Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (13 page)

    Julius looked at the consul pityingly. “And if I had not returned from Spain?”

    “Then I would have found another way to beat them before the end.”

    “Would you?” Julius pressed him softly.

    Crassus turned to glare at the young man at his side. “Do not doubt it. However, now
you
are here. I can give the leaders to you, and the Tenth will destroy the rabble they have gathered. They were only a danger when no one knew. Without that surprise, you will scatter them and the consulship will be yours. I trust you will not forget your friends then.”

    Julius rose quickly, looking down at the consul. Had he heard the entire truth of it, or just the parts Crassus wanted him to hear? Perhaps the men he betrayed were guilty of nothing more than being enemies to Crassus. It would not do to send the Tenth into the homes of powerful men on the strength of a conversation Crassus could deny. The consul was capable of it, Julius was sure.

    “I will think what to do, Crassus. I will not be your sword to strike at enemies.”

    Crassus rose to face him, his eyes glinting with suppressed anger.

    “Politics is
bloody,
Julius. Better to learn that now than too late. I waited too long to deal with them. Be sure you don’t make the same mistake.”

    The two men entered the Senate building together, but apart.

CHAPTER 11

    The house Servilia had found for the campaign was three floors high and filled with people. Most importantly, it was central in the Esquiline valley, a busy part of the city that kept Julius in contact with those who needed to see him. From before dawn until the sun fell, his clients rushed in and out of the open doors, carrying errands and orders as Julius began to organize his strategy. The Tenth deployed in groups at night, and after three vicious fights with the gangs of raptores, they had cleared eleven streets in the poorest areas and were spreading out. Julius knew only a fool would believe the gangs were beaten, but they didn’t dare to gather in the areas he had chosen, and in time the people would realize they were under the protection of the legion and walk with confidence.

    He had accepted three cases in the forum court and won the first, with the next only three days away. The crowds had come to see the young orator and cheered the decision in his favor, though the crime was relatively mild. Julius still hoped, against reason, that he would be asked to try a murderer, or some other offense that would bring the people in their thousands to hear him speak.

    He hadn’t seen Alexandria for nearly two weeks after she accepted the commission to armor the fighters for a great sword tourney outside the city. When Julius was exhausted by the work, he refreshed himself by riding out to the Campus Martius to see the arena being constructed. Brutus and Domitius had sent word to every Roman town and city within five hundred miles to ensure the best quality of challenger. Even so, both men expected to be in the final, and Brutus was convinced he would win, going so far as to put most of a year’s salary on his success.

    When Julius walked to the forum, or rode out to the ring being constructed, he made a point of traveling without guards, convinced the people must see his confidence in them. Brutus had argued against the decision, then given way with suspicious ease. Julius guessed his friend had men shadow their general whenever he moved around the city, ready to defend him. He didn’t mind such a tactic as long as it was hidden. The appearance was far more important than the reality.

    As promised, Julius had argued in the Senate to order trade traffic to enter and leave Rome only at night, keeping the streets clear for citizens. His soldiers were on every corner to enforce the quiet after dark, and after a few bouts of shouting with incensed merchants, the change had come easily enough. As aedile, the responsibility for city order was his, and with Crassus openly supporting him, there had been few restrictions imposed by the other members of the Senate.

    Julius pressed the weariness from his eyes with his knuckles until he could see flashing lights. His clients and his soldiers were working hard for him. The campaign was going well and he could have been content if it hadn’t been for the problem Crassus had dropped in his lap.

    The consul pressed him daily to move against those he had named as traitors. While Julius delayed, he was tormented by the thought that they could strike and the city would plunge into a chaos he could have prevented. He had spies watching their houses and it was clear enough that they met in private rooms and bathhouses where no listening ear could intrude. Still Julius did not act. To believe there was a plot of the magnitude Crassus had described seemed impossible when he looked out on the quiet streets around the campaign house. Yet he had seen war touch Rome before, and that was enough for him to send Brutus to scout where Crassus had pointed them.

    This was the burden of the responsibility he had craved, Julius could acknowledge wryly to himself. Though he could wish for someone else to risk their career and life, the decision had been left in his hands. He did not underestimate the stakes. With nothing but a few names, Julius could not accuse senators of treason without putting his own neck on the line. If he failed to make a case, the Senate would turn against him without a moment’s regret. Worse, the people might fear a return to the days of Sulla, where no one knew who next would be dragged out of their homes for treason. Rome could be damaged more by error than if he had done nothing, and that pressure was almost too much to bear.

    Alone for a few precious moments, Julius thumped his fist on the table, shaking it. How could he trust Crassus after such a revelation? As consul, he should have denounced Catiline’s conspiracy the moment he stepped into the Senate building. Of all the men in Rome, he had failed in his most basic duty, and despite his protestations of innocence, Julius found it hard to forgive him that weakness. Not since Sulla had an armed force threatened to enter the city, and the memory of that night still caused Julius to shudder. He had seen Marius brought down by soldiers in dark cloaks, swarming over him like the ants of Africa. Crassus should have known better than to listen to men like Catiline, no matter what they promised him.

    Julius was startled from his thoughts by a commotion downstairs. His hand dropped to the gladius laid on the table before he recognized Brutus’s voice and relaxed. That was what Crassus had brought about, a return to the fear he had felt when Cato threatened him and every man had to be considered an enemy. Anger swelled as he considered how Crassus had manipulated him, yet he knew the old man would have what he wanted. The conspirators had to be reined in before they acted. Could they be threatened? he wondered. A century of the Tenth sent with his best officers to their homes, perhaps. If the men realized their plans were known, the conspiracy could be allowed to die stillborn.

    Brutus knocked and entered and Julius knew it was bad news as he saw his expression.

    “I had my men scout the villages Crassus warned you about. I think he’s telling the truth,” Brutus said without preamble. There was none of his usual lightness of manner.

    “How many swords do they have?” Julius asked.

    “Eight thousand, maybe more, though they’re spread out. Every town up there is full of men, far too many to support. No legion marks or banners, just an awful lot of blades too close to Rome for comfort. If my lads hadn’t been looking for signs, they might have missed them completely. I think the threat is real, Julius.”

    “Then I must move,” Julius said. “It’s gone too far to warn them off. Take men to the houses we’ve been watching. Go to Catiline’s home yourself. Arrest the conspirators and bring them to the Senate meeting this afternoon. I’ll take the floor there and tell our senators how close they came to destruction.” He rose and buckled his sword onto his belt. “Be careful, Brutus. They must have supporters in the city for this to work. Crassus said they would start fires in the poor areas as the signal, so we must have men on the streets, ready for them. Who knows how many are involved?”

    “The Tenth will be spread thinly if we try to cover the whole city, Julius. I can’t keep order and take the field against the mercenaries at the same time.”

    “I will convince Pompey to use his men on the streets. He’ll see the need. After you have brought the men to the Senate, give me an hour to put the case and then march. If I’m not there to lead, go alone against them.”

    Brutus paused for a moment, understanding what he was being asked to do.

    “If I take the field without a Senate order, that could be the end of me, whether we bring victory or not,” he said softly. “Are you sure you can trust Crassus not to betray you in this?”

    Julius hesitated. It would be enough to finish them all if Crassus refused to repeat his accusations in the Senate house. The old man was subtle enough to have created the conspiracy simply to remove a few of his opponents. Crassus could be rid of his competitors, while remaining unstained by all of it.

    Still, what choice did he have? He could not allow a rebellion to begin while he had the chance to stop it.

    “I can’t trust him, no, but no matter who is responsible for that gathering of soldiers, I cannot allow a threat to Rome. Arrest the men he has named before any more harm is done by waiting. I’ll take the responsibility if I can get to you. If I am not there, it’s your decision. Wait as long as you can.”

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    Brutus led twenty of his best with Domitius to take Catiline at his own home. To his fury, they were delayed crucial moments as they broke through his outer gate. By the time they reached the private rooms, Catiline was warming his hands at a brazier filled with burning papers. The man seemed calm as he greeted the soldiers. His face was almost sculpted out of hard planes, and the breadth of his shoulders showed he was one who took care of his strength. Unusually for a senator, he wore a gladius at his side in an ornate scabbard.

    Rushing in, Brutus threw a jug of wine on the flames. As the wet smoke hissed out, he rammed his hand into the sodden ashes, but there was nothing left.

    “Your master has overstepped the mark, gentlemen,” Catiline remarked.

    “My orders are to take you to the Curia, Senator, to answer charges of treason,” Domitius told him.

    Catiline let his right hand rest on the pommel of the gladius, and both Brutus and Domitius stiffened.

    “If you touch that sword again, you will die right now,” Brutus warned him softly, and Catiline’s eyes opened wide under the heavy lids as he assessed the danger facing him.

    “What is your name?” he asked.

    “Marcus Brutus of the Tenth.”

    “Well, Brutus, Consul Crassus is a good friend of mine, and when I am free, I will discuss this with you in more detail. Now do as you have been told and take me to the Senate.”

    Domitius put out a hand to hold the senator’s arm, and Catiline knocked it aside, his temper showing through the false calm.

    “Do not
dare
to put hands on me! I am a senator of Rome. When this is over, do not think I will forget the insults to my person. Your master will not always be able to protect you from the law.”

    Catiline swept out past them, his expression murderous. The soldiers of the Tenth formed up around him, exchanging worried glances. Domitius said nothing more as they reached the street, though he hoped for all their sakes that the other groups had found some proof with which to accuse the men. Without it, Julius could well have created his own destruction.

    The road outside was heaving with the morning crowds, and Brutus had to use the flat of his sword to clear the way for them. The press was too great for the citizens to move away easily, and progress was slow. Brutus swore under his breath as they reached the first corner, and didn’t sense the change in the crowd until it was almost too late.

    The children and women had vanished and the soldiers of the Tenth were surrounded by hard-looking men. Brutus glanced back at Catiline. The senator’s face had lit with triumph. Brutus felt himself shoved and hemmed in and, in a sickening flash of understanding, knew Catiline had been prepared for them.

    “Defend yourselves!” Brutus roared. Even as he gave the order, he saw swords torn free from under cloaks and tunics as the crowd came alive with violence. Catiline’s men had been hidden among the passersby, waiting to free their leader. The street seethed with swords and screams as the first soldiers of the Tenth were caught unawares and cut down.

    Brutus saw Catiline being drawn clear by his supporters and tried to grab him. It was impossible. Even as Brutus stretched out his arm, someone cut at it and he defended himself furiously. Pressed by bodies, he felt close to panic. Then he saw Domitius had cleared a bloody space in the street and moved to his side.

    The soldiers of the Tenth held their nerve, cutting Catiline’s supporters down with the grim efficiency of their training. There were no weak men amongst them, but each was faced with two or three swords swinging wildly. For all the attackers’ lack of skill, they fought with fanatical energy, and even the legionary armor could turn only a few of the blows.

    Brutus grabbed a man by the throat with his left hand and jerked him into the path of two more, killing them with neat strokes as they struggled against each other. He felt his pounding heart settle then, giving him the chance to glance around him. He leaned back from a gladius aimed to cut through his sword arm and sent a riposte into the throat of the wielder. Throat and groin, the quickest deaths.

    Brutus staggered as something hit him low in the back, and he felt one of the straps give on his chestplate, shifting the weight. He spun with the sword at a sharp angle to cut into another man’s collarbone and drop him into the mess of filth and flesh at their feet. Blood spattered across him and he blinked quickly, looking for Catiline. The senator had gone.

    “Clear this damned street, Tenth!” he shouted, and his men responded, cutting their way through. The heavy gladius blades chopped into the enemy, cutting limbs free as easily as a butcher’s cleaver. With some of Catiline’s men retreating with the senator, the numbers were thinning and the legionaries were able to isolate those remaining, ramming their blades over and over into the bodies to repay the insult of the attack in the only coin it deserved.

    When it was done, the legionaries stood panting, their armor covered in dark blood that dripped slowly from the polished metal. One or two of them walked carefully to each of Catiline’s men and thrust their swords in one last time to be sure.