Conn Iggulden - Emperor 04

by The Gods of War

  “How can it be, after the last one? They’re still talking about the sea battle in the Campus,” Brutus said, remembering to hide his distaste.

  The vast stone bowl had been shallow enough to see the dead clustered like dark coral on the bottom. In tiny galleys, captured warriors had struggled against criminals and men condemned to death. The pale waters had become a broth and when it was drained back into the Tiber, the river itself had run red. The scent of rotting flesh crept through Rome for days afterwards.

  Julius clapped him on the shoulder, rising to his feet and stretching. “I have something new in mind for my last Triumph.” He seemed on the verge of revealing his plans, then he chuckled. “I will make sure you have a seat in the forum for the climax. You should bring this new wife of yours.”

  Brutus nodded, knowing he wouldn’t. He wondered if his mother would be interested in seeing Julius parade his queen and swollen ego one more time.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

  When the Senate meeting ended, Mark Antony made his way up from the forum to Julius’s home. He walked with six armed lictors at his back, though he hardly noticed them, nor how the crowds parted before his tread.

  In Julius’s absence, he had expected a livelier debate than usual in the Senate. He should have known better. The empty seat had more menace than the presence of the man. They all knew the meeting would be reported in full detail. Julius’s scribes recorded the most inane of conversations and even those like Cicero were made nervous by their incessant scribbling.

  There had been times when the subject under discussion brought back some of the old honesty and fire Mark Antony remembered. Julius had abolished the tax system of Roman dominions, devolving the right to collect coins to local men in a dozen countries. The Greeks knew better than to let revenues fall after their last failed rebellion, but the praetor of Spain had made the trip to Rome to complain of new levels of corruption. It was the sort of thing that had been meat and drink to the Senate before the civil war. Some of the subtle restraint had slipped away as they wrangled and argued over details and proposals.

  Mark Antony could still see the moment when Cassius had implied the problem was with the system itself, his glance straying to the scribe who faithfully recorded his words. The senator’s thin face had paled slightly and his fingers had begun to tap nervously on the lectern. After that, the debate had foundered and the praetor of Spain had been sent home with no new resolution to his problems.

  It was not how Mark Antony had dreamed it would be, when Julius gave him command of Italy years before. While the civil war wound through to a conclusion, Rome had been peaceful. It was true that he had made no great changes, but the city had been stable and she prospered. Men who applied for trading rights knew that they would be considered on their merits. The Senate passed difficult points of law on to the courts and accepted the decisions made, whether they approved or not. Mark Antony had worked harder than at any other time in his life and had taken a quiet satisfaction from the order in the city.

  That had changed when Julius returned. The courts still functioned, but no one was foolish enough to bring a charge against a favorite of Caesar. The rule of law had lost its foundation and Mark Antony found himself sickened by the new attitude of caution. He and Cicero had spent many evenings in discussion, though even then they had been forced to send their servants away. Julius had spies all over Rome and it was rare to find a man who cared so little for his life that he was willing to speak out against the Dictator, even in private.

  It had been a long year, Mark Antony thought to himself as he walked up the hill. Longer than any other in Roman history. The new calendar had set the city in an uproar of misunderstandings and chaos. Julius had declared that it would last for 445 days, before his new months could begin. The freak summer that had hit so late seemed just a symptom of the confusion, as if the seasons themselves had been upset. With a smile, Mark Antony remembered Cicero’s complaint that even the planets and stars had to run to Caesar’s order.

  In older days, the city would have employed astronomers from all over the world to test the notions Julius had brought back from Egypt. Instead, the Senate had vied with each other to acclaim the new system and have their names reach Caesar’s ears.

  Mark Antony sighed as he reached the street gate to the old Marius property. The general he had known in Gaul would have scorned the attitude that had infected the august Senate. He would have allowed them their dignity, to honor the traditions if for no other reason.

  Mark Antony took a deep breath and gripped the bridge of his nose in hard fingers. The man he had known would resurface, he hoped. Of course Julius had gone a little wild on his return. He had been drunk with the success of a civil war and a new son. He had been plunged from a life of struggle into a great city that hailed him as a god. It had turned his head, but Mark Antony remembered Julius when Gaul was a cauldron of war, and he still looked for a sign that the worst was over.

  Julius was waiting for him inside as Mark Antony passed through the gardens. He left his lictors on the street rather than bring armed men into the presence of the Dictator of Rome.

  Julius embraced him and ordered iced drinks and food to be brought over his protests. Mark Antony saw that Julius seemed unusually nervous and his hand shook slightly as he held out a cup of wine.

  “My last Triumph is almost ready,” Julius said, after both men had made themselves comfortable. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Brutus lay on his stomach and groaned at the stiff fingers that worked themselves into old scars and muscles. The evening was cool and quiet and his mother’s house still employed the very best of girls. It was his habit to come and go as he pleased and his moods were well known to the women Servilia employed. The girl who used her elbows to work at a knot of muscle had not said a word since he stripped naked and lay down on the long bench, his dangling arms grazing the floor. Brutus had felt the unspoken invitation as she let her oiled hands linger, but he had not responded. His mind was too filled with despair and anger to find release in her practiced embrace.

  He opened his eyes as he heard light footsteps tap across the floor of the room. Servilia was there, wearing a sardonic expression as she viewed the naked flesh of her son.

  “Thank you, Talia, you may leave us,” she said.

  Brutus frowned at the interruption. Without embarrassment, he pushed himself up and sat on the bench as the girl scurried out. His mother did not speak until the door had closed and Brutus raised an eyebrow in interest. She too knew his moods and allowed him privacy when he came to the house. To have broken the routine meant something else was in the wind.

  Her hair was a cloud gray, almost white now that she had abandoned her dyes and colors. It no longer hung loose, but was tied back with pinned severity. She still stood with the erect posture that had drawn men’s eyes in her youth, but age had melted the flesh from her, so that she was lean and hard. Brutus supposed he loved her, for her dignity and refusal to be broken in the life of Rome.

  She had been there in the forum when Julius held up his son, but when Brutus had come to the house that first evening, she had shown him a cool reserve that demanded respect. He might have believed it if there had not been moments when fire flashed in her eyes at the mention of Julius’s name. Then she would raise her hand to touch the great pearl that was always around her neck and look into distances too far for Brutus to follow.

  “You should dress yourself, my son. You have visitors waiting for you,” she said. The toga he had worn lay folded and Servilia brought it to him as he stood. “You go naked under this?” she asked, before he could speak.

  Brutus shrugged. “When it is hot. What visitors do you mean? No one knows I am here.”

  “No names, Brutus, not yet,” she said as she draped the long cloth around his shoulders. “I asked them here.”

  Brutus regarded his mother in irritation. His gaze flickered to his dagger where it lay on a stool. “I do not sha
re my movements with the city, Servilia. Are the men armed?”

  She tucked and tweaked at the robe until it was ready to be clasped. “They are no danger to you. I told them you would listen to what they have to say. Then they will leave and Talia can finish her work, or you can join me for a meal in my rooms.”

  “What are you doing, Mother?” Brutus asked, his voice growing hard. “I don’t like games or mysteries, or secrets.”

  “See these men. Listen to them,” she said as if he had not spoken. “That is all.” She watched in silence as he tucked his dagger away and then she stood back to look at him. “You look strong, Brutus. Age has given you more than scars. I will send them in.”

  She left and moments later the door swung open to admit two men of the Senate. Brutus knew them instantly and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Suetonius and Cassius were stiff with tension as they closed the door behind them and approached.

  “What is so important that you must come to my mother’s house?” Brutus said. He crossed his arms carefully, leaving his right hand near the hilt of his dagger under the cloth.

  Cassius spoke first. “Where else is private, in Rome?” he said.

  Brutus could see the sinews standing out in the man’s neck. The senator was clearly under an enormous strain and Brutus disliked being so close to him.

  “I will hear what you have to say,” Brutus said slowly.

  He gestured to the bench and watched closely as both men sat down. He did not join them, preferring to remain able to move quickly if the need arose. Every instinct warned him to caution, but he showed them nothing. The hilt of his knife was comforting under his fingers.

  “We will have no names, here,” Cassius said. “It is dark outside and we have not been seen. We have never met, in fact.” His taut features stretched into an unpleasant smile.

  “Go on,” Brutus said, sharply, anger surfacing. “My mother has bought you a few moments. If you can say nothing of use, then leave.”

  The two men exchanged glances and Cassius swallowed nervously.

  Suetonius cleared his throat. “There are some in the city who have not forgotten the Republic,” he said. “There are some who do not enjoy the Senate being treated as servants.”

  Brutus took in a sharp breath as he began to understand. “Go on,” he said.

  “Those who love Rome may be dissatisfied with too much power in one man’s hands,” Suetonius continued. A fat bead of sweat worked its way down his cheek from his hairline. “They do not want a line of kings built on a corruption of foreign blood.”

  The words hung in the air between them and Brutus stared, his thoughts whirling. How much had his mother guessed of their intentions? All their lives were in danger if even a single one of her girls listened at the walls.

  “Wait here,” he said, striding to the door.

  The sudden movement brought Cassius and Suetonius almost to panic. Brutus flung open the door and saw his mother seated down the corridor. She rose to her feet and walked to him.

  “Are you part of this?” he said, his voice low.

  Her eyes glittered. “I have brought you together. The rest is up to you.”

  Brutus looked at his mother and saw her coldness was a mask.

  “Listen to them,” she said again as he hesitated.

  “Are we alone?” he asked.

  She nodded. “No one knows they are here, or that they are meeting you. This is my house and I know.”

  Brutus grimaced. “You could get us all killed,” he said.

  Her smile mocked him. “Just listen to them, and be quick,” she said.

  He closed the door then and turned to face the two senators. He knew what they wanted, but it was too much to take in at once. “Go on,” he said again to Suetonius.

  “I speak for the good of Rome,” Suetonius replied in the old formula. “We want you to join us in this.”

  “In what?” Brutus demanded. “Say the words or get out.”

  Suetonius took a slow breath. “We want you for a death. We want you to help us bring back the power of the Senate. There are weak men there who will vote in a new king if they are not restrained.”

  Brutus felt cold with an unnatural fear. He could not demand they speak the name. He did not know if he could bear to hear it.

  “How many are with you?” he said.

  Suetonius and Cassius exchanged another glance of warning.

  “Perhaps it is better for you not to know at this time,” Cassius said. “We have not heard your answer.”

  Brutus did not speak and Cassius’s face hardened subtly.

  “You must answer. We have gone too far to let it rest now.”

  Brutus looked at the two men and knew they could not let him live if he refused. There would be archers outside to cut him down as he left. It was how he would have planned it.

  It did not matter. He had known from the beginning what he would say.

  “I am the right man,” he said in a whisper. The tension began to ease from the pair. “There must be some trust in this, but I do not want my mother involved again,” Brutus went on. “I will rent another house for us to meet.”

  “I had thought—” Suetonius began.

  Brutus silenced him with a wave of his hand. “No. I am the right man to lead you in this. I will not risk my life on fools and secrets. If this is to be done, let it be done well.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “If we are to risk our lives for the good of Rome, it must be before spring. He plans a campaign in Parthia that will take him away, perhaps for years.”

  Cassius smiled in triumph. He stood and held out his hand.

  “The Republic is worth a life,” he said as Brutus gripped his thin fingers.

  CHAPTER 34

  From the highest rooftops, the petals of red roses filled the air by the million, drifting down on the Dictator’s procession. The citizens of Rome reached up to them like children, entranced. For weeks, they had walked to the city from their farms and homes, drawn by the lure of glory and spectacle. The price of a bed had soared, but Julius had given every family a bag of silver, a jug of sweet oil, and corn to make bread. The city had been rich with the smell of baking as they rose at dawn to watch Julius sacrifice a white bull at the temple of Jupiter. The omens had been good, as he had known they would be.

  He had employed hundreds in the arrangements for the Triumph, from the ex-legion adventurers charged with capturing animals in Africa, to the stonemasons given the task of re-creating Alexandria in Rome. Statues of Egyptian gods lined the route through the city and by noon many were draped with climbing children, laughing and calling to one another.

  The ancient streets had a festive air, with every junction festooned in bright banners fluttering gaily over the city. By nightfall, there would be many girls with Julius to thank for a wedding dress from the material. Until then, Rome was a riot of color and noise.

  The column that wound its way through the main streets at noon was more than a mile long and lined at every step by cheering citizens. Soldiers of the Tenth and Fourth had been recalled from retirement to lead Julius through the city. They walked like heroes, and those who knew their history showed appreciation at the sight of the men who had taken Gaul and beaten Pompey at Pharsalus.

  The gladiators of Rome marched wearing heads of falcons and jackals, while chained leopards spat and struggled to the delight of the crowd.

  In the heart of the procession was its centerpiece, a huge carriage more than twenty feet high, with sphinxes to the fore and rear. Eighty white horses heaved against the traces, tossing their heads. Julius and Cleopatra sat together on a balustraded platform, flushed with the success of the spectacle. She wore cloth of bloodred that showed her stomach had regained its lines from before the birth. Her eyes were painted darkly and her hair was bound in gold. For this formal occasion, she wore rubies that shone on her ears and throat. Rose petals fluttered about them both and Julius was in his element, pointing out the wonders of Rome to her as they inched through t
he city. His aureus coins had been thrown like rain onto outstretched hands below, and free wine and food would fill every stomach in Rome to bursting.

  Cleopatra herself had sent for the best temple dancers in Egypt, not trusting Julius’s agents to judge their quality. A thousand pretty girls whirled and leapt to the strange music of her home and the sight of their flashing bare legs drew smiles of appreciation from the crowds. They carried sticks of incense in their hands and their movements were followed by thin smoke trails that filled the streets in lingering pungency. It was sensuous and wild and Cleopatra laughed aloud with the pleasure of it. She had made the right choice, in Caesar. His people were noisy in their appreciation, and she found herself exhilarated by the life of the city. There was so much energy in them! These were the ones who built galleys and bridges and laid pipes for hundreds of miles. The waving crowd thought nothing of crossing chasms and oceans and the world to bring trade. From their wombs came soldiers like men of brass to carry on the work.

  Her son would be safe in the care of such a people, she was certain. Egypt would be safe.

  It took hours to make their way through Rome, but the crowds did not grow tired of the sights and sounds of another continent. Teams of hunters had trapped a huge male gorilla that Cleopatra knew had never seen the Nile. The beast bellowed at the citizens as they gazed in awe, pulling back in fear and laughing as it hammered its great arms against solid bars. Julius planned to have the monster fight a team of swordsmen in the circus, and there could have been no better advertisement than its rage. His people loved new things and Julius had brought the strangest animals of Africa for their enjoyment.

  When the forum came into sight once more, Cleopatra had retired behind the screens of the carriage, a room of silk and gold that jolted along in restful motion. Her slaves were there to bring her cool drinks and food, though her son was safely asleep in the old house of Marius. With a few quick movements, she shrugged out of her dress to stand naked, holding her arms out for a costume even richer than the last. The rubies went into a chest and great emeralds on silver clasps were fastened at her wrists and ankles. Tiny bells chimed as her slaves dressed her and touched fresh kohl to her eyes. Let them stare at the queen Julius had found, she thought. Let them envy.