‘We all know, Julius. The men gossip like a group of old women. Is it to challenge Pompey?’ Brutus spoke casually, as if the lives of thousands didn’t hang on the answer.
‘No, he rules well enough, with Crassus. I will put my name forward to be consul at the elections.’ He watched Brutus for a reaction.
‘You think you can win?’ Brutus replied slowly, thinking it over. ‘You’ll have only a few months and the people have a short memory.’
‘I am the last surviving blood of Marius. I will remind them,’ Julius said and Brutus felt the stirring of the old excitement. He reflected on how his friend had experienced almost a rebirth in the last months. The snapping anger had gone and his mother had played her part in it. Even his dear little Angelina was in awe of Servilia and he could begin to understand why.
‘It’s almost dawn. You should get some sleep,’ he said.
‘Not yet, there’s a lot still to do before we can see Rome again.’
‘Then I will stay with you, unless you mind,’ Brutus said, stifling another yawn.
Julius smiled at him. ‘I don’t mind. I need someone to write as I dictate.’
Renius stood in the dry riverbed and looked up at the bridge. The structure swarmed with Romans and local men, clambering over a skeleton of wood that shifted and creaked as they moved along the walkways. Two hundred feet from the dry riverbed to the stones of the road above. When it was complete, the dam upriver would be removed and the water would hide the massive feet of the bridge, washing around the shaped edges for long after the builders had gone to dust. Just being in the shadow of it was a strange feeling for the old gladiator. When the waters came, no one would ever stand there again.
He shook his head in silent pride, listening to the orders and calls as the winch teams began to raise another of the blocks that would form the arch. Their voices echoed under the bridge and Renius could see they shared his satisfaction. This bridge would never fall and they knew it.
The road above his head would open up a fertile valley in a direct line to the coast. Towns would be built and the roads extended to meet the needs of the new settlers. They would come for the good ground and for trade and most of all for the clean, sweet water issuing from the underground aqueducts that had taken three years to build.
Renius watched as a team of men threw their strength on the heavy ropes as the archstone was swung over to its position. The pulleys squealed and he saw Ciro was leaning out over the rail to guide the block home. Men at his side slathered brown mortar over the surfaces and then Ciro wrapped his arms around it, chanting with the others in a lulling rhythm to the teams below. Renius held his breath. Though the giant’s strength was unmatched among the teams, a slip could easily crush a hand or a shoulder. If the block swung out of position, it was heavy enough to bring the supports crashing down, taking them all with it.
Even so far below, Renius could hear Ciro grunting as he moved the block into place, the mortar squeezing out to fall in wet pats on the riverbed below. Renius shaded his eyes to see if one would come close enough to make him duck away, smiling at their efforts.
He liked the big man. Ciro didn’t say a great deal, but he held nothing back when it came to hard work and Renius would have liked him for that alone. It had surprised him at first to find he enjoyed teaching Ciro the skills more experienced legionaries took for granted. A legion could not be stopped by valleys or mountains. Every man on the scaffolding knew that there wasn’t a river they couldn’t bridge or a road they couldn’t cut in all the world. They built Rome wherever they went.
Ciro had been awed by the water and the miles of tunnels they had cut to bring it down from springs high in the mountains. Now the people who settled in the valley would not face disease every summer, with their wells becoming stale and thick. Perhaps then they would think of the men of Rome who had built them.
The peace of Renius’ thoughts was interrupted by a single rider in light armour guiding his horse over the bank and down to where he stood. The man was sweating in the heat and craned his neck to look up in instinctive fear as he passed under the arches. A heavy hammer dropped from that height could kill the horse as well as the man on it, but Renius chuckled at his caution.
‘You have a message for me?’ Renius asked him.
The man trotted into the shadow of the arch and dismounted.
‘Yes, sir. The general requests your attendance at the barracks. He said to bring the legionary named Ciro with you, sir.’
‘The last arch is nearly finished, lad.’
‘He said to come immediately, sir.’
Renius frowned, then squinted up at Ciro high above him. Only a fool would shout orders to a man carrying a stone almost as heavy as he was, but he saw Ciro was standing back, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. Renius filled his lungs.
‘Come down, Ciro. We’re wanted.’
Despite the sun, Octavian felt chilled as the breeze whipped past his skin. His fifty were at full gallop down the steepest hill he had ever seen. If he hadn’t gone over every foot of it that morning, he would never have dared such a breakneck speed, but the turf was even and none of the experienced riders fell, using the strength of their legs to wedge them in the saddles. Even then, the pommel horns pressed sharply against their groins. Octavian gritted his teeth against the pain as the gallop bruised him unmercifully.
Brutus had chosen the hill with him, to show the reality and power of a charge. He awaited their arrival with a full century of the extraordinarii at the foot of the hill and even at that distance Octavian could see the mounts move skittishly as they instinctively tried to shy away from the thundering fifty coming down.
The noise was incredible, as Octavian shouted for his men to dress the line. The charging rank was becoming a little ragged and he had to roar at his best volume to catch the attention of the wavering riders around him. They showed their skill as the line firmed without slowing and Octavian drew his sword, gripping furiously with his knees. His legs were tortured at such an angle, but he held on.
The ground levelled slightly at the bottom and Octavian barely had time to balance his weight before his fifty were streaming through the wide-spaced ranks that faced them. Faces and horses blurred at appalling speed as they shot through the century and out the other side in what seemed like a single instant of time. Octavian saw an officer looking pale as he flashed past him. If he had held the sword out, the man’s head would have flown.
Octavian shouted in excitement as he called for his men to turn and re-form. Some of them laughed in relief as they rejoined Brutus and saw the tense expressions of the men he commanded that day.
‘With the right ground, we can be terrifying,’ Brutus said, raising his voice for them all to hear. ‘I practically lost my bladder there at the end and I knew you were just going through us!’
The riders under Octavian cheered the admission, though they didn’t believe it. One of them slapped Octavian on the back as Brutus turned to face them, with a leer.
‘Now you’ll get a taste of it. Form up into wide ranks while I take mine up the hill. Hold them steady as we come through and you’ll learn something.’
Octavian swallowed sudden nervousness to grin, still filled with the wild thrill of the charge. Brutus dismounted to lead his horse up the hill and then saw a lone horseman cantering towards them.
‘What’s this, I wonder?’ he murmured.
The soldier dismounted neatly and saluted Brutus.
‘General Caesar is asking for Octavian and yourself, sir.’
Brutus nodded,