The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  The general raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

  ‘You expected him, a veteran of thirty conflicts, to take orders from a beardless boy of fourteen?’

  ‘I … didn’t think about it.’ For the first time, Marcus looked unsure of himself and the general turned back to Gaius.

  ‘If I back you in this, I will lose some of the respect of the men. They all know you made a mistake and will be waiting to see what I do about it.’

  Gaius’ heart sank.

  ‘There is a way out of this, but it will cost you both dearly. Fulvio is the boxing champion of his century. He lost a lot of face today when you clipped him, Marcus. I dare say he would be willing to take part in a friendly fight, just to clear the air. Otherwise, he may well put a knife in you when I am not around to step in.’

  ‘He’ll kill me,’ Marcus said quietly.

  ‘Not in a friendly match. We won’t use the iron gloves, because of your tender age, just goatskin ones to protect your hands. Have you been trained at all?’

  The boys murmured that they had, thinking of Renius.

  Marius turned to Gaius again.

  ‘Of course, win or lose, if your friend shows courage, the men will love him and I can’t have my nephew in his shadow, do you understand?’

  Gaius nodded, guessing what was coming.

  ‘I’ll put you in against one of the others. They’re all champions at some skill or other, which is why I chose them for the escort duty to the Senate. You’ll both take a beating, but if you handle yourselves well enough the incident will be forgotten and you may even gain a bit of standing with my men. They are the scum of the gutters, most of them; they fear nothing and have respect only for strength. Oh, I can just order them back to duties and do nothing, letting you hide in the shadow of my authority, but that won’t do, d’you see?’

  Their faces were bleak, and he snorted suddenly.

  ‘Smile, boys. You might as well. There is no other way out of this, so why not spit in old Jupiter’s eye while you’re at it?’

  They looked at each other, and both grinned.

  Marius laughed again.

  ‘You’ll do. Two hours. I’ll tell the men and announce the opponents. That’ll give Renius time to sober up a little. I should think he would want to see this. By all the gods, I want to see this! Dismissed!’

  Gaius and Marcus walked slowly back to their rooms. Their initial levity had faded, leaving a sick churning in both their stomachs at what was to come.

  ‘Hey! Do you realise I put a century boxing champion on his back? I am damn well going to try and win this match. If I can hit him once, I can knock him out. One good strike is all it takes.’

  ‘But this time he’ll be expecting it,’ Gaius replied morosely. ‘I’ll probably get that big ape Marius was leading around by the head earlier; that would be just the sort of joke he likes.’

  ‘Big men are slow. You’re fast with the cross, but you’ll have to stay out of range. All these soldiers are heavy and that means they can hit harder than we can. Keep moving your feet and wear them down.’

  ‘We’re going to be murdered,’ Gaius replied.

  ‘Yes, I think we probably are.’

  Tubruk was calmly accepting when he heard the news back at their rooms.

  ‘I expected something like it. Marius loves contests and is forever staging them between his own men and those of the other legions. This is just his style – a bit of cheering and a deal of blood and everything is forgotten and forgiven.

  ‘Thankfully, you haven’t drunk more than a cup or two of wine. Come on, two hours is not long to get you warmed up and ready. You’d better spar for a while in one of the training rooms. Get a slave to direct you to one and I’ll find you as soon as I have some gloves. One thing – don’t let Marius down. Especially you, Gaius. You’re his kin, you have to put on a good show.’

  ‘I understand,’ Gaius replied grimly.

  ‘Then get going. I’ll have some of the slaves throw ice water on Renius – from a distance so that he doesn’t go berserk.’

  ‘What happened with him? Why was he drunk so early in the day?’ Gaius asked, curiously.

  ‘I don’t know. Concentrate on one thing at a time. You’ll have a chance to speak to Renius this evening. Now go!’

  While the rest of Rome slept through the heat of the afternoon, the men from the First-Born legion gathered in the largest training room, lining the walls, laughing, chatting and sipping cool beer and fruit juices. After the fights, Marius had promised them a ten-course feast of good food and wine, and the mood was relaxed and cheerful. Tubruk stood with Marcus and Gaius, loosening the shoulders of one then the other. Cabera sat on a stool, his face inscrutable.

  ‘They are both right-handed,’ Tubruk said quietly. ‘Fulvio you know; the other, Decidus, is a javelin champion. He has very strong shoulders, though he doesn’t look fast. Stay away from them, make them come to you.’

  Marcus and Gaius nodded. Both were a little pale under their tanned skin.

  ‘Remember, the idea is to stay upright long enough to show you have nerve. If you go down early, get up. I’ll stop it if you’re in real trouble, but Marius won’t like that, so I will have to be careful.’ He put a hand on each of their shoulders.

  ‘Both of you have skill and courage and wind. Renius is watching. Don’t let us down.’

  Both boys glanced over to where Renius sat, his useless arm strapped to his belt. His hair was still damp and murder glinted from his expression.

  Cheering began as Marius entered. He held up his hands for quiet and it came quickly.

  ‘I expect each man to do his best, but know that my money will be on my nephew and his friend. Two bets, twenty-five aurei on each. Do I have any takers?’

  For a moment, the silence held. Fifty gold pieces was a huge bet for a private fight, but who could resist? The gathered men emptied their pouches and some left for their rooms to fetch more coins. After a while, the money was there and Marius added his own pouch so that one hundred gold pieces were held in his great hand, enough to buy a smallholding, or a warhorse and full armour and weapons.

  ‘Will you hold the bag for us, Renius?’ Marius asked.

  ‘I will,’ he replied, his tone solemn and formal. He seemed to have thrown off most of the effects of drink, but Gaius noticed he did not try to rise and waited until the money was brought to him.

  Fulvio and Decidus entered the training hall to more cheering from the men. There was now no question where their support lay.

  Both men were wearing only a tight-fitting cloth wrapped around their groins and upper thighs, held by a wide belt. Decidus had the sort of shoulders and physique usually seen on the statues of the forum. Gaius watched him closely, but there were no obvious weaknesses. Fulvio did not wave to the crowd. His nose was bound with a strip of cloth tied at the back of his head and his lips were swollen and angry-looking.

  Gaius nudged Marcus. ‘Looks like you broke his nose with that butt earlier on. He’ll be expecting you to hit it again, you realise. Wait for a good opportunity.’

  Marcus nodded, engrossed as Gaius had been with his study of the man and his movements.

  Marius raised his hands again to be heard over the lively soldiers.

  ‘Marcus and Fulvio will fight the first bout. No time limits, but a round ends when one man has a knee or more on the ground. When one is unable to rise, the bout is over and the other will begin. Come to your marks.’

  Fulvio and Marcus came to stand on either side of the general.

  ‘When the horn is blown, you begin. Good luck.’

  Marius walked sedately to the sidelines with the men and signalled to one to sound the horn usually used in battle. A hush fell and the blare resonated as a pure note.

  Marcus loosened his shoulders, rocked his head from side to side and stepped forward. He held his hands high as he had been taught by Renius, but Fulvio kept his fists relaxed, his arms only slightly bent. He swayed as Marcus jabbed with his left
and the blows went by harmlessly. One fist shot out and thumped into Marcus’ chest, over the heart. He gasped in pain and backed away, then set his teeth and came in again. He launched a fast jab followed immediately by a straight right, but, again, Fulvio moved out of the way with a single step and hammered the same spot with his gloved right hand. Marcus felt the air explode out of him with the pain.

  The men had begun cheering and only Gaius, Tubruk and Cabera cheered for the younger fighter. Fulvio was smiling and Marcus began to think. The man was fast and difficult to hit. At present, Marcus was doing all the work, winning nothing for his efforts. He growled in rage and surged forward, his right arm cocked. He saw Fulvio steady himself and then pulled up suddenly, letting the blow that should have knocked him out go past his chin. Marcus punched fast and hard at Fulvio’s nose and was gratified at the crunch of bones he felt. At that second, a cross caught him on the side of his head and he went down hard on the wooden floor, dazed and winded.

  He panted as he came up onto one knee and looked up at Fulvio standing a couple of paces away. Blood streamed from his nose again and he looked murderous.

  Marcus got up into a flurry of blows. He tried to stay away and fend off the worst of them, but Fulvio was all over him, thumping fists into his stomach and kidneys from all angles, chopping him to pieces, and when the pain made him hunch, catching Marcus with swift uppercuts to the head, rocking him back. He fell again and lay there, his chest heaving painfully. He tasted blood in his mouth and his left eye was swelling shut under the assault of Fulvio’s straight right.

  This time he rose and took three quick steps backwards to give him time to compose himself. Fulvio came with him remorselessly, moving his head and body from side to side as he looked for the best place to hit. The man resembled a snake about to bite and Marcus knew the next time he went down he was unlikely to get up. Anger flooded him and he ducked the first punch on sheer reflexes, batting the follow-through away with his arm. He felt Fulvio’s forearm slide under his fingers and suddenly gripped the wrist. His right fist came into the man’s stomach with all the power of his shoulders behind it and he was rewarded with a slight whoosh of pain.

  Still holding the arm, he tried to repeat the punch, but Fulvio brought his left over and clipped him hard on the jaw. The world went black and he fell down, barely feeling the hard, wooden boards underneath him. His legs seemed to have lost all strength and he could only manage to get himself up onto all fours, panting like a beast.

  Fulvio waved a glove at him to get up, still unsatisfied. Marcus looked down at the floor and wondered if he should. Blood dribbled from between his lips and he watched it spatter into a small pool.

  Ah well, he thought. One more try.

  This time Fulvio didn’t rush him. He was grinning again and beckoned with his hands for Marcus to come on. Marcus tightened his jaw. He was going to put the man on his back one more time if it killed him. He imagined each of Fulvio’s fists held a dagger, so that any contact would mean death. He felt his spirits rise. He knew how to fight with swords and knives, so why was this so different? He let himself sway a little, wanting Fulvio to come in. Most of his knife training had revolved around counter-strikes and he wanted the boxer to throw another punch. Fulvio quickly lost patience and came in fast, fists bobbing.

  Marcus watched the fists and when one exploded towards him, he blocked, lifting it with his forearm and counter-punched into Fulvio’s abdomen. Fulvio grunted and the left came over the top again in reflex, but this time Marcus dropped his head and the blow skidded over him, leaving Fulvio open for a split second. Marcus hammered everything into a straight left stopper, wishing it were his right. Fulvio’s head rocked back and, when it came level, the right was ready and Marcus smacked it into the boxer’s broken nose again. Fulvio took a sudden seat and fresh blood poured from his battered nose.

  Before Marcus could feel any pleasure, the man leapt up and poured out a string of blows, seeming to move twice as fast as he had before. Marcus went down after the first two and caught two more as he fell. This time he didn’t get up and didn’t hear the cheers or the horn as Marius nodded to end the match.

  Fulvio raised his hands in triumph and Marius ruefully signalled the first fifty of the hundred gold coins to be given back to the men. They gathered together in a momentary huddle and then, when silence had fallen, one of them offered the bag back to Marius.

  ‘We’ll let the win ride for the next one, sir, if you’re willing,’ he said.

  Marius grimaced in mock horror, but nodded and said he would cover the bet. The men cheered again.

  Marcus woke up as Tubruk threw a cup of wine in his face.

  ‘Did I win?’ he said through smashed lips.

  Tubruk chuckled and wiped some of the blood and wine off his face.

  ‘Not even close, but you were still astonishing. You shouldn’t have been able to touch him.’

  ‘Touched him properly though,’ he mumbled, smiling and wincing as his lips cracked. ‘Knocked him on his arse.’

  Marcus looked around for somewhere to spit and, finding nothing handy, swallowed a gummy mixture of phlegm and blood.

  Every part of him hurt, worse than it had when he’d been tied up by Suetonius years before. He wondered if he’d be as good-looking when he’d healed, but his thoughts were interrupted by Fulvio coming over, taking off his gloves as he walked.

  ‘Good fight. I had three gold pieces on me, myself. You’re very fast – in a few years, you could be seriously dangerous.’

  Marcus nodded and put out his hand. Fulvio looked at it and then shook it briefly and walked back to the men, who cheered him all over again.

  ‘Take the cloth and keep dabbing as the blood drips,’ Tubruk continued cheerfully. ‘You’ll need stitches over your eye. We’ll have to cut it to get the swelling down as well.’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll watch Gaius first.’

  ‘Of course.’ Tubruk walked away, still chuckling, and Marcus squinted at him through his one good eye.

  Gaius clenched his fists and waited for Tubruk to reach him. His opponent had already taken the floor and was limbering up, stretching his muscular shoulders and legs.

  ‘He’s a big brute,’ he muttered as Tubruk came alongside.

  ‘True, but he’s not a boxer. You have a reasonable chance against this one, as long as you don’t get in the way of one of his big punches. He’ll put you out like snuffing a candle if he catches you. Stay back and use your feet to move around him.’

  Gaius looked at him quizzically. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘If you can, punch him in the testicles. He’ll watch for it, but it isn’t strictly speaking against the rules.’

  ‘Tubruk, you do not have the heart of a decent man.’

  ‘No, I have the heart of a slave and a gladiator. I have two gold pieces on you for this one and I want to win.’

  ‘Did you bet on Marcus?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not. Unlike Marius, I don’t throw money away.’

  Marius came to the centre and signalled for silence once again.

  ‘After that disappointing loss, the money rides on the next bout. Decidus and Gaius, take your marks. Same rules. When you hear the horn, begin.’ He waited until both stood eyeing each other and walked to the wall, folding his great arms over his chest.

  As the horn sounded, Gaius stepped in and slammed his fist up into Decidus’ throat. The bigger man gave out a choked groan and raised both his hands to his neck, in agony. Gaius threw a scything uppercut that caught Decidus on the chin. He went down onto his knees and then toppled forward, his eyes glassy and blank. Gaius walked slowly back to his stool and sat down. He smiled silently and Renius, watching, remembered the same smile on a younger boy’s face as he’d lifted him from the icy waters of a river pool. Renius nodded sharply in approval, his eyes bright, but Gaius did not see it.

  The silence roared for a second, then the men released the breath they’d been holding and a rabble of voices broke out – mostly
questions and spiced with a few choice swearwords as they realised the bets were all lost.

  Marius walked over to the prostrate figure and felt his neck for a second. Silence fell again. Finally, he nodded.

  ‘His heart beats. He’ll live. Should have kept his chin down.’

  The men gave a half-hearted cheer for the winner, though their spirits weren’t really in it.

  Marius addressed the crowd, grinning.

  ‘If you have an appetite, there’s a feast waiting for you in the dining hall. We’ll make a night of it, for tomorrow it’s back to planning and work.’

  Decidus was revived and taken out, shaking his head groggily. The rest trooped after him, leaving Marcus and Gaius alone with the general. Renius never left his seat and Cabera stayed back as well, his face alive with interest.

  ‘Well, boys, you’ve made me a lot of money today!’ Marius boomed, starting to laugh. He had to lean against a wall for support as the laughter shook his frame.

  ‘Their faces! Two beardless boys and one puts Fulvio on his backside …’ The laughter overtook him and he wiped his eyes as they streamed over his red face.

  Renius stood up, swaying a little. He walked over to Marcus and Gaius and clapped a hand on each shoulder.

  ‘You’ve started making your names,’ he said quietly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On the night before the Triumph the First-Born camp was anything but peaceful. Gaius sat around one of the campfires and sharpened a dagger that had belonged to his father. All around, the fires and noise of seven thousand soldiers and camp followers made the darkness busy and cheerful. They were camped in open country, less than five miles from the gates of the city. For the last week, armour had been polished, leather waxed, tears in cloth stitched. Horses were groomed until they shone like chestnuts. Marching drills had become tense affairs; mistakes were not tolerated and no one wanted to be left behind when they marched into Rome.

  The men were all proud of Marius and themselves. There was no false modesty in the camp; they knew they and he deserved the honour.

  Gaius stopped sharpening as Marcus came into the firelight and took a seat on a bench. Gaius looked into the flames and didn’t smile.