The Death of Kings

by Conn Iggulden

  Cornelia came to the gate to meet him and he kissed her. Belatedly, it occurred to him that there were other things between husband and wife that he had neglected in the two nights since his return. Intimacy would restore his love for her, he was sure. With the exhaustion of his travels fast disappearing, he kissed her again, lingeringly, and preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn't notice her stiffen in sudden panic against him. He passed the horse into the care of the slave who waited in attendance.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered, close to her ear. The smell of her perfume filled his lungs with coolness.

  She nodded silently.

  “Is the baby asleep, wife?”

  She pulled her head back to look at him. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, fighting to remain calm.

  “I'll show you, if you want,” he said, kissing her again. Her skin was pale and beautiful as they walked together into the privacy of the house.

  He felt clumsy inside the bedroom, covering his nervousness with kisses between flinging his garments onto the floor. There was something wrong in her responses, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't just the long separation. They had known each other for such a little time, all in all, that he knew he shouldn't expect an easy intimacy and coaxed her to relax by stroking her neck and running his hands lightly down her back as they sat naked together, with only a single dim lamp to make the room gold.

  Cornelia bore his kisses and wanted to sob out her grief for what had been hurt in her. She had told no one about what Sulla had done, not even Clodia. It was a shame she had hoped to forget, something she had successfully pressed deep away inside her until it almost hadn't happened. She moved with Julius as he became aroused, but felt nothing except fear as the memories of the final visit of the Dictator flashed into her mind unbidden. She heard again the cry of her daughter in the cot at her bedside as Sulla pressed on her, and tears seeped slowly from her eyes as the cruelty surfaced in her memories with appalling force.

  “I don't think I can, Gaius,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “What is it?” Julius replied, shocked at her tears.

  Cornelia curled against him and he wrapped his arms around her body, resting his head on hers as sobs convulsed her.

  “Has someone hurt you?” he whispered, and a great emptiness stole into his chest as he voiced the terrible thought.

  She could not answer him at first, but then she began to whisper, her eyes tightly closed. Not the worst of it, but the beginning, the terror of her pregnancy, the helpless anger at knowing there was no one to stop Sulla in all Rome.

  Julius felt a great sadness weight him down as he listened. Without warning, tears of rage and frustration came from him at what she had gone through. He controlled himself, viciously biting his lip against the questions he wanted to ask, the pointless stupid questions that would serve nothing except to wound both of them even further. None of it mattered, except for him to hold her and hold her until the sobbing slowly died away into tiny aching shivers.

  “He is dead now, Lia. He cannot hurt you or frighten you anymore,” he said.

  He told her how her love had kept him strong when he thought he would go insane in the dark cell, how proud he had been at the wedding, how much she meant to his life. His tears dried with hers, and as the moon sank toward dawn, they slept, slipping away from each other.

  CHAPTER 31

  With the sun only two spans above the horizon, Tubruk found Julius leaning against the outer wall of the estate, a blanket over his bare chest against the morning cold.

  “You look ill,” the old gladiator told him. To his surprise, Julius didn't reply and hardly seemed to notice his approach. The young man's eyes were red from too little sleep, and the chill breeze sent shivers over his skin that he ignored. Tubruk could see the white traces of scars against the darker tan, a written script for old pain and struggle.

  “Julius?” Tubruk asked gently. There was no response, but Julius let the blanket fall, standing only in his sandals and short bracae leggings that reached halfway down his thighs.

  “I need to run for a while,” Julius said, looking up at the woods on the hill above them. His voice was as cold as the breeze and Tubruk narrowed his eyes in worry.

  “I'll come with you, lad, if you don't mind waiting for me,” he replied, and when Julius shrugged, Tubruk returned to the house to strip off his heavy tunic and leggings.

  When he returned, Julius was stretching his leg muscles slowly, and the estate manager joined him, lacing the leather ankle strips of his sandals high up on his calf.

  When they were both ready, they set off together up the hill, Julius making the pace.

  Tubruk ran easily for the first mile through the woods, thankful he had not neglected his fitness. Then, when his chest began to burn with the exertion, he glanced over at Julius. He ran lightly over the broken trail, his lungs expanding his chest in long, slow breaths. Tubruk matched him, staying at his shoulder for short bursts of speed, then back to the slower pace over and over. Julius didn't speak as he pushed himself on, the sweat pouring from him in spattering droplets that stung his eyes.

  After another mile, they turned out of the cool green dark of the woods and ran along the estate perimeter. Tubruk began to puff out short, painful breaths, his legs protesting. As fit as he was, no man of his age could have matched the punishing pace for long, and Julius showed not a sign of distress as he ran, as if his body's discomfort was ignored or even forgotten. His eyes were fixed in inward concentration and he didn't see Tubruk begin to hurt. The old gladiator understood somehow that it was important to be there when Julius finally ran himself out, but the effort was making flashing lights appear in his vision and his heart pounded painfully along his pulse points, creating waves of heat that added to his growing dizziness.

  Julius halted without warning, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. Tubruk stopped instantly, grateful for the respite. He inched over to block the path that Julius followed, hoping he wouldn't just start again after a few seconds' pause.

  “Did you know about what happened to Cornelia?” Julius asked him.

  Tubruk felt cold, his exhaustion irrelevant. “I knew,” he said grimly. “Clodia told me.”

  Julius suddenly swore in violent rage, clenching his fists, his face flushing further in uncontrolled emotion. Tubruk almost took a step away from him and wondered at himself. The young man paced back and forth, his fury making his hands grasp the air for something to hold and kill. His eyes fixed on the estate manager and it took all of Tubruk's will to return the gaze.

  “You told me you would protect her,” Julius snarled at him, taking a step toward Tubruk that brought him only inches from the older man's face. “I trusted you to keep her safe!”

  Julius raised his fist in sudden spasm and Tubruk held still, accepting the blow to come. Instead, Julius snorted and whirled away.

  Tubruk spoke quietly, knowing something of the surging emotions that had stolen Julius's control.

  “When Clodia told me, I acted,” he said.

  Julius didn't seem to hear him. “That bastard Sulla terrified her, Tubruk. He put his filthy hands on her,” Julius said, and broke into sobs. He went slowly down onto his knees in the scrub grass, one hand covering his eyes. Tubruk crouched and put his arms around the young man, pulling him into his chest with a great heave of strength. Julius didn't resist, his voice a muffled croak.

  “She thought I would hate her, Tubruk, can you believe that?”

  Tubruk held him tightly, letting the sorrow work its way through. When Julius quieted at last, Tubruk let him go and looked into his face, pale with grief.

  “I killed him, Julius. I killed Sulla when I heard,” he said. Julius opened his eyes wide in shock and Tubruk continued, relieved to be able to say it at last, “I took a post as a slave in his kitchens and dressed his food with aconite.”

  Julius unfroze as he realized the danger they faced. He grabbed Tubruk's arms in a powerful grip. “Who els
e knows?”

  “Only Clodia. I didn't tell Cornelia, to protect her,” Tubruk replied, resisting the urge to break the hold on him.

  “No one else? Are you certain? Could you be recognized?”

  Finally angry, Tubruk reached up with his hands and removed Julius's stiff fingers with a grunt. “Everyone who could mark me is dead. My friend of thirty years who sold me into Sulla's household died under torture without giving me up. Except for Clodia and us, there is no one else to make the link, I swear it.” He looked into Julius's hard eyes and spoke slowly and with force through his teeth, guessing at his thoughts. “You will not touch Clodia, Julius. Do not think of it.”

  “While she lives, my wife and daughter are in danger,” Julius replied, unabashed.

  “While I live as well. Will you kill me too? You will have to if you hurt Clodia, on my word you will, or I will come for you myself.”

  The two men stood close, both of them rigid with tension. The silence between them grew, but neither one looked away. Then Julius shuddered and the manic quality went from his eyes. Tubruk remained, glaring at him, needing him to concede the point. Finally, the young man spoke.

  “All right, Tubruk. But if the Sullans ever come for her, or for you, there must be no link back to my family.”

  “Do not ask me for that!” Tubruk replied, furious. “I have served your family for decades. I will not give my blood and hers as well! I love her, Julius, and she loves me. My duty, my love for you, will not stretch to hurting her. It will not happen.

  “In any case, I know there is no path from Sulla to me, or to you. I have blood on my hands to prove it.”

  When Julius spoke again, his voice was heavy with weariness. “Then you must leave. I have funds enough to set you up somewhere far from Rome. I can free Clodia and you can take her with you.”

  Tubruk clenched his jaw. “And your mother? Who will look after her?”

  All the passion faded from the younger man, leaving him exhausted and empty. “There is Cornelia, and I can hire another nurse. What other choice is there, Tubruk? Do you think I want this? You have been with me all my life. I can barely imagine not having you to run the estate, but the Sullans are still searching for the assassins, you know that. Oh gods, Pompey's daughter!”

  He froze in horror as the implications of the death hit home. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “They struck blind. Cornelia is already in danger!” he said. Without another word, he scrambled into a run back toward the estate, cutting left to the narrow bridge across the stream. Tubruk swore and raced after him, unable to close the gap on his tired legs. As soon as it had been said, the old gladiator knew Julius was right and panic touched him then. To lose Cornelia after all he had done to protect her made him want to cry out in anger as he forced a faster pace, ignoring the pain.

  * * *

  Cornelia had slept as lightly as her husband, and when the two men arrived panting back at the estate, she was with Clodia and Julia, discussing a trip into the city. She heard Julius calling for his soldiers and rose from the couch, her nervousness evident. Despite the moments of tenderness he'd shown her, he was not the man who'd left Rome in flames behind him years before. His innocence had gone from him, perhaps with the scars that he wouldn't talk about. There were times when she thought there were no more tears inside her for what Sulla had taken from both of them.

  When he came storming into the room, her eyes widened nervously.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Julius frowned at Clodia in response, knowing as Tubruk had that making Cornelia part of the secret would only increase her risk. Tubruk followed him in and shared a glance with the old nurse, nodding his head a fraction to confirm what she had guessed. Julius spoke urgently, relieved to find her safe. The run home had been an agony for him as he tormented himself with images of assassins creeping through the house to hurt her.

  “I think you could be in danger from the friends of Sulla. Pompey lost his daughter and he was close to Marius. I should have thought of it before! It could be that those who seek to avenge the Dictator are striking at his enemies even now, hoping to catch the real assassin in their nets. I will have to send for some of Primigenia to guard you here and get messengers to Crassus. He could be another target. Gods, and Brutus even! Though he's well protected, at least.”

  He paced around the room, his bare chest still heaving from the sprint home.

  “I will have to use guile against them, but I cannot leave those men alive. One way or another, I will have to break the back of their alliance in Sulla's name. We cannot live expecting the assassin's knife.” He turned suddenly and pointed at the estate manager, standing bathed in sweat by the door.

  “Tubruk, I want you to keep my family safe until this is over. If I have to be in Rome, I need someone I can trust to look after my family here.”

  The older man straightened with dignity. He would not mention the wild threats Julius had made on the run, but trying to guess the way Julius's constantly spinning mind would change next was beyond him.

  “You want me here?” he said, the words carrying a meaning that made Julius stop his pacing.

  “Yes. I was wrong. My mother needs you. I need you more than ever. Who else can I trust?”

  Tubruk nodded his understanding, knowing the conversation on the hill would not be mentioned again. The young man who paced like a leopard was not one to dwell on the mistakes of the past.

  “Who is the threat?” Cornelia asked, holding her head high against the fear that had swelled in her.

  “Cato leads them, with his followers. Antonidus perhaps. Even Suetonius's father may be part of it. They will be behind it, or know of it,” Julius replied. Cornelia shuddered at the name of the general she remembered. Her husband swore as a thought struck him.

  “I should have killed Sulla's dog when I had the chance. He was just a few feet from me outside Marius's gate. If he had a hand in the murder of Pompey's daughter, he is more of a danger than I realized. Gods, I have been blind!”

  “You must see Pompey, then. He is your ally, whether he realizes it or not,” Tubruk said quickly.

  “And Crassus, and your father Cinna too,” Julius replied, motioning to Cornelia. “I must meet with all of them.”

  As Cornelia sank back onto the couch, Julius went down on one knee and took her hand in his.

  “I will not let anything harm you, I promise. I can make this place a fortress with fifty men.”

  She saw his need to protect her in his eyes. Not love, but the duty of a husband. She'd thought she had grown numb to loss, but to see his face so cold and earnest was worse than anything.

  Forcing a smile, Cornelia pressed a hand to his cheek, still warm from the run. A fortress, or a prison? she thought.

  * * *

  When riders were sighted on the road from the city two days later, Julius and Brutus roused the estate in minutes. Renius had brought fifty of Primigenia from their barracks, and by the time the riders approached the gates, it would have taken an army to breach their defenses. There were archers on every wall and Cornelia was hidden with the others in a new suite of rooms Julius had designated for exactly this purpose. Clodia had taken Julia down without an argument, but precious time had been lost moving Aurelia, who understood nothing of what was happening.

  Julius stood alone in the courtyard, watching as Tubruk and Renius took their final positions. Octavian had been sent down with the women, over his furious protests. Everything became still and Julius nodded to himself. The estate was secure.

  With his sword sheathed, he climbed the steps to the ledge above the gate and watched as the riders halted at a distance, made wary by the sudden show of force on the walls. A carriage moved up between them, drawn by twin horses who pranced forward a last few reluctant steps, sensing the tension. Julius watched without speaking as one of the riders dismounted and laid a cloth of silk in the dust.

  Cato stepped ponderously out onto it, adjusting the folds of his to
ga with delicate attention. The dust of the road had not touched him, and he looked up into Julius's eyes without expression before motioning to his men to dismount and approach the gate.

  Behind his back, Julius raised his fingers to signal the number of strangers. There were too few for an open attack, but Julius was uncomfortable having such a man anywhere near those he loved. He tensed his jaw as they walked into the shadow of the gate. Brutus had told him about Cato's son, but there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. Like Brutus, he would just have to see it through.

  A fist thumped against the heavy beams of the gate.

  “Who calls on my house?” Julius said, looking Cato in the eye below. The man stared back impassively, content to wait through the formalities. He would know better than anyone what turmoil was going on in Julius's mind. A senator could not be refused.

  A soldier at Cato's side spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry into the house. “Senator Cato desires entrance on a private matter. Dismiss your men and open this gate.”

  Julius did not reply, instead descending into the yard and conferring quickly with Brutus and Tubruk. The defenders on the walls were brought down and sent into the buildings to await a call to arms. The others were given tasks that allowed them to remain close. It was farcical to see armed men taking horses from the stable and grooming them in the open, but Julius was not in the mood for risk and as he opened the gate himself, he wondered if blood would be spilled in the next hour.

  Cato passed through the gate, smiling slightly as he saw the numbers of armed men in the area.

  “Expecting a war, Caesar?” he said.

  “A legion must drill, Senator. I would not like to be caught unprepared,” Julius replied. He frowned as Cato's men entered behind their master. He had to allow it, but he thanked his house gods for his foresight in bringing so many of Primigenia out of the city barracks. Cato's men would be dead in seconds if he gave the order. Their faces showed they understood this as well as anyone as their horses were led away, leaving them exposed in the open courtyard.