Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

“Clear the streets,” he ordered. “Get them back inside until we can control the gangs.” Behind him, new fires lit the gray sky and the snow still fell.

That night, the city erupted. Clodius’s body had been carried into the temple of Minerva, and thousands of men stormed the building, wild with grief and anger at the death of their master. The legionaries there were torn apart and fires were set all over the city as those who had followed Clodius hunted for Milo and his supporters. Pitched battles were fought in the streets against Pompey’s men, and twice the legionaries were forced to retreat as they were attacked on all sides and became lost in the maze of alleys. Some were trapped in buildings and burnt with them. Others were caught by large groups and overwhelmed by a savage mob. A city was no place for a legion to fight. Clodius’s officers lured them in by making women scream and then dropped on them, stabbing mindlessly until they were dead or forced to run.

Pompey himself was forced back toward the Senate house by a mass of armed men. He broke them at last with a third shield charge, but there were always more. He thought that every man in Rome had armed himself and was on the streets, and the numbers were simply overwhelming. He decided to retreat to the Senate steps and use that building to coordinate his remaining forces, yet as he clattered back to the open space of the forum, his jaw dropped in horror at the sight of thousands of torches clustered around the building.

They had broken open the bronze doors and Clodius was being carried over their heads into the deeper darkness within. Pompey saw the senator’s bloody corpse jerk and flop as they passed it up the steps.

The forum was full of armed men, shouting and roaring. Pompey hesitated. He had never run from anything in his life, and what he was witnessing was the end of everything he loved in Rome, yet he knew his men would be destroyed if he took them into the forum. Half the city seemed to be there.

Inside the dark Senate house, Pompey saw the flicker of flames. Cheering men came out onto the snowcovered steps, howling as they waved their blades in the air. Gray smoke billowed out of the doorway and Pompey felt tears on his face, warm against his cold skin.

“My theater. Re-form on my theater,” he called to his waiting men.

They backed from the surging crowd around the Curia and finally Pompey turned away from the flames that crackled through the roof, shattering the marble with reports that echoed across the forum. It was a worse pain than he could have imagined seeing the capering figures against the flames. Only the darkness hid his men and he felt a raging frustration at being forced to retreat from the heart of his city. Only dawn would bring an end to it, he knew. The raptores had destroyed the rule of law and were drunk with their new power. But when the morning came, they would be dazed and exhausted, appalled at what they had done. Then he would bring order, and write it in iron and blood.

The weak morning light streamed in from the high windows of Pompey’s theater, illuminating the packed ranks of men he had summoned from all over the city. As well as the Senate themselves, Pompey had sent centuries of his legion to bring in the tribunes, the magistrates, the aediles, quaestors, praetors, and every other rank of power in Rome. More than a thousand men sat on the wide rings around the central stage looking down on Pompey, and they were grim with fear and exhaustion. There were several faces missing from the ranks after the riots, and not one of them failed to appreciate the seriousness of their position.

Pompey cleared his throat and rubbed briefly at the goose bumps that had come up on his bare arms.

The theater was not heated and he could see their breath frost the air as they watched him in silence.

“Last night was the closest I have ever come to seeing the end of Rome,” he began.

They sat as still as statues to listen and Pompey saw determination in their expressions. All the petty rivalries had been forgotten in the face of the previous night’s events, and he knew they would give him anything to restore peace in the city before night fell once more.

“You have all heard that Clodius was killed in the fighting, his body burnt in the Curia, itself reduced to ashes. Much of the city has been destroyed by fire, and bodies choke every street and gutter. The city is in chaos, without food or water over great parts of it. By tonight, much of the population will be hungry and the violence could begin once more.”

He paused, but the silence was perfect.

“My soldiers captured Senator Milo at sunrise when he tried to escape the city. I intend to use the daylight hours to search Rome for the rest in their chain of command, but trials would give their supporters time to regroup and rearm. I do not intend to give them another chance, gentlemen.” He took a deep breath. “I have called you here to vote me the powers of Dictatorship. If I remain bound by our laws, I cannot answer for the peace of the city tonight or any other night. I ask that you stand to confirm my appointment.”

Almost as one, the thousand members of the ruling class stood. Some rose to their feet faster than others, but in the end Pompey nodded with fierce satisfaction and waved them back to their seats.

“I stand before you as Dictator. I now declare martial law throughout Rome. A new curfew will be enforced at sunset each evening, and those caught on the streets will be executed immediately. My legion will cut out the leaders and torture will give us the names of the key men from the ranks of the street gangs. I declare this building to be the seat of government until the Senate house is rebuilt. Food will be distributed from the forum and the north and south gates of the city each morning until the emergency is over.”

He looked round at the ranks of his people and smiled tightly. Now it would begin to hurt a little.

“Each of you will deliver a tithe of one hundred thousand sesterces or a tenth of your wealth, whichever is the greater. The Senate treasury was looted and we need funds to put the city back on her feet. You will be repaid when the coffers are full once again, but until then it is a necessary measure.”

The first grumblings of disquiet went around the echoing chamber, but they were a tiny minority. The rest of them had been forced to look hard at the fragility of all they thought solid, and would not balk at paying for their safety. Pompey was sorry Crassus wasn’t there. He would have stung the old man for a huge sum. Sending a begging letter would not have the force of a demand in person, but it could not be helped.

Pompey went on after a brief glance at his notes.

“I will recall a legion from Greece, but until they reach the city, we need every man who can use a gladius. Those of you who employ guards will leave numbers with the scribes as you leave. I must know how many men we can trust to take arms in the event of further rioting. My legion took heavy losses last night and those men must be replaced as a matter of priority if we are to crush the mob before it gains strength once more. I will execute the followers of Milo and Clodius without ceremony or public announcement.

“Tonight will be the most difficult, gentlemen. If we get through that, order will slowly be restored.

Eventually, I will levy a tax on all citizens in Roman lands to rebuild the city.”

He still saw numb fear on many of the faces before him, but others showed the first glimmerings of hope at his words. He called for responses and many of them rose to query the details of the new administration. Pompey relaxed as he began to work his way through the questions. Already, the stunned look was fading from their faces as they fell into the routines of the old Senate house. It gave him hope for them all.