The camp was silent around them. Somewhere an owl screamed and Julius jumped. He eyed the cup of wine and tried to remember when he had stopped adding water to it.

“This is a beautiful land,” he said.

Mhorbaine glanced at him. Though he had not drunk anywhere near as much as the others, he copied their sluggish movements with a rare skill.

“Is that why you want it?” Mhorbaine asked, holding his breath for an answer.

Julius did not seem to notice the tension in the man who sat on the damp ground at his side, and simply waved his cup at the stars, slopping the red liquid over the rim.

“What does any man want? If you had my legions, wouldn’t you dream of ruling this place?”

Mhorbaine nodded to himself. The wind had changed in Gaul and he had no regrets about doing what he had to, to preserve his people.

“If I had your legions, I would make myself a king. I would call myself Mhorix, or Mhorbainrix, perhaps,” he said.

Julius looked blearily at him, blinking. “Rix?”

“It means king,” Mhorbaine told him.

Julius was silent in thought and Mhorbaine filled their cups again, sipping at his own.

“But even a king needs strong allies, Julius. Your men fight well on foot, but you have only a handful of cavalry, whereas my warriors were born in the saddle. You need the Aedui, but how can I be sure you will not turn on us? How can I trust you?”

Julius turned to face him. “I am a man of my word, Gaul. If I call you friend, it will last all my life. If the Aedui fight with me, their enemies will be mine, their friends will be my friends.”

“We have many enemies, but there is one in particular that threatens my people.”

Julius snorted and the heat of the wine filled his veins. “Give me his name and he is a dead man,” he said.

“His name is Ariovistus, ruler of the Suebi and their vassal tribes. They are of Germanic blood, Julius, with cold skin, a plague of ruthless horsemen who live for battle. They raid farther south each year. Those who resisted them at first were destroyed, their lands taken as right of conquest.”

Mhorbaine leaned closer, his voice urgent. “But you broke the back of the Helvetii, Julius. With my riders, your legions will feast on his white warriors, and all the tribes of Gaul will look to you.”

Julius stared at the stars above, silent for a long time.

“I may be worse than Ariovistus, my friend,” he whispered.

Mhorbaine’s eyes were black in the night as he forced a smile onto his hard face. Though he left omens to his druids, he feared for his people now that such a man had entered Gaul. Mhorbaine had offered his cavalry to bind the legions to his people. To keep the Aedui safe.

“Perhaps you will be; we will know in time. If you march against him, you must bring him to battle before winter, Julius. After the first snow, the year is over for warriors.”

“Can your winter be so terrible?”

Mhorbaine smiled mirthlessly. “Nothing I can say will prepare you, my friend. We call the first moon ‘Dumannios’-the darkest depths. And it gets colder after that. You will see, when it comes, especially if you travel farther north, as you must to defeat my enemies.”

“I will have your cavalry to command?” Julius said.

Mhorbaine looked him in the eye. “If we are allies,” he said softly.

“Then let us make it so.”

To Mhorbaine’s astonishment, Julius drew a dagger from his belt and gashed his right palm. He held out the blade.

“Bind it in blood, Mhorbaine, or it is not bound at all.”

Mhorbaine took the blade and cut his own palm, allowing Julius to take the wounded hand in a firm grip. He felt the sting of it and wondered what would come of the bargain. With his cup, Julius gestured to the red planet above them.

“I swear under the eye of Mars that the Aedui are named friends. I swear it as consul and general.”

Julius let the hands fall apart and refilled their cups from the amphora he cradled in his lap.

“There, it is done,” he said.

Mhorbaine shuddered and, this time, drank deeply against the cold.

CHAPTER 26

Pompey leaned on the white marble balcony of the temple to Jupiter, the vast space of the forum stretching away below him. From the top of the Capitol, he could gaze on the heart of the city, and what he saw displeased him immensely.

Crassus showed nothing of his private amusement as he too looked over the swelling crowds. He kept his silence as Pompey muttered angrily to himself, turning at intervals to point out some newly infuriating aspect of the scene.

“There, Crassus. Can you see them? The bastards!” Pompey cried, pointing.

Crassus looked past the quivering finger to where a long line of men in black togas wound their way from one side of the forum toward the Senate house, pausing at intervals to burn incense. Over the wind,

Crassus thought he could hear the sound of the dirge that accompanied their steps, and it was all he could do not to laugh as Pompey stiffened at the wailing notes.

“What are they thinking to be mocking me in this way?” Pompey shouted, purpling with rage. “The whole city to see them in their mourners’ cloths. By the gods, they will love to see it. And what will we have as a result? I swear, Crassus, the people will use the Senate’s disobedience as an excuse for riots tonight. I will be forced to declare another curfew and again I will be accused of ruling without them.”

Crassus cleared his throat delicately, taking care to choose his words. Below, the long line of senators paused in sequence as incense billowed out of golden censers against the breeze.

“You knew they could rebel against our agreement, Pompey. You told me yourself that they were growing fractious,” he said.

“Yes, but I did not expect such a public display of disorder, for all the trouble they have been giving me in the Curia. That fool Suetonius is behind part of it, I know. He courts that trader Clodius as if he were something better than the gang leader he really is. I wish you had broken him properly, Crassus. You should see the way they discuss and scrutinize my legislation. As if any of them have been senators for more than the blink of an eye. It is insufferable! At times, they make me want to take the powers they accuse me of. Then we would see something. If I were made Dictator, even for six months, I could root out the dissenters and remove this… this…” Words failed him as he swept an arm at the forum below. The line of senators was nearing the Curia building, and Crassus could hear the crowd cheering their stand against Pompey.

Crassus had no sympathy for his colleague. Pompey lacked the subtlety to massage his opponents, preferring to use his authority to batter the Senate into obedience. Privately, Crassus agreed with many of the other senators that Pompey already acted as Dictator over a city that was quickly losing patience with his autocratic style.

In the distance, the procession reached the steps up to the Curia, and Crassus saw them pause. They played a perilous game in angering Pompey in such a way. Their mocking funeral for the death of the Republic was intended as a public warning, but the last embers of democracy could indeed be crushed if Pompey lost all restraint as a result of it. Certainly, if riots ensued, Pompey would be within his rights to clamp down on the city, and once pushed so far, Dictatorship was not such a great leap for him. If he declared himself in that position, Crassus knew only a war would wrest it from his hands.

“If you can see past your anger for a moment,” Crassus began gently, “you must realize that they do not want to force you further than you have already gone. Is it too much to reestablish the elections you have stopped? You have your creatures now as tribunes of the people. Could you not allow the voting again on future positions? That would take some of the sting out of the demonstrations against you, and at least gain you time.”