The Gods of War

  The youngest of the slave girls waited patiently with her pot of dark kohl, watching as Servilia checked the results in the mirror. The whole room seemed brighter as a result of the belladonna, and Servilia felt her spirits rise. Caesar was coming home.

  As Caesar had ordered, Ahenobarbus marched into the old barracks of Primigenia, outside the walls of Rome. They had fallen into disuse over the previous decade and he had Seneca set up work details to restore them to cleanliness and order while he was still shaking the dust of the road from his sandals.

  Alone for a few precious moments, he entered the main building and sat at the table in the officers’ hall, resting a wineskin in the dust. He could hear his men chatter and argue outside, still discussing what had happened to them. He shook his head, hardly able to believe it himself. With a sigh, he opened the bronze mouth on the wine and tipped it back, sending a line of harsh liquid into his throat.

  It would not be long, he thought, before someone came to ask questions. The city had scouts out for miles and he knew his movements had been seen and reported. He wondered to whom they would report, now that Pompey had gone. Rome was without a government for the first time in centuries, and memories of the chaos under Clodius and Milo would still be fresh in many minds. Fear would keep them in their houses, he suspected, while they waited for the new master to come in.

  A clatter of iron-shod sandals made him look up and grunt at Seneca as the young man put his head around the doorway.

  “Come in and have a drink, lad. It’s been a strange day.”

  “I have to find—” Seneca began.

  “Sit down and have a drink, Sen. They’ll get by without you for a little while.”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  Ahenobarbus sighed. He’d thought some of the reserve between them had been broken down, but with the city walls in sight Seneca had once again begun to think of his future, like every other young Roman of the times. It was the disease of the age.

  “Have you sent runners out? We’d better be sure Pompey isn’t still waiting at the coast for us.”

  “No! I didn’t think of it,” Seneca replied, beginning to rise.

  Ahenobarbus waved him back to his seat. “That will wait as well. I’m not even sure we could join him now.”

  Seneca suddenly looked wary and Ahenobarbus watched as the young man pretended to be confused.

  “You gave the oath to Caesar, just as I did, lad. You won’t be telling me you didn’t understand what it meant.”

  He thought the young man might lie, but Seneca raised his head and returned his gaze.

  “No. I understood it. But I swore another oath to fight for Rome. If Pompey has taken the Senate to Greece, I must follow him.”

  Ahenobarbus gulped at the wine before passing it over.

  “Your life belongs to Caesar, lad. He told you enough times. If you take the field against him after what happened, there’ll be no mercy from him, not again.”

  “My duty is with Pompey,” Seneca replied.

  Ahenobarbus looked at him and blew air out in a long sigh. “Your honor is your own, though. Will you break the oath to Caesar?”

  “An oath to an enemy does not bind me, sir.”

  “Well, it binds me, lad, because I say it does. You want to think whose side you would rather be on. If you go to Pompey, Caesar will cut your balls off.”

  Seneca stood, flushed with anger. “As he did yours?” he said.

  Ahenobarbus slammed his fist onto the table, making the dust rise in a cloud. “Would you rather he had killed all of us? That’s what Pompey would have done! He said he was coming to restore order and law and then he proved it, Seneca, by letting us go and trusting our oath. He impressed me, lad, and if you weren’t so busy looking for your next promotion, you’d see why.”

  “I can see he did impress you. Enough to forget the loyalty you owe the Senate and the Dictator.”

  “Don’t lecture me, boy!” Ahenobarbus snapped. “Look up from your precious books and see what’s happening. The wolves are out, do you understand? Ever since Caesar came south. Do you think Pompey’s interested in your loyalty? Your noble Senate would crush you for a jug of wine, if they were thirsty.”

  For a moment of strained silence, both men faced each other, breathing heavily.

  “I used to wonder why a man of your years was given no more than a road fort to command,” Seneca said stiffly. “I understand it now. I will lecture any Roman soldier who does not give his life into the hands of his superiors. I would expect no less from those who follow me. I won’t sit this out, Ahenobarbus. I would call that cowardice.”

  His contempt was written in every line of his young face, and Ahenobarbus suddenly felt too tired to go on.

  “Then I will pour a little wine into your grave when I find it. That’s the best I can offer you.”

  Seneca turned his back without saluting and left the room, his footprints visible in the dust behind him. Ahenobarbus snorted in anger and lifted the wineskin, pressing his fingers in deeply.

  A stranger entered only a few minutes later, finding him drawing idly in the dust on the table, lost in thought.

  “Sir? I have been sent by my master to hear if you have any news,” the man said without preamble.

  Ahenobarbus looked up at him. “Who is left to be sending anyone anywhere? I thought the Senate had all gone with Pompey.”

  The man looked uncomfortable and Ahenobarbus realized he had not given his master’s name.

  “Some of the Senate did not see the need to travel, sir. My master was one of those.”

  Ahenobarbus grinned. “Then you’d better run back and tell him Caesar is coming. He’s two, maybe three hours behind me. He’s bringing back the Republic, lad, and I wouldn’t stand in his way.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The extraordinarii stood by their mounts, heaving at the great doors of the Quirinal gate in the north of the city. It had been left unbarred and the walls were empty of soldiers to challenge them. Now that the moment had come, there was a hush over the city and the streets by the gate were deserted. The Gaul riders exchanged glances, sensing eyes on them.

  The tramp of the four legions was a muted thunder. The extraordinarii could feel the vibration under their feet and dust shimmered in the cracks between the stones. Fifteen thousand men marched toward the city that had declared them traitor. They came in ranks of six abreast and the tail of the column stretched back farther than the eye could see.

  At the head came Julius on a prancing dark gelding of the best bloodlines in Spain. Mark Antony and Brutus rode a pace to the rear, with shields ready in their hands. Domitius, Ciro, and Octavian made up the spearhead and all of them felt the tension of the moment with something like awe. They had known the city as a home and a distant mother and as a dream. To see the gates open and the walls unguarded was a strange and frightening thing. They did not talk or joke as they rode in, and the marching men of the column kept the same silence. The city waited for them.

  Julius rode under the arch of the gate and smiled as its shadow crossed his face in a dark bar. He had seen cities in Greece and Spain and Gaul, but they could only ever be reflections of this place. The simple order of the houses and the neat lines of paving spoke to something in him and made him sit straighter in the saddle. He used the reins to turn his Spanish mount to the right, where the forum waited for him. Despite the solemnity of the moment, he was hard-pressed to keep his dignity. He wanted to grin, to shout a greeting to his people and his home, lost to him for so many years.

  The streets were no longer empty, he saw. Curiosity had opened the doors of homes and businesses to reveal dark interiors. The people of Rome peered out at the Gaul legions, drawn by the glamour of the stories they had heard. There was not a man or woman in Rome who had not listened to the reports from Gaul. To see those soldiers in the flesh was irresistible.

  “Throw the coins, Ciro. Bring them out,” Julius called over his shoulder, and he did grin then at the big man’s te
nsion.

  Like Octavian beside him, Ciro carried a deep bag tied to his saddle, and he reached into it to grasp a handful of silver coins, each bearing the face of the man they followed. The coins rang on the stones of the city and Julius saw children run from their hiding places to snatch them before they could come to rest. He remembered standing at Marius’s side in a Triumph long ago and seeing the crowd dip in waves to receive the offerings. It was more than the silver that they wanted and only the poorest would spend the coins. Many more would be kept for a blessing, or made into a pendant for a wife or lover. They carried the face of a man who had become famous through his battles in Gaul and yet was still a stranger to all but a very few.

  The shrill excitement of the children brought out their parents. More and more of them came to reach for the coins and laugh with relief. The column had not come to destroy or loot the city, not after such a start.

  Ciro and Octavian emptied the bags quickly and two more were passed forward to them. The crowd had begun to thicken, as if half of Rome had been waiting for some unseen signal. They did not all smile at the sight of so many armed men on the streets. Many of the faces were angry and dark, but as the column wound its way through the city, they grew fewer, lost amongst the rest.

  Julius passed the old house of Marius, glancing through the gates to the courtyard he had seen first as a boy. He looked behind him for Brutus and knew that he shared the same memories. The old place was shuttered and bare, but it would be opened again and given life. Julius enjoyed the metaphor and tried to frame it into something appropriate for the speech he would make, choosing and discarding words as he rode. He preferred to be seen as a spontaneous speaker, but every phrase had been written in the wheatfields, with Adàn.

  It was eerie to retrace the steps he had marched with the old Primigenia, before they had been scattered by the enemies of his family. His uncle had walked right up to the steps of the Senate house and demanded the Triumph they owed him. Julius shook his head in amused memory as he recalled the bull of a man Marius had been. The laws had meant nothing to him and the city had worshipped his irreverence, electing him consul more times than any man in the city’s history. They were different, wilder days then and the world had been smaller.

  A child scrambled onto the street after a rolling coin and Julius pulled on the reins to avoid knocking him down. He saw the boy hold his treasure aloft in a moment of pure happiness before his mother yanked him out of harm’s way. Julius dug in his heels before the lines behind could close up and wondered how it would be interpreted by the readers of omens. No doubt the priests were up to their elbows in entrails in every temple, looking for guidance. Julius thought of Cabera and wished he had lived to come back with them. He had buried the old man in Gaul, in sight of the sea.

  The crowd was swelling and somehow those that came later added to the mood of celebration, as if the word had already gone round the streets. The Gaul legions were not to be feared. They came in dignity, with offerings of silver and their weapons sheathed. The noise was growing in proportion to the numbers. Julius could already hear the cries of vendors selling their wares. He wondered how many of his coins would be exchanged for a cool drink in the sun or a slice of cold meat pie.

  When he glanced behind him, Julius was pleased to see his men respond to the people lining the road. Those who had relatives looked for them, their faces holding that peculiarly intent expression of one who waits to smile.

  The road eased downhill toward the forum and Julius could see the light of the open space long before he entered it. At the center of the city, it was the single image he had remembered most clearly in all his years away. It was hard to hold his mount back. The road ended in wealthy houses and temples, but Julius did not see them, his gaze fixed ahead. The sun seemed to increase its heat as he rode through to the heart of Rome, and he felt a rush of excitement that he could hardly believe.

  There were people there, already in their thousands. Some of them were cheering, but though their mood was light, Julius knew they would demand to be entertained, to be given precious memories with which to impress their children.

  They had left him a path through their midst to the new Senate house, and Julius glanced at the site of the old one before forgetting it. Rome was more than buildings, more than her history. She was made clean with the innocence of each new generation, and he was part of this rebirth.

  He looked straight ahead and smiled as the citizens raised their voices around him. He knew the legions marched at his back, but for a few moments in the sunlight it was almost as if he were coming in alone.

  He could not resist the excitement any longer then, and kicked his heels in, his horse’s hooves clattering over the stones. The steps of the Senate house rose before him and he sent his mount lunging up them in three great strides, turning to look back over the sea of faces. It had been more than ten years and he had known fear and pain and loss. But Rome was his, and he was home.

  The legions continued to flow into the forum, forming great glittering squares like islands in the colors of the crowd. Slaves and citizens mingled and pressed closer to the Senate house, eager to hear, to be part of it. The poorest of Rome were there in numbers and they were raucous, pushing and shoving to reach the Senate house steps. Julius saw the column halt at last, as his officers decided against bringing them all into one space. It was chaotic and dangerous and Julius laughed with pleasure.

  “I have come home!” he roared over their heads.

  They cheered him and he sat back in his saddle, raising his hands for quiet. He looked down at Brutus and Mark Antony as they brought their horses to the bottom of the steps. Both were smiling and relaxed. Brutus leant over to murmur a few words to Mark Antony and they chuckled together.

  Gradually, the noisy crowd quieted and stood waiting.

  “My people, in this place,” Julius said wonderingly. “I have waited ten years to stand here before you.” His voice echoed from the temples. “I have shown the strength we have in Gaul, have I not? I have toppled kings and brought their gold back to be spent here.”

  They bayed their enthusiasm for that idea and he knew he had judged the tone to please them. The more complex arguments would come later, when he had finished with this day.

  “I have built our roads on new lands and marked out farms for our citizens. If you have ever dreamed of owning land, I have it ready for you and for your children. I have crossed seas for you and made new maps.” He paused, letting the noise swell. “I carried Rome with me through the years and I did not forget my city.”

  Their voices crashed against him and he held up his hands again.

  “Yet even this moment is tainted. As I stand before you and breathe the air I love, I know there are some calling against me.” His expression became stern and the silence was perfect.

  “I am here to answer any charges against my name. But where are those who accuse Caesar? Will they not stand forward when I call for them? Let them come; I have nothing to hide.”

  Someone shouted a reply that Julius did not hear, though those around the speaker laughed and chattered.

  “Can it be true that Pompey has left my city? That the Senate you trusted to protect you has abandoned Rome? I tell you to judge them by their deeds. Rome deserves better men than they. You deserve better than men who slip away in the night when their lies are challenged! I am here to stand for consul, not to threaten or bluster. Who denies me my right? Which one of you will argue the law with me?”

  He swept his gaze over the crowd as they shifted and swirled like water in the forum. He loved them in all their vulgar, corrupt, violent glory. He loved them for their refusal to bow their heads and be docile, and he loved the exhilaration that came from riding their emotions. It had broken men before him, but there was no other risk worth taking.

  “For those of you who fear the future, I will say this. I have seen enough of war. I will try for peace with Pompey and the Senate, and if I am refused, I will try harder. I will
not take a Roman life unless I am forced. That is my vow.”

  A scream sounded from somewhere in the crowd and Julius saw a dozen of the Tenth detach with Regulus to see to the disturbance. The forum was packed so fully as to make any movement difficult, and Julius wondered at those who would take even this day as an opportunity for theft or rape. He hoped Regulus would break the heads of those responsible.

  “If I must end Pompey’s Dictatorship on the field of battle, then I will do it far from here. While there is life in me, I will protect Rome. That is my oath and I swear it before all the gods in this place. I will stand for lawful election, and if you make me consul, I will follow Pompey to the end of the earth to bring him down. He will not come here while I live.”

  In one swift movement, Julius swung his leg over the saddle and knelt on the white marble, letting the reins fall from his hand. The crowd craned and shuffled to see him bow and kiss the stone. His armor shone in the sunlight as he rose to his feet.

  “I am loyal. My life is yours.”

  Perhaps his legions began the roar of appreciation, but he could not be sure. For all the joys he had known, there was nothing to approach the unalloyed pleasure of his own people calling his name.

  He took up the reins once more, quieting the horse with a gentle hand.

  “I have given you Gaul. The earth is black and rich there for your farms. Its gold will build a new Rome, greater than anything we have seen before. A new forum, courts, amphitheaters, racetracks, theaters, and baths. All this is my gift to you. In return, I ask that you raise your heads and know you walk the streets of the center of the world. All roads lead here, to us. All courts have their authority from us. Weigh every act with that in mind and be sure you act nobly, for we are the nobility of all cities. We hold the torch for Greece, Spain, Gaul, and Britain to follow. To the least of you, to the poorest, I tell you to work and there will be food for your table. Struggle for justice and it will be there for you.”