It was true that the bitter warmth was easing some of the tightness in his chest. For a moment, Brutus resisted, unwilling to let go of even a part of his anger. Rage was something he had always enjoyed as it flooded him. It brought a kind of freedom from responsibility and to feel it ebb was to face the return of regret. Then he sighed and offered his cup for Tabbic to refill.
‘You don’t have the face of a man who came home this morning,’ Tabbic observed, almost to himself.
Brutus looked at him, feeling weary. ‘Maybe I have,’ he said.
Tabbic slurped the dregs of his own cup, belching softly into a fist as he considered the response. ‘You weren’t the sort to wrap yourself in knots the last time I saw you. What’s changed?’
‘Has it occurred to you that I might not want to talk about it?’ Brutus growled.
Tabbic shrugged. ‘You can finish your drink and leave, if you like. It won’t change anything. You’ll still be welcome here.’
He turned his back on Brutus to lift the heavy kettle off the forge and fill the cups once again. Brutus could hear the dark liquid slosh.
‘I think it’s grown stronger,’ Tabbic said, peering into the pot. ‘This was a good batch.’
‘Have you any regrets, old man?’ Brutus asked him.
Tabbic grunted. ‘I thought you had something troubling you. I’d go back and change a few things if I could – be a better husband, maybe. If you ever left your mother’s tit, there’ll be things you wish you hadn’t done, but it’s not all bad, I’ve found. A little guilt has made more than a few men live better than they would have done – trying to even the scales before they cross the river.’
Brutus looked away as Tabbic drew up an old bench, wincing as his knees flexed.
‘I always wanted a little more than that,’ Brutus said at last.
Tabbic sipped at his drink, the steam rising into his nostrils. After a time, he chuckled. ‘You know, I always thought that was the secret of happiness, right there. There are some people who know the value of a kind wife and children who don’t shame you. Maybe they’re the ones who had a cruel time of it when they were young; I don’t know. I’ve seen men who had to choose whether to feed the children or themselves each day, but they were content, even then.’
He looked up at Brutus and the man in silver armour felt the gaze and frowned to himself.
‘Then there are those who are born with a hole in them,’ Tabbic continued softly. ‘They want and want until they tear themselves to pieces. I don’t know what starts the need in a man, or how it’s stopped, except for killing.’
Brutus looked quizzically at him. ‘You’re going to tell me how to find a good woman after this, aren’t you?’
Tabbic shook his head. ‘You don’t come in here and ask me if I have any regrets without a few of your own. Whatever you’ve done, I hope you can mend it. If you can’t, it will be with you a long time.’
‘Another refill,’ Brutus said, holding out his cup. He knew his senses were being dulled, but he welcomed the feeling. ‘The trouble with your rustic philosophy,’ Brutus began, tasting the new cup. ‘The trouble is that there have to be some of us who want and want, or where would we be?’ He frowned then as he considered his own words.
‘Happier,’ Tabbic replied. ‘It’s not a small thing to raise a family and provide for them. It might not seem much to armoured generals of Rome, but it earns my respect. No poems about us.’
The mulled wine was more powerful than Brutus had expected on an empty stomach. He knew there was a flaw in Tabbic’s vision, but he couldn’t find the words to make him see it.
‘You need both,’ he said at last. ‘You have to have dreaming, or what’s the point? Cows raise families, Tabbic. Cows.’
Tabbic looked scornful. ‘I’ve never seen a worse head for drink, I swear it. “Cows”, by the gods.’
‘One chance you get,’ Brutus went on, holding up a finger. ‘One chance, birth to death, to do whatever you can. To be remembered. One chance.’ He slumped, staring at the red glow of the forge in the growing darkness.
They emptied the kettle down to bitter pulp at the bottom. Brutus had long ceased to move or speak when Tabbic eventually heaved him onto a cot in a back room, still in his armour. At the doorway, the jeweller paused, looking down at the sprawled figure, already beginning to snore.
‘My daughters remember me every day,’ he said softly. ‘I hope you make the right choices, lad. I really do.’
Julius picked a piece of fennel sausage out of his teeth and smiled as he watched the drunken guests become ever wilder as the moon sank towards the horizon. The music too became more frenzied as the wine flowed into the players. The drums and pipes beat out counterpoint rhythms, while the cithara players made their strings jump with blurring fingers. Julius had not heard a single dirge or ballad from them all the time he had been there, and their excesses suited his mood perfectly. The food too was magnificent after soldiers’ rations.
The invitation was one of dozens that had been delivered before sunset, but the host, Cassius, was a senator who had remained behind and Julius wanted to cultivate the man. Only the first hour had been spent in conversation, as Julius became reacquainted with the social class of his city. The free wine had been delivered all over Rome and they seemed determined to obey his command to celebrate, becoming increasingly wild as the moon set over the hills.
Julius barely listened to a drunken merchant who seemed to have fully recovered from his initial awe. The man wandered through topics without needing more than the occasional nod to keep him going. While he beamed and talked, Julius eyed the young ladies who had come to the party, not unaware that most of them had appeared only after his own presence became known. Some of them were shameless in their competition for his glance and he had already considered more than one of those to share his bed that night. Their faces were flushed with sexual excitement as the red wine lit them up and Julius found the spectacle mesmerising. He had been a long time in the field and the opportunities for female companionship had been few. Brutus had called it ‘scratching his itch’ and it had been no more satisfying, on the whole.
In comparison with the camp whores, the beauties of Rome were like a flock of painted birds arrayed for his enjoyment. Julius could smell the mingling perfumes in the air, even over the fennel.
He sensed his companion had stumbled at last to a halt and Julius looked at him, wondering if a question had been asked. He was a little drunk himself, though his wine was cut with water. Since passing through the Quirinal gate, he had felt the intoxication of challenge and sheer pleasure at being back with his people. The wine bore but a little responsibility for his good spirits.
‘My brothers in particular will be pleased to see a steady hand on the city after Pompey,’ the merchant continued.
Julius let his voice become a background noise as he watched the people around him. Apart from the simple arousal at the thought of bedding one of the Roman women, he wondered if he should be looking for something more than a night. He had once laughed at the suggestion that he needed heirs, but he had been younger then and many of those he called friends had still been alive. The thought sharpened his appraisal of the young women in the crowd, looking for more than a simple turn of leg and thigh, or the quality of the breasts. Given the option, he knew he would prefer a beauty, but perhaps it was also time to think of the connections and alliances of a union. Marriage was one of the powerful counters in the politics of Rome and the right choice could benefit him as much as the wrong one could be wasted.
With a slight gesture, Julius summoned Domitius from another knot of conversation. Senator Cassius saw the movement and came bustling over first, determined that Julius’ slightest whim should be met. He had been honoured by the arrival of the general and Julius found the constant attention flattering, as it was intended to be. The man was as slender as a youth and bore himself well amongst the guests. Julius had encouraged him with subtle compliments and felt sure the senator wou
ld be one of those returning to the new government. If the others who had stayed were as amenable, Julius thought the elections would go very smoothly indeed. The senate house could well be filled with his supporters.
He had intended to discuss the women with Domitius, but with Cassius there, Julius addressed him instead, choosing his words carefully. ‘I have been away for too long to know which of your guests are unmarried, Cassius.’ Julius hid his smile by sipping his wine as he saw the senator’s interest sharpen.
‘Are you considering an alliance, General?’ Cassius asked, watching him closely.
Julius hesitated only for a moment. Perhaps it was the excitement he had felt since his return, or part of his sexual interest that night, but he was suddenly certain. ‘A man cannot live alone, and the company of soldiers does not meet every requirement,’ he said, grinning.
Cassius smiled. ‘It will be a pleasure for me to arrange introductions for you. There is only a small selection here, though many are unpromised.’
‘A good family, of course, and fertile,’ Julius said.
Cassius blinked at the bluntness, and then nodded enthusiastically. He practically shook with the desire to spread the information and Julius watched as he searched for a way to take his leave without being rude.
Cassius found his solution in the slave messenger who entered the main room, moving quickly through the revellers towards Julius. The man was simply dressed and wore his iron ring to show his status, but to Julius’ eye he looked more like a bodyguard than a simple messenger. He had been around enough soldiers to know the manner and he felt Domitius prickle at the man’s approach, always wary as he had been trained to be.
As if sensing the discomfort his entrance had caused, the slave held up his hands to show he bore no weapons. ‘General, I have come from my mistress. She waits for you outside.’
‘No name? Who is your mistress?’ Julius asked.
The omission was interesting enough to halt even Cassius in the act of slipping back to the other guests. The slave blushed slightly. ‘She said you would remember the pearl, even if you had forgotten her. I am sorry, sir. Those are the words she gave me to say, if you asked.’
Julius inclined his head in thanks, quite happy to leave Cassius mystified. He felt a stab of guilt that he had not taken the time to see Servilia before the sun had fallen on his first day.
‘I will not need you, Domitius,’ he said, and ‘Lead the way,’ to the slave, following him outside and down the main stairs of the house. The doors were opened for him and he was able to step straight into the carriage waiting outside.
‘You did not come to me,’ Servilia said coldly as he smiled at her. She had always looked beautiful in moonlight and for a moment he was content just to drink her in.
‘Enough of that, Julius,’ she snapped. ‘You should have come as you promised. There is a great deal to discuss.’
Outside the snug confines of the carriage, her driver snapped his whip over the horse and the carriage trundled away over the stone streets, leaving the painted women of Rome to discuss the general’s interest without him.
CHAPTER SIX
The summer dawn came early, though it was grey and cold as Brutus shoved his head into a water barrel in the public stables. He came up gasping and rubbed his face and neck vigorously until the skin reddened and he began to feel a little more useful. He had taken a risk by staying a night in the city. Julius would have used the time to strengthen his grip on Rome. His men would be guarding the gates and Brutus knew he might have to bluff his way through. He had considered hiding the armour, but the horse bore a legion brand and legionaries would be far more interested in a horse thief than a general out for a morning ride.
He used the mounting block to jump into the saddle, the horse skittering sideways as his weight came on. Brutus took up the reins with unusually tight hands. Tabbic’s company had been like balm on an open wound, but he should have ridden straight for the coast.
Grim-faced, he threw a coin to one of the stable boys and clattered out onto the street. The closest gate was the Quirinal, but he headed instead for the Esquiline in the east. It was a traders’ gate and would be busy even at the early hour with countless merchants and labourers. With a little of the gods’ luck, the guards there would pass him with just a glance and a wave.
As he trotted stiff-backed through the city, Brutus felt himself sweating out the poisons of the night before. It was hard to imagine the optimism he had felt on coming into the city with the others. Even the thought of it brought his anger sliding back to the surface. His glare sharpened unconsciously and those who saw his expression kept their eyes downcast until he had gone.
There was one place in the world where he would be welcome, though he had said it half in bitter jest to his mother. Why should he weigh an old friendship in the balance of his life? It mattered nothing to Julius, after all. That had at last become clear. There would be no day when Julius turned to him and said, ‘You have been my right hand since the beginning,’ and gave him a country, or a throne, or anything approaching his worth.
He passed through the Esquiline gate with an ease that mocked his earlier worry. Julius had not thought to warn the guards and Brutus returned their salutes without a sign of tension. He would go to Greece. He would go to Pompey and show Julius what he had lost in passing him over.
With Rome behind, Brutus rode fast and recklessly, losing himself in the sweat and risk of hard ground. The exertion felt like tearing free, an antidote to the lingering effects of the mulled wine. The familiarity helped to keep his mind numb at first as he fell into the rhythms of a cavalry scout. He did not want to begin the endless self-examination he knew would follow his decision to leave Julius. Though it loomed over him like winter, he leaned forward in the saddle, concentrating on the ground and the sun on his face.
The sight of a marching column interrupted his reverie, snapping him back to a world where decisions had to be made. He yanked the reins to bring the horse to a skidding stop, both front hooves flailing for a moment in the air. Was it possible that Julius had sent men ahead to cut him off? He watched the snake of legionaries in the distance. They carried no flags and Brutus hesitated, turning his mount in a tight circle. There were no armed forces in the south that had not been dragged into the threatening war. Pompey’s legion had gone with him and he thought the Gaul veterans were safe in the city. Yet he had delayed a night in Tabbic’s shop. Julius could well have sent them out to hunt him down.
The thought brought back his anger and pride. He ignored his first impulse to circle around the column and approached warily, ready to kick his mount to a gallop. Julius would not have sent infantry, he was almost certain, and he saw that the column had no horses with them, not even for officers. Brutus felt a deep relief at that. He had trained the extraordinarii to hunt a single rider and he knew they would show no mercy to a traitor, even the man who had led them in Gaul.
The train of thought made him flinch unconsciously. He had not had time to consider what those left behind would think when they heard. They would not understand his reasons. Friends who had known him for years would be appalled. Domitius would not believe it at first, Brutus thought bitterly. Octavian would be crushed.
He wondered if Regulus would understand. The man had betrayed his own master, after all. Brutus doubted he would find sympathy there. The rabid loyalty that Regulus had shown to Pompey had been transferred in one violent jolt to his new master. Regulus was a zealot. There could be no half measures for him and he would hunt Brutus tirelessly if Julius gave the order.
Oddly, it was most painful to imagine Julius’ face as he heard the news. He would assume there had been a mistake until Servilia spoke to him. Even then, Brutus knew he would be hurt and the thought made his knuckles whiten on the reins. Perhaps Julius would grieve for him in his sanctimonious way. He would shake his balding head and understand that he had lost the best of them through his own blindness. Then he would send the wolves after him. Brutus
knew better than to expect forgiveness for his betrayal. Julius could not afford to let him reach Pompey.
Brutus glanced behind him, suddenly afraid he would see the extraordinarii galloping in his wake. The fields were quiet and he took a better grip on his emotions. The column was a more immediate threat, and as he came closer he saw the pale ovals of faces glancing in his direction and the distant din of a sounding horn. He dropped his hand to his sword and grinned into the wind. Let the bastards try to take him, whoever they were. He was the best of a generation and a general of Rome.
The column came to a halt and Brutus knew who they were the moment he saw their lack of perfect order. The road guards had been sent to the old Primigenia barracks, but Brutus guessed these were the stubborn ones, finding their own way to reach a general who cared nothing for them. Whether they realised it or not, they were natural allies and a plan sprang full-grown into his head as he rode up to them. An inner voice was amused at how his thoughts seemed to come faster and with more force the further away he was from Julius. He could become the man he should have been without that other’s shadow.
Seneca turned in panic as the cornicen sounded a warning note. He felt a cold thumping in his chest as he expected to see the ranks of Caesar’s horsemen riding down to punish him.
The relief of seeing only a single rider was something like ecstasy and he could almost smile at how afraid he had been. Ahenobarbus’ talk of oaths had troubled him and he knew the men shared something of the same guilt.
Seneca narrowed his eyes in suspicion as the rider approached the head of the column, looking neither right nor left as he passed the standing ranks. Seneca recognised the silver armour of one of Caesar’s generals and on the heels of that came a fear that they were being surrounded once again. Anything was possible from those who had spun a wheel around them and made them look like children.
He was not the only one to have the thought. Half the men in the column jerked their heads nervously, looking for the tell-tale dust that would reveal the presence of a larger force. The ground was dry in the summer’s heat and even a few riders should have given themselves away. They saw nothing, but dared not cease their searching after the harsh lesson they had been taught outside Corfinium.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 142