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

by Conn Iggulden

  Mark Antony himself strolled down to the sandy landing place, watching their preparations with something like amusement. He looked healthy and strong, standing almost as tall as Agrippa and with the trim frame of a soldier despite his years.

  ‘Welcome, Consul,’ he said. ‘You’ve come a long way since I held the title you bear now. As I wrote to you, my honour guarantees your safety here. We meet under truce. I would like to introduce you to my companions, so will you walk with me?’

  The man Octavian had last seen riding hard for Gaul seemed to have no fear of the armed soldiers with Octavian. He looked as relaxed as any noble Roman enjoying an afternoon on the river. Octavian smiled at his manner, playing along.

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said. ‘We have a great deal to discuss.’

  ‘Now that he’s decided to listen,’ Maecenas muttered.

  The group of six accompanied Mark Antony to where a tent and tables had been laid out on the grass. From that side of the island, Octavian could see the Gaul legions on the opposing bank much more clearly. It was almost certainly no accident that the river was narrower on that side. A dozen scorpion bows and two centuries of archers watched him in turn, ready for the first hint of treachery. Strangely, it pleased Octavian that he too was considered a threat. He did not want to be the only one tying himself into knots with worry.

  Mark Antony was in an ebullient mood as host. He saw Octavian looking at the standing legionaries.

  ‘These are difficult days, Caesar, are they not? Lepidus here thought so, when I arrived in Gaul. I give thanks that he saw no conflict in handing over command to a consul of Rome.’

  ‘An ex-consul of Rome,’ Octavian said automatically. He saw Mark Antony begin to frown and went on quickly. ‘But still a man Julius Caesar called a friend and, I hope, an ally in these times.’

  ‘As you say. I find the more legions I have, the easier it is to find allies,’ Mark Antony replied with a booming laugh. ‘Lepidus? Let me introduce the new Caesar and the latest consul.’

  The man he brought forward with a hand to his shoulder looked awestruck and out of place in that gathering. Octavian did not know Lepidus personally, only that he had been prefect of Gaul and appointed by Caesar after the Imperator’s return from the east. Lepidus was not an impressive figure at first glance. He had a slight stoop that made him look like a scholar rather than a senior officer, though his nose had been broken many times and one of his ears had been battered badly in some old conflict. It was little more than a flap of gristle, pink and without the usual curves. His hair was full but completely white. Against them, Octavian felt his youth as a strength rather than a weakness.

  ‘I am honoured to meet you, Caesar,’ Lepidus said. His voice was low and firm and gave some sense of the man behind the ageing exterior.

  Octavian took his outstretched arm and gripped it.

  ‘As I am honoured to meet you both, gentlemen. As consul of Rome, I suppose I have the most senior rank. Shall we sit?’

  He gestured to the long table, deliberately moving towards it rather than letting Mark Antony set the pace. Maecenas and Agrippa came smoothly with him, taking positions at his back as he chose a chair at the head of the table.

  Mark Antony looked irritated, but he gave way with good grace and seated himself opposite Octavian, with Lepidus at his side. Four more of their men stood far enough back not to present an obvious threat, though their purpose was clear. Octavian glanced behind him to his rowers, who had taken position automatically, facing the others. They made two clear groups across from each other and the tension was suddenly present once more as Mark Antony rested his arms on the wood.

  ‘Shall I begin?’ Mark Antony said. He went on before anyone could reply. ‘My proposal is simple. I have fifteen legions at my command in Gaul, with Lepidus. You have eight, Caesar, as well as a consular year to come. You want the forces to bring down the Liberatores and I want rank and power in Rome, rather than as an outsider in Gaul. We should be able to come to an agreement, don’t you think?’

  Octavian gave silent thanks for Roman bluntness. In that at least, he and Mark Antony shared a similar dislike for the games of the Senate.

  ‘Where does Prefect Lepidus stand in this?’ he asked, giving no sign of a reaction.

  ‘Lepidus and I speak as one,’ Mark Antony said before the man could reply. ‘Rome has known a triumvirate before. I propose that we share power between us, with the aim of breaking the Liberatores in the east. I do not think you can accomplish that without my legions, Caesar.’

  Octavian felt his mind whirling. It was a good offer, if he could trust it. With Crassus and Pompey, Caesar himself had created the first triumvirate. He hardly had to mention how badly it had ended for two of them. He looked deeply into Mark Antony’s eyes, seeing the tension there. The ex-consul seemed to have a strong position, but there was something bothering him and Octavian searched for the right words to reveal it.

  ‘It would have to be recognised in the Senate, for it to be legal,’ he said. ‘I can offer that much, at least. I have enough clients there now to win any vote.’

  As Mark Antony began to relax, Octavian looked past him to the legions encamped on the river bank.

  ‘Yet it strikes me that I gain very little from this. I am consul, with a Senate who do not dare to cross me. Yes, there are enemies to be faced, but I can raise new legions.’

  Mark Antony shook his head. ‘I have reports from Syria and Greece that tell me you don’t have that kind of time, Caesar. If you wait much longer, Brutus and Cassius will be too strong. What I offer is the strength to break them before they reach that point.’

  Octavian thought deeply as both men stared at him, waiting. Consuls were limited in authority, for all the semblance of power they wielded. Like a temporary dictatorship, what Mark Antony proposed would put him above the law, beyond its reach for crucial years while he built his fleet and his army. Yet he thought he had not yet found the weakness that had brought Mark Antony to negotiate and it nagged at him. He looked again past those at the table, to the legions on the river bank.

  ‘How are you paying your men?’ he asked idly.

  To his surprise, Mark Antony flushed with something like embarrassment.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said, the words dragged out of him. ‘Part of our agreement must include funds to pay the legions I command.’

  Octavian whistled softly to himself. Fifteen legions amounted to seventy-five thousand men, with perhaps another twenty thousand camp followers. Octavian wondered how long they had gone without silver. Poverty was a harsh mistress and Mark Antony needed him, or at least the funds in Rome and from Caesar’s will.

  Octavian smiled more warmly at the two men he faced.

  ‘I think I understand the main arguments, gentlemen. But what sort of a fool would I be to accept battle against Cassius and Brutus and lose Gaul for lack of soldiers there?’

  Mark Antony dismissed the point with a gesture.

  ‘Gaul has been peaceful for years. Caesar broke the back of their tribes and killed their leaders. There is no High King to follow Vercingetorix, not any more. They have fallen back into a thousand squabbling families and will remain so for generations. Yet I will not take every Roman. I can leave two or three legions to man the forts for a few seasons. If the Gauls rebel, I will hear very quickly. They know what to expect if they do.’

  Octavian looked dubiously at the older man, wondering if he overreached himself. The last thing Octavian wanted was a battle on two fronts. Mark Antony played a dangerous game in stripping Gaul, for all it had brought him to the negotiating table.

  After a long, tense moment while the others watched him, he nodded.

  ‘Very well, gentlemen. I can see you have had time to consider how such a triumvirate might work. Tell me how you see it and I will consider what is best for Rome.’

  Three days of negotiations had left Mark Antony exhausted, while Octavian seemed as fresh as the first moment he had sat at the table. He retur
ned each dawn to the same spot, once the island had been checked for hidden men by Maecenas and Lepidus. There was no treachery and Octavian was filled with a sense that the agreement might actually work. Even so, he argued and discussed every point with great energy, while the two older men wilted.

  Octavian offered the passage of a law making their arrangement legitimate. In return, Mark Antony promised him complete control of Sicily, Sardinia and all of Africa, including Egypt. It was a barbed gift, with the fleet of Sextus Pompey controlling the western sea, but Octavian accepted. Mark Antony was to keep Gaul as his personal fiefdom, while Lepidus would gain the region in the north where Decimus Junius had ruled for such a short time. Spain and the rest of Italy would be their joint domain. Octavian arranged for three million sesterces to be sent over the river in boats and had the pleasure of seeing Mark Antony relax and look young for a while, before they lost themselves in the details once more.

  On the third day, the agreement was written to be sealed by all three men. Together, they would form ‘A Commission of Three for the Ordering of the State’, an ugly and unwieldy title that went some way to hide what it really was – a temporary truce between men of power to gain what they truly wanted. Octavian had no false hopes on that score, but Mark Antony had never been his enemy, for all the man’s Roman arrogance. His true enemies grew stronger by the day and he needed legions and power to take them on.

  The final part of the agreement caused more argument than the rest of it. When Cornelius Sulla had been Dictator of Rome, he had allowed what he called ‘proscriptions’ – a list of men condemned by the state. To be named on such a list was a sentence of death, as any citizen could carry out the charge, handing over the head of the named man for the reward of part of his estate, while the rest was sold for Senate coffers. It was a dangerous power to wield and Octavian felt the lure of it from the beginning and struggled to resist. The only names he allowed on his behalf were the nineteen remaining men who had taken part in the assassination of Caesar in Pompey’s theatre. Lepidus and Mark Antony added their own choices and Octavian swallowed nervously as he read the names of senators he knew well. His colleagues were settling old scores as their price for the agreement.

  For another two days, they wrangled over inclusions, vetoing each other’s choices for personal reasons and negotiating them back onto the list one by one. In the end, it was done. The proscriptions would create chaos in Rome, but when those men had their estates put up for auction, he would have the funds he needed to build a fleet and fight a war. He shuddered at the thought, reading the list yet again. Brutus and Cassius were the first ones on it. The eastern half of Roman lands were not mentioned anywhere in the agreements. It would have been a fantasy to parcel them out while they were still held by those men. Still, it was a mark, a line drawn. Cassius and Brutus would be declared enemies of the state, where once they had been protected by law and amnesty. It was not a small thing to see them heading the list.

  Six days after he had first landed on the tiny island, Octavian was there again. Mark Antony and Lepidus were glowing with their achievement, brought back into the fold by the only man with the power to do it. There was still little trust between them, but they had developed a grudging respect for each other in the days of argument. Mark Antony breathed slowly and calmly as he watched Octavian seal the triumvirate agreement and readied his own ring to add his family’s crest.

  ‘Five years is enough to put right the mistakes of the past,’ Mark Antony said. ‘May the gods smile on us for that long at least.’

  ‘Will you come back with me to Rome now, to see this made law?’ Octavian asked him, smiling curiously.

  ‘I would not miss it,’ Mark Antony said.

  The coast of Sicily was a perfect location for a fleet of raptores. The high hills close to the coast allowed Sextus Pompey to read flag signals, then send out his galleys in quick dashes, the oar-slaves straining until the prows cut white through the sea. He squinted against the glare to read the flags as the sun came up, showing his teeth as he saw the red cloth like a distant drop of blood against the mountain peak. It was almost hidden behind the pall of smoke from the volcano on the massive island, the grumbling monster that shook the earth and caused dead fish to float to the surface, where his delighted men could spear them and find them already cooked. At night, they could sometimes see a dim glow from the peak, as molten rock bubbled and spat.

  It was a landscape that suited his hatred and it was a heady thing to have both the authority and the ships to enforce his will. No longer did he have to risk the wrath of the Roman fleet whenever he sent out his crews to attack merchant vessels. The Roman fleet was his to command, with orders on waxed parchment, sealed in a great disc of wax and ribbon. The senior officers could only salute and place themselves under his authority when they saw that seal. From that moment, he had possessed a weapon as powerful as anything wielded by Rome. More so, given his stranglehold on the coast. Grain ships from Africa and Sicily itself no longer sailed to the peninsula. Rome was cut off from half the food and supplies they needed and he could do still more.

  Sextus Pompey turned to his new second in command, Vedius. It would perhaps have been more conciliatory to appoint one of the senior legion captains, but Vedius had been with him for years as a pirate and Sextus trusted him. Vedius was in his twenties, but he didn’t have the sharp eyes needed to read the flags and he waited to hear the news, almost quivering with excitement. The man had been a tavern wolf when Sextus had found him, making a rough living fighting for coin, most of which he lost in gambling or drink. They had recognised something in each other the first time Sextus had knocked him down, breaking his jaw. Vedius had attacked him three times in the months after that, but each time had been worse and eventually he had given up on revenge and taken an interest in the Roman noble who talked and acted like a commoner. Sextus grinned at the man, who had never known regular food until he joined the galley crews that preyed on Roman shipping. Even a wolf could be tamed with cooked meals, it seemed.

  ‘The red flag is up. There is some brave soul out there, risking his life to get trinkets through to his mistress.’

  In the old days, a second flag would have been vital to know the number of ships. One or two made a target, but more than that was too great a risk and his men stayed hidden in the bays and coves along the coast.

  Sextus felt his heart beat faster, an old pleasure. He was standing on the deck of a fine Roman galley, with legionaries and slaves ready to send it surging out. In the small bay where he had spent the night, another five galleys were sheltering at anchor, waiting for his orders. He shouted to the signaller, watching as his own flag ran up to the tip of the mast and the rowers were woken from sleep with a whip cracking by their ears. The other galleys reacted with the sort of discipline he had come to love, heaving up anchors from the seabed and readying their oars in just moments. He wanted to laugh aloud as he felt his ship move through the dark water towards the open sea. The others leapt forward, like hunting hawks. His raptores, just half a dozen of the deadly vessels he had been given. The coast sheltered two hundred of the galleys from prying eyes, all waiting on his orders.

  The movement brought his sister up from her tiny cabin, introducing a new note of tension into her brother’s frame. He did not enjoy the way Vedius looked at her. At eighteen, Sextus was father as well as brother to her and he kept her close rather than leave her among the coarse men in his inland camps.

  ‘No cause for alarm, Lavinia. I am doing the noble work of the Senate, keeping the coast clear. You can stay unless there is fighting. Then I want you safe below, all right?’

  Her eyes flashed in irritation, but she nodded. Though she had the same blonde hair as he did, it framed a face that seemed years younger, still very much a child. Sextus looked fondly at her as she tied her hair back and stared out to sea, enjoying the wind and spray. He was very aware that Vedius followed her every movement with his own dull stare.

  ‘Keep watch for e
nemy ships,’ he told Vedius, his voice curt.

  The man was ugly, there was no other word for it. Vedius had been so battered about the face that his nose, lips and ears were a mass of scarring and his eyebrows were just thick pink lines from being ripped too many times by iron gloves. Their first fight had begun when Sextus had told him he had a face like a testicle, but without that lucky blow against his open mouth, Sextus knew he could have been killed by the fighter. Still, no one does well once their jaw has been broken and he had introduced Vedius to the reality of swords after that. He would certainly not allow the man to court his sister. For all her youth, she was of noble blood and Sextus would have to find her some wealthy senator or praetor very soon. He saw Lavinia squinting at seabirds on the high ropes and he smiled in affection.

  The galleys came out at half-speed, their slave rowers warming up as they moved into the sun. Sextus exulted at the sight of them forming into an arrowhead formation without fresh orders. His original crews had simply rushed upon target ships, lunging at them with raucous cries. The fleet galleys were disciplined and deadly, and as he often did, he raced to the prow to lean out over it and stare into the distance as his ship crashed through the waves.

  Two ships lay ahead, mere specks against the glare of the sun. Even as he watched, they spotted his galleys and began to turn back for the mainland. It was already too late. Unless they made it to a proper port, all they could do was run their craft onto a beach and vanish to save their lives. Sextus chuckled as he was sprayed with salt water, holding on with only one arm against the gleaming bronze eye that looked over the waves. That part of the coast offered no sanctuary, only rocky cliffs that would smash the merchants to kindling faster than he could. He bellowed back to the legion officers and the drumbeat grew faster, the great oars dipping in and out of the sea. Their speed increased and the ships around him matched the acceleration smoothly, soaring over the waters as the merchants realised their mistake and tried to tack back out to sea.