Some won't be happy about facing our own people in war, though I have tried to have the worst of those moved back from the first assault wall. Say a few words to as many as you can, not long conversations, just notice what they are doing and compliment them on it. Ask them their names and then use the name in your reply to them. Ready?’
Julius nodded, straightening his spine. He knew that the way he presented himself to others affected how they saw him. If he strode in with shoulders and spine straight, men would take him seriously. He remembered his father telling the boys how to lead soldiers.
‘Keep your head high and don't apologise unless you absolutely have to. Then do it once, loudly and clearly. Never whine, never plead, never gush. Think before you speak to a man and, when you have to, use few words. Men respect the silent; they despise the garrulous.’
Renius had taught him how to kill a man as quickly and efficiently as possible. He was still learning how to win loyalty.
They walked slowly along a section of wall, stopping and speaking to each soldier and spending a few minutes longer with the leader of the section, listening to ideas and suggestions and complimenting the men on their readiness.
Julius caught glances and held them as he nodded. The soldiers acknowledged him, tension evident. He stopped by one barrel-chested little man adjusting a powerful metal crossbow, set into the stone of the wall itself.
‘What's the range?’
The soldier saluted smartly.
‘With the wind behind you, three hundred paces, sir.’
‘Excellent. Can the machine be aimed?’
‘A little, nothing precise at the moment. The workshop is working on a moving pedestal.’
‘Good. It looks a deadly thing indeed.’
The soldier smiled proudly and wiped a rag over the winch mechanism that would wind the heavy arms back to their locking slot.
‘She, sir. Something as dangerous as this has to be female.’
Julius chuckled as he thought of Cornelia and his aching muscles.
‘What is your name, soldier?’
‘Trad Lepidus, sir.’
‘I will look to see how many of the enemy she takes down, Lepidus.’
The man smiled again.
‘Oh, it will be a few, sir. No one is coming into my city without the permission of the general, sir.’
‘Good man.’
Julius moved on, feeling a touch more confidence. If all the men were as steadfast as Trad Lepidus, there couldn't be an army in the world that could take Rome. He caught up with his uncle, who was accepting a drink from a silver flask and spluttering over the contents.
‘Sweet Mars! What's in this, vinegar?’
The officer fought not to smile.
‘I dare say you are used to better vintages, sir. The spirit is a little raw.’
‘Raw! Mind you, it is warming,’ Marius said, tilting the flask up once more. Finally, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Excellent. Send a chit to the quartermaster in the morning. I think a small flask for officers would be just the thing against the chill of winter's nights.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ the man replied, frowning slightly as he tried to calculate the profits he would make as the sole supplier to his own legion. The answer obviously pleased him and he saluted smartly as Julius passed.
Finally, Marius reached the flight of stone steps down to the street that marked the end of the section. Julius had spoken or nodded or listened to every one of a hundred or so soldiers on that part of the wall. His facial muscles felt stiff and yet he felt a touch of his uncle's pride. These were good men and it was a great thing to know they were ready to lay down their lives at your order. Power was a seductive thing and Julius enjoyed the reflected warmth of it from his uncle. He felt a mounting excitement as he waited with his city for Sulla to arrive and darkness to come.
Narrow wooden towers had been placed at intervals all round the city. As the sun set, a lookout shouted from one and the word was passed at a fierce speed. The enemy were on the horizon, marching towards the city. The gates were closed against them.
‘At last! The waiting was chafing on me,’ Marius bellowed, charging out of his barracks as the warning horns were sounded across the city, long wailing notes.
The reserves took their positions. Those few Romans still on the streets ran for their homes, bolting and barricading their doors against the invaders. The people cared little for who ruled the city as long as their families were safe.
The Senate meetings had been postponed that day and the senators too were in their palatial houses, dotted around the city. Not one of them had taken the roads to the west, though a few had sent their families away to country estates rather than leave them at risk. A few rose with tight smiles, standing at balconies and watching the horizon as the horns moaned across the darkening city. Others lay in baths or beds and had slaves ease muscles that tightened from fear. Rome had never been attacked in its history. They had always been too strong. Even Hannibal had preferred to meet Roman legions on the field rather than to assault the city itself. It had taken a man like Scipio to take his head and that of his brother. Would Marius have the same ability, or would it be Sulla that held Rome in his bloody hand at the end? One or two of the senators burned incense at their private altars for their household gods. They had supported Marius as he tightened his grip on Rome, forced to take his side in public. Many had staked their lives on his success. Sulla had never been a forgiving man.
Torches were lit all around the city as night fell. Julius wondered what it would look like to the gods as they looked down, a great gleaming eye in the black vastness of the land? We look up as they look down, he thought.
He stood with Cabera on ground level, listening to the news as it was shouted down from the wall lookouts and relayed along and deep into the city, a vein of information for those who could see and hear nothing. Over it, despite the nearby noises, he could make out the distant tramp of thousands of armoured men and horses on the move. It filled the soft night and grew louder as they approached.
There was no doubt now. Sulla was bringing his legion right up the Via Sacra to the gates of the city, with no attempt at subterfuge. The lookouts reported a torchlit snake of men stretching for miles back in the darkness, with the tail disappearing over hills. It was a marching formation for friendly lands, not a careful approach to close with an enemy. The confidence of such a casual march made many raise eyebrows and wonder what on earth Sulla was planning. One thing was for certain: Marius was not the man to be cowed by confidence.
Sulla clenched his fists in excitement as the gates and walls of the fortress city began to glow with the reflected light of his legion. Thousands of fighting men and half as many again in support marched on through the night. The noise was rhythmic and deafening, the crash of feet on the stone road echoing back and around the city and the night. Sulla's eyes sparkled in the flames of torches and he casually raised his right hand.
