The Field of Swords

CHAPTER SIX

Renius stood in the dry riverbed and looked up at the bridge. The structure swarmed with Romans and local men, clambering over a skeleton of wood that shifted and creaked as they moved along the walkways. Two hundred feet from the dry riverbed to the stones of the road above. When it was complete, the dam upriver would be removed and the water would hide the massive feet of the bridge, washing around the shaped edges for long after the builders had gone to dust. Just being in the shadow of it was a strange feeling for the old gladiator. When the waters came, no one would ever stand there again.

He shook his head in silent pride, listening to the orders and calls as the winch teams began to raise another of the blocks that would form the arch. Their voices echoed under the bridge and Renius could see they shared his satisfaction. This bridge would never fall and they knew it.

The road above his head would open up a fertile valley in a direct line to the coast. Towns would be built and the roads extended to meet the needs of the new settlers. They would come for the good ground and for trade and most of all for the clean, sweet water issuing from the underground aqueducts that had taken three years to build.

Renius watched as a team of men threw their strength on the heavy ropes as the archstone was swung over to its position. The pulleys squealed and he saw Ciro was leaning out over the rail to guide the block home. Men at his side slathered brown mortar over the surfaces and then Ciro wrapped his arms around it, chanting with the others in a lulling rhythm to the teams below. Renius held his breath. Though the giant’s strength was unmatched among the teams, a slip could easily crush a hand or a shoulder. If the block swung out of position, it was heavy enough to bring the supports crashing down, taking them all with it.

Even so far below, Renius could hear Ciro grunting as he moved the block into place, the mortar squeezing out to fall in wet pats on the riverbed below. Renius shaded his eyes to see if one would come close enough to make him duck away, smiling at their efforts.

He liked the big man. Ciro didn’t say a great deal, but he held nothing back when it came to hard work and Renius would have liked him for that alone. It had surprised him at first to find he enjoyed teaching Ciro the skills more experienced legionaries took for granted. A legion could not be stopped by valleys or mountains. Every man on the scaffolding knew that there wasn’t a river they couldn’t bridge or a road they couldn’t cut in all the world. They built Rome wherever they went.

Ciro had been awed by the water and the miles of tunnels they had cut to bring it down from springs high in the mountains. Now the people who settled in the valley would not face disease every summer, with their wells becoming stale and thick. Perhaps then they would think of the men of Rome who had built them.

The peace of Renius’ thoughts was interrupted by a single rider in light armour guiding his horse over the bank and down to where he stood. The man was sweating in the heat and craned his neck to look up in instinctive fear as he passed under the arches. A heavy hammer dropped from that height could kill the horse as well as the man on it, but Renius chuckled at his caution.

‘You have a message for me?’ Renius asked him.

The man trotted into the shadow of the arch and dismounted.

‘Yes, sir. The general requests your attendance at the barracks. He said to bring the legionary named Ciro with you, sir.’

‘The last arch is nearly finished, lad.’

‘He said to come immediately, sir.’

Renius frowned, then squinted up at Ciro high above him. Only a fool would shout orders to a man carrying a stone almost as heavy as he was, but he saw Ciro was standing back, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. Renius filled his lungs.

‘Come down, Ciro. We’re wanted.’

Despite the sun, Octavian felt chilled as the breeze whipped past his skin. His fifty were at full gallop down the steepest hill he had ever seen. If he hadn’t gone over every foot of it that morning, he would never have dared such a breakneck speed, but the turf was even and none of the experienced riders fell, using the strength of their legs to wedge them in the saddles. Even then, the pommel horns pressed sharply against their groins. Octavian gritted his teeth against the pain as the gallop bruised him unmercifully.

Brutus had chosen the hill with him, to show the reality and power of a charge. He awaited their arrival with a full century of the extraordinarii at the foot of the hill and even at that distance Octavian could see the mounts move skittishly as they instinctively tried to shy away from the thundering fifty coming down.

The noise was incredible, as Octavian shouted for his men to dress the line. The charging rank was becoming a little ragged and he had to roar at his best volume to catch the attention of the wavering riders around him. They showed their skill as the line firmed without slowing and Octavian drew his sword, gripping furiously with his knees. His legs were tortured at such an angle, but he held on.

The ground levelled slightly at the bottom and Octavian barely had time to balance his weight before his fifty were streaming through the wide-spaced ranks that faced them. Faces and horses blurred at appalling speed as they shot through the century and out the other side in what seemed like a single instant of time. Octavian saw an officer looking pale as he flashed past him. If he had held the sword out, the man’s head would have flown.

Octavian shouted in excitement as he called for his men to turn and re-form. Some of them laughed in relief as they rejoined Brutus and saw the tense expressions of the men he commanded that day.

‘With the right ground, we can be terrifying,’ Brutus said, raising his voice for them all to hear. ‘I practically lost my bladder there at the end and I knew you were just going through us!’

The riders under Octavian cheered the admission, though they didn’t believe it. One of them slapped Octavian on the back as Brutus turned to face them, with a leer.

‘Now you’ll get a taste of it. Form up into wide ranks while I take mine up the hill. Hold them steady as we come through and you’ll learn something.’

Octavian swallowed sudden nervousness to grin, still filled with the wild thrill of the charge. Brutus dismounted to lead his horse up the hill and then saw a lone horseman cantering towards them.

‘What’s this, I wonder?’ he murmured.

The soldier dismounted neatly and saluted Brutus.

‘General Caesar is asking for Octavian and yourself, sir.’

Brutus nodded, a slow smile beginning.

‘Is he now?’ He turned to his beloved extraordinarii.

‘What if your officers were killed in the first charge? Would there be chaos? Carry on without us. I will expect a full report when you return to barracks.’

Octavian and Brutus fell in behind the messenger as he wheeled his mount. After a while, they tired of the pace he set and galloped past him.

Cabera ran his fingers along a length of blue silk with childish delight. He seemed to be caught between amazement and laughter at the costly furnishings Servilia had shipped in for the Golden Hand, and her patience was wearing thin. He interrupted her again to dart past and handle a delicate piece of statuary.

‘So you see,’ she tried once more, ‘I would like to establish a reputation for a clean house and some soldiers use chalk dust to cover the rashes they have …’

‘All this for pleasure!’ Cabera interrupted, winking suggestively at her. ‘I want to die in a place like this.’ As she frowned at him, he approached the edge of a pit of silk cushions, set below the level of the floor. He looked at her for permission and Servilia shook her head firmly.

‘Julius said you have a fair knowledge of the diseases of the skin and I would pay well for you to be available to the house.’ She was forced to pause again as the old man jumped into the mass of cushions and scrambled around in them, chuckling.

‘It isn’t difficult work,’ Servilia continued doggedly. ‘My girls will recognise a problem when they see it, but if there’s an argument, I need someone to be able to examine the … man in question. Just until I can find a more permanent doctor from the town.’ She watched astonished as Cabera tumbled around.

‘I’ll pay five sesterces a month,’ she said.

‘Fifteen,’ Cabera replied, suddenly serious. As she blinked in surprise, he smoothed his old robe down with swift strokes from his fingers.

‘I will not go higher than ten, old man. For fifteen, I can have a local doctor living here.’

Cabera snorted. ‘They know nothing and you would lose a room. Twelve, but I won’t deal with pregnancy. You find someone else for that.’

‘I do not run a backstreet whorehouse,’ Servilia snapped. ‘My girls can watch the moon like any other woman. If they do fall pregnant, I pay them off. Most come back to me after the child is weaned. Ten is my final offer.’

‘Examining the rotting parts of soldiers is worth twelve sesterces to anyone,’ Cabera told her cheerfully. ‘I would also like some of these cushions.’

Servilia gritted her teeth.

‘They cost more than your services, old man. Twelve, then, but the cushions stay.’

Cabera clapped his hands in pleasure. ‘First month’s pay up front and a cup of wine to seal the agreement, I think?’ he said.

Servilia opened her mouth to reply and heard a throat delicately cleared behind her. It was Nadia, one of the new ones she had brought to the house, a woman with kohl-rimmed eyes as hard as her body was soft.

‘Mistress, there is a messenger from the legion at the door.’

‘Bring him to me, Nadia.’ Servilia said, forcing a smile. As the woman disappeared, she spun to Cabera.

‘Out of there, now. I will not be embarrassed by you.’

Cabera clambered out of the silken pit, his long fingers slipping one of the cushions under his robe as she turned back to greet the messenger.

The man was blushing furiously and Servilia could see from Nadia’s grin at his shoulder that she had been talking to him.

‘Madam, Caesar wants you at the barracks.’ His eyes swivelled to Cabera. ‘You too, healer. I’m to be your escort. The horses are outside.’

Servilia rubbed the corner of her mouth in thought, ignoring the way the messenger watched her.

‘Will my son be there?’ she asked.

The messenger nodded. ‘Everyone is being called in, madam. I have only Centurion Domitius to find.’

‘That’s easily done, then. He’s upstairs,’ she said, watching with interest as the man’s blush spread down his neck into his tunic. She could practically feel the heat coming off him.

‘I’d leave it a little while, if I were you,’ she said.

As they seated themselves in the long room overlooking the yard, every one of them felt hollow twinges of excitement as they caught each other’s eyes. Julius dominated the room as he stood by the window, waiting for the last to arrive. The breeze off the hills spun slowly through the room and cooled them, but the tension was almost painful. Octavian laughed nervously as Cabera pulled a silk cushion from under his robe and Renius held his wine cup in too tight a grip.

As the guard closed the door and went down the stairs, Brutus drained his wine and grinned. ‘So are you going to tell us why we’re here, Julius?’

They all watched the man who faced them. The familiar tiredness had vanished from his features and he stood straight, his armour shining with oil.

‘Gentlemen, Servilia. We are finished here. It’s time to go home,’ he said.

There was a moment of silence and then Servilia jumped in her seat as the others cheered and laughed together.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Renius said, tilting his cup.

Julius unrolled a map on his desk and they crowded around him as he laid weights at the corners. Servilia felt excluded and then Julius caught her eye and smiled at her. It would be all right.

As Julius discussed the problems of moving five thousand men, she began to calculate. The Golden Hand was barely started and who would run it if she left? Angelina didn’t have the iron in her. She’d be running a free house within a year if Servilia left her in charge. Nadia, possibly. A heart of flint and experienced enough, but could she be trusted not to steal half the profits? Hearing her own name snapped her back from her thoughts.

‘… not by land then, in the time. Servilia gave me the idea when we met the merchant captain she uses. I’ll write orders to commandeer every ship on the passage. That is not to be discussed except between ourselves. If they hear we’re going to use their ships, they’ll put to sea and stay there.’

‘Why are you leaving before you’re finished here?’ Cabera said softly.

The conversation around the table died to nothing and Julius paused with his finger on the map.

‘I am finished here. This is not where I should be,’ he replied. ‘You told me that yourself. If I wait out my term, Pompey will send me somewhere else well away from my city and if I refuse, that will be my last posting anywhere. There are no second chances from that man.’ Julius tapped his finger on the map over the tiny mark of the city he loved.

‘There are elections at the end of the year for two seats as consul. I’m going back to try for one of them.’

Cabera shrugged, still testing. ‘And then? Will you fight a war for the city like Sulla?’

Julius became very still for a moment and his eyes pinned Cabera.

‘No, old friend,’ he said softly. ‘Then I will no longer be posted at Pompey’s whim. As consul, I will be untouchable. I will be at the heart of things again.’

Cabera wanted to let the moment pass, but his stubbornness forced him to speak.

‘But after that? Will you have Brutus drill the Tenth while you write new laws the people will not understand? Will you lose yourself in maps and bridges as you have done here?’

Renius reached out and gripped Cabera by the shoulder to make him stop, but the old man ignored the hand.

‘You can do more than that, if you have eyes to see it,’ he said, wincing as Renius closed his hand on his thin muscles, hurting him.

‘If I am consul,’ Julius said slowly, ‘I will take what I love to the wildest places I can find. Is that what you want me to say? That Spain is too quiet for me? I know it. I will find my path there, Cabera. The gods listen more closely to those who speak from Rome. They just can’t hear me out here.’ He smiled to cover his anger and felt Servilia watching him over Octavian’s shoulder. Renius dropped his hand from the old man’s arm and Cabera scowled at him.

Brutus spoke to smooth the moment over. ‘If we start holding ships tonight, how long before we have enough to move the Tenth?’

Julius nodded his head a fraction in thanks. ‘A month at most. I have already sent word that we need captains for a large cargo. I think no more than thirty ships will be enough to land at Ostia. The Senate would never let me approach Rome with the whole legion as it is, so I’ll need a camp at the coast. I’ll take the gold with me on that first trip. We have enough for what I have in mind.’

Servilia watched them argue and wrangle as the sun set behind them. They barely noticed the guard enter the room to light more lamps. After a while, she left to begin her own arrangements, the night air of the yard making her feel alive after the heat of the room.

She could still hear their voices as she walked across the yard and saw the gate sentries stiffen as they saw her.

‘Is it true we’re going to Rome, madam?’ one of them said as she passed him. It came as no surprise to find the man had heard a rumour. Some of her best information in Rome came from the lower ranks.

‘It’s true,’ she said.

The man smiled. ‘It’s about time,’ he said.

When the Tenth moved, they moved quickly. Ten of the largest ships in Valentia port had guards preventing their escape within a day of the meeting in the long room. To the fury of the merchant captains, their precious cargoes were unloaded and left in the warehouses on the docks to make more room for the vast stores of equipment and men that made up a legion.

The gold at the fort was crated and taken out to the ships, with fully armed centuries attending every foot of the journey. The forges of the swordmakers were dismantled and tied on huge wooden pallets that took teams of oxen to lift into the dark holds. The great war ballistae and onagers were reduced to spars and the heavy ships sank lower and lower in the sea as they were filled. They would need the highest tide to sail out of the harbour and Julius set the day exactly one month after he had made the formal announcement. If all went well, they would reach Rome just over a hundred days before the consular elections.

The quaestor Julius had promoted was ambitious and Julius knew he would work like a slave to keep his new post. There would be no loss of discipline in the provinces when the Tenth had gone. The quaestor brought two cohorts to the east under Julius’ orders, some of them local men who had joined the Roman forces years before. It was enough of a force to keep the peace, and Julius took pleasure from the fact that the problem was no longer his.

There were a thousand things to organise before the ships could throw their lines from the dockside and move out to sea. Julius pushed himself to exhaustion, sleeping only one night in two, at best. He met with local leaders from all over the country to explain what was happening and the gifts he left them ensured their aid and blessing.

The quaestor had been quietly amazed when Julius told him how productive the new mines had become during his term. They had toured them together and the man took the opportunity to secure a loan from the coffers of the Tenth to be paid back over five years. No matter who ended up in the position of praetor, the debt would stand. The mines would be developed and no doubt part of the new wealth would be declared. Not before the post was made permanent, Julius thought wryly. It would not do to excite the hunger of men like Crassus in Rome.

As Julius walked out into the courtyard, he had to shade his eyes against the fierce sun. The gates were open and the fort had a vacant feel that reminded him of the village with the statue of Alexander. It was a strange thought, but the new cohorts were expected the following dawn and the fort would come back to life then.

In the glare, he did not see the young man standing by the gate, waiting for him. Julius was crossing to the stables and was jerked out of his reverie as the man spoke. His hand dropped to his gladius in reflex.

‘General? Do you have a moment?’ the man said.

Julius recognised him and narrowed his eyes. His name was Adàn, he remembered, the one he had spared.

‘What is it?’ he said impatiently.

Adàn approached him and Julius kept his hand near his hilt. He didn’t doubt he could handle the young Spaniard, but there could be others and he had lived long enough not to drop his guard too easily. His eyes scanned the gate, watching for moving shadows.

‘The Mayor, Del Subió, told me you need a scribe, sir. I can read and write Latin.’

Julius looked at him suspiciously. ‘Did Del Subió mention the fact that I am about to leave for Rome?’ he asked.

Adàn nodded. ‘Everyone knows it. I would like to see the city, but I do want the work.’

Julius looked him in the eye, weighing him. He trusted his instincts and he could sense nothing hidden in the man’s open face. Perhaps the young Spaniard was telling the truth, though Julius couldn’t help but suspect his motives with the legion about to set sail.

‘A free trip to Rome, then you disappear in the markets, Adàn?’ he said.

The young man shrugged. ‘You have my word. I can offer nothing else. I work hard and I want to see more of the world. That is all.’

‘Why come to work for me, though? It wasn’t long ago you had Roman blood on your hands.’

Adàn coloured, but raised his head, refusing to be cowed. ‘You are an honourable man, General. While I would rather Rome did not lay its hand on my people, you made me curious. You would not regret hiring me, I swear it.’

Julius frowned at him. The man seemed unaware of the danger of his words. He remembered the way he had stood before Julius’ men in the long room, struggling to control his fear.

‘I must be able to trust you, Adàn, and that will come only with time. What you hear from me will be worth money to those who pay for information. Can you be trusted to keep my business secret?’

‘As you say, you will know in time. My word is good.’

Julius came to a decision and his frown cleared.

‘Very well, Adàn. Go up to my rooms and fetch me the papers from the desk. I will dictate a letter to you and judge your hand. Then your time is your own to say goodbye to your family. We leave for Rome in three days.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brutus vomited helplessly over the side into the heaving sea.

‘I’d forgotten about this,’ he said miserably.

Ciro could only moan in reply as the last cups of wine they’d taken in Valentia came surging back. The wind gusted and blew some of the foul liquid spattering over both of them. Brutus froze in disgust.

‘Move away from me, you ox,’ he shouted over the gale. Though his stomach was empty, the painful spasms began again and he winced at the bitterness in his mouth.

The clouds had swept in from the east as the Spanish mountains sank behind them. The ships had scattered before the storm, forced away from each other. Those with oars kept some semblance of control, though the rolling decks had the long blades completely out of the water on one side and then another. The merchants who depended on their sails were trailing sea anchors, great bundles of canvas and spars to slow their progress and give the heavy rudders something to work against. It was little help. The storm brought the darkness early and they lost sight of each other, every ship suddenly alone to fight the waves.

Brutus shivered at the stern as another wild roll brought water over the side in a great rush of whiteness. He gripped the rail hard as it frothed around his knees and then poured away. The oars slapped and skipped over the mountains of dark water and Brutus wondered whether they would strike land in a sudden crash.

The blackness was absolute and even a few paces from him he could barely make out Ciro’s bulk. He heard the big man moan softly and Brutus closed his eyes, just wanting it all to stop. He’d been fine until they cleared the coast and the big rolling waves sent them heeling over. Then the sickness had begun with a bout of belching and the sudden urge to head for the rail. He’d known enough to aim out over the stern, though the men below had not had that luxury. Packed tight as they were in the hold, it was a scene from nightmares.

The small part of his mind that could think of anything except his discomfort realised they would have to anchor off Ostia for a day or two before going in, if only to wash the ship down and restore the polish to the Tenth. If they reached port at that moment, the dockworkers would think they were refugees from some terrible battle.

Brutus heard a step behind him. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, craning his head forward to make out the man’s features.