He was almost ready to leave when he saw his stranger once more. The disguise was spoilt by the casual strength of the man as he walked into the open with a naked woman in his arms. She had her legs curled up like a kitten and was murmuring as he carried her towards some private place. Belas could only shake his head at the stranger’s brazenness. He still wore the dress, but his arms were too heavily muscled to be female. The woman seemed to be trying to sing through a spate of hiccoughs. As her head lolled, Belas caught a glimpse of Pompeia’s features and watched in amazement as she wrapped an arm about the man’s neck and pulled his head down to her lips. She had rarely looked finer, Belas could see, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders and swaying as she kissed the stranger. Her cheeks were flushed with wine and passion and Belas rather envied the man who had risked everything to be there in that garden.
It occurred to him that if he left and said nothing, there would be little damage done to anyone. Part of him wanted to do just that, but he had accepted Servilia’s gold and everything that entailed.
‘Is she worth your life?’ he said suddenly, pitching his voice to carry.
The stranger almost dropped Pompeia at the sound and turned quickly towards the source. Belas ducked out of sight and scurried away. He was back across the street before any alarm could be given.
He had done his work and the young man knew he had been seen. Belas sighed as he watched the chaos that ensued from his high window. The stranger had disappeared, perhaps through the gardens to climb a wall to safety. The rest of the women in the house were roused by their mistress and they searched the area with oaths and threats. One of them even thumped on the door opposite, but Belas had barred it securely and could smile. He wondered if the stranger had been returning from a bed rather than going to one. The man deserved something for his efforts, after all. By the time morning came, there was going to be trouble.
Julius yawned as he ate the cold lamb and roasted onions that had survived the night. With the first grey light of dawn showing in the forum, the plans and discussions had begun to blur into one another until he knew it was time to call an end to it. Adàn too was yawning hugely, having spent the entire session with two other scribes taking down orders and keeping the records in perfect detail.
It was strange to be in the Curia without a single senator on the benches. Filling the seats with the officers of his legions had given an air of a military court and Julius wished the real Senate could see the efficiency of these men. There had been no wasted, pompous speeches throughout the long hours of darkness: there was too much real work to do.
Despite the freedoms of the festival, they had heard little to disturb the long watches of the night. In a breach of tradition, Julius had posted soldiers on the senate house steps to prevent any of the more foolhardy women coming close enough to interfere. It seemed to have worked, but the dawn light still brought a few smiles to the chamber as it signalled an end to the Bona Dea and the chance to get to bed at last.
Julius looked proudly round at the men who had assembled at his order. As well as the seven generals, he had called his most senior centurions and military tribunes to hear the final arrangements for leaving Rome behind them. More than three hundred men were packed into the seats and at times the discussion had been as noisy and jocular as a full Senate debate.
Though he was weary, Julius was content with the preparations for war. The fleet was waiting to sail at Ostia and he had the men to fill them, now that three more of his legions had come south and set up tents in the Campus Martius. Mark Antony was steady in his role as consul and every soldier in the room knew the main plans for the first landings in Greece, if not the final date.
‘One more month,’ Julius murmured to Domitius at his side, ‘then we will be free to go to war again.’
‘One more throw for the whole game,’ Domitius replied, echoing a conversation on the Rubicon months before.
Julius laughed at the reference. ‘It seems that whenever I think I have mastered a game, I find I have been playing blind on a greater board. I send Caecilius to Greece to be captured, but instead we receive detailed reports every month that are more valuable than gold. The man is a fox, it seems, and the gods have a strange sense of humour.’
Domitius nodded, feeling the same sense of satisfaction that showed in Julius’ face. The reports from Caecilius were a vital part of their preparations, and those who knew he had been sent simply to sow mistrust of Brutus were privately pleased that stratagem had failed, at least so far. Even then, the war to come was only half the task that faced them. Julius was obsessed with leaving the city safe and they had worked for months to prepare Rome to be handed over to Mark Antony.
The new magistrates had taken to heart the single instruction Julius had given them: ‘Work faster and take no bribes.’ Backed by their awe of the man, it had been enough to tackle some of the backlog of cases that had grown in the months preceding Pompey’s departure. Few of the officials had fallen back into corruption and those who did were at the mercy of their victims, now that complaints were taken seriously.
The city was working again, despite the upheavals. The people had been asked for their trust and had given it, at least for the present. Mark Antony would inherit a great deal of good will when the legions left. Julius had kept the promise he had made in the forum and provided ten full cohorts to keep the peace while he was gone. Leavened with more experienced officers, the road guards from Corfinium had been perfect for that task and Julius had been happy to confirm Ahenobarbus as their general.
At that thought, Julius raised his cup to Ahenobarbus in a private salute. He did not regret sparing him and the man’s stolid lack of imagination was well suited to the duties of keeping peace in Rome. Julius could see his pride as he returned the toast.
A soldier entered the chamber, one of those Julius had left guarding the bronze doors outside. Julius rose stiffly to his feet as he saw Servilia walked with him. With a clatter, the rest of his officers followed his example and in the silence they all heard the metallic whine of a plate as it spun on the marble floor before someone put his foot on it.
Servilia did not smile as she greeted him and it was with a sinking feeling that Julius regarded her.
‘What brings you here?’ he said.
Her glance took in the solid ranks of his officers and he understood she was reluctant to speak in public.
‘Come to my house, on the Quirinal,’ he said. ‘I will dismiss the men.’
‘Not there, Consul,’ she said, hesitating.
Julius lost his patience and took her by the arm, walking outside to the steps that led down to the forum. They could both see right across it and the clean air helped to settle his mind after the long hours of breathing the oil fumes of torches.
‘I take no pleasure in this,’ she began, ‘but I had a man watch your house last night.’
Julius glared at her, his thoughts jumping immediately to suspicion. ‘We will discuss your right to do so another time. Tell me what he saw,’ he said.
She passed on the details that Belas had witnessed and watched him grow colder and angrier as she spoke. For a long time, he was silent, gazing out over the expanse of the forum. A few moments before he had wanted nothing more than sleep, but his light mood had been torn away by her words.
He clenched a fist unconsciously, before he forced himself to speak again. ‘I will have the truth of this from her.’
Pompeia’s eyes were red with weeping as Julius came storming in. He had left his soldiers in the street rather than have them witness this most private of meetings. One glance at her guilty expression and his humiliation was complete.
‘I am sorry,’ she said as she saw him, and before he could speak she began to sob like a child.
The question simmered in him like stomach acid, but the words had to be spoken aloud. ‘It’s true then?’
She could not look at him as she nodded, burying her face in a tear-stained cloth. He stood in front of her, hi
s hands opening and closing as he struggled to find a response.
‘He came last night? Was it rape?’ he said at last, knowing it was impossible. Attempting a rape on the Bona Dea would be tantamount to suicide. His thoughts had wrapped themselves so tightly that he could barely think at all. Shock was making him foolish, some small part of him noted, and he knew that when the anger finally came it would be terrible.
‘No, not that. I can’t … I was drunk …’
Her snivelling began to grind at his stunned calm. Visions of the brutal punishments he could exact flashed into his mind, tempting him. His men would not dare to come into the house, even if he strangled her. His hands clutched convulsively, but he did not move closer.
Raised voices in the street made him turn, almost with relief at the distraction. He heard a strange voice shouting and when he glanced back at Pompeia he saw she had gone as pale as milk.
‘Oh no …’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t hurt him. He’s a fool.’ She stood and reached for Julius.
He stepped back as if from a snake, his face twisting in rage. ‘He’s here?’ he demanded. ‘He’s come back to my house?’
Julius strode to the front gate where his soldiers had pinned a bawling figure to the cobbled street. His mouth was bloody, but he struggled like a madman. Pompeia gave a cry of sheer horror as she saw him. Julius shook his head in amazement. The stranger Belas had seen was a youth, no more than eighteen years old. He had long hair to his shoulders, Julius noted sourly. Looking at him made Julius feel old and his bitterness increased.
The soldiers held the intruder in grim silence as they realised their general was with them. One of them had taken a cut to his lip in the struggle and was red-faced with exertion.
‘Let him up,’ Julius said, his hand dropping automatically to his gladius.
Pompeia cried out in panic and Julius turned to slap her hard across the face. The shock silenced her and her eyes filled with tears as the young man rose to his feet and stood to face his tormentors. He was breathing heavily as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Take me,’ he said clearly. ‘Let her go.’
‘Get him inside,’ Julius snapped. ‘I won’t have the whole of Rome watching this.’
His men laid heavy hands on the youth, dragging him into the garden and locking the gate behind them. Pompeia followed, her eyes dark with terror and misery as they moved out of the sun into the cool halls beyond.
The soldiers threw the young man down on the marble with a hard slapping sound. He groaned in pain before staggering upright. He looked at Julius with reproof.
‘Well?’ Julius said. ‘What’s your name, boy? I am curious to find out what exactly you thought would happen here.’
‘My name is Publius and I thought you might kill her,’ the young man replied.
He held his head proudly and Julius lost his temper for an instant, rapping him hard across the mouth with his knuckles. Blood drooled slowly down Publius’ face, but the eyes remained defiant.
‘We are talking about my wife, boy. You have no right to an opinion,’ Julius said slowly.
‘I love her. I loved her before you married her,’ Publius said.
It was all Julius could do not to kill him. The rage he had expected was banishing the weariness from his mind at last, fuelling a restless energy that made him want to cut the arrogant fool down.
‘Please don’t tell me you expected to save her, puppy? Should I give her to you and wish you both luck? What do you think?’
As Publius began to reply, Julius hit him again, knocking him down. Publius panted hard as he struggled up and his hands were shaking.
Julius saw that blood had spattered across the marble of the entrance hall and fought for control of his emotions. Pompeia was sobbing again, but he could not look at her for fear his anger would become uncontrollable.
‘I am leaving Rome in less than a month to fight an army twice as large as the one I have. Perhaps you are hoping that I will leave you two together while I am gone? Or that I may not return, even?’ He swore, disgustedly. ‘It’s a long time since I was as young as you, Publius, but I was never such a fool. Never. You’ve staked your life on a romantic gesture and the trouble with the great poems and plays is that they rarely understand what it means to stake your life. It means I have my men take you somewhere quiet and beat you until your face caves in. Do you understand? How romantic will you look then, do you think?’
‘Please don’t,’ Pompeia said. ‘Please let him go away from Rome. You’ll never have to see him again. I will do anything you want.’
Julius turned his cold eyes on her. ‘Are you offering to be a faithful little wife now? It’s too late for that. My heir must carry my blood, girl, without rumour, without gossip. That’s all you had to do for me.’ He grimaced, unable to bear the sight of her any longer. ‘In front of these witnesses, girl. Three times I say this to you: I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you. Now get out of my house.’
She took a step away, unable to reply. Dark circles made her eyes looked bruised. She looked at Publius and they shared a glance of despair.
‘I doubt that dry womb of yours will ever be filled, but if it shows life while I am gone, the child will be a bastard,’ Julius told her. He wanted to hurt and was pleased as she flinched.
When Julius faced Publius again, he snorted at the look of hope on the young man’s face. ‘Please tell me you’re not expecting to get through this, boy? You’ve lived long enough to know what must happen, surely? No one can be that young and stupid.’
‘If you are letting Pompeia go free, it’s enough,’ Publius said.
His eyes were bright with righteousness and Julius was tempted to hit him again. Instead, he nodded to two of his men. ‘Take her out and leave her in the street. Nothing in this house is hers.’
Pompeia began to scream then, as the soldiers grabbed her and dragged her outside. The sound continued in the background as Publius and Julius looked at each other.
‘Will you kill me now?’ Publius asked, holding his head up.
Julius was ready to give the order, but the boy’s courage was extraordinary. Even in the absolute certainty of death, he remained calm and almost aloof from what was going on around him.
‘If it hadn’t been you, the whore would have had someone else in her bed,’ Julius said softly.
Publius lurched at him and the soldiers beat him to the ground with a rain of heavy blows.
‘No, I’m not going to kill you,’ Julius told him, leaning down. ‘A brave lad like you will do well in my legions. I’ll see you get a posting to the front line. You will learn my trade quickly there, one way or the other. You’re going to Greece, boy.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the darkness, Julius could see the stern lamp of a galley like a distant firefly, twitching with the motion of the sea.
‘Tell the captain to take us a little closer,’ he said to Adàn. He heard the young Spaniard’s feet as he took the message forward, but the gloom swallowed him as if they were all blind. Julius smiled to himself. He had chosen the moonless night for exactly that quality and the gods had given him cloud to mask even the dim glow of the winter stars.
Huddled on the deck and in every space on the galley, the soldiers of the Tenth either dozed or applied one last coat of oil to protect their armour against the sea air. Only utter exhaustion could have dulled their tension into light sleep. They had launched knowing that there was just one chance to surprise the Greek ports. If that failed and the rising sun found them still far from the enemy coast, Pompey’s sleek galleys would descend on them and destroy them all.
‘No sign of dawn?’ Octavian said suddenly, betraying his nerves.
Julius smiled unseen in the darkness. ‘Not yet, General. The night will keep us safe a little longer.’
Even as he spoke, he shivered in the icy breeze and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The wind was strong, but changed without warning and Ju
lius had seen the oars reach out for the dark waves three times since leaving Brundisium. At such a pace, the slaves below would be approaching their limits, but there was no help for that. They too would be drowned if they were caught by the coming day.
With only the shuttered lamp from the galley ahead to give them direction, it was easy to think they were alone on the sea. Around them were thirty galleys built in Ostia by the best Roman shipwrights. They carried Julius’ fortune: his men and his life. With some bitterness, he acknowledged the fact that there would be no son and heir if he died in Greece. His disastrously short marriage had been the gossip of the city and he still smarted under the humiliation. In the aftermath, he had found a young woman named Calpurnia and married her with unseemly haste. His name had been the subject of comic songs as his enemies mocked his desperation to father a son.
Calpurnia had nothing of the beauty that marked Pompeia. Her father had accepted the suit without a moment of hesitation, as if he were relieved to be rid of her. Julius considered her somewhat bovine features with little affection, even with the gloss of memory. She stirred little passion in him, but she came from a noble house fallen on difficult times. No one in Rome could question her line and Julius doubted she would have the temptations that had undone his second wife.
He grimaced at the thought of their last meeting and the tears Calpurnia had shed on his neck. She wept more than any woman he had ever known, considering the short time they had been together. She wept for happiness, for adoration and then at the slightest thought of him leaving. Her month’s blood had started the day before he took ship and she had cried at that as well. If he failed against Pompey, there would be no other chance to leave more than a memory of his name. This was his path, his final throw of the dice. This was the real game.
He took a deep breath, letting the cold air slide into the deepest recesses of his chest. Even then, he felt weary and knew he should sleep. Somewhere nearby, a man was snoring softly to himself and Julius chuckled. His Tenth were not the sort to be frightened by a little journey of seventy miles in the dark.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 148