The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘It would be a shame if he escaped without even a good beating, don’t you think?’ Octavian asked innocently.

  The raptores nodded, even the slowest beginning to realise the order to kill wasn’t going to come.

  ‘I can find him again, if you let us go,’ their leader said, trying not to hope. There was something terrifying about horses to a man who had grown up in the city. He had never quite understood how big they were before and shuddered as one snorted behind him.

  Octavian tossed a small pouch into the air and the man caught it, feeling the weight automatically before making it disappear inside his tunic.

  ‘Do a professional job,’ Octavian said, backing his horse to leave a gap for the men to pass. A couple of them tried to salute as they walked through the riders and began to make their way back to the city. None of them dared look back.

  Before the last centuries had voted, Julius knew he and Bibilus had won seats as consuls for the year to come. He was reminded of the motions of bees as senators clustered around both of them and he grinned at Bibilus’ bemused expression.

  Julius had his shoulder gripped and his hand taken by scores of men he barely knew and before he had fully understood the change in his status, he was fielding questions and requests for his time and even being told of opportunities to invest. In their role as the formal ‘Comitia Centuriata’, the citizens of Rome had created two new bodies for the city to suck dry and Julius felt overwhelmed and irritated by the attention. Where had these smiling supporters been when he was campaigning?

  In comparison to the shallow heartiness of the Senate, having Pompey and Crassus congratulate him was a genuine pleasure, particularly as he knew Pompey would rather have eaten glass than say the words. Julius shook the offered hand without a sign of relish, his mind already on the future. No matter who the people had elected to lead the Senate, the outgoing consuls were still a force in the city. Only a fool would scorn them at the moment of triumph.

  The magistrate climbed onto a small platform to dismiss the last centuries. They bowed their heads as he bellowed a prayer of thanks at them, finishing with the traditional order, ‘Discedite!’

  The citizens did as they were told and scattered, laughing and joking as they began the walk back to the sealed city.

  Suetonius and his father had paid their respects and Julius had spoken warmly to them, knowing it was a chance to mend the bridges broken in the campaign and the past. He could afford the gesture and Prandus seemed to accept his good wishes, bowing slightly to the consul elect of Rome. His son Suetonius had looked straight through him, his face blank with defeat.

  Pompey’s men had brought horses and Julius looked up as reins were passed into his hand. From the back of a grey gelding, Pompey looked down at him, his expression unreadable.

  ‘It will be hours before the Senate sit again to confirm the postings, Julius. If you ride with us now, we will have the Curia to ourselves.’

  Crassus leaned down on his horse’s neck to speak more privately. ‘Will you trust me one more time?’

  Julius looked up at both men, sensing the subtle tension in them as they waited for his response. He didn’t hesitate, swinging himself up into the saddle and raising an arm to those in the crowd who were watching the exchange. They cheered him as he wheeled and set off across the vast field with the two other men, a century of Pompey’s cavalry falling in behind as their escort. The crowd parted before them and their shadows stretched behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Without the voting centuries, the city was strangely empty as the three men rode through the streets. Julius was reminded of the night of the storm when he had gone down into the cells of the prison house and seen the tortured figures of Catiline’s men. He glanced at Crassus as they dismounted before the senate house and the old man raised his eyebrows, guessing at the reason for the attention.

  Julius had never before entered the senate house without it being filled with men on the benches. It echoed extraordinarily, reflecting each footstep as they took seats together near the rostrum. The door had been left open and the sun shone in as a bar of gold, making the marble walls feel light and airy. Julius leaned back against the hard wooden bench with a sense of vast satisfaction. His election was just beginning to sink in and he could barely resist grinning to himself at the thought.

  ‘Crassus and I thought we might all benefit from a private conversation before the Senate sits,’ Pompey began. He stood and began to pace as he spoke. ‘Leaving aside the flowery words for the public, we three have little friendship between us. There is respect, I hope, but no great liking.’ He paused and Crassus shrugged. Julius said nothing.

  ‘If we do not come to some arrangement for next year,’ Pompey went on, ‘I expect it to be a wasted time for the city. You saw the influence Suetonius has over Bibilus. The whole Senate has heard his bleating complaints about you over the years. Together, they will delay or frustrate anything you propose until nothing can be done. It would not be good for Rome.’

  Julius looked up at the man, remembering when he had first met him, in that very hall. Pompey was a superb tactician on the field and in the Senate, but both he and Crassus were facing the loss of the power and respect they enjoyed. That was the real reason for the private meeting, rather than any concern for the best use of Julius’ consular year. A deal was certainly possible, if he could find terms that would satisfy them all.

  ‘I have already given the matter some thought,’ Julius said.

  Suetonius rode back to the stables of the inn near the gates where he had taken a room for the day of the election. His father had hardly spoken to him and only nodded when Suetonius had offered his condolences for the loss. Senator Prandus had eaten quickly and in silence before making his way up to the room above, leaving his son to drown his own frustration in cheap wine.

  The door to the tavern opened and Suetonius looked up, hoping it was Bibilus come to join him. No doubt his friend was back at his palatial home in the centre of the city, being massaged by attractive slaves without a care in the world. Suetonius had not yet begun to consider the implications of Bibilus as consul. His first, panicky thought was that the consular immunity would remove the hold he had over the man, but he dismissed that as soon as he thought of it. Immune or not, Bibilus would be terrified of his habits becoming generally known in the city. Perhaps there could even be benefits to having his fat friend leading the Senate. It was not what he had planned, but having a consul at his bidding could be interesting. Suetonius resolved blearily to visit his home and remind Bibilus of their relationship.

  The man who entered was a stranger and Suetonius ignored him after the first glance. He was too drunk to be startled when the man cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘Sir, the stable boy says there is a problem with your horse. He thinks it has taken a thorn in the hoof.’

  ‘I’ll have him flogged if it has,’ Suetonius snapped, rising too quickly. He barely noticed the steadying hand on his shoulder as he was guided out of the inn into the darkness.

  The night air did something to remove the fog of wine from his thoughts and he pulled away from the arm that held him as he entered the low stables. There were men there, too many to be looking after the horses. They grinned at him as a cold panic settled his heaving blood.

  ‘What do you want? Who are you?’ Suetonius blustered.

  The leader of the raptores stepped out from the shadows and Suetonius fell back at the man’s expression.

  ‘Just a job to me, this, though I always give value if I can,’ he said, strolling towards the young Roman.

  Suetonius was held tightly by both arms even as he began to struggle and a hand was clamped over his mouth.

  The leader flexed his hands menacingly.

  ‘Snuff the lamps, lads. I don’t need light for this,’ he said and in the sudden darkness there came the thud of heavy blows.

  Julius wished he had slept the night before. His weariness weighed on him but now, of all tim
es, he needed to be sharp to deal with the two men.

  ‘Together, you still command enough support in the Senate to force anything through.’

  ‘Unless there is a consular veto,’ Pompey replied immediately.

  Julius shrugged. ‘Do not consider it. I will deal with Bibilus when the time comes.’

  Pompey blinked at him as Julius continued.

  ‘Without that block, your factions in the Senate are enough. The question is merely what I must give you to ensure your support.’

  ‘I don’t think …’ Crassus began stiffly, but Pompey held up a hand.

  ‘Let him speak, Crassus. You and I have discussed this enough without a solution. I want to hear what he has in mind.’

  Julius chuckled at their eagerness. ‘Crassus wants trade. Together, Pompey, we could grant him an absolute monopoly throughout Roman lands. A licence for two years, say. He would have a stranglehold on every coin in the dominions and yet, I do not doubt, the total wealth will increase under his hand. If I know Crassus, the treasury of Rome will be swollen to bursting in less than a year.’

  Crassus smiled at the compliment, but he did not seem especially moved. Julius had hoped the old man would be tempted by the licence alone, but the deal had to leave them all satisfied or it would be broken at the first test.

  ‘But perhaps that is not enough?’ Julius said, watching them both carefully.

  Pompey’s eyes glittered with interest and Crassus was deep in thought. The idea of a total grip on trade was wonderfully intoxicating to him and he knew better than Julius what he could achieve with that power. His competitors would be beggared at a single stroke, their houses and slaves put up for auction. In only a short time, he could treble his land holdings and own a merchant fleet as great as any the world had seen. He would be able to ignore the losses of distant storms and send his ships out to far countries, Egypt, India, places without names, even. None of this showed in his expression. Crassus frowned carefully to show the young man he still needed to be persuaded, while his mind reeled at the thought of the fleet he would gather.

  ‘What about your own concessions, Julius?’ Pompey said impatiently.

  ‘I want six months in Senate, working with you in mutual support. The promises I made to the people of Rome were not empty. I want to pass new laws and ordinances. Some will upset the more traditional members of the Senate and I must have your votes with me to ride over their objections. The people have elected me; let us not be held back by Bibilus or a pack of toothless old men.’

  ‘I cannot see what advantage there is to me in such an arrangement,’ Pompey prompted.

  Julius raised his eyebrows. ‘Apart from the good of Rome, of course.’ He smiled to ease the barb as Pompey coloured, knowing he could still lose it all with a false step.

  ‘Your own desires are simple enough, my friend,’ Julius said. ‘You want Dictatorship, though you may resist the name. Crassus and I will endorse any motion or vote you put to the Senate. Anything. Between us, we could have the Senate at our feet.’

  ‘That is no small thing,’ Pompey said quietly. What Julius was proposing completely undermined the purpose of having two consuls as a check on each other, but Pompey couldn’t find it in himself to mention it.

  Julius nodded. ‘I would not if I thought you were a lesser man, Pompey. We have disagreed in the past, but I have never questioned your love of this city, and who knows you better than I? We destroyed Cato together, remember? Rome will not suffer under you.’

  The flattery was perhaps a little obvious, though Julius found to his surprise that he believed at least part of it. Pompey was a solid leader and would defend Roman interests with determination and strength, even if he would never extend them.

  ‘I do not trust you, Caesar,’ Pompey said bluntly. ‘All these promises could come to nothing unless we are more firmly bound.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I need a token of goodwill from you, a proof of your support that is more than air.’

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ Julius said, shrugging.

  ‘How old is your daughter?’ Pompey asked. His face was deadly serious and Julius understood his meaning immediately.

  ‘Ten this year,’ he replied. ‘Too young for you, Pompey.’

  ‘She will not always be. Bind your blood to me and I will accept your promises. My own wife is in the grave more than three years and a man is not meant to be alone. When she is fourteen, send her to me and I will marry her.’

  Julius rubbed his eyes. So much depended on reaching an agreement with the two old wolves. If his daughter had been one of his soldiers, he knew he would sacrifice her without a moment’s thought for such stakes.

  ‘Sixteen. She will be your bride at sixteen,’ he said at last.

  Pompey beamed at him and nodded, stretching out his hand. Julius felt cold as he took it. He had them both, if he could supply the final pieces, but still the problem of Crassus worried at his thoughts. In the silent Curia, Julius could hear the echoes of Pompey’s soldiers as they marched in the forum and listening to them gave him the answer.

  ‘A legion also, Crassus,’ Julius said, thinking quickly. ‘A new eagle in the Campus Martius, raised in your name. Men I would train and mingle with my best officers for half a year. We will send to the country for them, to the tens of thousands of simple men who have never had the chance to fight for Rome. They would become yours, Crassus, and I can tell you there is no greater bond or joy than forming them into a legion. I will make them for you, but you will wear the general’s plume.’

  Crassus looked up sharply at both men, considering the offer. He had longed for a command ever since the disaster against Spartacus, held from it by the nagging doubt that he could not lead as easily as Pompey and Caesar. Listening to Julius made it seem possible, but he tried to speak, to explain his doubts.

  Julius laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘I have taken men from Africa and Greece and made them soldiers, Crassus. I will do more with those of Roman blood. Catiline saw a weakness we must remove if Rome is to thrive with your trade, don’t you think? The city needs good men on the walls above all else.’

  Crassus flushed. ‘I may … not be the man to lead them, Caesar,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  Julius could imagine what it had cost him to make the admission in front of Pompey, but he snorted in reply, ‘Neither was I until Marius and Renius and, yes, Pompey showed me how, by example and by training. No man leaps full-grown into that role, Crassus. I will be with you in the first steps and Pompey will always be there. He knows Rome needs a second legion for protection. I doubt he would want anything less in a city that answers to him.’

  Both of them looked to Pompey and he answered immediately.

  ‘Whatever you need, Crassus. There is truth in what he says.’ Before they could do more than smile, Pompey went on, ‘You paint a pretty picture for us, Julius. Crassus with his trade, I with a bride and the city I love. But you have not told us the price for this generosity. Say it now.’

  Crassus interrupted, ‘I will accept these terms, with two additions. A licence for five years not two, and my eldest son Publius is to be taken into the Tenth as an officer, a centurion. I am an old man, Julius. My son will lead this new legion after me.’

  ‘I can agree to that,’ Julius said.

  Pompey cleared his throat impatiently. ‘But what do you want, Caesar?’

  Julius rubbed his eyes again. He had not considered binding his family to Pompey’s line, but his daughter would rise in one stroke to the highest social rank in Rome. It was a fair bargain. They were both too old in politics to refuse such an arrangement and what he offered was a world better than the misery of losing their power and influence, even in part. Julius knew the addictive nature of command. There was no greater satisfaction than to lead. When he looked up at them, his eyes were bright and sharp.

  ‘When my six months are up in the city and the laws I want have been added to the rolls, then it is simple. I want to take my two legions out
to new lands. I will give my proxy to Pompey and I want you both to sign orders giving me complete freedom to levy soldiers, strike bargains and make laws in the name of Rome. I will not report back unless I see fit. I will answer to no man but myself.’

  ‘Will that be legal?’ Crassus asked.

  Pompey nodded. ‘If I have the consul’s proxy, it will. There is some precedent.’ Pompey frowned in thought. ‘Where will you take these legions, to do this?’ he asked.

  Julius grinned, carried away by his own enthusiasm. How he had argued with his friends over the destination! Yet in the end, there had been only one choice. Alexander had gone east and that path was well trodden. He would go west.

  ‘I want the wild land, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I want Gaul.’

  In full armour, Julius strode through the night, heading towards Bibilus’ home. Pompey and Crassus believed he knew some way to muzzle his co-consul, but the truth was he had no clear idea of how to prevent Bibilus and Suetonius making a mockery of all their plans.

  Julius clenched his fists as he walked. He had given up his daughter and pledged time and money and power to Pompey and Crassus. In return, he would have a freedom greater than any Roman general in the city’s history. Scipio Africanus had not had the range of powers Julius would have in Gaul. Even Marius had answered to the Senate. Julius knew he would not let such a thing fall from his hands because of one man, no matter what he had to do.

  The crowds parted for him as he swept through. Those who recognised him fell silent. The new consul’s expression forbade any attempt to greet or congratulate him and more than a few wondered what news could have so angered a man on the very day of his election.

  Julius left them murmuring in his wake as he approached the great gates and columns of Bibilus’ house. His resolve hardened as he raised his fist to hammer on the oak door. He would not be denied this last step.

  The slave that answered the summons was a youth whose face was heavily painted, giving him a lascivious expression even as he recognised the visitor and his eyes opened in surprise.