Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5)

by Conn Iggulden

  Gracchus stared back impassively, too old a hand to be intimidated. Without another word, he stalked off, his sandals clacking on the stones of the forum. Maecenas relaxed slightly. He raised his hands and moved his two friends into a clear spot. The crowd had thinned to avoid the consul’s party of lictors, so it was not hard to find a place where they could not be overheard.

  ‘By all the gods, Octavian! If the consul had thought it through, he could have had your inheritance in exchange for a single order. His lictors would have cut you down and Agrippa and me as well!’

  ‘I thought he would help,’ Octavian said stubbornly. ‘So much has changed. I can barely take it all in.’

  ‘Well, put your head in a fountain or something,’ Maecenas snapped. ‘You need to be sharp now.’

  Both Agrippa and Octavian looked at him in surprise. He shook his head slowly.

  ‘Have you any idea of the importance of that will to you, to those in power?’

  Octavian shrugged. ‘I know the sums are great, but until I can lay hands on them, I …’

  ‘I’m not talking about the gold, Octavian! Though you are now the richest man in the richest city of the world. I’m talking about the clients! Do you understand now?’

  ‘Honestly, no,’ Octavian said.

  Agrippa looked similarly mystified and Maecenas took a deep breath. He had grown up in a world where such things were common knowledge, but he saw that neither of his friends truly appreciated Caesar’s gift.

  ‘Jupiter save me from common men,’ he said. ‘Noble houses secure their power with clients, families in their pay. You must know that much.’

  ‘Of course,’ Octavian said. ‘But …’

  ‘Caesar had thousands of them. He was famous for it. And they are all yours now, Octavian. His adoption of you gave you more than just a house name. You can call on the service of half of Rome, half of the legions of Rome if you want to. For all we know, Tribune Liburnius is now sworn to your service and Gracchus with him.’

  Octavian furrowed his brow.

  ‘I can’t inherit them like a jewel or a house.’

  ‘The adoption says you can,’ Maecenas insisted. ‘Oh, there will be a few malcontents who fall away – there are always honourless bastards. But you are the son of the divine Julius, Octavian. Have you realised? The oaths of service they swore will pass to you.’

  ‘But I don’t even know who they are!’ Octavian said. ‘What good does this talk of thousands do me? I have the clothes I am wearing and a horse somewhere back on the road to Brundisium. Until the Senate pass the Lex Curiata, it is all in the breeze anyway.’

  Maecenas did not reply immediately. He looked across the forum to where the old senate house lay broken and burned, the worst of many scars they had seen in the city over the previous two days.

  ‘There will be lists somewhere, but they don’t know you have nothing, Octavian. From now on, you must play the game, for your life – and for the destruction of your enemies. Taking his name was brilliant. You want to see these Liberatores brought down? Then walk as the heir to a god and the richest man in Rome. Walk as one who can call down the wrath of Mars with a snap of his fingers.’ He thought for a moment. ‘It was a mistake asking for help from the consul. You may already have enough loyalty in the Senate to force a vote through without him.’

  Octavian stared. ‘I can walk any way I choose, but it will not bring me the gold I need, nor the clients.’

  ‘You have a meeting at the House of Virgins in a couple of hours,’ Maecenas said. ‘Octavian, your favour is a token any man in Rome would want, from this day onwards. You do not need to seek them out. They will come to you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Octavian felt refreshed as he approached the House of Virgins. For a few coins, he, Agrippa and Maecenas had found a serviceable bath-house and eaten at a roadside vendor. It was true he wore a second-hand toga loaned to him by one of Maecenas’ friends, but he felt more confident. In the steam, with the bath-house slaves told to wait outside, they had made their plans. As the sun reached its height, he walked to the temple with confidence, striding past Gracchus and the guards outside as if he had every right to ignore them. They did not challenge him and in a few steps the three men were out of the heat and in cool rooms dedicated to worship. Perhaps older men would not have stared quite so openly, but the Vestals were renowned for their beauty as well as their innocence, a combination that interested even so jaded an appetite as that of Maecenas.

  Quintina Fabia appeared from a stone doorway to welcome them. She had changed out of the morning’s formal robes into a fine cotton stola that revealed her figure rather than keeping it hidden.

  She approached Octavian with light steps, taking his hands in hers and kissing his cheek.

  ‘I grieve for you and with you,’ she said. ‘I only wish Caesar’s ashes could have been gathered for a tomb, but the riots were terrible. For a time, no one dared to go out. I am so sorry.’

  Octavian blinked. He had not been expecting sympathy and it threatened to reach the part of him where sorrow was still raw.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think you are the first person in the city to say that to me.’

  ‘You must forgive the men in power, at least for that. They have had their hands full with the unrest. Honestly, you have no idea how bad it was for a time.’

  ‘What of these “Liberatores”? Where are they hiding?’ Octavian said.

  ‘A few like Lucius Pella were killed by the mobs. The rest read the wind quickly enough after that and scattered to their estates and provinces. You will not find them here, not this year, though they have their supporters in the Senate still. In time, I do not doubt they will creep back to Rome, hiding their faces.’ She shrugged, gripping his hands tightly. ‘I am glad of it. They tried to remove the shame from what they did, but the citizens would not allow it. In all the chaos, there was at least that.’

  ‘Shall we go through, Quintina?’ Maecenas said.

  She looked over at him.

  ‘I see you are still around, Maecenas. How long has it been?’

  ‘A few years, I suppose. You look well.’

  ‘I am well enough. Shall I take your greetings to your mother, or will you visit her yourself?’

  ‘You know each other?’ Octavian said.

  ‘I should do. Quintina Fabia is my aunt,’ Maecenas replied without embarrassment. ‘Not a favourite aunt or anything; just, you know, an aunt.’

  ‘And he is far from my favourite nephew, lazy as he is,’ she replied, though she smiled as she said it. ‘But who is this fine and silent man?’

  ‘Agrippa?’ Maecenas said. ‘The smell of fish should have warned you, Quin. He’s a sailor, a rough and simple man, but loyal, like a good dog.’

  Agrippa ignored Maecenas as his own hands were gripped in turn and he found himself flushing under the scrutiny.

  ‘Maecenas thinks he is amusing, Agrippa,’ she said. ‘I have given up apologising for him.’

  ‘There is no need,’ he said. ‘He is just nervous. It has been … an interesting morning.’

  She cocked her head slightly.

  ‘I am glad to see he has such friends,’ she said. ‘His mother despairs at the low company he usually keeps. Will you be the witnesses to the document of identity?’

  Maecenas nodded, with a glare at Agrippa.

  ‘Good, then come through.’

  They followed her into the maze of rooms and halls beyond the main entrance. The House of Virgins was many times larger than the round temple that faced the forum. Young women scurried past in simple white shifts, often carrying sheaves of parchments or bound scrolls.

  Quintina saw their interest and smiled.

  ‘You assumed they would spend their days in prayer? My girls are part of the beating heart of Rome, gentlemen. Believe me when I say they know more about the laws of the city than the most august orators in the courts or the Senate. When their time in the temple is up, they have no difficulty finding good
husbands, with households to run.’

  ‘I never doubted it,’ Maecenas said. He stumbled as he tried to watch one long-legged young woman who had just passed them. Quintina saw the interest.

  ‘Though, of course, until then they are children of the goddess. If their purity is, shall we say, removed, they are buried alive – and the man is impaled before the crowds.’

  ‘A harsh punishment,’ Maecenas said wistfully.

  ‘But necessary. Men can be wolves, nephew.’

  ‘Shocking, truly shocking.’

  They reached a door of polished oak and the priestess led them in. On a large table lay piles of wax tablets and cut parchment pieces, along with ink and reed pens and all the paraphernalia of a business. Quintina seated herself behind the desk, leaving them standing.

  ‘This is a simple matter. I have prepared the document to be signed in front of your witnesses. I will add my name and then, Octavian, you will be Gaius Julius Caesar.’ She shuddered slightly as she said the name. ‘I had not thought to hear it again so soon. It is a name of honour. I hope you bear it well.’

  ‘I will,’ Octavian said. He read the single page, then each man signed his name with the reed pen Quintina handed to them.

  The priestess touched a lump of wax to the small flame of an oil lamp. She wore no rings, but used an iron stick imprinted with the seal of Vesta. Octavian repeated her action with Caesar’s seal and she looked at the imprinted image with fond sadness.

  ‘He was loved, you know. If you are half the man he was, you will make his shade proud.’

  She picked up a tiny bell and rang it, waiting as the door opened and a woman of delicate beauty came in and took it from her hands. As the woman passed Maecenas, she made a slight sound and stared angrily back at him. He looked innocent.

  ‘It is done, then. I hope you understand I could not allow the argentarii to enter the house. It is unusual enough to have the three of you in these rooms. They are waiting for you in the garden on the far side. The gate there leads out to the Palatine.’

  ‘Argentarii?’ Octavian asked.

  Quintina looked taken aback.

  ‘The moneylenders. They have been applying to me all morning to see you. What did you expect?’

  ‘I don’t need a loan …’ Octavian began.

  Maecenas snorted. ‘From this morning, you have the richest line of credit in Rome,’ he said. ‘So unless you intend to live on my funds, you do.’

  Quintina shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ she said. ‘They are not here to offer credit. Caesar had deposits with the three largest societies of argentarii. I think they are here to ask what you want to do with the gold.’

  Mark Antony felt a twinge of satisfaction at the sight of the senators facing him. Having been forced to use the theatre of Pompey for their meetings while the senate house was being rebuilt, they found that the sheer scale of the new building subtly undermined their authority. Their numbers had filled every space in the old building, but in the theatre they were surrounded by empty seats by the thousand, diminishing them in comparison. As consul, Mark Antony faced them on the stage, and there too the design favoured him. His voice boomed out as the architects had intended, while theirs sounded reedy and thin whenever they rose to speak.

  The senators avoided one area of the theatre in particular. The stones had been scrubbed clean, so that it was hard to be certain of the exact place, but no one sat where Caesar had been killed.

  Before the formal session, Mark Antony had waited patiently with the senators while scribes droned through a formal list of appointments, appeals and points of law that had been brought to their attention. He had been deep in conversation when his ear caught names he knew and he broke off to listen. Cassius had arranged a post for himself in Syria and Brutus had Athens. With Decimus Junius already in the north, many more had been given posts as far away as Jerusalem and Spain or Gaul, content to wait out the troubles in Rome until they could return safely. Mark Antony only wished they had all gone. Suetonius was still there, balding badly, with a sheen of thin hair brushed over the dome of his head. He was the last of the Liberatores to remain and was always in the presence of Bibilus, chief among his supporters and cronies. They made a tight group with Hirtius and Pansa, the senators already marked to succeed Mark Antony at the end of his consular year. Mark Antony could feel their dislike when they looked at him, but he did not let it ruffle his calm.

  The first formal discussion concerned Caesar’s will, particularly the bequests that were to be administered by the Senate. Those few who had not already heard were shocked to whispers by the sums involved. More than a hundred million sesterces would be given out to the people of Rome, a vast undertaking that would require identification of individuals by family and hundreds of trusted men to give out the silver. Mark Antony showed nothing of his inner turmoil as he waited through tedious speeches from men like Bibilus, demanding that the Senate delay the payments. Of course they would not want Caesar’s generosity to be the talk of every street, as if that bird hadn’t already flown.

  ‘Senators,’ Mark Antony said at last, allowing his voice to boom over their heads and silence Suetonius even as he began to speak. ‘The citizens of Rome know very well what they have been given. In this one thing, we can only step back and allow it to go ahead. We have barely recovered from riots, gentlemen. Would you see them return? Caesar had funds in every major temple and fully six parts in ten of the Senate store of coins has his name marked against it. Let no man call us thieves when our popularity is already at such a low ebb. His bequests must be honoured and quickly.’

  Suetonius rose again, his continually flushed face showing spite.

  ‘Such funds would be better spent rebuilding the city. Why should they be given silver when they have done ten times as much damage over the previous month? I propose we hold back the funds until such time as the city has been restored – and the old senate house must be first among those projects. Should there be no consequences for the damage they have done to our city? Let them see their precious few coins going on something worthwhile. Let them see also that we are not afraid to offend their delicate sensibilities, or we will forever live in fear of the mob.’

  Hundreds of voices grumbled loud agreement and Mark Antony felt his throat tighten with irritation. He wondered if Cassius was behind the mean-spirited point. Disbursing the funds would go a long way towards repairing their status in the city and yet other senators were jumping up to support Suetonius, their voices sounding tinny and harsh in the open space.

  To Mark Antony’s disgust, the vote to delay the payments passed by a huge majority and the Senate sat back on the benches, smug with the exercise of their authority. Mark Antony stepped aside temporarily while one of the Senate staff read a series of letters from legion officials in Gaul. He was fuming at the setback, more for what it revealed about his standing in the Senate than anything else. The men who ruled Rome had not missed his special treatment during the riots, it seemed. Now that he was aware of it, he could see the open animosity in many more than just those who were creatures of the Liberatores. He rubbed his chin, hiding his indignation. On one hand, the Senate were stretching their muscles, and on the other, he had a young fool naming himself Caesar, heir to half the gold in Rome. It was infuriating.

  As the Senate meeting continued, Mark Antony made a decision in his private thoughts. The discussion had moved on to the legions at Brundisium, with the Senate calling for a vote of censure. Hundreds of eyes stared his way while they waited for the consul to continue with the formal structures. Mark Antony returned to the rostrum, seeing his salvation.

  ‘Senators, we have heard calls for the legions in Brundisium to be punished,’ he began. If he had judged them right, he could force them to go in the direction he wanted. ‘In normal times, I would agree, but these are far from normal times. Those legion commanders were Caesar’s men, almost without exception. That name is still a talisman for the citizens. You h
ave said we should not fear them and I accept that, but should we poke and prod at their pride until they are forced to react in anger? Can the Senate stand another blow to the esteem in which we are held? I think not. Like so many others, the Brundisium legions were lost without strong leadership from Rome. However, that is in the past. Order has been restored and it ill behoves us to seek petty revenge. Some of you have talked blithely of having the legions decimated, but have you considered how Rome will react to such news? One man in ten, beaten to death by his fellows, and for what? For staying where they were while Rome was in chaos. It would be a thankless task for any man to give that order.’

  His heart leapt as he saw the bulk of Bibilus come to his feet to speak. Suetonius was up as well. Mark Antony took a deep breath, knowing his own future was in play. He acknowledged Bibilus first, taking a seat while the other man spoke.

  ‘I am astonished and sickened to hear the authority of the Senate discussed in such a fashion,’ Bibilus began. His cronies and supporters made noises of assent, spurring him on. ‘We are discussing legions under lawful authority who refused orders at a time of national crisis – and the consul would have us forgive them without punishment? It is unconscionable. Instead, I suggest to this house that only one of consular authority can take the will of the Senate and see it carried out. I recommend that Consul Mark Antony travel to that city and decimate each of the six legions there. The public death of a few thousand common soldiers will make the point for us far better than any rhetoric or noble speeches. It will be a mark that legions will remember in the future when mutiny rears its head once more. “Remember Brundisium” they will say, and it will die still-born before it has even begun.’

  There were cheers then and Bibilus patted the air for quiet.

  ‘Not many of us here have been quite as fortunate as the consul in the recent riots. Unlike the leader of this house, we have lost property and slaves to fire and looting. Perhaps if he had suffered with us, he would have a better understanding of the stakes involved!’