Текст книги "Swords of Rome"

Автор книги: Christopher Buckner

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The snow had begun to melt as the welcome warmth of spring finally arrived, and with it, renewed hope for the people of the Republic. As the ranks of those men able to take up arms and fight for their freedom swelled outside the walls of Rome, the sense of invulnerability began to take hold of the peoples’ hearts and minds. However, for Gaius, Prefect and acting commander of the steadily growing Sixth Legion, his nights had been restless for weeks as he tossed in bed. H mind too far gone for it to stay grounded, as he pondered many issues that plagued him: his new rank and the responsibility that came with training hundreds of raw recruits, most having never lifted a sword, no less used it. The impending campaign and the fear of again facing Hannibal in the field, but most of all, Julia and what had happened between the two of them when last he saw her.

His fantasy did not cloud reality. Gaius knew there was nothing he could do, and any words shared between Julia, and he only made things worse between them. He could win glory in battle a hundred times over, and still not attain her. However, he was not the problem. It was her.

Julia was a woman, and property of her father. Her heart played no role in how she was used, and Paullus offered more for Varro’s rise than Gaius ever could.

The guilt that he felt went towards Paullus as well. The man was good, and truly did seem to love Julia, despite Gaius’ wanting otherwise. The man had entrusted him, and even bestowed an uncommon confidence in their relationship, one which Gaius found himself appreciating more than he would have cared to believe. So, Gaius sulked – depressed, not sleeping and hardly eating as if the whole world was crashing down around him. He knew he had no right, and thought about Maurus’ word when he shared some of his feelings, “there are plenty of fish in the sea. And being of rank, you’ll have your pick of the best ones when this war is done.”

While his words were cliche, Gaius felt, having heard it a hundred times to love-sick men he wondered if they were true. Was there another woman out there for him that would heal his broken heart?

NO!Gaius exclaimed with a fury, as he tossed his blanket to the floor.

Gaius grew bored with his inability to sleep, so he stood from his bunk, got dressed and decided to take a walk through the camp. Outside, the moon hung at its highest point. The nights had grown warmer, but still, there was a cold nip to the air, which forced Gaius to pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

The camp held four thousand men, nearly all of them under his command. More recruits were being conscripted daily from Italian settlements and other providence loyal to Rome. Gaius had to admit that he was impressed that a brand-new army could be raised so quickly. Of course, it was glory or vengeance that most of the new soldiers sought – their allegiance came from Paullus’ wealth, which, alongside the Senate had been funding far more legions than the Republic had ever fielded before.

Most of those men and young boys drafted into the legion were asleep within their goat-skinned tents. A few soldiers were gathered around fires, talking among themselves, sharing drink and stories with the veteran who had survived Trebia and Trasimene, or the riots that engulfed the city after.

While there had been a time that Gaius recognized nearly every man in the Sixth, at the moment, as he looked at the faces of the men around their fires, he found it hard to place them. So many of his friends were gone, and the war hadn’t even reached a year yet. Many of those he would lead into battle were juvenile, sixteen or seventeen, others a bit older; so desperate the recruitment had been that retired veterans had been promised a hefty ransom and promotion if they should reenlist. Gaius looked to some of these men now to guide the adolescent, while he and his own veterans attempted to make them prime for battle. However, it troubled him more than the best men. The seasoned legions were still overseas, fighting in Greece, Macedonia and Africa. The Senate, under the guidance of Paullus and Varro had convinced the mob that recalling them was not needed. While it was true that protecting the Republic's interests beyond Rome’s borders was important, it was more likely, as rumors had persisted that the two consuls sought to build their own armies, and in return, shaping their destiny.

If victorious, some wondered, or feared, how far the two men might rise once the threat passed.

As Gaius wondered aimlessly toward the front gate to the camp, his attention was focused on one soldier who sat alone as he rubbed his hands over a dim fire. There was nothing of particular interest about the man – a boy really, other than the fact that he looked ridiculous in his oversized tunic.

His leather belt was fastened as tightly as it could, with a few extra notches carved into it so that the buckle could seal properly.

His arms and legs were nearly bare of hair, as was his chest and chin. His features were that of a boy, one that seemed barely fourteen, if not younger. His wide brown eyes stared without purpose at the dancing flames, as if his mind was elsewhere, perhaps home, wherever that might be.

“You should be asleep, soldier,” Gaius broke the dim quiet of the moon-filled night.

The boy seemed taken aback suddenly as he hadn’t seemed to notice Gaius standing a few paces before him.

As he focused his sight, waiting for his natural night vision to aid him, the boy sudden rose to his feet once his mind recalled Gaius’ face, and more importantly, his rank.

“Prefect! Sir!” the boy saluted without hesitation as he tried as best he could to seem taller and broader across the shoulders, as he puffed out his chest.

“The hour is late, and a soldier wakes early,” Gaius added as he came closer, before holding his hands out and embraced the rising heat from the fire.

“Yes, sir, but I was unable to sleep, so I thought I would come outside and sharpen my sword.”

Gaius glanced to the boy’s side, seeing that his gladius rested against the side of a log that the boy had used as a bench. Near it was a wet-stone.

“Are you having difficulty sleeping, or are the lads giving you trouble?” Gaius asked as the boy stood at ease.

“No sir. I find my accommodations acceptable, as well as my comrades.”

“Then, you are expecting an attack?” Gaius mused with a grin.

“No sir. I merely thought it best to keep vigil, sir.”

Gaius couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy’s eagerness. He clearly wanted to play the part of a soldier, well enough, but it was a terrible sight that he did not look the part.

“How old are you?” Gaius asked.

The boy hesitated for a moment. There was no denying his age, but the lad seemed to fear the answer, as if Gaius might cast him out of the army, or give him a lesser job. However, his young age and respect for Gaius’ rank did not give him the maturity to learn to lie, so he answered truthfully.

“Fourteen, sir. However, I will be fifteen in three months.”

“You could be dead in three months,” Gaius added, which forced the boy to swallow hard.

“I could be dead tomorrow, or the next day, or twenty years henceforth, sir. Death claims all of us, eventually,” the boy spoke, attempting to sound sure.

“Very true. What is your name?” Gaius asked.

“Cato, sir.”

“And where are you from, Cato?”

“Tarentum, sir.”

“You are a long way from home, Cato.”

Cato’s eyes drifted ever so slightly, as if he was recalling the home he left behind, which was to the south, along the coast, on the southern foot of Italy.

“Tarentum’s ports are important to the Republic. You should be home with the garrisons protecting Rome’s interests,” Gaius commented after a short pause. “Why bother coming all this way, certainly your parents must miss you.”

“I have no family to speak of,” Cato stated.

“Then, what did you do, who did you stay with?” Gaius asked.

“I was a clerk’s apprentice, working at the docks.”

“Then a boy of some talent and intelligence, then?”

“Not really, sir. I was never very good at counting. The master…” It was then that Cato realized that he said too much, which caused Gaius to perk up at the notion the boy had just alluded to.

“ Master,” Gaius repeated. “You were a slave?”

Cato was hesitant. A part of him wanted to run. He was near enough to the gate that he might have a shot. Certainly, once he confirmed his identity Gaius would turn him in. If he wasn’t sent home, he would be nailed upon the cross.

“I…” Cato bit his lip, fighting with himself to speak the truth. “I was a slave, sir, yes.” Cato finally admitted.

Gaius leaned in closer, now sitting next to Cato.

The boy seemed unsure what Gaius’ intentions were at the moment, but he sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest as he twitched terribly.

“A slave then? Might I ask, why come here? Why do you choose to join the army instead of running? There is so much going on across the country with Hannibal running amok, you might have found your freedom.”

“Because!” the boy blurted out loudly, but he quickly pulled himself back, lowering his voice as he answered Gaius’ question. If he was going to be turned in, then at least he was going to tell the truth, maintaining his honor.

“Because, Rome is in danger, and while I may be a slave – wasa slave, that doesn’t mean I don’t love the Republic as much as you.”

“You don’t say,” Gaius was interested by the boy’s demeanor and sudden maturity. He wanted to hear more.

“Rome is our heritage. Rome is our civilization. She is the internal light that guides all of us through the darkness that is the world – a world filled with demons like Hannibal and his ilk. If Rome should fall, then all of us fall with her.”

“You are a slave. What do you know about freedom, civilization and Rome?” Gaius asked, not accusing Cato, but his question was spoken out of curiosity.

“My father owned a large debt after his shipping company went bankrupt. He sold me into slavery when I was six to pay it off. I know – knewwhat freedom was.”

“Then you could have earned that freedom back, eventually, when you paid off your price,” Gaius pointed out.

“I couldn’t wait. I saw their faces, my master and his clients. They were hopeless, as if they were waiting for death to come, and while they had it in their ability to do something, to fight, or send their sons to Rome, they did nothing, nothing but complained, or worried about how the war was affecting business. Worse still, after Trasimene, what little life was left in them faded. For them, Hannibal has already won. However," Cato looked up at Gaius with hard eyes, “I couldn’t exactly sit back and do nothing. I had to do my part, even if I’m only a body, I still can wield a sword and die for Rome.”

Gaius stood back to his feet, having heard all he needed. Looking down at Cato, who gazed up at him with narrow eyes, half expecting Gaius to grab him and drag him away, Gaius only smiled.

“Then, Cato, you have attained your freedom. Now that you have it, don’t fail me when we are facing Hannibal and his horde. Is that understood, legionnaire?”

Cato bolted to his feet with a wide grin and eagerly replied with a snap salute, “YES, SIR!”

“Then, you best be back to sharpening that sword.”

Gaius left Cato, who did as he was told, grabbing his sword and the wet-stone, and continued putting a fine polish to the blade.

Gaius continued through the camp. He knew that Cato wasn’t alone – men from all backgrounds: creditable, unlawful, the poor and the wealthy came to the call. Each had their own reasons for being here, whether it was for immortal glory, steady pay; food in their bellies or, like Cato, idealistic patriots, Gaius knew that, while not ideal, Rome was better for it. The Republic was not mindless, nor was it represented in its buildings, walls or its government. He had learned – his faith in Rome restored that night Julia showed him the city he had always dreamt of, that she was worthy of his blood. It filled him with pride to know that he wasn’t alone in his beliefs.

It was then that Gaius’ overheard the sentry’s horn blow, which resonated across the camp as the watchmen in the towers had spotted something over the rise.

Gaius hurried forward as dozens of officers rose from their beds, rallying their men to arms. The horn sounded again; no doubt they saw a force coming to the city.

Gaius climbed the walls and took his position next to the watch commander, eagerly asking, “What do you see?”

“I don’t know yet, sir. My man saw something over the horizon,” the commander replied.

“Are you certain?”

“The boy is young, but he has eyes like a hawk.”

Gaius struggled to narrow his vision. It was dark, and even though the moon hung high overhead, he struggled to see what might have caught the watch’s attention.

He tried to listening, but behind him, the centurions were rallying their men, forming them into ranks. There was more than enough to hold the fort, but Gaius feared that Hannibal might be making a move for Rome – would he and his ill-trained soldiers be able to stop him from laying siege?

“Shall we hold men to arms?”

“Yes,” Gaius answered after a short pause as he thought the matter over. It was then as he finished his word that he heard the faint sounds of marching. It was erratic, not formal and spread out over a wide area. However, slowly, with each passing minute the sounds of marching men carried over the camp.

“Send a rider back to Rome and inform the consuls that we possibly have an attacking force heading for the city. Tell them to wait for further word, but to seal the city gates and man the walls.”

“At once, sir.”

Gaius waited as he narrowed his vision, which was slowly starting to adjust to the darkness. Still, he could see barely anything but silhouettes against the blackened horizon. Eventually, those forms took shape as the men within the walls stood nervously.

“Sir, they look to be Roman!” the lookout with the bird-like vision called out, as he stood high above the tower.

“Are you certain?” the watch commander called out.

“Pretty sure, sir.”

“We know the enemy has been taking our weapons and kit since the first battle. This could be a trick,” the watch commander uttered quietly to Gaius, who stood without saying a word as he studied the darkened figures that slowly moved nearer.

Gaius’ eye opened wide with the sudden realization at what he was seeing. The banner of the Sixth Legion was carried before a small collection of men wearing Roman kit. At the head of the column was Valerius, who even with a thick grey beard, Gaius could have recognized anywhere.

“Order the men to stand firm, and have the first century ready. I’m going outside,” Gaius ordered the watch commander as he was already rushing down the stairs.

“Are you sure that is wise, sir?” the commander asked, but Gaius merely repeated his instructions as he raced down from the walls.

A moment later, Gaius joined his men before ordering the gate to be opened. He couldn’t take any chances. While that might have been Valerius outside, it did not mean that the old veteran wasn’t a hostage, sent forth so an ambush waiting outside couldn’t cease the moment and strike. Hannibal had proven his cunning, so Gaius was not about to make a mistake that would cost, not just the lives of his men, but Rome itself.

The heavy wooden gates were pulled open by a team of horses. Archers and spearmen stood high on the walls, prepared to unleash their anger on the command, while several thousand men behind Gaius, stood in perfect formation, set to repel any attempt to breach the walls. Gaius knew, however, if this did turn out to be a trick, he probably wouldn’t have time to return to the fort. He had already ordered the gates sealed until he gave further instruction. If an attack did come, they would not be opened, regardless.

“Forward!” Gaius ordered with a strong voice, hiding much of his own apprehension. He prayed to the gods that it was Valerius, even if an ambush lies in wait. At least, his old friend would be safe and alive, for the time being.

Once outside the heavy gates closed with a looming thud. He could see now that the men carrying the banner of the Sixth Legion had stopped several dozen yards from his position. No doubt if Valerius was with them, he would not want to press too close, or fear that a nervous sentry might throw a javelin prematurely.

Two dozen paces from where the small group of soldiers stood Gaius halted his men and called out, “Friend or foe?!" Immediately, he felt like a fool. Any self-respecting barbarian would say afriend. It was, in fact, the reply he got. More importantly, it was Valerius’ voice that called back.

Gaius swallowed hard, deciding against his better judgment that he should proceed. He doubted that Valerius could have been coerced into setting a trap, and if it had been any other man, he would have half the legion marched out to confront the uncertain threat. As it stood, he trusted his heart over reason. He wanted Valerius to be alive and well; nothing would up lift his spirit more than to see his old mentor again.

When Gaius finally saw Valerius clearly in the torchlight, he could hardly contain himself as he rushed out ahead of his men and embraced the legate.

“Valerius! I thought you long for this world,” Gaius commented as he pulled Valerius back, who moaned with a bit of pain as his tired body had obviously been through quite the ordeal.

“Are these all the men you’ve brought?” he then quickly asked, gazing passed Valerius at the collection of two dozen soldiers, all badly needing a shave and clean clothes.

“No. I have several hundred more survivors with me. I kept them back in case the watch commander was jumpy,” Valerius managed to reply with a smile.

“Call them forth,” Gaius eagerly said, but he quickly placed his hand onto Valerius' shoulder and steadied his words. “But be mindful. Bring them in slow, to be safe. Understood, sir?” Gaius felt odd telling Valerius what to do, but the old soldier was wise, and experienced enough to understand Gaius’ meaning without taking offense. He replied with a simple nod as he turned toward one of his men and relayed his instructions.

Back inside the fort, Gaius kept much of his men at arms and formed up. He wasn’t taking any chances, not until all of Valerius’ men had been accounted for, and disarmed. Thankfully, the old general and his remaining officers were understanding, and obliged to Gaius’ orders.

“Quartermaster! Get previsions, clean clothes, medical supplies and anything else you can find, at the double,” Gaius ordered as he, and his officers tried to keep order as Valerius and the eight hundred men he had with him were kept near the center of the fort. His staff were trying to determine who among the men needed the most care, and from what he could see, many, if not all were nearly starving – their bloodied kit, armor and clothes bloodstained, caked with week’s worth of filth, that most of the men looked to be wearing rags.

Many of the men collapsed once they reached safe ground, while others threw themselves into the arms of waiting soldiers, balling like children. More, however, joined in the celebration that was quickly beginning to take hold of the camp, while, already representatives from the Senate were making their way to the Fields of Mars to get statements and firsthand accounts about Hannibal and his forces.

Gaius did what he could, but no matter how many orders he gave, he couldn’t help the feeling that what he was doing wasn’t enough. He had the food, medical supplies and all the needs the men could ever want, but the task seemed overwhelming. Valerius, to his surprise, had refused any services, as he directed care to his sickest men. The ordered madness would continue for hours on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Gaius was smiling, something he couldn’t remember doing for the past year as he watched his men celebrate long into the night. The whole camp was alive – spirits lifted for the first time since the war had started. Their brothers had returned home – not all of them, but enough to show the new recruits that they could survive.

Turning back from looking out the flap of his tent, Gaius grinned at Valerius as he moaned, once he dipped his head into a large clay pot filled with hot water. It had been three hours since the old veteran returned to Rome with his survivors, and this was the first time that he took any time for himself. His initial concerns had been to his men, which Gaius and his officers rushed to attend to. The sickest and gravely wounded were rushed to the city, while the rest that were fit remained at the fort. Those that could find the strength remained with the recruits outside, enjoying their return with rounds of drink and bellies full of food.

Gaius watched as Valerius pulled his tattered and blood-covered tunic off, dropping it to the floor where the rest of his clothes had been piled, all of it beyond use. He could see in the flickering candlelight dozens of new scars, large and small lined his arms, neck and torso, while nasty welts and blisters had formed where bones had been fractured, leaving behind rough and dried skin that was hard as leather.

“You should have one of the doctors take a look at you,” Gaius spoke as he took a seat at his desk.

“Blah, I’ve been through far worse, Prefect.” Valerius grinned with a funny smile as he turned back towards his ward.

Gaius smiled. “Consul Paullus saw fit to promote me, until your return, of course.”

“And I’m certain you are ecstatic over the prospect of taking orders from me once more,” Valerius chuckled as he sat down on a stool that was placed near Gaius’ cot, which he had already offered for him to use.

“The Wolves are, and always will be, yours. I’m just their keeper until your return,” Gaius replied honestly.

“You’ve done fine without me, Gaius. I’m proud of you. Although, I must say that I’m saddened to see too many new faces among our ranks.”

Gaius lowered his head, recalling those he’d grown up with – had trained with and called friends who were no longer with him. It seemed the whole world had changed in a blink of the eye that he hardly had time to reflect on what had already been lost before a new crisis began.

“Far too few have returned, after Trebia and," Gaius paused before continuing. “Valerius, what happened at Trasimene?”

Valerius did not reply, not at first, not before Gaius added to his question.

“You are the only senior officer to have returned. We’ve had trickles of men, here and there, but none as large a force as you’ve brought back. What happened – what went wrong?”

Valerius grumbled, not out of frustration by Gaius’ question, or fear of recalling what had happened, but more from anger.

“It was that damn fool, Flaminius. Precisely what happened at Trebia, Flaminius refused to listen to us, even though we feared Hannibal might be setting another trap. However, he just kept marching us towards that damn lake.”

Valerius rubbed his index finger between his temples before he started again. Gaius did not try to press him, even though he desperately wanted to know the details.

“Flaminius marched the whole army along the banks of Trasimene, hoping to cut Hannibal from retreating back into the woods, as he had done before. It seemed, for a time that the bastard had camped his forces around Tuoro, so we weren’t worried about being out-flanked since it would take too much time for Hannibal to march his army out to confront us, if he was indeed planning something. So, Flaminius set camp at the base of the lake, where we waited for morning.”

Valerius took a moment as his tired mind struggled to recall the events of that day.

“When morning came, a heavy fog drifted in over the lake and encircled us. We saw fires still burning on top of Tuoro, so we thought there was no cause for alarm. At the very least, Hannibal might have used the fog to make a run for it. Nevertheless, that wily bastard had set the perfect trap, which we walked right into.”

Valerius stood to his feet, throwing his arms out to his sides as he spoke with vigor, animating in detail what followed.

“By the time we realized that the fires we saw still burning were a ruse, Hannibal and his whole horde hit us from three sides. With our backs to the lake, we had nowhere to turn. Our formations were in tatters, and when the legion was on the verge of collapse, I saw hundreds of damn fools trying to swim across Trasimene, freezing, or drowning from the weight of their kit.”

“We had reports that Flaminius died during the battle,” Gaius pointed out one of the briefings he had read upon his return to Rome.

“I did not see it with my own eyes, but hope the bastard died shitting his pants. He led a lot of good men to their doom, just like that moron Sempronius had.”

“What did you do next?”

Valerius ran his fingers through his matted hair, before he rubbed his eyes, trying hard to stave off his exhaustion, before yawning.

“I gathered what men I could, and we pushed through Hannibal’s lines. I started with five cohorts, but lost most during the attempt – more still on the march back to Rome.”

“I should have been there,” Gaius spoke more to himself than to Valerius.

“You had your orders and you carried them out as I had instructed. Don’t dwell on matters that were beyond your control.”

Valerius lied down on Gaius’ bed. He tried to stay awake, but sleep quickly overtook him before he could utter another word.

Gaius looked at Valerius, who began to snore minutes after closing his eyes. He stood from his seat and careful walked to the old legate and pulled the wolf-skin blanket higher across Valerius’ shoulders, before stepping back.

Valerius looked ancient with his un-kept beard, now thick with grey. However, he didn’t feel so young himself anymore.

All Gaius knew was he would have to train his men hard if they hoped to survive Hannibal. He decided then, with drink still in their bellies and little hours of rest, that at first light he would rouse his men and drill them until the sun went down.

If the consuls believed strength through numbers was going to be enough, the Wolves would use knowledge gained through blood on the battlefield to their advantage. What may come, only the fates knew for certain.