In the courtyard of the house, a fig tree grew that had been planted by Livia’s own hand, when they were both still fresh with youth. It had found a good grip in the soil beneath the yard, growing heavy with fruit as the summer waned. Octavian had always loved figs and Livia had planted a tree in every house they owned, so that he would always have the dark green and red fruit wherever he went. In the evenings, he would walk out and grasp the ripening figs, enjoying the feel of them.
He did not know how to tell Livia his health was improving, at first. Whether it had been the sea journey to and from the island prison, or simply that some ague had left him, but as the weeks passed, he felt stronger every day. The shake in his hands dwindled almost to nothing and the warmth of the sun seemed to ease much of the pain in his joints. For a time, Octavian said nothing of it, but it was Livia who broached the subject and all its troublesome implications.
‘You have a better colour than when you came here,’ she said one evening. ‘Your hands are steady and you seem … sharper in your thoughts.’
Octavian sighed before he turned to look at her.
‘I am prepared for death,’ he said firmly, then waved a hand in helpless resignation. ‘But I admit it seems death is not yet prepared for me.’
‘The letters have gone out, Octavian,’ she said, her eyes distant. ‘They will be reaching your people any day now, as far off as Gaul and Egypt. Rome is preparing to mourn.’
‘They will have to wait then,’ he snapped. ‘I did not choose to get well, Livia. I have made my choices and I will not turn from them now. Perhaps this is just a final surge of life before the end.’ He stood up, feeling only a little pain as he looked at his hands, flexing them.
‘I am at peace, Livia. I tell you I am ready, even if my fingers cling on to the precipice and will not let go.’ He shook his head and she stood with him, raising a hand to his cheek.
‘I will be with you always,’ she said. ‘This is a good, peaceful house and the figs are ripening. I think I can find enough to fill a plate for you before you sleep.’
He looked at his white-haired wife with great affection, touched by the offer.
‘I would like that, Livia. Thank you. I think I will have the slaves rub some of the tiredness out of my muscles.’ He looked up at the darkening sky. ‘Tomorrow will be hot again. I can hardly see a cloud.’
She kissed him briefly, watching her husband walk in before she crossed to the fig tree and began to select the sweetest fruits, testing each one with gentle pressure from her thumbs. Her husband was a man of Rome and she loved him dearly.
While Octavian was made clean and dressed in a sleeping robe by his servants, Livia went to the kitchens and dismissed the staff there, standing alone with the figs on a long wooden board. She used a sharp knife to cut away the stalks and harder skins, until the peeled fruits were arranged on a glazed clay dish. From a pocket, she took out a vial and a tiny brush, painting one half of the moist fruits with the oily substance. The poison mingled with the dribbles of juice and she had to be careful not to wipe the tears from her eyes until she had washed her hands and rubbed them dry.
She found Octavian looking refreshed and ready for sleep, sitting upright in a chair by their bed. His eyes lit up when he saw the plate of figs and he took one from the side she offered him, crushing it in his mouth and closing his eyes for a moment in delight.
‘It is a little bitter,’ he said, ‘I think they will be perfect in another month.’
Livia joined him, sitting at his side and choosing always the figs that faced away from him. It did not take long to empty the plate and neither of them noticed when a slave appeared to remove it from her hand, vanishing as silently as he had come.
Octavian yawned.
‘We could go to the lake, tomorrow, perhaps, to spend the day in the summerhouse there. I could have the staff prepare cold food.’ He winced suddenly, reaching down to his stomach and rubbing a tender spot. He saw Livia look up and he smiled.
‘I think one of those figs was a little far from ripe, my love. My bowels are …’ He gasped at a sudden spike of pain, shifting in his seat. His eyes opened wide then and he looked at his wife in shock and understanding, seeing her grief.
‘The figs?’ he asked, pressing his fists into his stomach as the pain continued to build. Livia began to sob softly, her head dipping into her hands. He saw her nod and some of the tension went out of him. He had led Rome for half a century and he understood.
‘I see. Help me into bed then, my love. I need to lie down now.’
She gave him her arm to rise, aiding her husband and pulling back the single sheet that was all they needed in the summer months. She was still weeping and he chuckled through the pain.
‘Why are you crying, woman? I came here to die, after all. You are the mother of Rome and I am proud of you, still.’
When he was lying down, with pillows propping up his head and shoulders, Livia drew up the chair and sat at his side, holding his left hand. Octavian’s face had gone grey, sagging as his heart began to fail. He breathed in stutters, his eyes drifting open and closed.
‘Call my seneschal, would you?’ he whispered. ‘I have thought hard on the words I would say. I would have them heard.’
When she did not move, he forced himself to turn his head and look at her.
‘There will be no accusations, my love. This is my time and I will go in peace.’
Livia wiped tears away and stood, calling for his servants. The seneschal, Angelus, had been with him for thirty years. He came quickly and stood aghast as he looked down on his master.
‘My slaves will be freed, Angelus,’ Octavian whispered. ‘My will makes provision for you all, for your years of service.’
The seneschal bowed his head, his sorrow showing.
‘Thank you, Princeps. It has been a great honour.’
Octavian smiled with his eyes closed as the most senior men and women of his estate crowded into the room around him. The silence was unbroken as he spoke again.
‘I found Rome in clay,’ he whispered. ‘I left her clad in marble.’
He breathed out, long and still. Livia felt his hand grip hers and she sobbed aloud. Without opening his eyes, Octavian pulled in half a breath and turned his head towards her.
‘Have I played my part, my love? Have I done enough?’
‘You have, Octavian,’ she said, holding his hand up to her cheek and pressing it against her. The life went out of him then and he sagged, his chest growing still.
About the Author
Conn Iggulden is one of the most successful authors of historical fiction writing today. His two No. 1 bestselling series, on Julius Caesar and on the Mongol Khans of Central Asia, describe the founding of the greatest empires of their day. Conn Iggulden lives in Hertfordshire with his wife and their children.
www.conniggulden.com
ALSO BY CONN IGGULDEN
THE EMPEROR SERIES
The Gates of Rome
The Death of Kings
The Field of Swords
The Gods of War
THE CONQUEROR SERIES
Wolf of the Plains*
Lords of the Bow
Bones of the Hills
Empire of Silver
Conqueror
Blackwater
By Conn Iggulden and Hal Iggulden
The Dangerous Book for Boys
The Dangerous Book for Boys Yearbook
By Conn Iggulden and David Iggulden
The Dangerous Book of Heroes
By Conn Iggulden and illustrated by Lizzy Duncan
Tollins: Explosive Tales for Children
Tollins II: Dynamite Tales
* Published in the USA as Genghis: Birth of an Empire
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Conn Iggul
den 2013
Map © John Gilkes 2013
Conn Iggulden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
While some of the events and characters are based on historical incidents and figures, this novel is entirely a work of fiction.
Source ISBN: 9780007482825
Ebook Edition © August 2013 ISBN: 9780007285440
Version 1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Three
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Historical Note
Acknowledgements
Exclusive short story by Conn Iggulden
About the Author
Also by Conn Iggulden
Copyright
About the Publisher
Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) Page 41