Brutus knew he had to make a decision quickly. His men watched him in silence, waiting for the word.
“Domitius, leave our wounded in the care of the nearest houses. Before you catch us up, take a message to Julius at the Senate. We can’t wait for him now. The rest of you, run with me.”
Without another word, Brutus broke into a fast jog, his men falling in behind him as quickly as they were able.
The Senate house was in chaos, as three hundred senators fought to shout over the others. The protests were loudest in the center of the floor as four of the men Julius had arrested were chained there, demanding proof of the accusations against them. The men had been resigned at first, but when they realized Catiline would not be dragged in to join them, their confidence quickly returned.
Pompey waited impatiently for silence and finally was forced to add his own voice to the din, bellowing over them.
“Take your seats and be still!” he roared at the men, glaring around. Those nearest to him sat quickly enough and the ripple that followed restored some semblance of order.
Pompey waited until the noise had sunk to whispers. He gripped the rostrum tightly, but before he could begin to address the unruly Senate, one of the four accused lifted his chains up in appeal.
“Consul, I demand our release. We have been dragged from our homes on—”
“Be silent, or I will have you gagged with iron,” Pompey replied. He spoke quietly, but this time, his voice carried to the farthest reaches of the house. “You will have a chance to answer the charges Caesar has brought against you.” He took a deep breath.
“Senators, these men are accused of a plot to create riots in the city leading to full-scale rebellion and an overturn of the power of this body, culminating in the murder of our officials. Those of you crying so loudly for justice would do well to consider the seriousness of these offenses. Be silent for Caesar, who accuses them.”
As Julius walked toward the rostrum, he felt sweat break out on his skin. Where was Catiline? There had been enough time for Brutus to bring him with the others, but now Julius felt each step as a slow march to destruction. He had nothing except Crassus’s word with which to attack the men or to assuage his own doubts.
He faced the ranks of his colleagues, noting the rebellious expressions of many of them. Suetonius sat almost opposite with Bibilus. The two of them were practically quivering with interest at the proceedings. Cinna was there, his expression unreadable as he nodded to Julius. Since the death of his daughter, he had rarely been seen in the Senate. There could be no friendship between them, but Julius did not judge him an enemy. He wished he could be as sure about the other men of the Senate.
Julius took a calming breath as he arranged his thoughts. If he was wrong about any of it, it was all over for him. If Crassus had placed him at this point intending to leave him for the wolves, he faced disgrace and possibly even banishment.
Julius met Crassus’s eyes, looking for a sign of triumph. The old man touched himself lightly on the chest and Julius gave no sign he had seen.
“I accuse these men and one other, by the name of Lucius Sergius Catiline, of treason against the city and her Senate,” Julius began, the words echoing in the dead silence. The breath seemed to shudder out of him. There was no going back.
“I can confirm that an army has been assembled in towns north of the city, eight to ten thousand strong. With Catiline as their leader, they were to attack on the signal of fires set on the hills of Rome, coupled with general unrest. This was to have been fomented by supporters within the city.”
Every eye turned on the four men who were chained at their feet. They stood together defiantly, glaring back. One of them shook his head as if in disbelief at Julius’s words.
Before Julius could continue, a messenger in Senate livery ran to his side and handed up a wax tablet. Julius read it quickly, frowning.
“I have further news that the leader of these men has escaped those I sent to arrest him. I ask now for a Senate order to take the Tenth north against the brigands they have assembled. I must not delay here.”
A senator stood slowly from the seated ranks. “What proof do you offer us?”
“My word and that of Crassus,” Julius replied quickly, ignoring his own doubts. “It is the nature of a conspiracy not to leave too many traces, Senator. Catiline escaped by killing nine of my men. He approached Consul Crassus with these four before you, offering the death of Pompey and a new order in Rome. More will have to wait until I have dealt with the threat to the city.”
Crassus stood then and Julius met his eyes, still unsure whether he could trust him. The consul looked down at the chained conspirators in front of him, and his expression showed a deep anger.
“I name Catiline as traitor.”
Julius felt a great wave of relief as Crassus spoke. Whatever the old man was doing, at least he was not the one to fall. Crassus glanced over at him before continuing and Julius wondered how much the man understood of his thoughts.
“As consul, I give my consent for the Tenth to leave Rome and take the field. Pompey?”
Pompey rose, his glance snapping to each man in turn. He too could feel there was more to the story than he was being told, but after a long pause, he nodded.
“Go then. I will trust the need is as great as I am told, Julius. My own legion will guard against a rebellion in the city. However, these men you call conspirators will not be sentenced until you return and I am satisfied the issue is clear. I will question them myself.”
A storm of whispering broke out on the benches at this terse exchange, and the three men took silent stock of each other’s positions. There was no give in any of them.
Crassus broke first and called for a scribe to write the order, handing it into Julius’s hands as he came down from the rostrum.
“Do your duty and you will be safe,” he murmured.
Julius stared at him for a moment before hurrying out into the forum.
CHAPTER 12
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Brutus rode with his extraordinarii at the head of the Tenth, covering many times the distance of the marching ranks as they scouted ahead and to the sides of the column. Of necessity, they were north and west of the city as the bulk of the legion had to be summoned from the camp near the coast and made their way across country to meet the single century Brutus had brought from the old Primigenia barracks.
When they had joined, some of the nerves that had affected Brutus vanished in the excitement of leading the legion against an enemy for the first time. Though he hoped to see Julius coming up behind them, another part of him wanted to be left alone to lead them in battle. His extraordinarii wheeled at his order as if they had fought together for years. Brutus reveled in the sight and felt more than a little reluctance at the thought of giving it up to anyone.
Renius had stayed at the coast with five centuries to protect the equipment and gold from Spain. It had to be done, but Brutus begrudged every man lost while the numbers of the enemy were unknown. As he cast a professional eye back down the column, he felt a thrill of pride at the men who marched for him. They had started with nothing more than a gold eagle and a memory of Marius, but were once again a legion, and they were his.
He cast an eye up to the position of the sun and remembered the maps his scouts had drawn. Catiline’s forces were more than a day’s march away from the city, and he would have to decide whether to make a fortified camp or to march through the night. The Tenth were undoubtedly as fresh as they could ever hope to be, long recovered from the sea journey that had brought them home. As well as that, a rebellious thought reminded him that Julius would be able to catch them if they camped and the command would shift to him once more. The broken ground would be treacherous in the dark, but Brutus resolved to drive his men on until they met the enemy.
The region of Etruria, of which Rome formed the southernmost point, was a land of hills and ravines, difficult to cross. The Tenth were forced to spread into
wider lines to negotiate their way around ancient tors and valleys, and Brutus was pleased to see the formations change with speed and discipline.
Octavian galloped across his line of vision, turning his gelding in a flashy display of skill as he came abreast.
“How much farther?” he called over the jingle and tramp of the ranks.
“Another thirty miles to the villages we scouted,” Brutus replied, smiling. He could see the excitement he felt mirrored in Octavian’s face. The boy had never known a battle, and for him the march was untempered by thoughts of death and pain. Brutus should have been immune, but the Tenth shone in the sun and the boy he had once been reveled in command.
“Take a century to scout the back trail,” Brutus ordered, ignoring the look of disappointment that flashed across the younger man’s face. It was hard on him, but Brutus knew better than to allow Octavian the first charge before he had learned a little more of the reality of battle.
He watched as Octavian gathered riders and moved in perfect formation to the rear of the column. Brutus nodded in satisfaction, taking pleasure from the chance to think as a general.
He remembered how, years before, he had handed Primigenia over to Julius, and a bitter regret stole over him before he crushed it. The command he exercised was only a proxy until Julius arrived, but he knew the moments of this march would stay in his memory for a long time.
One of the scouts came in fast, the horse skidding in the loose earth as the rider yanked on the reins. The man’s face was pale with excitement.
“The enemy is in sight, sir. They are marching toward Rome.”
“How many?” Brutus snapped, his heart racing.
“Two legions of irregulars, sir, in open squares. No cavalry that I could see.”
A shout went up from behind and Brutus turned in his saddle with a feeling almost of dread. Behind the column, two riders galloped toward them. He knew then that Domitius had done his duty and brought Julius to the Tenth. He clenched his jaw against the anger that swamped him.
He turned to the scout and hesitated. Should he wait for Julius to arrive and take command? No, he would not. The order was his to give and he took a cool breath.
“Pass the word. Advance and engage the enemy. Have the cornicens sound maniple orders. Velites on point to meet them. Extraordinarii to the flanks. We’ll break these bastards on the first charge.”
The scout saluted before galloping away and Brutus felt empty as he watched the dust cloud that promised blood and battle. Julius would take them in now.
As they sighted the legion coming at them, the ranks of mercenaries wavered and slowed. The Tenth were sliding over the land toward them like some great silvered beast, and the ground shivered delicately with the cadence of their march. A host of flags had been raised into the wind, and the wail of the cornicens could be heard thinly against the breeze.
Four thousand of those who had come for Catiline’s gold were from Gaul, and their leader turned to the Roman, resting a powerful hand on his shoulder.
“You said the way to the city would be undefended,” he growled.
Catiline shook the hand free. “We have the numbers to take them, Glavis,” he snapped. “You knew it would be bloody work.”
The Gaul nodded, squinting through the dust to the Roman ranks. His teeth showed through his beard as he pulled a heavy sword from a scabbard across his back, grunting as he took the weight. All around him, his men followed the gesture, until a host of blades were raised above their heads to meet the charge.
“Just this little legion, then, and one more in the city. We’ll eat them,” Glavis promised, tilting back his head to roar. The Gauls around him responded and the front ranks separated and moved faster, sprinting across the broken ground.
Catiline drew his own gladius and wiped sweat from his eyes. His heart pounded with unaccustomed fear and he wondered if the Gaul had seen it. He shook his head in bitterness and cursed Crassus for his lies. There may have been a chance to take Rome in confusion and panic and the dark, but a legion in the field?
“We have the numbers,” he whispered to himself, swallowing hard. Ahead of him, he saw a flowing mass of horses overtake the ranks. The ground shook with the weight of the charge, and Catiline suddenly believed he was going to die. In that moment, his fear vanished and his feet were light as he ran.
Julius took command without hesitation as he rode his lathered mount up to Brutus. He handed over the wax tablet signed by the consuls.
“Now we are legitimate. You have given the battle orders?”
“I have,” Brutus replied. He tried to hide the coldness he felt, but Julius was looking away from him, judging the line of approach to the rebel forces.
“The extraordinarii are ready on the flanks,” Brutus said. “I would like to join them there.”
Julius nodded. “I want these mercenaries broken quickly. Take the right and lead them in on my signal. Two short notes from the horns. Listen well for it.”
Brutus saluted and moved away, relinquishing his command without a backward glance. His extraordinarii had taken station in ranks. They let his horse through to the front as they saw him join them, and a few cheerful voices called out a welcome. Brutus frowned at that, hoping they were not too confident. As with Octavian, there was a difference between smashing target shields to pieces and sending spears into living men.
“Hold your line,” Brutus bellowed over their heads, glaring at them.
They quieted then, though the excitement was palpable. The horses whinnied and pulled to be allowed to run, but were reined in with tight hands. The men were nervous, Brutus could see. Many of them checked their spears over and over, loosening them in the long leather holders that hung down by the horses’ sides.
They could see the faces of the rebels now, a mass of shouting, running men who held swords high over their shoulders for one smashing blow. The blades caught the sun.
The centuries of the Tenth tightened their formations, each man ready with his drawn gladius, his shield protecting the man on his left. There were no gaps in their lines as they trotted forward. Then the cornicens blew three short blasts and the Tenth broke into a run, holding silence until the last moment, when they roared as one and heaved their spears into the air.
The heavy iron points punched men from their feet along the enemy line, and Brutus had the extraordinarii launch a fraction behind, their more accurate strikes aimed at anyone trying to rally the enemy. Before the armies met in earnest, hundreds had died without a Roman life taken. The extraordinarii circled on the wings and Julius could see the riders bring their shields around automatically to cover their backs as they wheeled. It was a superb display of skill and training, and Julius exulted at the sight of it as the main lines crashed together.
Glavis spent his first mighty blow on a shield, smashing it through. As he tried to recover, a sword entered his stomach. He winced in expectation of the pain to come, dragging his blade up again. As he tried for a second blow, another Roman crashed his shield into him and he fell sideways, the sword knocked from numb fingers. Glavis panicked then as he looked up and saw the forest of legs and swords beginning to pass over him. They kicked and stamped at him and in seconds his body had been stabbed four more times. The blood poured out of him and he spat wearily, tasting it in his throat. He struggled to rise, but they kept pounding at his body. No one could have marked the exact instant of his death. He didn’t have time to see the front line of his Gauls collapse as they found they could not break the fighting rhythm of the Tenth.
As Glavis was seen to fall, the Gauls wavered, and that was the moment Julius had waited to see. He shouted to his signaler and two short notes rang out.
Brutus heard and felt his heart leap in his chest. Despite the advantage of numbers, the mercenaries were breaking against the Roman charge. Some of them were already streaming away, dropping their swords. Brutus grinned as he raised his fist in the air, sweeping it down toward the enemy. Their spear holders were empty an
d now they would prove their true worth. The extraordinarii responded as if they had fought together all their lives, wheeling away to give themselves room and then hitting the enemy like a knife into their ranks, tearing them. Each rider guided his mount with one hand on the reins and his long spatha sword cutting heads from those that faced them. The horses were heavy enough to smash men from their feet, and nothing could stand against the sheer weight of them as they plunged into the lines, deeper and deeper, breaking the rebels apart.
The front rank of the Tenth moved quickly over their enemies, each man using his blade and shield in the knowledge that he was protected by his brother on the right. They were unstoppable and after the first ranks went down they picked up speed, heaving and grunting with the strain as arms began to tire.
Julius called the maniple orders and his centurions roared them out. The velites moved back on light feet and let the triarii come forward in their heavier armor.
The rebels broke then as the fresh soldiers came at them. Hundreds threw down their weapons and hundreds more sprinted away, ignoring the calls of their leaders.
For those that surrendered too early, there could be no mercy. The Roman line could not afford to let them through the advance, and they were killed with the rest.
The extraordinarii flowed around the rebels, a black mass of snorting horses and shouting riders, splashed red with blood and wild enough for nightmares. They hemmed them in and, as if there had been a general signal, thousands of men dropped their swords and raised empty hands, panting.
Julius hesitated as he saw the end. If he did not have the cornicens sound the disengage, his Tenth would continue until the last of the rebels were dead. Part of him was tempted to let that happen. What would he do with so many prisoners? Thousands of them had been left alive, and they could not be allowed to go back to their lands and homes. He waited, sensing the eyes of his centurions on him as they waited for the signal to stop the killing. It was butchery by then and already those closest to the Roman ranks were beginning to reach for their weapons again, rather than die unarmed. Julius swore softly to himself, chopping a hand down. The cornicens saw the motion and blew a falling tone. And it was finished.