Conn Iggulden - Emperor 04

by The Gods of War

  Julius nodded to Brutus, pleased at the lack of fuss. “The birth is due in a few weeks, or even less,” he said, his eyes softening at the thought.

  “A son and heir,” Brutus said. Julius did not see him glance at Octavian. “You’ll have to make peace with Calpurnia when you return.”

  Julius nodded, sipping at his wine. The thought of his latest wife weeping on his shoulder was not a pleasant one. “I could not have known this would happen when I married her,” he said, musing. “So much has changed since I set out for Greece.”

  “Are we going home then, when the child is born?” Octavian said suddenly.

  Julius looked at him, seeing a tension he did not understand. “We are. I will leave two legions here to keep the peace. I’ll write to Mark Antony and have him set up the galley routes for pay and orders. By the gods, it will be good to see him again. I’ve missed the old place. Just to speak about it here makes me long to see Rome.”

  He seemed to collect himself as he looked around at their earnest faces.

  “We will take Pompey’s remains back to be buried in the city, and I’ll raise a statue to him, perhaps in his own theater. Even now the manner of his death sits poorly with me. I have written to my daughter to tell her, and I will honor him in death, for her sake at least.”

  He paused, staring off into space. It had been more than a year since Pharsalus, and the memory of crossing the Rubicon seemed impossibly distant. The hiatus in his life that had come on the slow Nile had changed him, he realized. The other men in the room still had the look of lean wolves, hardened by years of conflict. He did not feel quite in step with them.

  “It will be a strange thing to have the Republic restored after so many years of conflict,” Octavian murmured, looking into his wine. “The city will welcome you back as a savior of the old ways.” It took an effort for him to look up into Julius’s eyes as his general regarded him thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps they will,” Julius said. “I will have to see how things stand when I’m back.” He missed the glimmer of hope in Octavian’s eyes as he refilled his cup from a silver jug. “Things change, though,” he went on. “I’ve had time to think on that slow river. I have been granted the chance to raise Rome higher than any other city. I should not waste it.”

  He felt Octavian’s stare and raised his cup in salute.

  “Alexander’s dreams have fallen into my hands here. In this place, I can see further. We could bring the light of Rome to the world.” He smiled, oblivious to Octavian’s distress. “Like the Pharos lighthouse,” he said. “We could make an empire.”

  “Does this come from the queen?” Octavian said softly.

  Julius glanced at him in puzzlement. “My blood is joined in her. Egypt and I are already one. Rome will come with me.” He gestured toward the window with his cup, feeling the wine heat his thoughts. “The years ahead are golden, Octavian. I have seen them.”

  “Welcome back, sir,” Brutus said.

  Julius paced up and down the hall of the palace, wincing at every cry from Cleopatra’s lips. His son was coming into the world and he could hardly remember being more nervous. Her courtiers had come to wake him in his quarters and he had dressed hurriedly in a toga and sandals, calling for Brutus to attend him.

  The two men had come barreling into the meeting hall only to be told that the queen’s privacy was not to be interrupted. To Julius’s irritation, the door to her chambers was guarded by her own men and he had been left to pace and fret, his empty stomach growling hungrily as the hours wore on. Messengers came and went at the run, carrying steaming pails of water and piles of white linen. Julius could hear the voices of women inside and at intervals Cleopatra cried out in pain. He clenched his fists in frustration and barely noticed the warm tisane that Brutus pressed into his hands.

  At dawn, Sosigenes came out, snapping orders for more cloths to a waiting slave. The astrologer was flushed and busy, but a glance at Julius’s face brought him up short.

  “Your son is coming, Caesar. It is a great omen that he is to be born in the first light of day,” Sosigenes said.

  Julius gripped his arm. “Is she well? The birth, is it all right?”

  Sosigenes smiled and nodded his head. “You should rest, Consul. You will be called in soon enough. My queen is young and strong, as her mother was. Rest.”

  He returned the grip on his arm with a brief pressure of his hand, then he walked past the guards. A long scream could be heard then, which made Julius groan.

  “By the gods, I can’t bear it,” he said.

  “Were you like this when Julia was born?” Brutus asked him.

  Julius shook his head. “I don’t remember. No, I wasn’t, I think. But I am older now. If the child dies, how many other chances will I have?”

  “What will he be called then, this son of yours?” Brutus asked, in part to take Julius’s mind off the chanting they could hear within. He had no idea what strange rituals were being enacted and it showed the depth of Julius’s agitation that he had hardly noticed them.

  The question seemed to calm Julius a little. “His name will be Ptolemy Caesarion,” he said, with pride. “Two houses joined.”

  “You will show him in the forum,” Brutus prompted.

  Julius’s face lit up. “I will. As soon as he can be moved, I will take him home. The king of Syria has invited me to visit him and I will take Cleopatra there. Then Crete, perhaps, or Cyprus, Greece, and home at last. We will stand in the forum in a Roman summer and I’ll hold the boy up to the crowd for them to see.”

  “There will be a struggle ahead if you still intend a dynasty, an empire,” Brutus murmured.

  Julius shook his head. “Not now, Brutus. Can’t you see it? The legions are loyal to me and the Senate will be handpicked. Whether they realize it or not, the empire is already begun. Who is left to resist my claim, after all? Pompey was the last of them.”

  Brutus nodded, his eyes dark with thought.

  An hour later Sosigenes came bustling out to them, surprising the guards. The man was beaming as if personally responsible for the events of the night.

  “You have your son, Caesar, as I said you would. Will you come in?”

  Julius clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him wince. “Show me,” he said.

  Brutus did not follow and was left alone to spread the happy news to the legions that had gathered outside in the dawn.

  Cleopatra lay on her bed with the hangings tied back to give her air. She looked exhausted and dazed, with shadows under her eyes. Her skin was pale and as Julius rushed over to her a slave girl dried the perspiration from her skin, dabbing gently with a cloth.

  There were many others in the room, though Julius didn’t notice them. Cleopatra’s breasts were bared and against one was the baby he had hoped for, the tiny face lost as it pressed against the yielding flesh.

  Julius sat on the bed and leaned over them, ignoring the slave girl as she moved away. Cleopatra opened her eyes.

  “My beautiful queen,” Julius murmured, smiling. “Sosigenes said it was a boy.”

  “The old fool is very proud of himself,” Cleopatra said, wincing as the baby clenched her nipple in its gums. “You have a son, Julius.”

  Gently, he reached up and smoothed a tendril of hair from her forehead.

  “I have waited all my life for you,” he said to her.

  Tears filled her eyes and she laughed at her own reaction. “I seem to cry at the slightest thing,” she said, then grimaced as the baby shifted once more. For an instant, her nipple was revealed before the hungry mouth found it and clamped on, sucking busily. “He is strong,” she said.

  Julius looked at the tiny figure half concealed by cloths. Fresh from the womb, the baby was wrinkled, his skin a shade of blue that faded even as Julius watched. A smear of blood lay on his head, mingled with hair as black as his mother’s.

  “He’ll have to be if he stays that ugly,” Julius said, laughing as Cleopatra swatted at him with a free hand.

>   “He is beautiful,” she said, “and he is ours. He will be a great king, Sosigenes has sworn it. Greater than you or I, Julius.”

  He kissed her gently and she sagged back into the pillows, her eyes closing. Julius felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to look into the stern gaze of one of the royal midwives.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Cleopatra sighed without opening her eyes. “She does not speak Latin, Julius.”

  The woman gestured to Julius and the door, muttering under her breath.

  “I understand,” he said. “I will return when you have had a chance to rest.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it, before standing. He looked down on his family and thanked his gods for having lived long enough to see it.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER 32

  The city of Rome was awake. Galloping messengers had brought the news that Caesar had landed at the coast and he was coming home. Mark Antony had not been idle in the weeks of waiting and the preparations were all in place. Almost a million citizens had lit lamps on the great walls, prepared banquets, cleaned and scrubbed the streets until Rome seemed almost new. Corn, bread, and meat had been given to every citizen and a public holiday announced. The city gleamed and temple chests were filled with coins offered in thanks for Caesar’s safety. Many were tired from their labors, but they sat up with their children and listened for the horns that would announce his arrival.

  Brutus rode slowly at Julius’s side, looking at the city in the distance. The sheer size of it made Alexandria seem a provincial town. The citizens had made it glow under the heavens for Caesar. Would they have done more to welcome a king? Brutus found he could hardly bear the look of awe on Octavian’s face at the jewel of Rome on the horizon. It was an expression all those in the column seemed to share, from the soldiers of the Tenth to Julius himself. They came as victors and walked with pride they had earned. Brutus could not feel a part of their hope and their glory.

  What joy could he find within those walls? He would be the man Julius forgave for a betrayal, whispered about and pointed at as he strode through his city. He would see his mother again, he thought. Perhaps when she saw Cleopatra she would understand what had driven him away from Julius. His eyes prickled and he took a deep breath, ashamed of himself. He had entered many cities. What was Rome but one more, to him? He would survive it. He would endure.

  He felt as if he had been riding for years in a procession of the legions. Julius had been welcomed as a brother king in Syria, given slaves and gifts of gems and weapons. Cleopatra had rejoiced in his shadow, perhaps understanding at last how a small king would see Julius. She could not hide her delight at showing Ptolemy Caesarion, red and tiny as he was. The ruler of Syria had many children, but he had honored the couple by bringing his firstborn, Herod, into their presence, and having him bow to the leader of Rome. The little prince had been shaking with nerves, Brutus remembered.

  He glanced behind him to where the queen lay hidden from sight in a carriage that was more like a comfortable room drawn by oxen. Her son was with her and the child’s irritable screams pierced the night.

  In its way, the return to Rome had been like a Triumph on a grand scale. The praetor of Crete had kissed Julius’s hand and given over his own home for their stay. The soldiers ate and drank their way through the praetor’s private stores, but there was no fighting or lack of discipline. They seemed to understand the dignity of their position as escort for Caesar and his son. Their reverence made Brutus want to be ill.

  It had shocked him at first, to see powerful men kneeling as Julius approached them. Brutus had seen his friend swear and spit and bicker with Cabera or Renius like an irritable old woman. He had known him as a boy, and the obsequious fawning of officials seemed obscene. They did not know Caesar. They saw only the cloak and the soldiers. They had read the reports and heard of his victories, creating a mask for the lesser man within. Brutus had seen Julius’s pleasure at their treatment of him and it ate at him like a worm.

  It had been worst in Greece, where Brutus was known. Perhaps he had been shielded from the reality of his position during the year in Alexandria. He had forgotten how painful it would be to have old friends turn their backs and others sneer as they saw him at Julius’s side. Labienus had been there, his dark eyes full of private amusement at seeing Brutus back at the heel of his general.

  If Pompey had won, Brutus knew he would have been rewarded. He would perhaps have stood for consul himself and the fickle citizens would have voted for a man who had put Rome before friendship, one who had saved them from a tyrant. With just one battle, at Pharsalus, he could have turned his life onto a new path. That was what hurt the most, he told himself. Not to be forgiven, but to have come so close to having it all. There were times when he was almost convinced of it.

  The road into Rome was not empty. Mark Antony had sent out the city legion under Ahenobarbus to line the stones as far west as they had numbers. As Julius reached each pair of soldiers, they held a stiff salute. They too had done their work, Brutus admitted grudgingly. Rome had been safe while Julius was away. It would have been some sort of justice had the city been attacked while Julius, on the Nile, was ignoring his duty but, no, the gods had granted peace to Rome, as if they too were willing to rest until Caesar took up the reins once more.

  The Greeks had tried another rebellion, choosing their moment with the worst of all timing, so that the fighting began as Julius arrived. Brutus could almost feel sorry for the men who had risen against their Roman masters. Labienus could have ended it on his own, but Julius had intervened. The men said it showed he understood his responsibilities as first in Rome, that all lands were his to order and control. Brutus rather suspected it was to show Cleopatra what his legions could do.

  The battle had been tiny compared to some they had known. Julius had ridden with his generals and his queen to where the Greek army had risen. Brutus could still shudder at the sight of shouting warriors rushing up a hill toward the Roman positions. Of course they were tired by the time they had reached the crest. The rebellion had been ended in only four hours, more littered flesh in the Roman wake.

  The fleet made final landfall at Ostia, west of the city. Julius had knelt to kiss the ground. The legions had cheered him then and the first taste of the excitement that gripped Rome came from the villages and towns to the west. They bustled and pushed to catch a glimpse of him. They wore their best clothes and the women had braided their hair with as much attention as for the festival of Bona Dea. Children were held up as he would hold his own son high to the forum.

  The horses sensed the excitement around them and tossed their heads, snorting. The cheering became louder as the legions approached Rome and saw that the heavy gates of the west stood open for them. The walls were lined with waving citizens and yet the legions did not break discipline to return the gestures. They smiled as their legs lost their weariness and gazed at the torches and walls as if they had never seen the city before.

  Brutus could see the white togas of senators inside the gate. He wondered how they would feel about Julius’s plans for the future. Had they any idea of the force they were welcoming back so trustingly? If they expected age to have banked the fires in Julius, they were going to be disappointed. He was rejuvenated, as if Cleopatra and his son were new magic in his life. Rome should be trembling, Brutus thought, but Cicero was not a fool. No matter what the senator might fear, there was no one in the world who could have raised a warning voice at that moment. Sometimes it is better just to let the wave crash over you and pick up the pieces after it has passed.

  Horns sounded, first at the gate, then spreading all over the city as every old bronze piece was lifted to lips and blown. Julius kicked in his heels to move slightly ahead of the first rank of his Tenth. He did not duck his head as he rode under the arch, and raised his hand to acknowledge the people pressing in on all sides. He was home.

  Julius stood on the steps of the Senate house in front of a packed f
orum. He lifted his arms for silence, but it would not come. He signaled two of his men to blow the legion horns above the tumult, and even then the crowd was slow to become still. He looked across at Mark Antony and the two men shared a grin.

  When at last they were quiet, Julius was content merely to stand and enjoy the sight of Rome around him, drinking it in. The steps were packed with faces of men he had known for years. The temples and buildings around the forum shone in the light of late summer.

  “Nowhere else in the world is home as this city is home,” he said at last. His voice echoed across the crowds as they watched with faces raised up to him. “I have seen Gaul. I have seen Asia Minor. I have seen Greece and Spain and Britain. I have walked in Alexander’s cities and seen jewels and strange gods. I have found Roman voices in all those lands, cutting the soil, trading, and making a life for themselves. I have seen our laws and our honor in countries so distant as to seem like dreams. This city nourishes the world.”

  He bowed his head as they cheered, and when it seemed that they would not stop, he had his soldiers crash the butts of their spears on the stones of the forum.

  “It gives me grief to bring Pompey’s remains home with me. He did not die by my hand and his passing is a black day for Rome. Those who killed him have been punished and the gods will not let them forget the price of a consul. Let them weep forever for laying a hand on a man of Rome. In the years to come, they will remember the answer we gave them! Those of you who travel and trade will carry that protection of this city with you. If you are taken by enemies, tell them you are a Roman citizen and let them fear the storm that will answer a single drop of your blood. The storm will come in your defense. This I pledge to you all.”

  He raised his hands before they could cheer again, impatient to tell them more. In his mind, he could see the reality he could make with Cleopatra, so bright and perfect as to make words base in comparison.

  “I grant an amnesty to all those who raised arms against me in this civil war. As I pardoned the men of Corfinium and Greece, I pardon all others who have followed their duty and their honor as they saw it. We are brothers and sisters of the same blood. We will begin afresh from this day, and let the past go. I am not another Sulla to be seeking enemies behind every door. I have other dreams for Rome.”