Gates of Rome

CHAPTER 62

AD 54, outside Rome

Caligula watched the ground, shifting and beetle-black: a thousand crows moving among the dead, more in the sky overhead swooping and buzzing the battlefield.

The dead stretched as far as he could see: the red tunics of dead legionaries; men from the Tenth and Eleventh dotting the olive-green grass of the hillside like wild poppies.

The deed was done before the sun reached midday. Two legions of men broken and routed within the space of an hour. Caligula had watched the battle unfold from the comfort of a wooden platform erected in the early hours of the morning. His small vanguard of Stone Men had formed the very tip of an advancing wedge that had plunged through Lepidus’s predictable chequerboard formation. The Stone Men were soon lost from direct sight in the melee, but their precise location in the press of men was never in doubt; it was the source of the screaming, the source of the greatest amount of movement in the middle of the glistening sea of helmets and armour.

After the brief battle, Caligula could actually trace the path they took by the wake of horrendously dismembered bodies; almost as if someone had gathered up men and bits of men and laid them out like a narrow carpet, a road of ragged flesh, splintered bone and dented metal.

Almost indestructible, those Stone Men, but not quite. Four of them had eventually been brought down by Lepidus’s men. A concerted effort by his archers, leaving them for a moment staggering pincushion figures, like human porcupines, until they’d finally collapsed. But by then, of course, the damage had been done, the legions’ formations were broken and the men were already beginning to turn and run.

Caligula glanced once more at the pitiful sight of so many good Roman legionaries dead on the field, carrion being pecked at by hungry birds. Difficult to savour victory for long when a sight like this was the aftermath. He sighed sadly then turned back round to face General Lepidus, kneeling, stripped of his armour and left with just his tattered and bloodstained tunic.

‘This is what happens… when you decide to take matters into your own hands.’ Caligula’s hand idled on the pommel of his sword. ‘What did you honestly think was going to happen? Hmmmm?’

Lepidus’s eyes were on Caligula’s idling, fidgeting fingers. ‘I… I had no choice. I — ’

‘Well actually, I think you probably did have a choice.’ Caligula pouted disapprovingly down at him. ‘You could have come to me the moment that poisonous old man, Crassus, started sending treacherous little notes to you. You could have presented his letters to me and quite easily proved that I could trust you. But no… you chose not to.’

‘I… Crassus was trying to make me look already guilty! He was wording his letters to make it look like we’d already spoken of… of

…’

‘Trying to kill me?’

Lepidus shut up and looked down, defeated.

‘Even if Crassus’s letters implicated you… you should have come to me. I would have understood. I would have been fair, merciful. Good grief, I’m not a monster, Lepidus.’

‘I… it… I was misled. I was used.’

‘Oh, you were misled all right.’

‘I was frightened.’

Caligula crouched down before the general, lifted the man’s ample chin with a finger and looked him in the eyes. ‘Frightened? Of me? Why? What’s to be afraid of? I only want what’s best for us all, what’s best for all Romans.’

He stood up again. ‘Fear… that was your undoing. You’re nothing but a frightened old man. I should have far better men in charge of my legions.’ He began to pull his sword out of its sheath.

‘Please!’

‘Oh? Pleading, is it? So very sorry now, are we?’

Lepidus nodded vigorously. ‘I… was left with no choice! I had to do something!’

‘They goaded you… coerced you into trying to kill me, replace me.’ Caligula smiled. ‘And clearly you obviously thought you could replace me.’

‘I, no… I didn’t believe — ’

‘I don’t think you were sorry this morning as you presented your legions for battle. I think you were looking forward to the idea of sleeping in my bed tonight, in my palace. Calling yourself emperor. Wearing my robes.’ Caligula laughed. ‘Not that they’d fit you.’

He lifted the tip of his gladius up and held it in front of Lepidus’s face. Sunlight reflected off the polished blade, glinting into the general’s eyes.

‘I need better men than you in charge of my legions. Younger, braver men. Trustworthy fellows. Now listen to me, Lepidus, you can go some way towards making amends… if you were to let me know who else, other than Crassus, was involved in this ridiculous charade.’

The general licked dry lips quickly. ‘I… I think my tribune, Atellus, was in on it. Now… yes, thinking about it, yes, I’m sure of it.’

Caligula glanced at the tribune’s body lying in the grass nearby. ‘Well, he’s not exactly going to deny that now, is he, Lepidus?’

‘Others… I–I’m sure there were… Yes, Crassus used to have visits from Cicero… Paulus. Those two — ’

Caligula nodded. ‘Now that’s a bit better. Yes.’ He stroked his nose thoughtfully. ‘I could imagine those two old relics would have been involved somehow. Who else? Hmmm? Any other faces you noticed keeping Crassus company?’

Lepidus’s eyes darted left and right, trawling a racing mind for names… faces…

‘Your palace tribune! The new one!’

Caligula frowned. ‘What? You don’t mean… Cato?’

Lepidus looked up, nodded vigorously again. ‘Yes! He was involved! I… I’m sure of it!’

‘Cato.’ Caligula frowned.

‘Crassus hinted to me… not long ago… said…’

‘Said what?’

‘He said he had someone in the palace… someone close to you. Someone who could get to you!’

Caligula cast his mind back to the few conversations he’d had with the man. The tribune had always seemed professional, reliable, competent. But then…

Your Stone Men, sire… Might I suggest you send them along?… You have my cohort here… to guard you…

Caligula spun round, looking for the praefectus Quintus.

‘Quintus, take your cavalry back to Rome!’ He nodded at the five remaining Stone Men, their olive-green armour spattered with dark droplets of dried blood. ‘Take them with you as well! The tribune of the palace cohort is to be arrested!’

‘Sire?’

‘He’s one of them, Quintus! A traitor! I want him arrested. And I want him alive! Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘And have the rest of the Guard assembled to march.’

‘But, Caesar, they’ve just fought! They need…’

Caligula’s look silenced him. ‘Have them assembled,’ he repeated softly.

The prefect nodded, saluted and turned to deliver his orders.

Caligula once more looked down at the man in front of him, an anxious, twitching face, bathed in sweat.

‘Thank you, Lepidus,’ he said absently. And then without much thinking about it, for good measure, he quickly swung his sword down at the general’s neck. Even before the arc of blood had landed on the dry, sandy soil and arid grass of the hillside, Caligula had already turned on his heel and was heading towards his tent to change out of his uncomfortable armour. The march back to Rome would be a morning and an afternoon. They’d be back by twilight, he supposed… if they moved out soon.

Behind him he finally heard the thud of the general’s body keeling over. While all around the orders he’d given to Quintus were being barked down the ranks, followed by the noise of five thousand men scrambling in response.