“Our gods have granted us new lands, Senators. We must prove that we are worthy to rule them. As we brought peace to Spain, so shall we bring it to that wilder land. Our citizens will build roads and raise crops there to feed our cities. They will be heard in distant courts that take their authority from us. We will bring Rome to them not because of the strength of our legions, but because we are right and because we are just and because we are beloved of the gods.”
“Pacified? You told them Gaul was pacified?” Brutus said in amazement. “There are places in Gaul where they haven’t even heard of us! What were you thinking?”
Julius frowned. “You would prefer I said ‘still dangerous, but almost pacified’? Hardly the most inspiring words to bring our settlers over the Alps, Brutus.”
“I would have stopped short of ‘almost pacified’ as well. It’s more truthful to say that these savages nearly did for us all on more occasions than I care to think of. That they fought each other for generations until they found a common enemy in Rome and now we’ve stuck our hands into the worst wasps’ nest I have ever seen. That would have been more truthful, at least.”
“All right, Brutus. It is done and that’s the end of it. I know the situation as well as you, and those tribes who have never seen a Roman soldier will see us soon enough as we build our roads across the country. If the Senate sees me as the conqueror of Gaul, there will be no more talk of recalling me or forcing me to pay my debts. They can count the gold I send back to them and use the slaves to lower the price of wheat and corn. I will be free to run right through to the sea and beyond, even. This is my path,
Brutus; can’t you see I’ve found it? This is what I was born for. All I ask is another few years, five perhaps, and Gaul will be pacified. You say they have never heard of us? Well then, I will take lands that Rome does not even know exists! I will see a temple to Jupiter rise above their towns like a cliff of marble. I will bring our civilization, our science, our art to these people who live in such squalor. I will take our legions right up to where the lands meet the sea and over it. Who knows what lies beyond the far coasts? We don’t even have maps of the countries there, Brutus. Just legends from the Greeks about foggy islands on the very edge of the world. Does it not fire your imagination?”
Brutus looked at his friend without answering, unsure if any response was really expected. He had seen Julius in this mood before and at times it could still touch him. At that moment, however, he was beginning to worry that Julius would not contemplate an end to their battles of conquest. Even the veterans compared their young commander to Alexander, and Mark Antony did so shamelessly. When the handsome Roman had made the reference in the council, Brutus had expected Julius to scorn it for the clumsy flattery it was, but he had only smiled and gripped Mark Antony by the shoulder, refilling his cup with wine.
The plain of the Helvetii had been enclosed, the vast swaths of land sliced into farms for the settlers from Rome. Julius had been rash with his promises and, just to fulfill them, he had to stay in the field.
Simply to pay his legions in silver, he was forced to sack towns and fight not for glory but to fill the coffers and send the tithe back to the senators. Brutus could see no end to it and, alone amongst Julius’s council, he had begun to doubt the purpose of the war they fought. As a Roman, he could accept the destruction that was the herald of peace, but if it was all to satisfy Julius’s desire for power, he could not take joy in it.
Julius never wavered. Though the coalition of the Belgae had pressed them cruelly in the spring, the legions had taken on some of their commander’s confidence and the tribes were swept away without mercy.
It was as if they were all touched by fate and could not lose. At times, even Brutus was infected by it and could cheer the man who raised his sword to them, his iron-faced helmet glittering like some malevolent god. But he knew the man beneath it and he knew him too well to walk quietly around him as the legionaries did. Though they won their victories with strength and speed, they saw Julius as the one responsible for all of it. While he lived, they knew they could not be beaten.
Brutus sighed to himself. Perhaps they were right. The whole of eastern Gaul was under the control of the legions, and the roads were being built over hundreds of miles. Rome was growing out of the ground there and Julius was the bloody seed for the change. He looked at his friend and saw the fierce pride. Apart from the thinning hair and his scars, he was much the same man he had always known. Yet the soldiers said he was blessed by the gods. His presence on the battlefield was worth an extra cohort at least as they strove to fight well for him, and Brutus felt ashamed of his own small grievances and the kernel of dislike that he fought to deny.
Publius Crassus had been given the command of two legions to travel to the north, and Julius’s current mood was owed to the fact that the senator’s son had brought about the complete surrender of the tribes there. They had their path to the sea and, though Brutus had argued against it, he knew nothing would prevent Julius taking his precious legions to the coast. He dreamed of Alexander and the edge of the world.
Julius’s council entered the long room of the fortified camp. They too had changed in their time in Gaul, Brutus noted. Octavian and Publius Crassus had lost the last traces of their youth in the years of campaign. Both men bore scars and had survived, now stronger. Ciro commanded his cohort with a devotion to Julius that reminded Brutus of a faithful hound. While Brutus could still discuss his doubts with Domitius or Renius, he had found Ciro would leave any room where he found the slightest hint of criticism. Both Romans regarded the other with dislike, forcibly masked for Julius’s sake.
How we pretend for him, Brutus thought to himself. While Julius was there, they all acted the part of brothers, leaving their professional disagreements outside. It was almost as if they couldn’t bear to see him disappointed in them.
Julius waited for the wine to be poured and laid his notes down on the table. He had already memorized the reports and would not need to refer to them again. Even as Brutus was submerged in his misgivings, he felt himself sit a little straighter under that blue gaze and saw the others respond in like fashion.
At the end of the day, we are all his dogs, Brutus thought, reaching for his cup.
“Your treaty with the Veneti has failed, Crassus,” Julius told the young Roman.
The senator’s son shook his head in disbelief and Julius spoke to relieve his distress.
“I did not expect it to last. They are too strong by sea to feel bound by us, and the treaty was only to hold them until we could reach the northwest. I will need control of that coast if I am ever to cross the sea.”
Julius looked into the distance as he contemplated the future, then shook himself free of it. “They have taken prisoners from the cohort you left and are demanding the release of their hostages in exchange. We must destroy them at sea if we are to bring them back to the negotiating table. I suspect they think that Rome fights only on the land, but there are a few of us who know better.”
He paused to let them chuckle and met Ciro’s eyes with a smile.
“I have engaged shipwrights and carpenters to build a new port and ships. Pompey will provide crews to sail through the Pillars of Hercules and beat round Spain to meet us in the north. It suits my plans well enough in any case, and we cannot let their oath breaking go unanswered. Mhorbaine tells me the other tribes are restless and watch any challenge like hawks to see if we cannot respond.”