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

by Conn Iggulden

  The sun was setting and darkness was stealing across the marsh, seeming to rise from the ground like a mist. Maecenas and Agrippa were tortured by stinging flies that settled on their exposed limbs, attracted to the crusting black mud on their skin. With grim expressions, both of them tried to make themselves comfortable as best they could. Sleep was impossible in such a place, at least while Octavian could slip into the water and drown. It would be a long, long night.

  Cassius spat into a cup of water to clear his mouth as more yellow bile came into his throat. It was thick, bright stuff, pooling like soup below the surface of the clear liquid and hanging from a long thread as he coughed. He wiped his lips with a cloth, irritated that his body should betray him at such a time. His stomach roiled and ached and he told himself it was not fear.

  Mark Antony’s men had breached his palisade as if the thing was no obstacle at all. They’d come over the walls of Philippi and slaughtered hundreds of his men, pushing them back while more and more climbed in.

  To save his own life, he’d pulled back to the northern edge of the town, where he had his command, but in doing so he’d lost contact with his officers. He had no idea where his legions were or whether they were still following his last orders to defend the marsh side. He’d sent fifteen thousand men east to guard the Via Egnatia, though he thought now that it was a mistake. All he’d done was weaken the ranks of defenders where they were most needed.

  He handed his cup to his servant, Pindarus, who made it vanish discreetly. The only other man still with him was a legate, Titinius, who was clearly uncomfortable at being away from his legion. The man paced back and forth in the small stone building, his hands clenched behind his back.

  ‘I need to see, Titinius,’ Cassius said, irritated at the man’s agitation as much as anything else. ‘Is there a way up to the roof?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Around the back. I’ll show you.’

  They left the building and found a short flight of steps against the outer wall. Cassius climbed them quickly, stepping out onto the flat surface and staring all around him. His eyes were not good and the frustration only built. He could see legions swarming on the ridge, disappearing into the distance like storm clouds.

  ‘Tell me what you can see, Titinius,’ he ordered.

  ‘It looks like the legions of Brutus have taken the enemy camp,’ Titinius said, squinting. ‘I think the enemy have pulled back and formed up beyond it, though it’s too far for details.’

  ‘And here, on the ridge? Who can you see moving?’

  Titinius swallowed uncomfortably. The town was a mile across and he could see huge numbers of men and extraordinarii on the marsh side of the ridge. Even when they were fighting, it was hard to see who they were, or which side had the upper hand. He shaded his eyes to look at the sun as it touched the western horizon. Darkness would come soon and the night would be full of clashes and alarms. He shook his head.

  ‘I can’t tell if we still hold the town, sir, but …’ His attention was caught by a century of extraordinarii riding through the streets towards his position. ‘Riders coming, sir. No banners or standards.’

  ‘Are they mine?’ Cassius demanded, narrowing his eyes. He could see where Titinius was pointing, but the distant riders were just a blur to him. He tasted bile once again at the thought of being taken. If Mark Antony had won the town, he would not give his enemy an easy death. ‘Are they mine, Titinius? I need to know.’

  His voice had risen almost to a shout and the legate flinched.

  ‘I’ll go out to them, sir, and meet them before they reach us. You’ll see then.’

  Cassius stared at him, aware that the man was offering his life, if the approaching cavalry were under the command of Mark Antony. He almost refused. There was still time to run, but if the riders were his own and they had repelled the attack from the marshes, he would be back in control. Cassius reached out to grip the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Very well, Titinius. Thank you.’

  The legate saluted stiffly, heading down to the street at a good pace while Cassius stared after him.

  ‘I doubt I deserve that kind of loyalty,’ he muttered.

  ‘Sir?’ his servant Pindarus said.

  The young man looked concerned for him and Cassius shook his head. He was a lion of Rome. He needed no one’s pity, no matter how it turned out.

  ‘Nothing, lad. Now, you can be my eyes.’

  He looked towards the sun, frowning as he saw it had dipped to just a line of gold in the west. The sky was aflame with colour and the air was warm. He took deep breaths, trying to show Roman fortitude as he waited to hear his fate.

  Titinius kicked in his heels, making his horse canter along the stone streets, so that the noise of its hooves echoed back from the houses on either side. The animal snorted in discomfort as it skidded on the stones, but he urged it on along a street he knew should bring him to the horsemen trotting through the town. He could hear them coming long before he was able to see anything and his stomach clenched in fear. If it was the enemy, they would take delight in killing a legate. As soon as they recognised his rank from his armour, they would cut him to pieces. He looked back briefly, catching a glimpse of the distant figures of Cassius and his servant waiting on the roof. Titinius set his jaw. He was a servant of Rome and he would not shirk his duty.

  He passed into a small square that caught the last of the sun’s light and as he looked across he saw the first lines of horsemen on the other side. Titinius reined in hard, dragging his mount’s head in close to its neck. It whinnied and stamped as he stared at them. They had spotted the lone horsemen and a dozen or so kicked their own mounts into a canter out of instinct, drawing swords to face any possible threat.

  His hammering heart leapt when he recognised one of them. Titinius found himself panting and blowing in relief, suddenly aware of the tightness of terror in his chest even as it began to ease.

  ‘Thank the gods, Matius,’ he said as they reached him. ‘I thought you were Mark Antony’s men.’

  ‘I thought the same when I saw you waiting for us,’ his friend replied. ‘It’s good to see you alive after all that, you old dog. I should have known you’d find a safe spot.’

  Both men dismounted and clasped hands in the legionary grip.

  ‘I’ve come from Cassius,’ Titinius said. ‘He’ll want to know the news. How is it going out there?’

  ‘It’s a mess, that’s how it’s going. The last I heard, we’d taken their camp, but they’ve pulled back in reasonable order and we’ll fight again tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the attack here?’ Titinius said. The riders didn’t look as if they’d been fighting and he took hope from that. His friend’s expression warned him the news wasn’t good before he spoke.

  ‘We couldn’t hold them. They’ve dug in on the ridge and the marsh end of town. It will be vicious work getting them out again, but there are fresh legions polishing their pretty helmets on the sea road. When they come back in tomorrow, we’ll retake the position, I don’t doubt it.’

  Titinius clapped Matius on the shoulder, taking heart from the mixed report.

  ‘I’ll take the news to the old man. This part of town has been quiet so far. I haven’t seen anyone else before you.’ After the mounting fear as he’d ridden in, Titinius was sweating heavily and he wiped his face. ‘I really thought I was done when I saw you,’ he said.

  ‘I can see,’ Matius replied with a grin. ‘I think you owe me a few drinks tonight.’

  On the roof, the setting sun was casting the houses all around in dark gold and orange. The servant Pindarus called out everything he could see as Titinius reached the horsemen.

  ‘He’s pulled up, sir,’ he said, straining his eyes. ‘Gods, he’s … off his horse. They have surrounded him. I’m sorry, sir.’

  Cassius closed his eyes for a moment, letting the tension bleed out of him.

  ‘Come with me then, Pindarus. I have a last task for you before you find a place of safety. I won’t hold y
ou here now.’

  ‘I’ll stay, sir, with you. I don’t mind.’

  Cassius paused at the head of the steps, touched by the offer. He shook his head.

  ‘Thank you, lad, but it won’t be necessary. Come on.’

  They went down together and the gloom suited Cassius’ mood. He had always loved the grey light before darkness, especially in summer, when it stretched for ever and the night eased through the last of the day.

  In the main room below, Cassius crossed to where a gladius lay on a table. The sheath was a work of art in stiff leather and a gold crest. He drew the sword, placing the sheath back down as he tested the edge with his thumb.

  Pindarus looked at his master in growing dismay as Cassius turned to face him. The older man saw the pain in his servant’s eyes and he smiled wearily.

  ‘If they come for me, they’ll make my death a performance, Pindarus. Do you understand? I have no wish to be impaled, or ripped apart for their entertainment. Don’t worry, I am not afraid of what comes next. Just make it clean.’

  He gave the sword hilt first to Pindarus. The young man took it with a shaking hand.

  ‘Sir, I don’t want to do this …’

  ‘You’d rather see me paraded for the common soldiers? Humiliated? Don’t worry, lad. I’m at peace. I lived well and I brought down a Caesar. That is enough, I think. The rest is just … the screeching of children.’

  ‘Please, sir …’

  ‘I gave my life for the Republic, Pindarus. Tell them that, if they ask. There’s a pouch of coins with my cloak. When it’s done, take it and run as far as you can.’

  He stood straight before the young man with a sword. Both of them looked up as they heard hoof-beats growing closer.

  ‘Do it now,’ Cassius ordered. ‘They mustn’t take me.’

  ‘Would you turn away, sir? I can’t …’ Pindarus said, his voice breaking. He was breathing hard as Cassius nodded, smiling again.

  ‘Of course. Quickly, then,’ he said. ‘Don’t make me wait.’

  He faced a window into the twilit town and he took a long slow breath, smelling the scent of wild lavender on the air. He raised his head to it, closing his eyes. The first blow knocked him to his knees and a groaning sound came from his torn throat. Pindarus sobbed and swung again, cutting the head free.

  Titinius was cheerful as he threw a leg over his horse and dismounted. He hadn’t been able to see anyone on the roof as he rode back with Matius and the extraordinarii.

  ‘Come in with me,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘He’ll want to hear everything you’ve seen.’

  He strode in through the door and stopped on the threshold, frozen. Matius paused behind him.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Titinius shook his head, his mouth open. He could see the thin body of the commander lying in a pool of blood, its head off to one side.

  ‘Pindarus! Where are you?’ Titinius shouted suddenly, striding in.

  There was no reply and he paled further as he stood over the body, trying to understand what had happened. Could the servant have been a traitor? Nothing made sense! He heard Matius gasp as he stared in from the doorway. Titinius looked back at him in sudden understanding.

  ‘He believed you were the enemy,’ he said. Titinius gathered his thoughts before they could spool away into uselessness. ‘I’ll look after things here. You need to find Marcus Brutus now. Tell him what happened.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Matius began.

  Titinius flushed. ‘The old man thought he was captured, Matius. He had his servant take his life rather than fall into the hands of Mark Antony and Caesar. Just get through to Brutus. He has sole command now. There is no one else.’

  In the darkness, Octavian woke and stirred. He could not understand why his legs were so bitterly cold or why the air stank and things rustled around his head whenever he moved. He lay still for a time, staring up at a clear sky and a billion stars shining across the dark. He remembered stopping on the march and the dreadful taste of metal filling his mouth, but after that there was only confusion. Moments came to him, of being carried, of men cheering he knew not what, of the sounds of clashing iron coming closer and panic all around him.

  He struggled to sit up, his legs skidding in the sludge that had settled around them as he lay there. To his shock, he felt an arm reach out to steady him, then jerk back as Agrippa found him moving, rather than just slipping from his seat into the marsh.

  ‘Octavian?’ Agrippa hissed.

  ‘Caesar,’ Octavian murmured. His head hurt and he could not understand where he was. ‘Do I have to tell you again?’

  ‘Maecenas? Wake up.’

  ‘I’m not asleep!’ came Maecenas’ voice from nearby. ‘You were asleep? How could you sleep in this place? It’s impossible!’

  ‘I was dozing, not fully asleep,’ Agrippa replied. ‘Keep your voice down. We don’t know who’s out here with us.’

  ‘How long was I sick?’ Octavian said, trying to sit up. ‘And where am I, exactly?’

  ‘You’ve been unconscious for days, Caesar,’ Agrippa replied. ‘You’re at Philippi, but it isn’t going well.’

  He passed over a canteen to Octavian, who removed the top and sucked gratefully at the warm water within.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Octavian replied. He felt as if his body had been battered all over. Every joint ached and tendrils of pain spread out from his stomach to his limbs, but he was awake and the fever had broken.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the night Brutus had found sleep for a few brief moments before a unit of extraordinarii reached him with news that Cassius had taken his own life. His first response had been anger at the old man’s loss of faith, in their cause and in him. It was not over. They had not lost.

  In the cool darkness, he’d drunk water and chewed on a piece of dried meat, while the cavalry officer watched him in the dim light of an oil lamp. Finally, Brutus made his decision.

  ‘Send your men out to every legion under Cassius. My orders are to form up on the plain below.’

  The man went running for his horse, disappearing into the night as he passed on the order and his men scattered.

  Brutus stood at the bottom of the ridge. He knew he could not command two separate armies of that size, not without Cassius. Orders took too long on different fronts, arriving after the situation had changed and causing chaos. His only choice was to bring them together into one host, or see them cut apart separately.

  Under the stars, vast forces marched past each other on the ridge and around the marshes. They moved in deliberate silence, not knowing whether they passed friends or foes in the dark and with no particular desire to find out. It was true Brutus left Mark Antony in control of Philippi, but he thought the man would gain no benefit from the walled town. Mark Antony and Octavian had come to Greece to attack, not to remain behind defences. With Cassius already dead, Brutus knew they would want to complete the victory and take revenge for their losses the day before. He smiled grimly at the thought. Let them come. He had waited his whole life.

  As the sun rose, his legions drew up on the great plain at the foot of Philippi. Brutus spoke to each of the legates, one by one or in groups as they came to him. He was ready to fight again, legion against legion, pitting his ability to lead against the talents of Mark Antony and Caesar.

  When there was light enough to see, Brutus rode along his ranks, judging the numbers left to him. His army had lost thousands, but they had taken the main camp of Mark Antony and Caesar and driven their legions back with many more dead. Bodies still littered the great ridge, glittering like dead wasps in the dawn.

  In Philippi, Mark Antony had seen the vast array on the plain and begun to march his legions down. Brutus could see them coming, accepting the challenge. Mark Antony had always been arrogant, he recalled. He doubted the man had much choice, even so. His legates would pressure him even if he tried to hold back.

  Brutus had seen the vast, deserted camp on the plain.
Everything valuable had already been taken, though Brutus was sorry none of his men had reported the death of Caesar. It would have been somehow fitting if Octavian and Cassius had both fallen on the same day, leaving the two old lions of Rome to fight it out. Brutus could still hardly believe he was in sole command, but the thought did not displease him. He was at the head of a Roman army. There was no Gnaeus Pompey, no Julius Caesar there to gainsay his orders. This battle would be his alone. Brutus exulted in the rightness of it. For this, he had killed Caesar in Pompey’s theatre. He was out of the shadow of others at last.

  He looked up as a great cheer went up from Octavian’s legions, less than a mile from his ranks. He could see a distant figure riding up and down the lines there. Brutus gripped his sword hilt tightly, understanding it had to be Octavian, that the young man had survived to fight again. He told himself it didn’t matter to him. Seeing the pretender fall would only add to the sweetness of the day to come. It was a strange thought to know he had only two enemies left in the world and they would both face him that day across the plain of Philippi. Mark Antony would be confident, he thought. His men had done well, though Cassius had denied them the chance to capture him. Brutus gave silent thanks for the old man’s courage. At least the day would not begin with the spectacle of a public execution.

  Octavian had yet to prove himself. His legions had run the day before and they would be seething with that humiliation, determined to restore their honour. Brutus smiled coldly at the thought. His men fought for liberty. It would do just as well.

  Octavian was sweating, his body wet with it, though he had ridden barely a mile up and down the lines. He knew he had to let the men see him, to remind them they fought for Caesar, but he felt as if only his armour held him up, his body as weak as a child’s.