Читать книгу The Gods of War - Conn Iggulden - Страница 10

Ahenobarbus read his orders again. No matter how often he went over the few words from Pompey, nothing appeared that might allow him to attack the rogue legions from Gaul. Yet the reports from his scouts gave him a chance to finally make his name and he was cruelly caught between obedience and a rush of excitement he hadn’t felt for years. Pompey would surely forgive him anything if he was able to bring the traitor back to the city in chains.

The men who had been taken from every road post, toll-house and fort were gathered under the shadow of Corfinium’s walls, waiting for the order to march home. There was no tension amongst their ranks. The scouts had not yet managed to leak their news to the rest of them, though it could not be much longer before they all knew the enemy was closer than anyone had guessed.

Ahenobarbus rubbed his fingers along his bony jaw, easing his thumbs into the creases at the corners of his eyes to relieve the pressure. His guards outnumbered those his scouts had spotted, but the reports had mentioned four legions coming south and the others must surely be close by. At the very worst, it could be an ambush for his men.

Watching them as they formed up did not give him confidence. Many had never seen a more challenging contest than a few drunken farmers. Years of peace while Caesar conquered Gaul had not created the sort of force Ahenobarbus would have chosen for his chance at glory, but sometimes you had to work with what the gods gave you.

For a moment, he was tempted to forget what he had been told and tread the safe path as he had for most of his twenty years as a soldier. He could march out and be in Rome in only three days, leaving his last chance behind him. It was hard to imagine the sneers of younger officers when they heard he had walked away from a force half his size. The other Gaul legions could be miles away and he had sworn an oath to protect his city. Running back to the gates at the first sign of an enemy was not what he had imagined when he joined the army.

‘Six thousand men,’ he whispered to himself, looking back at the lines of soldiers waiting to march. ‘My legion, at last.’

He had not mentioned the thought to anyone else, but as the arrivals came in he had counted them and now walked a little taller with his private pride. In his entire career, he had never had more than a century under his orders, but for a few wonderful days he would be the equal of any one of the generals of Rome.

Ahenobarbus recognised real fear undermining his pride. If he marched into a trap, he would lose everything. Yet if he gave up a perfect opportunity to destroy the man Pompey feared, word would leak out and he’d be followed by whispers for the rest of his life. He couldn’t bear the indecision and now, many of the men were watching him, puzzled by the lack of orders.

‘Sir? Shall I have the gates opened?’ his second in command said at his shoulder.

Ahenobarbus looked into the man’s face and felt fresh irritation at the youth and confidence he saw there. The rumours were that Seneca was connected in Rome and Ahenobarbus could not help but notice the richness of his clothes. He felt old when he looked at Seneca and the comparison seemed to make his joints ache. It was really too much to be faced with his amused condescension at that moment. No doubt the younger man thought he hid his arrogance, but Ahenobarbus had seen a dozen like him over the years. There was always a glint in the eyes when they were at their most fawning and you knew you couldn’t trust them if their self-interest crossed your own.

Ahenobarbus took a deep breath. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying himself, but making the decision was a real pleasure.

‘Have you ever fought, Seneca?’ He watched as the young man’s face went carefully blank, before the smooth smile returned.

‘Not yet, sir, though of course I hope to serve.’

Ahenobarbus showed his teeth then. ‘I thought you would say that, I really did. Today, you get your chance.’

Pompey stood alone in the senate building, listening to nothing but his own memories. At his order, blacksmiths had broken the doors from their hinges to hang awry across the opening. The old light of Rome spilled across motes of fresh-raised dust and he grunted softly as he lowered himself onto a bench.

‘Fifty-six years old,’ he murmured to the empty chamber. ‘Too old to be going to war again.’

There had been moments of weakness and despair, moments when the years sat heavily and his private self ached to be allowed to rest. Perhaps it was time to leave Rome to young wolves like Caesar. After all, the bastard had shown he possessed the most important quality of a Roman leader – the ability to survive. When his thoughts were not coloured by anger, Pompey could admire the younger man’s career. There had been times when he would not have bet a bronze coin on Julius coming through unscathed.

The crowds loved to hear of his exploits and Pompey hated him for that. It seemed that Julius could not buy a new horse without sending a triumphant letter to be read across the city. The common citizens gathered to hear fresh news, no matter how trivial. They were insatiable and only men like Pompey shook their heads at the lack of dignity. Even the subtlety of Cicero was lost against the excitement of Gaul’s battles. What appeal could the Senate offer, when Caesar wrote of storming forts and visiting white cliffs at the edge of the world?

Pompey blew air through his lips in irritation, wishing Crassus was there to share this final indignation. Between them, they had done more to nurture Caesar’s ambition than anyone and the irony was bitter. Had Pompey not accepted the triumvirate? At the time, it seemed that they all benefited, but with the Gaul legions on their way to Rome, Pompey could only wish he had been wiser when it mattered.

He had sent Julius to Spain and the man had returned to be consul. He had sent him to subdue the savages of Gaul, but could they do the decent thing and send him back in pieces? No, they could not. Instead, he came home as a lion, and the citizens respected nothing so much as success.

Black anger darkened his face as Pompey thought of the members of the Senate who had betrayed him. Only two-thirds of them had answered his call to leave for Greece, for all their public vows and promises. The rest had vanished from sight, preferring to wait for an invading army rather than follow their government into exile. It had been a cruel blow on top of everything else. They knew he would not have the luxury of time to root them out of their hiding places and it grated that they were right. He had already left it dangerously late and only the need for the road guards held him in the city. If Ahenobarbus did not bring them in quickly, Pompey knew he would have to leave without them. All his planning would come to nothing if he were still in the city when Caesar came up to the gates.

Pompey hawked and would have swallowed the bitter phlegm back into his throat if he had not been leaving. Instead, he spat a dark mass onto the marble tiles at his feet and felt a little better for the symbolic act. No doubt the citizens would cheer in their mindless way as the Gaul legions marched into the forum. It never failed to astonish him what little gratitude they showed. For almost four years, he had ensured they could feed their families and earn their livings without fear of murder, rape or robbery. The riots of Clodius and Milo were memories and the city had thrived in the aftermath, perhaps in part because they had seen what true chaos was like. But they would still cheer Caesar as he won his battles and brought them excitement. Bread and safety were easily forgotten in comparison.

Pompey reached out to the wooden armrest and pulled himself to his feet. His stomach ached, and he thought he might be developing an ulcer. He felt tired, without a reason. It was hard to tell himself that he had made the right decision when he would be leaving his city behind. Every general knew there were times when the only option was to retreat, regroup and attack on your own terms. It was still hard.

He hoped Julius would follow to Greece. They had not forgotten who ruled Rome, at least. There, he would have the armies he needed and the most able and experienced commanders in the world. Julius would learn the difference between filthy tribesmen and soldiers of Rome and he would learn it in the only way that mattered.

It was strange to think Julius was no longer the young man he remembered. Pompey wondered if he too felt the cold of winter more keenly, or the doubts that came with age. Stranger still to think that he knew his enemy better than almost anyone in Rome. He had broken bread with him, schemed and fought on the same side against enemies, for the same ideals. It was a vicious betrayal to have the man turn on him, the husband of Julius’ daughter. Pompey chuckled aloud at that thought. He suspected Julia did not love him, exactly, but she knew her duty far better than her errant father. She had produced a son who might one day inherit the world.

Pompey wondered if some part of her would welcome her father’s return to the city. It had not occurred to him to ask when he sent her to the ships. Though she may have come from Caesar, she was his no longer. Her young flesh could still rouse Pompey and though she bore his touches in silence, he thought she was not unsatisfied with her life. If he brought her father’s head to her, would she be appalled? It lifted his spirits to imagine it.

He walked out of the empty senate house to where his soldiers waited, noting the perfection of their lines, and taking comfort from it. Caesar made him feel as if there were no rules left, that anything could occur, any tradition be overturned just by willing it. It was comforting to see the forum crowds give his men a respectful berth.

‘Is there news of Ahenobarbus?’ Pompey asked his scribe.

‘Not yet, master,’ the man replied.

Pompey frowned. He hoped the fool had not been tempted to engage the Gaul legions. His orders had been clear.

The road was wide and open for the marching column. With a grunt of approval, Ahenobarbus noted how Seneca had laid out the men. For all his lack of actual experience, the young member of the nobilitas had been trained for a life in the legions. He had approached the problem with all the easy confidence of his birth. Centuries had been doubled into maniples and the most experienced officers set in a chain of command. Old signal horns had been procured and three simple sequences repeated until the least of them could be expected to halt, withdraw or attack. Anything more complex would give them difficulty, Seneca acknowledged, but he looked satisfied as he marched. They were well-armed, well-fed and from the greatest fighting nation the world had ever known. Every legion began with nothing more than the culture and a few good officers. For road guards who had felt forgotten by the city they served, this was their chance. It helped that they stood against traitors with the city behind them. Most had family in Rome and would fight far better for them than for some lofty ideal of the Senate.

Ahenobarbus felt the eyes of the men around him and his spirits soared at the responsibility he had prayed for all his life. Just marching with them was a joy that was difficult to mask. He could not have asked for more from the gods and swore he would make an offering of a sixth of his wealth if they gave Caesar into his hands.

The scouts had marked the enemy forces ten miles north of Corfinium and that was a distance they could cover in less than three hours. Ahenobarbus had been tempted to ride, but sense had overruled his vanity. The men would see he walked with them, and when the time came he would draw his sword and hurl his spears with the rest.

Seneca had drawn up a plan of attack and, despite himself, Ahenobarbus had been impressed at his knowledge. It was one thing to give the order, quite another to create the formations and the tactics. It helped that they were facing Roman-trained soldiers, Seneca said. Only the lie of the land was unknown. Everything else would be by the military manuals and Seneca had read all of them.

Even Ahenobarbus’ initial impression of the recruits had altered as the ranks took shape. It took hard men to run isolated road posts and more than a few had fought in Greece and Spain before ending their careers on the forts. They marched in a perfect column and Ahenobarbus was only sorry they did not have drummers to sound the beat for them.

It was difficult not to imagine the honours Pompey would bestow for capturing a man who threatened the city. At the very least, it would mean a tribune’s rank, or a position as a magistrate. At his age, Ahenobarbus knew he would not be allowed another command, but it did not matter. He would have this day as a memory no matter what came after. In truth, leading a legion in some lonely mountains far from home did not appeal. It was far better to picture the soft life of attending court and accepting bribes from the sons of senators.

The countryside was filled with small farms, with every piece of flat ground taken up with waving wheat and barley to feed the maw of the city to the south. Only the road remained clear and Ahenobarbus did not look at those merchants who had dragged their carts off the stones to let his legion pass. His legion.

As soon as his scouts reported that Ahenobarbus had left Corfinium, Julius gave the order to march. If the commander of the guards declined the chance to attack, Julius trusted his veterans to catch them on the road before they could reach the safety of Rome. He had no fear of the untested troops. His Tenth had faced overwhelming numbers, ambush, night attacks, even the chariots of the Britons. He would trust them against any force in the world, if it were a matter of killing. Taking the guards alive would be a harder challenge and the extraordinarii riders had been racing back and forth between Brutus and the Tenth all morning with orders. The idea of forcing a surrender was a new one in Julius’ experience, especially against Roman legionaries. Without an absolutely overwhelming advantage, he knew his people would fight to the last man rather than leave Rome open. From the first contact, he had to terrify them into obedience.

The veteran Tenth breasted through the wheat, trampling it in a great swathe. Even in a wide formation, Julius could see the lines in the fields behind them stretching for miles, as if metal tines had been drawn across the earth. It was a straight path, despite the rise and fall of the landscape. The extraordinarii rode ahead, searching for the first sight of the Roman enemy. The Tenth loosened their swords in their scabbards as they marched, waiting for the horns that would send them into a battle line.

Ahenobarbus saw the dark stain of the enemy across the land and his heart began to race in anticipation. Seneca had the horns sound a warning note and the blare stiffened the backs of his soldiers, tightening their nerves. Almost unconsciously, the pace of the march increased.

‘Form square!’ Seneca roared along the ranks and the column dissolved as the centuries moved apart.

It was not a parade manoeuvre, but the formation appeared out of the lines like the head of a hammer, with the handle trailing behind along the wide road. Gradually, the tail dwindled in length until they were going forward in one solid mass. Their spears were gripped in sweating palms as they readied themselves for battle and Ahenobarbus could hear the muttered prayers of the men around him as they gave up their souls and pressed on. He thanked his gods to have been given such a moment as they crossed into the wheat and trampled it before them. He could not turn his head away from the shining metal of the Gaul legion. These men threatened his city and he watched them approach in fascination and swelling fear. He heard their own horns whine across the fields and saw the swift response as the lines blurred into smaller units, sliding inexorably towards him.

‘Be ready,’ he called across the heads of his countrymen, blinking sweat from his eyes. Then the stillness of the day snapped as the Tenth legion roared and broke into a run.

Julius advanced with the others, keeping a tight rein so as not to go beyond his loping men. He watched the distance shrink as both sides accelerated and tasted the dust of the fields in his mouth. The Tenth had not unwrapped their spears and he hoped they understood the plans he had made. They raced across the open ground towards the road guards in their formations and after their first shout they were grim and terrifyingly silent.

Julius counted the paces between the two armies, gauging the range. He doubted Ahenobarbus could launch spears in full waves from such a motley gang, but he would have to risk the lives of his Tenth to get close enough.

At the last moment, he called the halt and the Tenth crashed to a stop. Julius ignored the enemy as they lumbered towards him. There were fifty paces to go before they were in range for spears, but he searched beyond them in the distance, looking for the rising dust that would show him his veteran legions marching around. With the tramp of the road guards in his ears, Julius rose up in the saddle, balancing on one knee.

‘There they are!’ he called, exulting.

Hidden by the hills, Brutus, Domitius and Mark Antony had circled and Ahenobarbus was caught between two forces. Julius knew he could have destroyed them, but his aim was more subtle and more difficult. As Ahenobarbus came into spear range, Julius raised his hand and wound it in a circle above his head. The Tenth wheeled right and marched, keeping their distance all the time. It was as if they were attached by a long rope to the enemy, and the move forced the road guards to turn with them or leave their flanks open.

Julius grinned to himself as he saw the chaos that ensued. It took more than a few simple horn signals to turn a square on the spot. He saw the lines compress and widen as those in front tried to match the Tenth and those behind became confused and angry.

The Tenth moved around the rim of the wheel and when they had made a full quarter turn, Brutus had the Third bellow out a challenge and approach. Julius nodded in fierce excitement as he saw the veterans move apart into an arc as if they were on parade. They closed off the retreat and added to the confusion and terror in those they surrounded.

The men with Ahenobarbus were caught. Some of them tried to face the new threats, but all four legions turned about them, causing chaos in the milling centre. No spears could be launched from within that confused mass.

The revolving armies raised a plume of dust from the wheatfields, thickening the air and making men cough and sneeze. Ahenobarbus did not see the extraordinarii until they had ridden up to close the gaps in the circle. Through his panic he could not frame orders to meet the threat. There were too many of the enemy and he knew he was going to die. The Gaul legions halted with spears resting on their shoulders and the thought of the killing to come made the road guards shrink back into the centre.

Ahenobarbus bellowed at his recruits to stand still. The ranks and files had twisted beyond recognition until they were just a crowd of angry, bewildered men. Seneca had given up shouting and looked as lost as any of them. There was nothing in the manuals to answer this. Panting, Ahenobarbus grimaced, waiting for the attack. Though it was hopeless, many of those around him raised their swords in defiance and he was proud of their courage in the face of defeat.

Ahenobarbus watched as riders approached. Part of him raged at the thought of having to meet such men. He did not want to look them in the eye and be humiliated, but anything that delayed the killing was welcome. Every moment had become precious.

He saw that two of them held shields ready for the Third and knew he was looking at the man who had beaten Gaul and now threatened their own city. The rider wore no helmet and simple armour with a dark red cloak that was crumpled under him, spilling down his mount’s flank. In a crowd, Ahenobarbus might not have noticed him, but after the manoeuvres that had broken his guards without a single spear or sword thrust, the man seemed like some creature from the dark river, come to taunt him. It was easy enough to imagine the Roman blood that would stain his cloak.

Ahenobarbus stood straighter. ‘When he comes close, lads, we rush him on my order. Pass the word. We might not be able to beat these bastards, but if we can kill the general, we haven’t been wasted.’

Seneca stared at him and Ahenobarbus held his eyes long enough to force him to look away. The young man still thought this was some elaborate tactical game, with Rome open behind them. Some of them knew better and Ahenobarbus saw nods of assent spread out from him. Sometimes, a man could forget that his life was not the most important thing in the world, that there really were things worth dying for. In the chaos and fear, Ahenobarbus had been almost resigned to surrender, before the truth came back to him. This was an enemy, Roman or not.

Seneca came close, so as not to be overheard by the men. ‘Sir, we cannot attack now. We must surrender,’ the young man said into his ear.

Ahenobarbus glanced at him and noted the fear. ‘Go back, lad, and let them see you stand. When he comes close enough, we’ll cut him down.’

Seneca opened his mouth, unable to understand the dark ferocity he saw in his commander. It had never been there before and it shocked him into silence as he moved away.

Ahenobarbus chuckled to himself. He looked at the grim legions facing him. They too had halted after their display and, grudgingly, he admitted their superiority. It had been impressive enough to see the way they dismantled his rough formations. The horsemen looked eager to be sent in and the sight of those cold killers sent a shiver through his frame. On the backs of their mounts, the riders seemed enormous and Ahenobarbus knew their reputation as well as anyone else who had read the reports from Gaul. It gave the enemy a glamour he could not deny and it was hard to think of those veterans charging in amongst his inexperienced soldiers.

‘Who has led you here? Let that man step forward!’ a voice carried over the field.

Faces turned to Ahenobarbus and he smiled mirthlessly as he made his way through the ranks to the front. The sun shone and his vision seemed unnaturally clear, as if the edges of things had sharpened.

Ahenobarbus stepped out from his men, alone. He felt the eyes of thousands on him as the three horsemen rode closer. Gently, he drew his sword and took a deep breath. Let them come in and get his answer, he thought to himself. His heart hammered, but he felt calm and strangely detached as Julius Caesar glared down at him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Julius roared, red-faced in anger. ‘What is your name?’

Ahenobarbus almost took a step back in surprise. ‘Ahenobarbus,’ he replied, stifling the urge to add ‘sir’. He felt the men behind jostle and readied himself to give the order to attack.

‘How dare you bare your sword to me, Ahenobarbus? How dare you! You have abused the trust placed in you. Be thankful none of your men or mine have been killed or I would see you hanged before sunset.’

Ahenobarbus blinked in confusion. ‘I have orders to …’

‘Orders from whom? Pompey? By what right is he still Dictator in my city? I stand before you as a loyal Roman and you mutter about your orders. Do you want to be killed? Who do you think you are to be throwing away so many lives, Ahenobarbus? Are you a lawmaker, a senator? No, you’ve been let down, General. You should not be here.’ Julius removed his gaze from Ahenobarbus in disgust, raising his head to address the guards who watched him. ‘I am returning to my city to stand as consul once more. I break no laws in doing so. I have no quarrel with you and I will not shed the blood of my people unless I am forced to.’

Ignoring Ahenobarbus, Julius walked his mount along the line, his accompanying riders moving in formation with him. For a split second, Ahenobarbus considered shouting for an attack, but then he caught the eye of one of the riders and saw him grin and shake his head as if he had heard the thought. Ahenobarbus remembered that Caesar had called him ‘general’ and the words died in his throat.

Julius’ voice echoed across them. ‘I am within my rights to have you disarmed and sold into slavery for what you have done today. I see bared swords and spears in your ranks even now! Do not force my hand, gentlemen. I am a loyal general of Rome. I am the commander of Gaul and in my person I am the Senate and the law. Do not think to raise your weapons against me.’

Every man in the guards stood appalled as his words washed over them. Ahenobarbus saw them lower swords and spears as Julius wheeled his mount and came back along the line.

‘I have not come back from ten years of war to struggle against my own people here. I tell you that you have been misled. I give you my word that not one of you will be killed if you put away your weapons now.’ He swept his gaze over the men. ‘You have a choice, gentlemen. I will treat you with honour if you make good your mistake. Look around you. I do not need to be merciful. After this, I will consider you traitors to Rome.’

He had reached Ahenobarbus once more and the guard was forced to look up into the sun to meet his eyes. Julius was dark against the light as he waited for a response.

‘Well? Your idiocy has brought them here,’ Julius said softly. ‘Will you see them all killed for nothing?’ Mutely, Ahenobarbus shook his head. ‘Then stand them down and bring the officers to me, Ahenobarbus. We must discuss the terms of the surrender.’

‘You did break a law when you crossed the Rubicon, sir,’ Ahenobarbus said stubbornly.

Julius’ eyes flashed. ‘And Dictatorships are meant to be temporary. Sometimes, a man must act according to his conscience, General,’ he replied.

Ahenobarbus looked away at his men for a moment. ‘I have your word that there will be no punishment?’ he said.

Julius did not hesitate. ‘I will not shed Roman blood, General. Not unless I must. You have my word.’

Being addressed as an equal was such a small thing, but the urge to throw away his life had faded like a memory. Ahenobarbus nodded. ‘Very well, sir. I will stand down.’

‘Give me your sword,’ Julius said.

The two men locked eyes for a moment before Ahenobarbus held it up and Julius’ hand closed over the scabbard. The symbolic gesture was seen by all the guards.

‘The right choice, at last,’ Julius said, quietly, before cantering back to his own lines.