Emperor: The Death of Kings

by Conn Iggulden

  “That quaestor has our names, remember?” Julius said. “The message he will send to Rome will describe how we stole a ship and drowned one of his men. Whether you like it or not, we are pirates until we can think of a way out of this mess. Our only hope is to follow through and capture Celsus. At least then we can show goodwill. It might stop them nailing us all up.”

  “Look where your ideas have brought us!” Suetonius snarled, shaking his fist. “This is disaster! There’s no way back for any of us.”

  Arguments broke out from every side and Julius let them shout, fighting against his own despair. If only the quaestor had spent the night in bed, they would have been clear and away to find their captors.

  Finally, he felt calm enough to interrupt.

  “When you are finished arguing, you’ll see we have no choices left. If we turn ourselves in, the quaestor will bring us to trial and execution. That is inescapable. I have one thing to add.”

  A hush fell and he felt sick as he saw the hope in their faces. They still thought he could bring about some change, and all he had left were promises he wasn’t even sure he believed himself. He caught the eye of one after another of the officers from Accipiter, including them all.

  “In that stinking prison, we would have thought it was a dream to be here with a ship, ready to take the battle back to our enemies. It has come at a price, but we’ll deal with it when Celsus lies at our feet and his gold is ours. Straighten your backs.”

  “Rome has a long memory for her enemies,” Gaditicus said, his voice bleak.

  Julius forced himself to smile.

  “But we are not the enemies of Rome. We know that. All we have to do is convince them as well.”

  Gaditicus shook his head slowly and turned his back on Julius, walking away across the deck. The first touch of dawn was in the sky, and gray dolphins played and leapt under the blunt bowsprit as Ventulus rode the waves, the oars cutting a fast stroke to take them away from land and retribution.

  CHAPTER 15

  Servilia walked slowly through the forum with her son, deep in thought. He seemed content with the gentle pace, his gaze lingering on the Senate house as they drew close to it. She barely noticed the great arches and domes, having seen them all a thousand times.

  She glanced at Brutus without letting him see it. At her request, he had arrived for their meeting in the full polished uniform of a legion centurion. She knew the gossips would note him and ask his name, assuming the young man to be a lover. By now, more than a few would be able to confide in whispers that her son had returned to her, a mystery they would thrill to explore. He would not pass unnoticed through the heart of the city, she knew. There was something feral in the way he walked, his head bent to listen, a confidence that made the crowd part before him almost unconsciously.

  They had met every day for a month, first in her house and then strolling together through the city. At first the journeys had been stiff and uncomfortable, but as the days passed they were able to converse without tension and even to laugh, though the moments were rare.

  It had surprised her how much pleasure she took from being able to show him the shrines and tell the stories and legends that surrounded them all. Rome was full of legends and he took them all in with an avid interest that stimulated her own.

  She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back behind her head in a casual motion. A passing man stopped to stare at her, and Brutus frowned at him, making her want to giggle. At times, he tried to be protective, forgetting that she had survived in this city for all of his young life. Yet somehow she didn’t mind it from him.

  “The Senate is in session today,” she said as she saw him looking through the bronze doors into the shadowed halls.

  “Do you know what they are discussing?” he asked.

  He had come to accept that there was little involving the Senate that she did not know. He hadn’t asked if she had lovers in the nobilitas, but his suspicions were clear from the way he delicately skirted the subject. She smiled at him.

  “Most of it is terribly dull: appointments, city ordinances, taxes. The dusty ones seem to enjoy it. I should think it will be dark before they are done.”

  “I would love to hear it,” he said wistfully. “Dull or not, I would enjoy a day spent listening to those people. They reach so far across Roman lands, and all from that little place.”

  “You would be bored within an hour. Most of the real work is done in private. What you would see is the last stage as they draft the laws they have chewed over for weeks. It is not something a young man would enjoy.”

  “I would,” he replied, and Servilia could hear the yearning in his voice. She wondered again what to do with him. He seemed content to spend each morning with her, but neither of them had discussed the future. Perhaps it was right to simply enjoy each other’s company, but sometimes she saw his desire to move on, as yet without a place for which to aim. She knew he was drifting when he was with her, having stepped off the path of his life for a while. She could not regret a moment of it, but perhaps he would need a push to get him back to himself.

  “In a week, they move on to the appointments of the highest posts,” she said lightly. “Rome will have a new Pontifex Maximus and officials. Legion commands will be allocated over those days as well.” She saw his head turn sharply toward her out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. There was still ambition there, then, underneath his relaxed exterior!

  “I . . . should sign on with a new legion,” he said slowly. “I can take a centurion post almost anywhere.”

  “Oh, I think I can manage something better than that for a son of mine,” she said carelessly.

  He stopped and took her arm gently. “What . . . How?” he began.

  She laughed at his confusion, making him blush.

  “Sometimes I forget how innocent you can be,” she said, softening the words with her smile. “You have spent too long marching and fighting, I think. Yes, that’s probably it. Mixing with savages and soldiers and not a breath of politics in your life.”

  She reached up to where he held her and pressed her hand over his with affection.

  “The Senate are simply men, and men rarely do what is right. Most of the time, they do what they are persuaded, or ordered, or frightened into doing. Golden bribes will change hands, but the true currency of Rome is influence and favors. I have the first and I am owed many favors. Half those appointments will have been decided on already, in those private meetings. The rest can be bargained for or demanded.”

  She expected a smile at her words, but Brutus looked pained and she let her hand fall from his.

  “I thought it was . . . different,” he said quietly.

  Servilia composed herself, caught between a desire not to shatter his illusions and an urgent need to wake the young soldier to reality before he got himself killed.

  “Do you see that enclosure? You remember I told you it is where the people of Rome come to vote for the appointments of the Senate, the tribunes, the quaestors, even the praetors? It is a secret vote and they take it seriously, yet time and again the same men are elected, the same families, with few changes. It seems fair, but the voters would not know an outsider. Only the Senate have fame enough and wealth enough to have their names in the mouths of the lowliest freemen of the city. It is all an illusion, but an elegant one. What is astonishing is that a few of the Senate do try to be just, earnestly improving the city and the welfare of her citizens.” Servilia pointed over to the Senate house. “There are great men in that building, men who light up the city with their works. Most of the others, though, lack strength of any kind. They use the power of the Senate for riches and greater authority for themselves. That is the simple reality. The Senate is neither evil nor blessed, but a mixture, like everything else we set our hands to in this life.”

  Brutus studied her as he listened to her intensity. Whether she knew it or not, Servilia was not as detached and world-weary as she liked to appear. Her generally cynical air had
vanished as she talked of the venal senators, the dislike obvious. She was not a simple woman, he thought to himself, not for the first time.

  “I understand you. It’s just that when I met Marius he was like a god. Small things were beneath him. I’ve met so many who couldn’t see further than their work or their rank, and when I look back he had a vision for the city and everything he did was to make it a reality, no matter what it cost him. He risked everything he owned to bring Sulla down, and he was right to! Sulla set himself up like a king in Rome the moment Marius was dead.”

  Servilia looked quickly around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. She spoke softly.

  “Don’t say those names so loudly in public, Brutus. Those men may be dead, but the wounds are still fresh and they haven’t found Sulla’s killers yet. I’m glad you met Marius. He never came to my house, but even his enemies had respect for him, I know that. I wish there were more like him.” Her tone lightened as she seemed to shrug away the seriousness of the subject. “Now let’s walk on before the gossips start to wonder what we’re talking about. I want to climb the hill up to the temple of Jupiter. Sulla had it rebuilt after the civil war, you know, shipping the pillars from the remains of the temple to Zeus in Greece. We will make an offering there.”

  “In his temple?” Brutus asked as they walked.

  “The dead don’t own temples. It belongs to Rome, or the god himself, if you want. Men try so hard to leave something behind. I think that’s why I love them.”

  Brutus looked at her, struck again by the feeling that this woman had seen and lived lifetimes for his one.

  “Do you want me to take a legion post?” he asked.

  She smiled at the safer topic. “It would be the right thing to do. There is little point in me having favors owed if I never call them in, is there? You could spend your whole career as a centurion, overlooked by blind commanders, finishing your days with a little farm in a barely tamed new province, having to sleep with your sword. Take what I can give you. It pleases me to be able to help you after being gone from your life for so long. You understand? It is a debt I owe you, and I always pay my debts.”

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Ah, the interest sharpens, does it? Good. I would hate to think a son of mine lacked ambition. Let’s see. You are barely nineteen years old, so religious posts are out for a few years. It should be military. Pompey will have his friends vote any way I want. He is an old companion. Crassus too will throw in with me for past favors. Cinna would clinch it. He is . . . a more current friend.”

  Brutus spluttered in amazement. “Cinna, Cornelia’s father? I thought he was an old man!”

  Servilia chuckled, the sound deep and sensual. “Sometimes he is, sometimes he’s not.”

  Brutus went crimson with embarrassment. How could he look Cornelia in the eye the next time he met her?

  Servilia continued, her mouth twitching upward as she ignored his confusion. “With their support, you could have command of a thousand men in any of the four legions they will review. What do you think?”

  Brutus almost stumbled. What she offered was astonishing, but he realized he would have to stop being surprised at every revelation from Servilia. She was a very unusual woman in many ways, especially to have as a mother. A thought struck him and he stopped walking. She turned and looked at him with her eyebrows raised in enquiry.

  “What about Marius’s old legion?”

  Servilia frowned. “Primigenia is finished. Even if the name were brought back, there can’t be more than a handful of survivors. Use your head, Brutus. Every one of Sulla’s friends would learn your name. You’d be lucky to survive a year.”

  Brutus hesitated. He had to ask or he would always wonder about not taking the chance.

  “Is it possible, though? If I accept the risk, can those men you mentioned order it re-formed?”

  Servilia shrugged and another passerby stared at her, captured for a moment. Brutus touched the hilt of his gladius and the man moved on.

  “If I asked it, yes, but Primigenia was disgraced. Marius was declared an enemy of the state. Who would come to fight under that name? No, it’s impossible.”

  “I want it. Just the name and the right to gather and train new soldiers. I can’t think of anything I would want more.”

  Servilia looked into his eyes, searching them. “Are you sure?”

  “Can Crassus, Cinna, and Pompey do it?” he said firmly.

  Servilia smiled, still amazed at how this young man could send her emotions swinging from anger and amusement to pride in moments. She could not refuse him anything.

  “It would take every favor I have, but they do owe me. For my own son, they would not deny me Primigenia.”

  Brutus wrapped his arms around her and she returned the embrace laughingly, swept up in his happiness.

  “You will need to raise enormous capital if you are to bring a legion back from the dead,” she said as he let her go. “I will introduce you to Crassus. I don’t know anyone richer—I don’t think there is anyone with more wealth—but he is not a fool. You will have to convince him of some return for his gold.”

  “I will give it some thought,” Brutus said, looking back at the Senate building behind them.

  * * *

  Remembering his frustration on Accipiter, Julius never thought he would be thankful for the heavy weight and slow speed of a Roman galley. As dawn had arrived with the sudden glare of the tropical coast, his men had cried out in fear as the square Roman sail was first sighted. Julius had watched it for the first few hours of light, until he was certain the gap was closing. Grimly, he gave orders to send the cargo over the side.

  At least the captain hadn’t had to witness it, as he was still bound to a chair in his cabin. Julius knew the man would be raging when he found out, and more of Celsus’s gold would have to be handed over to him if they were ever successful. There really wasn’t a choice, though it had been an uncomfortable hour as his men brought out small groups of the crew to help them drop the valuable goods of a continent into their wake. Some of the rare woods bobbed in the waves where they fell, but the skins and bolts of cloth went quickly to the bottom. The last items to be thrown were enormous tusks of yellow ivory. Julius knew they were valuable and considered keeping them before his resolve firmed and he gave the reluctant signal to drop them overboard with the rest.

  He had the men stand ready then, watching the sail on the horizon against the glare of the rising sun. If it still came closer, he knew the only thing left was to strip the ship of anything that could be torn out, but as the hours passed, the galley that followed them grew smaller and smaller until it was lost against the reflected light of the sea.

  Julius turned to his men as they worked amongst the crew. He noticed Gaditicus was not with them, having stayed belowdecks when the call came to move the cargo. He frowned slightly, but decided not to go to him and force the situation. He would eventually see they had to continue with the original plan. It was their only hope. He would take Ventulus clear of the coast for a few weeks, continuing to train his recruits in sea warfare. He would have liked to have a corvus made, but they must look like any other merchant to tempt a pirate into an attack. Then he would see if he had managed to turn farmers into legionaries, or whether they would break and force him to see Ventulus sunk under him as Accipiter had been. He clenched his jaw and sent a short prayer to Mars. They must not waste this second chance.

  CHAPTER 16

  Alexandria looked around the small room she had been offered. It wasn’t much, but at least it was clean, and it was hardly fair to take up space at Tabbic’s tiny house now that her jewelry was bringing in a wage. She knew the old craftsman would let her stay longer, even accept a small rent if she insisted, but there was barely enough room for his own family in the tiny second-floor home.

  She hadn’t told them of her search, intending to surprise them with an invitation to dinner when she found a place. That was before almos
t a month of searching. They might have thought it strange that a woman who had been born a slave would turn anything down, but for the money she was willing to pay, the rooms offered had been dirty, damp, or infested with scurrying inhabitants she had not waited to examine closely.

  She could have paid for more than one room, even a small house of her own. Her brooches were selling as fast as she could make them, and even with most of the profits going into new and finer metals, there was enough to add to her savings each month. Perhaps being a slave had taught her to value money when it came, as she begrudged every bronze coin that went on food or a roof over her head. Paying a high rent seemed like the ultimate idiocy, with nothing owned after years passing over hard-earned coin. Better to spend as little as possible and one day she could buy a house of her own, with a door to shut against the world.

  “Do you want the room?” the owner asked.

  Alexandria hesitated. She was tempted to try to bargain the price down still further, but the woman looked exhausted after a day working in the markets and it was an honest price. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of the family’s obvious poverty. Alexandria saw the woman’s hands were sore and stained with color from the dye vats, leaving a faint blue mark over her eye as she brushed her hair back unconsciously.

  “I have two more to see tomorrow. I will let you know then,” Alexandria replied. “Shall I call here in the evening?”

  The woman shrugged, her expression resigned. “Ask for Atia. I should be around. You won’t find better for the price you want, you know. This is a clean house and the cat deals with any mice that get in. Up to you.” She turned away to begin the evening’s work preparing the food brought from the markets as part of her wage. Most of it would be near to spoiling, Alexandria knew, yet Atia seemed unbowed by the grind of her life.

  It was a strange thing to see a freewoman on the edge of poverty. On the estate where Alexandria had worked, even the slaves were better fed and dressed than this woman’s family. It was a view of life she had never explored before, and she had the oddest feeling of shame as she stood there in good clothes, wearing one of her own silver brooches as a pin for her cloak.