The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,139
trust, or its lack. He had accepted Agrippa’s dictum long before, that a commander needed information above all else. A man could never be blind with a thousand eyes reporting to him each day.
When Mark Antony’s legions moved at noon, horns blared and the men roared as they felt the excitement of moving at last, after months of preparations. Mark Antony jerked in surprise when that blare and roar was answered behind him and the legions of Caesar set off at the same time, in perfect step.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The city of Philippi had been built as a simple fortress in the mountains, but three hundred years is a long time to stare north for marauding tribes. As well as stone walls and the open space of an agora, the original stronghold was still there, swallowed in a hundred other buildings that had crept out to make narrow streets along the ridge. Cassius had enjoyed seeing a small temple to Philip of Macedon, hidden away in a street of merchants. He had known another man who claimed divinity and it made him smile. If it had not been for a good road leading to the coast, the small town would have withered long before with the glories of its founder, or perhaps his son.
Cassius had not intended it to be anything but a gathering point for his legions and those of Brutus while they waited for Sextus Pompey to smash the forces trying to land in Greece. When news filtered back of the disastrous battles at sea, they had changed their plans and begun to look around them for the best place to stand and fight. Viewed in that light, Brutus was the first to spot the possibilities of making Philippi the centre of their formation. They had access to the sea along the Via Egnatia, a Roman road built on one much older and capable of bearing any amount of men and equipment. Philippi itself sat on a high ridge which was almost unassailable from the west, as the father of Alexander the Great had intended. Even better from Cassius’ point of view, the southern approach was guarded by a steep hill and a vast, sucking marsh of reeds and standing water at its foot. The rains had been heavy the previous winter and it was surely an obstacle no legion could slog through.
When Cassius and Brutus agreed to make the town their command, their soldiers had set to work building a massive wooden palisade all along the edge of the marsh. Natural geography and Roman skill meant the town could not be attacked from that direction, while mountains protected the north and the sea lay to the east. The enemy could approach only from the west and be funnelled into the war machines of twenty Roman legions. Everything from sharpened wooden stakes to scorpion bows and even heavy catapults awaited them.
More than a month had gone by since the first reports of landings at Dyrrhachium. The two commanders had been kept busy hunting down increasing numbers of extraordinarii scouting the area. Cassius had brought Parthian mounted archers from Syria and they were brutally effective, accurate even at a gallop across rough ground. Even so, the constant small clashes were proof the legions were coming, their commanders seeking to know everything they could about the forces and terrain they would face.
Cassius belched softly into his fist as he stared across the marshes. He was on the same rations as the men and not enjoying them particularly. At least the weeks of waiting had allowed them to stockpile supplies. He knew there was every chance the galleys taken from Sextus would be blockading the Greek coast before too long. There had been no news of the brothers Casca. Cassius assumed they had been drowned or slaughtered with the broken fleet.
Cassius suspected he spent too much time thinking about his co-commander rather than the men he faced. Yet Brutus had such an odd mixture of qualities that he never quite knew how he would be received when they met. The man came alive like a memory of his youth when he was training the extraordinarii cavalry. The officer in charge of the Parthian archers followed Brutus around like a lost pup, delighting in the Roman’s praise. Cassius felt his mood darken further at the thought. Brutus somehow inspired respect from those around them without seeming to try. It had never been his own gift and it irritated Cassius to have conversations with senior