The Death of Kings

by Conn Iggulden

  Clodia tickled the child and was rewarded with a sudden belch of milky vomit. All three women rose as one to help clean it up, and Tubruk rose with them, feeling excluded and minding not a bit.

  “I wish her father were here to her see her grow,” Cornelia said wistfully.

  “He will be, love,” Tubruk said. “They have to keep those they ransom alive or the trade would stop. It's just a business deal to them. Julius will come home, and now Sulla is dead, he can start again.”

  She seemed to take more hope from his words than he felt himself. No matter what happened, Tubruk knew that even if Julius did make it back, he would not be the same after his experiences. The young lad who had taken ship to escape Sulla had died. Who would return was yet to be seen. Life would be harder for all of them after having to pay such a high ransom. Tubruk had sold some of the land of the estate to Suetonius's family, who had bargained cruelly over the price, knowing his need from their own demand. Tubruk sighed. At least Julius would be pleased to have a daughter, and a wife to love him. That was more than Tubruk had.

  He glanced at Clodia and found her looking back at him, with something in her expression that brought the blood to his face like a boy's. She winked at him before turning back to help Cornelia, and he felt strangely uncomfortable. He knew he should be going out to see the workers who waited for his orders, but he sat and took another slice of bread and ate it slowly, hoping she would look his way again.

  Aurelia swayed slightly and Tubruk moved quickly to her, taking her shoulder. She was incredibly pale and her skin looked waxen. He felt the lack of flesh under her stola, and the always present grief swelled in him.

  “You should rest,” he said quietly. “I will bring you more food later.”

  She did not reply and her eyes had taken on the lost gaze. She moved with him as he walked her away from the table, her steps faltering and weak. He felt her frame shiver against him as the trembling began again, each time leaving her weaker than the last.

  Cornelia and Clodia were left alone with the child, who pawed at Cornelia's dress to find a nipple.

  “He is a good man,” Clodia said, looking at the doorway they'd gone through.

  “A shame he is too old to make a husband,” Cornelia replied artlessly.

  Clodia firmed her jaw. “Old? He is still strong where it matters,” she said, her voice sharp. Then she saw Cornelia's bright eyes and blushed. “You see too much, my girl. Let the child feed.”

  “She is always hungry,” Cornelia said, wincing as she allowed Julia to attach herself, pressing her little face deep into the breast.

  “It helps you to love them,” Clodia said, and when Cornelia looked up at her tone, Clodia's eyes were lined with tears.

  * * *

  In the cool dimness of the bedchamber, Tubruk held Aurelia tightly until the fit had finally passed from her. Her skin burned against him and he shook his head at her thinness. Finally, she knew him again and he lowered her back against soft cushions.

  He had held her first on the night of her husband's funeral, and it had become a ritual between them. He knew she took comfort from his strength, and there were fewer bruises on her these days, with her thrashing limbs gripped tight in his arms. He found he was breathing heavily and wondered afresh how it was possible that she could have so much strength in such a wasted body.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes half open.

  “It was nothing. I will bring you a cool drink and leave you to rest.”

  “I don't want you to leave me, Tubruk,” she said.

  “Didn't I say I'd care for you? I will be here for as long as you need me,” he said, trying to force cheerfulness into his tone. She opened her eyes fully and turned her head to him.

  “Julius said he would stay with me, but he left. Now my son has gone as well.”

  “Sometimes the gods make a mockery of our promises, love, though your husband was a decent man. Your son will come back safe, if I know him at all.”

  She closed her eyes again and Tubruk waited until natural sleep came before stealing out of the room.

  * * *

  As storms smashed the coast, the moored trireme pitched and rolled heavily despite the shelter of the tiny African bay, far from Roman lands. Several of the officers were retching, though there was no food to come up. Those who had water in their bellies from their meager ration struggled not to lose a drop, with their hands pressed tightly over their mouths. There was never enough and in the heavy heat their bodies craved moisture of any kind. Most of them cupped their hands as they urinated, gulping the warm liquid back as fast as they could before it was lost.

  Julius remained unaffected by the rocking ship and took considerable pleasure from Suetonius's discomfort as he lay with his eyes shut, moaning softly with his hands on his stomach.

  Despite the seasickness, there was a new mood of optimism in the tiny cell. The captain had sent a man to tell them the ransoms had all been paid, traveling by land and sea to a secret meeting spot where an agent for the pirates had completed the last leg of the long trip and brought the gold to this distant port. Julius had felt it was a small victory that the captain had not come down himself. They had not seen him for months since the day he had tried to torment them, and that pleased them all. Had he come, he might have been surprised at what he saw. They had come through the lowest point of the captivity and were growing stronger.

  The desperate group of the first few months now waited patiently for their release. The fever had claimed two more, lessening the stifling crush a little. The new will to survive came partly from Cabera after that, who had finally managed to bargain for better rations for them. It had been a dangerous gamble, but the old man saw that little better than half of them would make it to freedom unless they were better fed and cleaned, so he had sat on deck and refused to heal another until they gave him something in return. The captain had been suffering at that time from a virulent rash he had picked up in the port, and hardly blustered at all before allowing it. With the food came hope and the men had started to believe they might see Rome and liberty again. Swollen, bleeding gums had begun to heal and Cabera had been allowed to give them a cup of white ship's tallow to rub on their sores.

  Julius too had played his part. When his splint was removed, he was horrified to see the way his muscles had vanished, and immediately set about the exercises Cabera had suggested. It had been agony in the cramped space, but Julius had organized the officers into two groups of four and five. One would huddle together as close as possible for an hour and let the others have the space to wrestle and lift their comrades as deadweights, building back the muscles they had all lost, before changing over and letting the other group work and sweat. The slop bucket had been knocked over too many times to count, but the men grew stronger and no more succumbed to fevers.

  The headaches came less often now, though the worst would leave him almost unable to speak with the pain. The others had learned to leave him alone when he went pale and closed his eyes. The last fit had been two months before, and Cabera said that might well be the end of them. Julius prayed that was true. The memories of his mother's illness had given him a terrible fear of the weakness that threw him down and forced his mind into the dark.

  With the news that the ship was ready to set sail and head for a lonely piece of coast to set them down, the officers of Accipiter were jubilant and Pelitas had even slapped Suetonius on the back in excitement. They were still bearded and wild-looking, but now they chattered with fantasies of bathhouses and being rubbed down with oil.

  It was strange how things changed. Where once Julius dreamed of being a general like Marius, now he thought of being clean as a greater pleasure. It had not changed his desire to destroy the pirates, however. Some of the others talked of returning to the city, but he knew he could not while his family's money floated around in the hold of a pirate ship. His anger had pushed him to stand the sickness and pain that came from the hard exercise, and he had forced himself
to do more and more each day, knowing he had to be strong if his word to the captain was not to be spit in the wind.

  The motion of the trireme changed slowly, and the Romans gave a low cheer as the rolling steadied and they could hear the beat for the rowers as the ship moved into open sea.

  “We're going home,” Prax said wonderingly, with a catch in his voice. The word home had a strange power and one of the men began weeping. The others looked away from him, embarrassed, though they had seen worse in the months together. Many things had changed between them in that time, and Gaditicus sometimes wondered if they could work again as a crew even if Accipiter was produced whole and afloat for them. They had kept some semblance of discipline, with Gaditicus and Prax settling disputes and stopping fights, but the awareness of station had been slowly eroded as they judged each other by new rules and found different strengths and weaknesses.

  Pelitas and Prax had become good friends, each seeing in the other something of the same phlegmatic outlook on life, despite the difference in ages. Prax had lost his swollen gut in the time in the cell, replacing it with hard muscle after weeks of pushing himself with the others in the daily exercises. Julius suspected that he would be pleased with the new lease on life when he was shaved and clean. He smiled at that thought, scratching a sore in his armpit.

  Gaditicus had been one of those who suffered in the choppy waters of the dock, but he was gaining color as the ship cut through the waves instead of rocking in them. Julius had found a respect and liking for him that had been missing from his automatic obedience to the rank. The man had held the group together and seemed to appreciate what Julius and Cabera had done for them.

  Suetonius had not flourished in the captivity. He had seen the bonds that had formed between Pelitas, Prax, Julius, and Gaditicus and resented bitterly Julius's being included. For a while, he had been friendly with the other four officers, and two camps had emerged. Julius had used those groups to compete against each other in the daily training, and eventually one of the officers had cuffed Suetonius as he complained to him in whispers.

  Shortly after that, Cabera had been able to bring the first decent food they had seen since the beginning, and they had all cheered. Typical of the old man to have given the fruit to Julius to hand out. Suetonius couldn't wait for freedom and order to be restored, wanting to see the moment when Julius realized he was just a junior officer again.

  Two weeks after leaving port, they were taken out of the cell in darkness and left on a strange coast, without weapons or supplies. The captain had bowed to them as they were taken to the small boat that would be rowed in to the beach beyond, where they could hear the crash of waves.

  “Goodbye, Romans. I will think of you often as I spend your coin,” he had called, laughing. They stayed silent, though Julius looked up at him steadily, as if noting every line of his face. He was furious that Cabera had not been allowed to leave with them, though he had known they might hold him. It was just one more reason to find the captain and rip his throat out.

  On the beach, their bonds were cut and the sailors backed away carefully, daggers ready.

  “Don't do anything stupid, now,” one of them warned. “You can work your way home in time.” Then they were in the boat and rowing hard for the trireme that was black against the moonlit sea.

  Pelitas reached down and picked up a handful of the soft sand, rubbing it between his fingers.

  “I don't know about you lads, but I'm going for a swim,” he said, stripping off his infested clothes in a sudden rush. A minute later, only Suetonius stood on the shore, then he was dragged in by the shouting, laughing officers, clothes and all.

  * * *

  Brutus used his dagger to skin the hares they'd bought from a farmer, scooping out the guts into a slimy heap. Renius had found some wild onions, and with the crusty bread and a half-full wineskin, it would be a suitable feast for their last night in the open. Rome was less than a day's travel away, and with the sale of the horses, they were in profit.

  Renius dropped a few heavy pieces of dead wood by the fire and lay down as close as he could, enjoying the warmth.

  “Pass me the wineskin, lad,” he said, his voice mellow.

  Brutus pulled the stopper out and gave it to him, watching as Renius guided the spout to his mouth and gulped.

  “I'd go easy if I were you,” Brutus said. “You have no head for wine and I don't want you picking a fight with me or weeping or something.”

  Renius ignored him, finally gasping as he lowered the skin.

  “It's good to be home again,” he said.

  Brutus filled their small cooking pot to the brim and lay down on the other side of the fire.

  “It is. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it before the lookout sighted the coast. It brought everything back to me.”

  Shaking his head in memory, he stirred the stew with his dagger. Renius raised his head and rested it on his hand.

  “You've come a long way from the boy I trained. I don't think I ever told you how proud I was when you made centurion for the Bronze Fist.”

  “You told everyone else. It got back to me in the end,” Brutus replied, smiling.

  “And now you'll be Julius's man?” Renius said, eyeing the bubbling stew.

  “Why not? We walk the same path, remember? Cabera said that.”

  “He said the same to me,” Renius muttered, testing the stew with a finger. Though it was clearly boiling, he didn't seem to feel the heat.

  “I thought that was why you came back with me. You could have stayed on with the Fist if you'd wanted.”

  Renius shrugged. “I wanted to be at the heart of things again.”

  Brutus grinned at the big man. “I know. Now Sulla's dead, this is our time.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I have no idea what you are talking about,” Fercus said. He strained against the ropes that held him to the chair, but there was no give in them.

  “I think you know exactly what I mean,” Antonidus said, leaning in very close so that their faces almost touched. “I have a gift for knowing a lie when I am told one.” He sniffed twice suddenly and Fercus remembered how they called him Sulla's dog.

  “You reek of lies,” Antonidus said, sneering. “I know you were involved, so simply tell me and I will not have to bring in the torturers. There is no escape from here, broker. No one saw you arrested and no one will know we have spoken. Just tell me who ordered the assassination and where the killer is and you will walk out unharmed.”

  “Take me to a court of law. I will find representation to prove my innocence!” Fercus said, his voice shaking.

  “Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you? Days wasted in idle talk while the Senate tries to prove it has one law for all. There is no law down here, in this room. Down here, we still remember Sulla.”

  “I know nothing!” Fercus shouted, making Antonidus move back a few inches, to his relief. The general shook his head in regret.

  “We know the killer went by the name of Dalcius. We know he had been bought for kitchen work three weeks before. The record of the sale has vanished, of course, but there were witnesses. Did you think no one would notice Sulla's own agent at the market? Your name, Fercus, came up over and over again.”

  Fercus paled. He knew he would not be allowed to live. He would not see his daughters again. At least they were not in the city. He had sent his wife away when the soldiers came for the slave market records, understanding then what would happen and knowing he could not run with them if he wanted them to escape the wolves Sulla's friends would put on his trail.

  He had accepted that there was a small risk, but after burning the sale papers, he had thought they would never make the link among so many thousands of others. His eyes filled with tears.

  “Guilt overwhelms you? Or is it just that you have been found out?” Antonidus asked sharply.

  Fercus said nothing and looked at the floor. He did not think he could stand torture.

  The men who entered at Antoni
dus's order were old soldiers, calm and untroubled at what they were asked to do.

  “I want names from him,” Antonidus said to them. He turned back to Fercus and raised his head until their eyes met once more. “Once these men have started, it will take a tremendous effort to make them stop. They enjoy this sort of thing. Is there anything you want to say before it begins?”

  “The Republic is worth a life,” Fercus said, his eyes bright.

  Antonidus smiled. “The Republic is dead, but I do love to meet a man of principle. Let's see how long it lasts.”

  Fercus tried to pull away as the first slivers of metal were pressed against his skin.

  Antonidus watched in fascination for a while, then slowly grew pale, wincing at the muffled, heaving sounds Fercus made as the two men bent over him. Nodding to them to continue, the general left, hurrying to be out in the cool night air.

  * * *

  It was worse than anything Fercus had ever known, an agony of humiliation and terror. He turned his head to one of the men and his lips twisted open to speak, though his blurring eyes could not see more than vague shapes of pain and light.

  “If you love Rome, let me die. Let me die quickly.”

  The two men paused to exchange a glance, then resumed their work.

  * * *

  Julius sat in the sand with the others, shivering as dawn finally came to warm them. They had soaked the clothes in the sea, removing the worst of months of fetid darkness, but they had to let them dry on their bodies.

  The sun rose swiftly and they were silent witnesses to the first glorious dawn they had seen since standing on the decks of Accipiter. With the light, they saw the beach was a thin strip of sand that ran along the alien coast. Thick foliage clustered right up to the edge of it as far as the eye could see, except for one wide path only half a mile away, found by Prax as they scouted the area. They had no idea where the captain had put them down, except that it was likely to be near a village. For the ransoms to be a regular source of funds, it was important that prisoners made it back to civilization, and they knew the coast would not be uninhabited. Prax was sure it was the north coast of Africa. He said he recognized some of the trees, and it was true that the birds that flew overhead were not those of home.