at him and the soldiers beat him to the ground with a rain of heavy blows.

  "No, I'm not going to kill you," Julius told him, leaning down. "A brave lad like you will do well in my legions. I'll see you get a posting to the front line. You will learn my trade quickly there, one way or the other. You're going to Greece, boy."

  CHAPTER 11

  In the darkness, Julius could see the stern lamp of a galley like a distant firefly, twitching with the motion of the sea.

  "Tell the captain to take us a little closer," he said to Adan. He heard the young Spaniard's feet as he took the message forward, but the gloom swallowed him as if they were all blind. Julius smiled to himself. He had chosen the moonless night for exactly that quality and the gods had given him cloud to mask even the dim glow of the winter stars.

  Huddled on the deck and in every space on the galley, the soldiers of the Tenth either dozed or applied one last coat of oil to protect their armor against the sea air. Only utter exhaustion could have dulled their tension into light sleep. They had launched knowing that there was just one chance to surprise the Greek ports. If that failed and the rising sun found them still far from the enemy coast, Pompey's sleek galleys would descend on them and destroy them all.

  "No sign of dawn?" Octavian said suddenly, betraying his nerves.

  Julius smiled unseen in the darkness. "Not yet, General. The night will keep us safe a little longer."

  Even as he spoke, he shivered in the icy breeze and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The wind blew fitfully and Julius had seen the oars reach out for the dark waves three times since leaving Brundisium. At such a pace, the slaves below would be approaching their limits, but there was no help for that. They too would be drowned if they were caught by the coming day.

  With only the shuttered lamp from the galley ahead to give them direction, it was easy to think they were alone on the sea. Around them were thirty galleys built in Ostia by the best Roman shipwrights. They carried Julius's fortune: his men and his life. With some bitterness, he acknowledged the fact that there would be no son and heir if he died in Greece. His disastrously short marriage had been the gossip of the city and he still smarted under the humiliation. In the aftermath, he had found a young woman named Calpurnia and married her with unseemly haste. His name had been the subject of comic songs as his enemies mocked his desperation to father a son.

  Calpurnia had nothing of the beauty that marked Pompeia. Her father had accepted the suit without a moment of hesitation, as if he were relieved to be rid of her. Julius considered her somewhat bovine features with little affection, even with the gloss of memory. She stirred little passion in him, but she came from a noble house fallen on difficult times. No one in Rome could question her line and Julius doubted she would have the temptations that had undone his second wife.

  He grimaced at the thought of their last meeting and the tears Calpurnia had shed on his neck. She wept more than any woman he had ever known, considering the short time they had been together. She wept for happiness, for adoration, and then at the slightest thought of him leaving. Her month's blood had started the day before he took ship and she had cried at that as well. If he failed against Pompey, there would be no other chance to leave more than a memory of his name. This was his path, his final throw of the dice. This was the real game.

  He took a deep breath, letting the cold air slide into the deepest recesses of his chest. Even then, he felt weary and knew he should sleep. Somewhere nearby, a man was snoring softly to himself and Julius chuckled. His Tenth were not the sort to be frightened by a little journey of seventy miles in the dark.

  The last three days had been hard on all of them. When Julius finally gave the order, all seven legions had marched from Rome to Brundisium, covering the miles at a brutal pace. He'd sent out two fast galleys to chase Pompey's spy ship clear of the coast, and the fleet had launched, moving swiftly to pick up the legions on the other side of the mainland. Even at that late point, Julius had been tempted to hold back the strike until he had a fleet to match the one that Pompey controlled. Yet every day delayed was another for Pompey to entrench himself. Every hour. With the gods' luck, the former consul would not be expecting Julius to arrive until spring.

  Julius offered up a silent prayer that he was right. If Pompey's spies had reached the Greek shore first, dawn would bring the last hours of sunlight they would ever see. The stakes of the gamble both appalled and excited him, but there was no calling it back. The moment his galleys had glided free of Brundisium, new-laden with his legions, the course was set for all of them.

  The snoring soldier made a sound like a honking goose and one of his companions jerked him awake with a muffled curse. Julius had given orders for silence, but the night seemed alive with the hiss of waves and the creaking of ropes and beams. His spirits rose as he recalled other voyages, some so distant as to seem like another life. In a sense, he envied the freedoms of the young man he had been. His choices had seemed simpler and he could only shake his head at how innocent he must have seemed to men like Marius or Sulla.

  Adan returned to his side, staggering slightly as the galley pitched through a wave.

  "The watch glass has been turned three times, sir. Dawn cannot be far away now," he said.

  "Then we will know at last if they are waiting for us," Julius replied.

  The night had seemed endless at the beginning and yet somehow it had flown. The generals of seven legions were aboard ships around him, waiting impatiently for the light. Each galley had a man at the highest point to call out the first gray gleam of dawn and scan the sea for the enemy. He felt an odd freedom as he realized there was nothing left for him to order or correct. It was a lull in the tension that he could almost enjoy and in the darkness he thought back to Renius, wishing he were there to see them. The old man would have enjoyed the gamble he had taken and seen the sense in it. Julius looked ahead, as if he could sight the coast of Greece by force of imagination. There were so many ghosts behind him, and somewhere ahead there was Brutus.

  After the success of Caecilius reaching Pompey's legions, Julius had sent another five men to infiltrate the Greek towns. Caecilius had reported their executions month by month until he was again the only voice reporting Pompey's movements. It was galling to place so much trust in a single spy, and Julius worried constantly that the man had been turned against him.

  In the dark, he shrugged off that weight with the rest. That too was beyond his power to change. If the reports were accurate, Pompey was in the north, around Dyrrhachium. His legions had been placed to defend the west coast, but they could not know exactly wher
e Julius would land until it was too late. Unless they were ready for him. He smiled to himself, knowing the moment of peace had been an illusion. He could not stop his endless examination of the plans any more than he could stop the wind that froze his men where they lay.

  A thump of hard bare feet on the wooden deck made him turn.

  "Sir? Dawn's coming," the sailor said, pointing into the east.

  Julius stared into unchanged darkness. Just as he was about to speak, a patch of gray became visible and with it the black line that separated the world from the heavens. He had seen the sun rise at sea before and still it caught his breath as the first line of gold wormed into existence and the underbelly of the clouds lit in bruised shades.

  "Enemy sail!" another lookout called, shattering the vision.

  Julius gripped the wooden rail, willing the light to come faster. Somewhere close, one of Pompey's captains would be roaring panicky orders as the fleet materialized. Julius would not alter course. He imagined he could smell land in the sea air and knew it was desperation.

  Dim shapes appeared around him as his thirty galleys were lit by the dawn. The decks were busy with activity as they prepared and Julius could feel his heart beat more strongly, almost painfully, as he waited for the word that Greece could be seen.

  Three of Pompey's galleys were visible now, the nearest close enough to see the flecks of white at its sides as the oarsmen churned the water.

  "Land!" came the cry and Julius let out a roar of excitement, raising his fist to the sky.

  His soldiers released the tension in a great cheer that echoed over the water as they saw the brown stain across their path that meant they would not be caught alone in the ocean.

  The drums that had been silent all night came suddenly to life, setting an even faster, man-killing pace. Hearts would burst as they crossed the last length to land, but the drums pounded on at the charge and the galleys soared in together.

  Julius could see the houses of a waking town and like the buzzing of an insect he heard alarm horns summon the soldiers of Greece to defend the inhabitants. Was it Oricum? He thought it was, though it had been almost twenty years since he last took ship from that port.

  The sound of the drums fired his blood even higher as he watched the port come closer. Three galleys were in the dock there and even as Julius watched, they came alive with running, shouting men. He grinned at the thought of their fear. Let him just touch land and he would show them that Rome could still produce a general.

  Brutus rose from the hard sleeping mat in his quarters and began the series of exercises with which he greeted every new dawn. Renius had set the original form, but Cabera's influence had altered the routine, so that now there were as many moves to increase suppleness as to maintain strength. After half an hour, his body was gleaming with sweat and the sun had risen above the distant city of Dyrrhachium. He took a sword and began the routines he had learned with Julius decades before, the simpler forms growing into more complex strikes, almost as a dance. The routine was so much a part of him as to leave his mind completely free, and he used the time to consider his position in Pompey's forces.

  It had become a dangerous game with Labienus after the first evasion of his guards. The Greek general was still suspicious and Brutus knew he was spied upon at all times. He thought he could have slipped away from their sight with enough effort, but that would only have added to Labienus's mistrust. Instead, Brutus had confounded the man by complaining directly, dragging one of the watchers into Labienus's presence.

  Brutus had enjoyed seeming as indignant as any other loyal general would be. Labienus had been forced to apologize and claim a mistake had been made. The spies who watched Brutus had been replaced with new faces the following day.

  Brutus smiled to himself as he lowered slowly into a lunge that ended with his outstretched gladius held straight for five heartbeats. To see Julia was an intoxicating challenge, and simply vanishing from sight would begin another hunt for him. It was far better to act as an innocent man. On the two other occasions that he had stolen time with Julia since their first meeting in the garden, Brutus had gleefully ordered Seneca's men to arrest the watchers. It changed nothing. Brutus knew Labienus would never be truly sure of him until he fought Julius in the field and proved his loyalty beyond all doubt.

  Brutus spun lightly in a move he had learned years before from a tribe that fought with bronze weapons. Renius would have disapproved of anything that broke contact with the ground, but the leap was spectacular and hid the movement of the sword for instants that had saved his life on two separate occasions. As Brutus landed, he gripped the wooden floor of the barracks with his bare feet, feeling his own strength. He had been first sword in Rome and a general in Gaul. To have Labienus sniffing around him for disloyalty was an affront he would one day repay in full. Not one of Pompey's men would ever appreciate what it had cost him to betray Julius. He knew they weighed his contribution to tactical discussion with a jaundiced eye. Part of him understood the necessity for their doubts, but still it was infuriating.

  As he came to rest at last and brought his sword up to the legionary's first position, he considered the irony of his new role. He had only ever fought under Julius's command and he found Pompey merely competent in comparison. The man was a solid general, but he lacked the fire of innovation that Julius could bring to the direst situation. Brutus had seen Julius standing with arrows thumping into the ground around him as he turned a battle lost into a triumph. Though it did not sit easily with his pride, there were times when Brutus could admit he had learned more from Julius than he ever would from Pompey.

  The silence of the night was broken as the soldiers around him woke and began to wash and dress. The temporary barracks had been sited near a stream that had its beginning above the snowline of distant mountains, and Brutus could hear the men swear at the cold as they bathed. He reached under the cloth at his groin and scratched himself idly. There was a bathing room nearby, with a fire to heat buckets of water, but it had become a point of pride for the men that their officers dared the icy river with them. He smiled at the thought of the transformation he had wrought in the road guards. Even Labienus had complimented him in his stiff way. Seneca's cohorts would hardly recognize the untrained soldiers they had been, after the months of drill and maneuvers. Brutus had undertaken their instruction with deliberate thoroughness, knowing that only their skill would keep him alive when Julius came to Greece.

  He left his set of silver armor in the room, preferring a simple set of leather and iron with long woolen bracae to protect his legs from the cold. A call brought a slave to carry them and Brutus went out into the pale morning sun.

  The city of Dyrrhachium was wreathed in mist in the distance, with the gray sea shining at its westernmost point. Brutus tilted his head in ironic appreciation of Labienus, somewhere within that place. He did not doubt that his orders to train away from the city came from the subtlety of the general, solving his problem by removing the man who caused them.

  As he strolled to the river's edge, Brutus saw Seneca had risen before him and was standing naked on the bank, rubbing himself vigorously to revive his frozen flesh. The young officer grinned at Brutus, but then both men became still as they sighted movement near the city and peered into the distance.

  "Now who could be joining us out here?" Brutus said to himself. The smudge of moving men was too far away to see details, and Brutus resigned himself to a quick plunge and scrub so as to be ready to receive them.

  Seneca was already pulling on his clothing and tying laces and straps that gleamed with oil. As Brutus waded gasping into the water, the alarm was being given around the camp and the wooden buildings clattered with the noise of men gathering weapons.

  Brutus bore the cold in tense silence as he ducked under the surface, though it numbed him in moments. He panted sharply as he came out and accepted a blanket to towel himself dry.

  "I'm not due to report for another three days," he told Seneca as he p
ulled on his bracae and the wool sheaths that protected his feet from the worst cold. He did not voice his fear that Pompey had discovered his meetings with Julia. He was certain she would not have betrayed him, but Labienus could have had spies watching her as well, men he had not seen. He shook his head. Why send a column out to take him when he could be ambushed during his report?

  Brutus and Seneca watched the soldiers from Dyrrhachium approach and both of them searched their consciences for some transgression, exchanging only a single baffled glance. The cohorts they commanded lined up in perfect order and Brutus took pride in their bearing. The days were gone when they could answer only a few horn calls in a battle line. They were as disciplined and hard as he could make them.

  At the head of the approaching men, Brutus recognized Labienus himself, riding a black horse. He could not escape a chill at the sight of the second in command under Pompey coming out to see him personally. It did not bode well and he wished he had brought the silver armor from the barracks.

  Labienus reined in only a few feet from the rigid figures that waited for him. Centurions cried the halt and the column stood facing them. Labienus dismounted with his usual care and Brutus noted again the quiet calm of the man that was so different from his own style. Battles won by Labienus were triumphs of discipline and economy. He never wasted men on pointless actions, but still had one of the finest records in Greece. Brutus detested his dry reserve on a personal level, though he could not deny the man understood tactics.

  "General Brutus," Labienus said, inclining his head in greeting.

  Though the title was still officially used, Labienus's eyes flickered over the tiny force Brutus commanded, apparently aware of the irony. Brutus let the silence stretch until Labienus grew uncomfortable. At last, he greeted Labienus by his own title and the tension receded.