Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

“No,” he called down. “You shall not pass.”

Julius looked at Mark Antony.

“If they march west around the Rhone before striking south, which tribes lie in their path?”

“The Aedui are directly west of us, so they would suffer most, though the Ambarri and Allobroges-”

Mark Antony began.

“Which of those is the richest?” Julius interrupted.

Mark Antony hesitated. “The Aedui are reputed to have vast herds of cattle and-”

“Summon their leader to me with the fastest riders and guarantees of safety,” Julius said, looking back over the railing. Below, the boat was already pulling for the far shore, still close enough for him to see the anger of the men in it.

Two nights later, the small fort was quiet, though Julius could hear the tramp of feet as the watch changed on the walls. New barracks had been built for the soldiers he had brought from Rome, but the three legions from Ariminum still slept in their tents in fortified camps. Julius didn’t intend building anything more permanent for them. He hoped it would not be necessary.

He waited impatiently as his words were relayed to the chief of the Aedui through the interpreter Mark Antony had supplied. The man seemed to ramble on far longer than Julius thought was justified, but he had decided not to tell them Adàn could speak their language, preferring to keep that advantage secret. His Spanish scribe had been startled when they had first heard the words of the Gauls. His people spoke a variation of the same tongue, enough for him to understand most of the conversations. Julius wondered if they had been one nation at some time in the far past, some nomadic tribe from distant lands who had settled Gaul and Spain while Rome was still a small village amongst seven hills.

Adàn attended every meeting after that, masking his listening with laborious copying out of Julius’s dictated notes and letters. When they were alone, Julius would question him closely and his memory was usually faultless.

Julius glanced at the studious young Spaniard as the interpreter repeated the danger of the Helvetii in what must have been endless detail. The leader of the Aedui was typical of his race, a dark-haired man with black eyes and a hard, fleshless face, partly hidden by a growth of beard that shone with oil. The Aedui claimed to have no king, but Mhorbaine was their chief magistrate, elected rather than born.

Julius tapped the fingers of one hand on the other as Mhorbaine answered and the interpreter paused to consider his translation.

“The Aedui are willing to accept your aid in repelling the Helvetii from their borders,” the interpreter said at last.

Julius barked a laugh that made Mhorbaine jump.

“‘Are willing’?” he said with amusement. “Tell him I will save his people from destruction if they pay in grain and meat. My men have to be fed. Thirty thousand men need more than two hundred cattle slaughtered each day, as a minimum. I will accept the equivalent in game or mutton, as well as grain, bread, oil, fish, and spices. Without supplies, I do not move.”

The negotiation began in earnest then, delayed at every stage by the slow translation. Julius ached to throw the interpreter out and have Adàn’s quick wits in his place, but held his patience as the hours stretched on and the moon rose orange over the mountains behind them. Mhorbaine too seemed to be losing his patience, and when they were all waiting for the interpreter to complete another hesitant phrase, the Gaul chopped his hand in the air, speaking in clear Latin, with an accent of Rome.

“Enough of this fool. I understand you well enough without him.”

Julius broke into laughter at the revelation. “He murders my language, I know that. Who taught you the words of Rome?”

Mhorbaine shrugged. “Mark Antony sent men to all the tribes when he first came. Most of them were killed and sent back to him, but I kept mine. This miserable creature learned from the same man, though badly. He has no ear for languages, but he was all I had to offer.”

The negotiations went faster after that and Julius was amused by the Gaul’s attempt to conceal his knowledge. He wondered if Mhorbaine guessed at Adàn’s function at the meeting. It was probable. The Aedui leader was sharply intelligent and Julius could feel the man’s cool assessment of him right to the end.

When it was finished, Julius stood to clasp Mhorbaine by the shoulder. There was muscle there, underneath the woolen cloth. The man was more a battle leader than a magistrate, at least as Julius understood the role. He ushered Mhorbaine out to the horses and went back in to where Adàn stood to meet him.

“Well?” Julius said. “Did I miss anything useful before Mhorbaine lost his patience?”

Adàn smiled at his amusement. “Mhorbaine asked the interpreter if you had the strength to turn the Helvetii and he said he thought it likely. That’s all you did not hear. They have no choice if they do not wish to see their herds swallowed by the Helvetii.”

“Perfect. I am transformed from a foreign invader every bit as dangerous as the Helvetii, to a Roman answering a call for help from a beleaguered tribe. Put that in the reports back to the city. I want my people to think well of what we do here.”

“Is that important?” Adàn asked.

Julius snorted. “You have no idea how important. The citizens do not want to know how countries are won. They prefer to think of foreign armies surrendering to our moral superiority rather than our strength.

I am forced to tread carefully here, even with my orders from the Senate. If the powers shift in Rome, I can still be recalled, and there will always be enemies who would delight in seeing me disgraced. Send the reports with enough coin to have them read on every street and in the forum. Let the people know how we are progressing in their name.”

Julius paused, his amusement fading as he thought of the problems he faced.

“Now all we have to do is defeat the largest army I have ever seen and there really will be good news to send back to Rome,” he said. “Summon Brutus, Mark Antony, Octavian, Domitius, all of my council.

Renius too, his advice is always sound. Tell Brutus to send out his scouts. I want to know where the Helvetii are and how they are organized. Quickly, lad. We have a battle to plan and I want to be on the march by dawn.”

Julius lay on his stomach to watch the Helvetii move across the plain. Even as he concentrated, some part of him noted the lush greenness of the land. It made the soil of Rome look poor in comparison.

Instead of the barren mountains of the south he knew, where farmers scratched a living, he saw vast rolling plains of good earth and hungered for it with all the primitive desire of a man who had worked his own crops. Gaul could feed an empire.

The light was beginning to fade and he clenched his fist in excitement as he heard the notes of wailing horns carried to him on the breeze. The great column was halting for the night. One of his scouts came to a skidding stop by him, panting as he too stretched out.

“It looks like all of them, sir. I couldn’t see any sort of rear guard or reserve. They’re moving fast, but they must rest tonight, or they’ll start leaving bodies on the plain.”

“They’re stopping now,” Julius said. “Can you see how the soldiers are settling into groups around the core? Greek spear phalanx, it looks like. I wonder if they came to it on their own, or if their ancestors ever passed through that land. If I have the chance, I’ll ask one of them.”

He scanned the plain, considering his alternatives. A mile behind him in the woods, he had thirty thousand legionaries ready to descend on the Helvetii, but after forcing a march of almost forty miles to intercept the tribe, the men were exhausted. Julius felt frustration that he had been unable to bring the great war ballistae and scorpion bows that formed such a part of the legion’s power. The plain would have been perfect for them, but until he cut roads through the land, they stayed in pieces on the carts he’d brought from Rome.