Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

“Is there a commander amongst you?” he asked them at last.

The leaders looked at each other and then one stood forward.

“Glavis was, for those of us from Gaul,” the man said. He jerked a thumb back at the piles of bodies that littered the ground. “He’s back there, somewhere.”

The man returned Julius’s cold appraisal before looking away. He gazed over the battlefield with a sad expression before his eyes snapped back.

“You have our weapons, Roman. We’re no threat to you anymore. Let us go.”

Julius shook his head slowly. “You were never a threat to us,” he said, noting the spark of fire that shone in the man’s eyes before it was hidden. He raised his voice to carry to all of them.

“You have a choice, gentlemen. Either you die at my word…” He hesitated. Pompey would go berserk when he heard. “Or you take an oath as legionaries for me, under my orders.”

The babble of noise that followed was not restricted to the mercenaries. The soldiers of the Tenth gaped at what they were hearing.

“You will be paid on the first day of each month. Seventy-five silver coins to each man, though part of that will be kept back.”

“How much of it?” someone called.

Julius turned in the direction of the voice. “Enough for salt, food, weapons, armor, and a tithe to the widows and orphans. Forty-two denarii will be left for each man to spend as he sees fit.” A thought struck him then and made him hesitate. The pay for so many men would amount to thousands of coins. It would take huge wealth to keep two legions, and even the gold he had brought back from Spain would quickly dwindle under such a demand. How had Catiline found the money? He thrust the sudden suspicions aside to continue.

“I will seed your ranks with my officers and train you to fight as well as the men who made you look like children today. You will have good swords and armor and your pay will come on time. That or you die now. Go amongst your men and tell them. Warn them that if they are thinking of slipping away, I will hunt them down and hang them. Those who choose to live will be marched back to Rome, but not as prisoners.

The training will be hard, but they have courage enough to make a beginning. Anything else can be taught.”

“Will you give us back our weapons?” the voice came from the officers.

“Don’t be a fool,” Julius said. “Now move! One way or another, this will be over by sunset.”

Unable to meet his glare, the mercenaries moved off, heading back to their brothers kneeling in the mud. The legionaries let them pass through, exchanging glances of amazement.

While they waited, Brutus walked over to stand at Julius’s side.

“The Senate will not be pleased, Julius. You don’t need any more enemies.”

“I am in the field,” Julius replied. “Whether they like it or not, in the field I speak for the city. I am Rome, here, and the decision is mine.”

“But we had orders to destroy them,” Brutus said quietly enough not to be overheard.

Julius shrugged. “It may come to that yet, my friend, but you should be hoping they will take the oath.”

“Why should I be hoping that?” Brutus asked suspiciously.

Julius smiled at him, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.

“Because they will be your legion.”

Brutus held himself very still, taking it in.

“They broke against us, Julius. Mars himself couldn’t make a legion out of this lot.”

“You did it once, with Primigenia. You will do it with these. Tell them they survived a charge by the best legion ever to come out of Rome, under a general blessed. Raise their heads for them, Brutus, and they will follow you.”

“They will be mine alone?” Brutus asked.

Julius looked into his eyes then. “If you will still be my sword, I swear I will not interfere, though the overall command must be mine when we fight together. Aside from that, if you walk my path, it will be by your own choice-as it has always been.”

One by one, the mercenary officers were gathering again. As they met, they nodded sharply to each other, visibly relaxing. Julius knew he had them before their spokesman walked toward him.

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” the man said.

“There are no… dissenters?” Julius said softly. The Gaul shook his head.

“Good. Then have them stand. When every man has taken the oath, we will light torches and march through the night back to Rome. There is a barracks there for you and a hot meal.” Julius turned to Brutus.

“Send out the freshest riders carrying messages for the Senate. They won’t know whether we’re the enemy or not, and I don’t want to set off the very rebellion we have fought to prevent.”

“We are the enemy,” Brutus muttered.

“No longer, Brutus. Not one of them will take a step before he is bound by oath. After that, they will be ours, whether they know it or not.”

As Julius rode up to the city with a picked guard of the extraordinarii, he saw the gates had been closed against them. The first gray light of dawn was already showing on the horizon and he felt a gritty tiredness in his joints. There was still more to be done before he could sleep.

“Open the gate!” he shouted as he reined in, looking up at the shadowed mass of timber and iron that blocked his way.

A legionary wearing Pompey’s armor appeared on the wall, looking down at them. After a glance at the small group of riders, he peered out along the road, satisfying himself that there was no hidden force waiting to storm into the city.

“Not till dawn, sir,” he called down, recognizing Julius’s armor. “Pompey’s orders.”

Julius swore under his breath. “Throw me a rope, then. I have business with the consul and it won’t wait.”

The soldier disappeared, presumably to see his superior officer. The extraordinarii stirred restlessly.

“We were told to escort you to the Senate house, General,” one of them ventured.

Julius turned in his saddle to look at the man. “If Pompey has sealed the city, his legion will be out in force. I’ll be in no danger.”

“Yes, sir,” the rider replied, discipline preventing him contesting the order.

On the walls, an officer appeared in full armor, his helmet plume moving slightly in the night breeze.

“Aedile Caesar? I’ll send a rope down to you if you give me your word to come alone. The consuls made no allowance for you to return this early.”

“You have my oath,” Julius replied, watching as the man signaled and heavy coils came thumping down to the ground at the foot of the gate. He saw archers covering him from the gate towers and nodded to himself. Pompey was no one’s fool.

As he dismounted and took hold of the rope, Julius looked back at the extraordinarii.

“Return to the old Primigenia barracks with the others. Brutus is in command until my return.”

Without another word, he began to climb hand over hand.

Llight rain began to fall as Julius walked through the empty city. With dawn on the horizon, the streets should have been filled with workers, servants, and slaves, bustling along on a thousand errands. The cries of vendors should have been heard, coupled with the din of a thousand trades.

Instead, it was eerily quiet.

Julius hunched his shoulders against the rain, hearing his own footsteps echo back from the houses on either side. He saw faces at the high windows of the tenements, but no one called down to him and he hurried on toward the forum.

Pompey’s men stood at every corner in small groups, ready to enforce the curfew. One of them gripped his hilt as he caught sight of the lonely figure. Julius threw back his riding cloak to reveal the armor underneath, and they let him pass. The whole city was nervous and Julius felt a prickling anger at the part Crassus had played in it.