The Emperor Series: Books 1-5

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘I am, sir,’ Publius replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Julius woke long before dawn and lay in the warmth created by Servilia beside him. He had left her only once the night before to ask Crassus to bring his men in from the cold. While Crassus opened rooms and summoned food and blankets for the century, Julius had quietly closed the door once more and forgotten them.

  Now, in the darkness, Julius could hear the snores of soldiers packed along every space of the house. No doubt the kitchens would be preparing breakfast for them and Julius knew he too should be rousing himself and planning the day. Yet there was a delicious lethargy in that warm dark and he stretched, feeling her cool skin against his arm as he moved. She stirred and murmured something he could not catch, enough to make him sit up on one elbow and look at her face.

  Some women looked their best in the bright light of the sun, but Servilia was most beautiful in the evening or under the moon. Her face had nothing of the sharp hardness he had once seen. He could still picture her acid contempt when he had come striding into her home for their last meeting. It was a mystery to him how he could have engendered such apparent hatred and yet now have her in his bed, stirring like a dreaming cat. He might have held back after that first embrace in the firelight, but her eyes had been full of some strange grief and he had never been able to resist the tears of a beautiful woman. It stirred him as no smile or coquetry ever could.

  He yawned in silence, the strain making his jaw crack. If only life were as simple as he wanted it to be. If he could dress and leave with nothing more than a final glance at her sleeping form, he would have a perfect memory of the woman he had loved for so long. It would have been enough to banish some of the pain she had caused him. He watched her smile in her sleep and his own expression lightened in response. He wondered if he was in her dreams and thought of some of the extraordinarily erotic sequences that plagued his sleep for the first few months in Gaul. He leaned closer to her ear and breathed his name into it, over and over, grinning to himself. Perhaps she could be made to dream of him.

  He froze as she raised a hand to rub the ear without waking. The movement in the soft linen revealed her left breast and Julius found the image endearing and arousing at the same time. Though age had left its marks on her, as she lay there her breast was pale and perfect. Julius watched with fascination as the exposed nipple firmed and darkened and he considered waking her with the warmth of his mouth on it.

  He sighed, lying back. When she woke, the world would intrude on them once again. Though Crassus would keep any secret, Brutus would have to be told his own mother was there in the north. Julius frowned in the darkness as he considered his friend’s reaction to the news that Servilia once again shared his bed. Julius had seen Brutus’ relief at the end of that relationship, punctuated with twin slaps in Rome. To see it rekindled could weigh heavily on him. He clasped his hands behind his head as he thought.

  There could be no returning to Gaul until spring; he had always known that. Once the passes were blocked, nothing living could make the trip. At one point, Julius had considered travelling to Rome, but dismissed the idea. Unless he could be certain of making the journey without being recognised, he would be too much of a temptation for his enemies, with only a hundred men for protection. Rome was as unreachable as the passes over the Alps and Julius struggled with a feeling of claustrophobia at the thought of spending months in the dreary streets of Ariminum.

  At least his letters would get through, he thought. And he could travel to the shipyards to oversee the fleet he had ordered. It seemed a vain hope to expect them to release the vessels without any more than his deposits, no matter what he promised. Yet without them, his plans for the sea crossing would be delayed, perhaps by as much as another year.

  He sighed to himself. There were always battles to be fought in Gaul. Even when a tribe had paid tribute for two summers, they could plant their flags in the hard ground and declare war on the third. Without outright extermination, Julius was forced to face the fact that such rebellions could continue for his full term there. They were a hard people to put down.

  His eyes were cold as he considered the tribes. They were nothing like the men and women he had known as a boy in Rome. They sang and laughed more easily, despite their short, hard lives. Julius still remembered his astonishment the first time he had sat with Mhorbaine listening to a storyteller weave an ancient tale for them. Perhaps something had been lost in Adàn’s translation, but Julius had seen tears in the eyes of veteran warriors and at the conclusion of the story Mhorbaine had wept like a child, without a sign of embarrassment.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Servilia said. ‘You look so cruel, sitting there.’

  Julius met her dark eyes and forced a smile onto his face.

  ‘I was thinking of the songs of the Gauls.’

  She pouted, pulling herself up on the cushion beside him. The fire was long dead and with a shiver she yanked the blankets to cover her shoulders, forming a nest of cloth from which she watched him.

  ‘I travel three hundred miles and throw myself into a night of lascivious pleasure with you and you are still thinking of some grubby tribesmen? You amaze me.’

  He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling the whole bundle close to his chest.

  ‘I don’t care why you came. I’m just glad you did,’ he said.

  This seemed to please her and she tilted her head to be kissed. Julius half-turned to respond and the scent of her perfume recalled all the passion and innocence of the past. It was almost too painful.

  ‘I missed you,’ she said. ‘Very much. I wanted to see you again.’

  Julius looked at her, struggling with his emotions. Part of him wanted to be angry with her. She had caused him so much grief that he had hated her for a long time, or told himself he had. Yet he had not hesitated after that first moment the night before. All his internal arguments and scabs had drifted away and again he felt as vulnerable as any other young fool.

  ‘Am I an evening’s entertainment to you, then?’ he asked. ‘You seemed to have no doubts when I left your house in Rome.’

  ‘I did have doubts, even then. If I hadn’t sent you away you would have grown tired of having an old woman in your bed. Don’t interrupt, Julius. If I don’t say it, I may not be able …’

  He waited while she stared off into the darkness. One of her hands tightened slowly in the heavy cloth that covered them both.

  ‘When you want a son, it cannot come from me, Julius, not any more.’

  Julius hesitated before responding. ‘You’re sure?’

  She sighed, raising her eyes. ‘Yes, of course I’m sure. I was sure when you left Rome. Perhaps you are already thinking of children to carry on your line. You will turn to some young girl with wide hips to give you them and I will be thrown aside.’

  ‘I have my daughter,’ he reminded her.

  ‘A son, Julius! Do you not want to have sons of your own to follow you? How often have I heard you speak of your own father? You would never be satisfied with a daughter who cannot set foot in the senate building. A daughter who cannot lead your legions for you.’

  ‘That was why you left me?’ he said, understanding. ‘I can find a wife from any family in Rome to carry my blood. Nothing between us would change.’

  Servilia shook her head in weariness. ‘It would, Julius. It must. You would look at me with guilt for every hour we spent together. I couldn’t bear to see it.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ he demanded, suddenly angry. ‘What has changed for you to come to me and set everything on its head once again?’

  ‘Nothing has changed. There are days when I do not think of you at all and others when you are constantly in my thoughts. When Crassus told me he was coming to this meeting, I joined him. Perhaps I should not have done. By your side, the future is miserable for me.’

  ‘I don’t understand you at all, you know,’ Julius said softly, touching her face. ‘I do not care about sons, S
ervilia. If there is a time when I do, I will marry some daughter of a senator for that reason. If you are mine, I will love no other.’

  She closed her eyes and in the first light of dawn, he could see tears spilling down her cheeks.

  ‘I should not have come,’ she whispered. ‘I should have left you alone.’

  ‘I was alone,’ he said, gathering her in, ‘but now you are here with me.’

  The winter sun had risen when Julius found Brutus in the small courtyard of the house, deep in conversation with Crassus over the lodgings for the century of the Tenth. They had brought ten mounts from Gaul and hobbled them in the yard the night before, with heavy blankets against the cold. Brutus had refilled their nosebags with grain and broken the thin sheet of ice that had formed on the water buckets. At the sound of footsteps, Brutus looked up.

  ‘I would like a private word,’ Julius said.

  Crassus understood immediately and left them together. Brutus began to brush the shaggy winter coats of the horses in long strokes.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Your mother is here,’ Julius said.

  Brutus stopped his brushing and looked at him. His face tightened with sudden knowledge.

  ‘To see me, or to see you?’

  ‘Both, Brutus.’

  ‘So you raise your fist to my mother and now she comes crawling back into your bed, is that it?’

  Julius tensed with anger.

  ‘Just once, think before you speak to me. I will not suffer your anger this time, Brutus, I swear it. One more word in that tone and I will have you hanged in this courtyard. I’ll pull the rope myself.’

  Brutus turned to face him and Julius saw he was unarmed. He was glad of it. He spoke with a terrible slowness, as if each word was forced out of him.

  ‘You know, Julius, I have given you a great deal. Do you know how many battles I have won for you? I’ve been your sword all the years of my life and I have never been anything but loyal. But the first moment you feel a prick of anger, you threaten me with a rope?’

  He leaned very close to Julius.

  ‘You forget yourself. I’ve been there from the beginning. And what has it gained me? Do you praise my name as you do Mark Antony’s? Do you give me the right flank when I risk my life for you? No, you come out here and treat me like your dog.’

  Julius could only stare at the pale rage he saw. Brutus’ mouth twisted in bitter mockery.

  ‘Very well, Julius. You and she are none of my concern. She made that perfectly clear to me before. But I will not stay here to watch you spend the winter … renewing your relationship. Is that sweetly enough phrased for you?’

  For a moment, Julius could not answer him. He wanted to find words to ease the pain in his friend, but after his threats they would have been worthless. In the end, he set his jaw and retreated behind coldness.

  ‘I will not keep you, if you want to go,’ he said.

  Brutus shook his head. ‘No, it would be unpleasant for the pair of you having me as a witness. I will travel down to Rome until spring. There is nothing holding me here.’

  ‘If that is what you want,’ Julius said.

  Brutus did not reply, simply nodding and turning back to his brushing. Julius stood in painful silence, knowing he should speak. Brutus muttered softly to his horse, easing the bit into its mouth. As he mounted, he looked down at the man he revered above all others.

  ‘How will it end this time, do you think? Will you hit her?’ he said.

  ‘It is not your concern,’ Julius replied.

  ‘I don’t like to see her treated as one of your conquests, Julius. When will you be satisfied, I wonder? Even Gaul is not enough for you, with another twenty ships being built. Campaigns are meant to end, Julius, or did no one ever tell you that? Legions are meant to come home when the war is over, not find another one and another.’

  ‘Go to Rome,’ Julius replied. ‘Rest the winter. Just remember that I will need you in spring.’

  Brutus unrolled a fur cloak and tied it tight around his shoulders before mounting. He had enough gold in his pouch to buy food on the journey south and he wanted to leave. Yet when he gathered the reins in his hands and looked down at the miserable face of his friend, he knew he could not dig in his heels and leave him there without speaking again.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he said.

  Crassus and Pompey travelled back to Rome the following morning, leaving Julius the full run of the house. Within a week, he had settled into a routine of writing letters and reports in the morning with Adàn and spending the rest of the day with Servilia. He travelled with her to the shipyards in the west and for those weeks it was as if they were a newly married couple. Julius blessed the fact that she had come to him. After the exhaustion of his campaigns in Gaul, it was a pure joy to visit the theatres in a Roman city and listen to his own language in every mouth of the markets. It made him yearn to see Rome again, but even in Ariminum he had to be careful. If the moneylenders of his city found that he was back in the country, they would demand a settlement and he had very little left to tide his men over the winter.

  Julius knew his one advantage lay in the fact that men like Herminius wanted their money more than his blood. If he were taken and brought back to the city, they would end up with nothing. Even so, his men wore cloaks over their distinctive armour in public and Julius avoided the houses of those who might have known him.

  He revelled in Servilia and their lovemaking was like water in a desert. He could not quench his thirst and the scent of her was on his skin and in his lungs at all times. As the winter began to ease and the days lengthened, the thought of parting from her was almost a physical pain. At times, Julius thought of taking her with him, or arranging visits to the new lands he was taking for Rome. Thousands of other settlers were already farming stretches of the virgin soil and he could promise at least some comfort.

  It was just a dream and they both knew it, even as they fantasised about establishing a small house for her in the Roman provinces. Servilia could no more leave the city than the Senate could. It was part of her: away from it, she was lost.

  Through her, Julius learned how far Clodius and Milo had come in their domination of the poorer areas. He hoped Pompey’s confidence was not misplaced and wrote to him again pledging support if Pompey wanted to force a vote for Dictatorship. Though Julius knew he could never fully trust the man, there were few others with the strength and ability to control their tempestuous city and the offer was genuine. Having Pompey as Dictator was far preferable to anarchy.

  By the time the winter frosts had begun to lessen, Julius was already tired of the pale imitation of Rome that was Ariminum. He hungered for the mountain snows to clear, though the end of winter brought a secret guilt and fear. Each day that passed brought him closer to the point when he would either see his oldest friend return, or know he would have to cross the mountains without him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Brutus had shed his cloak for the last stage of the ride south to Rome. Though the air was still sharp, it had nothing like the bite of Gaul and the exertion of riding kept him warm. His original mount had been left far behind at the first legion post on the Via Flaminia. He had paid to have the gelding looked after and would collect the horse as his final change on his return. The system had allowed him a remount every thirty miles and he had made the journey in only seven days.

  After his first joy at walking through the city gate, everything had soured as soon as he took in his surroundings. Rome looked the same in many ways, but his soldier’s instincts had brought an immediate prickling alarm. Alexandria’s letters should have prepared him for the changes, but she had not managed to convey the sense of raw panic that hung in the air. Half the men he passed were armed in some way or another. It was something a trained eye could spot at a glance. They walked differently with a concealed blade and Brutus could feel a tension he had never before experienced on the streets of his home. No one lingered or talked on street corners. I
t was almost a city under siege and unconsciously he copied the crowds as he hurried to Alexandria’s shop.

  He knew a moment of fear when he found it boarded up and empty. Passers-by heard him calling, but not one of them dared to meet his eyes. Even the beggars were missing from the streets and Brutus stood still as he considered the implications. The city was terrified. He had seen it before amongst those who knew a war was coming.

  Even knocking on the doors of the other shops in the road was worrying. The owners looked sick with nervousness at the sight of him and three of them only stared blankly as he tried to ask where Tabbic had gone. The fourth was a butcher who held a heavy cleaver defensively the whole time Brutus was in his shop. The iron blade seemed to give him a confidence the others lacked and he directed Brutus to an area many streets away. Brutus left him still holding the weapon.

  Out in the road, the feeling intensified again. When he had been in Greece, the veterans talked of an ‘itch’ that told them trouble was coming. Brutus felt it tickle him as he marched through the thin crowds. By the time he reached the address, he was almost certain he should get Alexandria out of the city before it exploded. Whatever was coming, he did not want her in the middle of it.

  The new shop was much larger and occupied two full floors of a well-kept tenement. Brutus raised his hand to knock and saw the door was open. He narrowed his eyes then and drew his gladius silently. He’d rather look a fool than go unprepared into a dangerous situation and by that point he was jumping at shadows.

  The interior was five times the size of the little shop Tabbic had owned before. Brutus edged inside, his gaze fastening on the figures at the far end. Alexandria and Tabbic were there, with two other men. Facing them were four others, of a type he had seen too often in the streets outside. None of them had seen him and Brutus forced himself to walk slowly towards the group, passing the huge new forge that lurked against the wall and threw heat at him as he passed. Its crackle hid the slight noise of his sandals on the stone floor and he was very close when one of the men stepped forward and pushed Alexandria down.