The Gates of Rome

by Conn Iggulden

  Tubruk smiled again. "Well, as I said, he is an amazing man, and after what he managed with you, what he says goes, as far as your care is concerned. I only let Renius in here because he is leaving today."

  "I am glad you did. I would not have liked to leave unfinished business."

  "That's what I thought."

  "I'm surprised you didn't take his head off," Gaius said cheerfully.

  "I thought about it, but accidents happen in training. He just went too far, that's all. For what it's worth, he's proud of both of you. I think the old bastard developed a liking for you, probably for your stubbornness— you're as bad as he is, I think."

  "How is Marcus?" Gaius asked.

  "Itching to get in here, of course. You might try to convince him it wasn't his fault. He says he should have forced you to let him fight first, but—"

  "It was my decision and I don't regret it. I lived, after all."

  Tubruk snorted. "Don't become overconfident. It makes a man believe in the power of prayer to see you survive a wound like that. If it weren't for Cabera, you would not have survived it. You do owe him your life. Your father has been trying to get him to accept some sort of reward, but he won't take anything except his keep. I still don't really know why he is here. He seems to believe... that we are moved by the gods like we throw dice, and they wanted him to see the glorious city of Rome before he was too old." The bluff freedman looked perplexed and Gaius thought that it wouldn't help to mention his strange memory of the heat from Cabera's hands. That would keep, no doubt.

  "I will get some soup brought in. Would you like some fresh bread with it?"

  Gaius's stomach agreed wholeheartedly and Tubruk left, smiling once again.

  Renius gained the saddle of his gelding with difficulty. His left arm felt useless, the pain more than the simple ache of healing gashes he had known so many times before.

  He was pleased there were no servants or slaves around to see his clumsiness. The great estate house seemed deserted.

  At last, he was able to grip the body of the horse with his legs, allowing his muscles to support their weight. Even with evening coming on, he would make it back to the city before complete darkness. He sighed at the thought. What was there, really, for him now? He would sell his town house, although the prices had dropped during the rioting. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the streets were quiet again. With Sulla leading his legion into the city, there would be executions and public floggings, but order would eventually be restored. It had happened before. The Romans did not like war on their doorstep. They thrilled to hear of broken armies of barbarians, but no one enjoyed the brutality of martial law, with a curfew and the scarcity of food that would inevitably—

  He heard a sound behind him and his thoughts were interrupted.

  Marcus stood watching him, his face calm. "I came to wish you goodbye."

  Almost unconsciously, Renius noticed the developed shoulders and the easy way of standing the boy had. He would make a name for himself in some future the old warrior would not be there to see.

  A shiver touched him at the thought. No one lives forever, not an Alexander, not a Scipio or a Hannibal, not even a Renius.

  "I am glad Gaius is healing," Renius replied clearly.

  "I know. I did not come to be angry at you, but to apologize," Marcus said, looking at the sand at his feet.

  Renius raised his eyebrows.

  Marcus took a deep breath. "I am sorry I did not kill you, you twisted, evil bastard. If our paths ever cross in later years, I will take your throat out."

  Renius swayed in the saddle, as if the words were blows. He could feel the hatred and it cheered him up immensely. Laughter threatened to overcome him as the little cockerel made its threats, but he realized he could give a last gift to his pupil, if he chose his words carefully.

  "Such hatred will kill you, boy. And then you won't be there to protect Gaius."

  "I will always be there for him."

  "No. Not until you can keep your temper. You will die in some brawl in a stinking barroom, unless you can find calm in yourself. You would have killed me, yes; at my age, my stamina melts faster than I care to admit. But if we had met when I was young, I would have cut through you faster than corn falls to the knife. Remember that the next time you meet a young man with a reputation to make." Renius grinned then and it was like seeing the teeth of a shark, lips sliding back over a cruel expression.

  "He may get the chance sooner than you think," Cabera said, coming out of the shadows.

  "What? You were listening, you old devil?" Renius said, still smiling, although his expression eased at the sight of the healer, whom he had come to respect.

  "Look to the city. You will not be going anywhere tonight, I think," Cabera continued, his expression serious.

  Both Marcus and Renius turned to look out over the hills. Although Rome was hidden by the rise of the land, an orange glow grew brighter as they watched in horror.

  "Jupiter's balls—they've set the city on fire!" Renius spat. His beloved city.

  For a moment, he thought of spurring the horse away, knowing his place should be in the streets. Men knew his face; he could help restore order. A cool hand touched his ankle and he looked down into the face of old Cabera.

  "I see the future occasionally. If you go there now, you will be dead by dawn. This is truth."

  Renius shifted his weight and the gelding clopped its hooves on the sand, feeling his emotions.

  "And if I stay?" he snapped.

  Cabera shrugged. "You may die here too. The slaves will be coming to loot this place. We don't have long now.

  Marcus gaped at the words. There were close to five hundred slaves on the estate. If they all went wild, there would be butchery. Without another word, he ran back into the buildings, shouting for Tubruk to raise the alarm.

  "Would you like a hand dismounting from that fine gelding?" asked Cabera, his eyes wide and innocent.

  Renius grimaced, suddenly able to muster his usual anger despite the cheerful old man. "The gods don't tell us what is going to happen," he said.

  Cabera smiled wistfully. "I used to believe that. When I was young and arrogant, I used to think I could somehow read people, see their true selves and guess at what they would do. It was years before I was humble enough to know it could not be me. It isn't like glancing through a clear window. I just look at you and toward the city and I feel death. Why not? Many men have talents that could almost be magic to those without them. Think of it like that if it makes you more comfortable. Come on. You will be needed here tonight."

  Renius snorted. "I suppose you have made a lot of money with this talent of yours?"

  "Once or twice I have, but money does not stay with me. It steals out into the hands of wine merchants and loose women and gamblers. All I have is my experiences, but they are worth more than coin."

  After a few moments of thought, Renius accepted the helping hand and was not surprised to find it steady and strong, not after seeing those skinny shoulders pull the heavy bow in the training yard.

  "You will have to hold my scabbard for me, old man. I will be all right when my sword is out." He began to lead the horse back into the stables, stroking its nose and murmuring that they would ride later, when all the excitement was over. He paused for a moment. "You can see the future?"

  Cabera grinned and hopped from one foot to the other, amused. "You want to know if you will live or die here, yes?" he chattered. "That is what everyone asks."

  Renius found his usual sourness coming back in force. "No. I don't think I do want to know that. Keep it to yourself, magician." He led the horse away without looking back, his shoulders showing his irritation.

  When he had gone, Cabera's face filled with grief. He liked the man and was pleased to find that a sort of decency still resided in Renius's heart, despite the fame and money he had won in his life.

  "Perhaps I should have let you go and wither with the other old men, my friend," he muttered to h
imself. "You might even have found happiness somewhere. Yet if you had left, the boys would have been surely killed, so this is a sin I can live with, I think." His eyes were bleak as he turned to the great gates of the estate outer wall and began to push them closed. He wondered if he too would die in this foreign land, unknown in his own. He wondered if his father's spirit was close by and watching and decided that it probably wasn't. His father at least had had the sense not to sit in the cave and wait for the bear to come home.

  Galloping hoofbeats sounded in the distance. Cabera held the main gate open as he watched the approaching figure. Was it the first of the attackers or a messenger from Rome? He cursed his vision that allowed him such fragmentary glimpses into the future, and never anything that involved himself. Here he was holding the door for the rider, so he had had no warning. The clearest visions were those in which he wasn't involved at all, which was probably meant to be a lesson from the gods—one rather wasted on him, on the whole. He had found that he could not live life as an observer.

  A trail of dark dust followed the figure, barely showing in the gloom of the gathering twilight.

  "Hold the gate!" a voice commanded.

  Cabera raised an eyebrow. What did the man think he was doing?

  Gaius's father, Julius, came thundering through the opening. His face was red and his rich clothes were stained with soot.

  "Rome is on fire," he said as he jumped to the ground. "But they will not get my home." In that moment, he recognized Cabera and patted his shoulder in greeting.

  "How is my son?"

  "Doing well. I am..." Cabera trailed off as the vigorous older version of Gaius strode away to organize the defenses. Tubruk's name echoed around the internal corridors of the estate.

  Cabera looked puzzled for a moment. The visions had changed a little—the man was a force of nature and might just be enough to tip the balance in their favor.

  His mind went blank again as he heard the shouts rise in the fields. Muttering in frustration, Cabera climbed the steps up to the estate wall, to use his eyes where his internal vision had failed.

  Darkness filled every horizon, but Cabera could see pinpoint pricks of light moving in the fields, meeting and multiplying like fireflies. Each would be a lamp or a torch held by angry slaves, their blood warmed by the heat of the sky over the capital. They were already marching toward the great estate.

  CHAPTER 8

  All the house servants and slaves stayed loyal. Lucius, the estate doctor, unwrapped his bandages and materials, spreading vicious-looking metal tools on a piece of cloth on one of the wide kitchen tables. He collared two of the kitchen boys as they were grabbing cleavers to help in the battle.

  "You two stay with me. You'll get your fill of cutting and blood right here." They were reluctant, but Lucius was more of an old family friend and his word had always been law to them before. The lawlessness that was rife in Rome had not yet spread to the estate.

  Outside, Renius had everyone in the yard. Grimly, he counted them. Twenty-nine men and seventeen women. "How many of you have been in the army?" his voice rapped.

  Six or seven hands rose.

  "You men have priority for swords. The rest of you go and find anything that will cut or crush. Run!"

  The last word shocked the frightened men and women out of their lethargy and they scattered. Those who had already found weapons remained, their faces dark and full of fear.

  Renius walked up to one of them, a short, fat cook with an enormous cleaver resting on his shoulder. "What's your name?" he said.

  "Caecilius," came the reply. "I'll tell my children I fought with you when this is over."

  "That you will. We don't have to break a full assault. The attackers are out for easy targets to rape and rob. I mean to make this estate a little too hard to crack for them to bother with. How's your nerve?"

  "Good, sir. I'm used to killing pigs and calves, so I won't faint at a drop or two of blood."

  "This is a little different. These pigs have swords and clubs. Don't hesitate. Throat and groin. Find something to block a blow—some sort of shield."

  "Yes, sir, directly."

  The man attempted to salute and Renius forced himself to smile, biting back his temper at the sloppy manners. He watched the fat figure run away into the buildings and wiped the first beads of sweat from his brow. Strange that such men as that should understand loyalty where so many others threw it aside at the first hint of freedom. He shrugged. Some men would always be animals and others would be... men.

  Marcus walked out into the yard, his sword out of its scabbard. He was smiling. "Would you like me to stand near you, Renius? Cover your left side for you?"

  "If I wanted help, puppy, I'd ask you. Until that time, take yourself to the gate and keep a lookout. Call me when you can see numbers."

  Marcus snapped off a salute, much crisper than that of the cook, yet held a little too long. Renius could sense his insolence and considered breaking the boy's mouth for him. No, right now he needed that stupid confidence of youth. He'd learn soon enough what killing was like.

  As the men returned, he sent them to positions along the walls. They were far too few, but he believed what he had said to Caecilius. The outbuildings would be burned, no doubt; the granaries would probably go and the animals would be slaughtered, but the main complex would not be worth the deaths it would take. An army could take it in minutes, he knew—but these were slaves, drunk on stolen wine and freedom that would vanish again with the morning sun. One strong man with a good sword arm and a ruthless temperament could handle a mob.

  There was no sign yet of Julius or Cabera. No doubt the former was putting on his breastplate and greaves, the full uniform. But where had the old healer got to? That bow of his would be a useful asset in the first few minutes of bloodshed.

  The noise of the men on the walls was like a flock of geese cackling in excited nervousness.

  "Silence!" Renius snapped. "The next man to speak will get back down here and face me."

  In the sudden absence of chatter, they could again hear the screams and yells of the slaves in the fields.

  "We need to listen to what is going on outside. Keep silent and stretch a few muscles. Keep a distance from the next man along, so you can swing without cutting his head off."

  The men shuffled apart from the little knots that had formed out of a need for contact. The fear was in all their eyes. Renius cursed to himself. Ten good men from his old legion and he could hold this place until dawn. These were children with sticks and knives. He took a deep breath as he tried to find words to encourage them. Even the iron legions had needed speeches to fire their blood, and they were confident of their skills.

  "There is nowhere to run to. If the mob breaks past you, everyone in this house will die. That is your responsibility. You must not leave your position—we are stretched thinly enough as it is. The wall is four feet wide—one long pace. Learn it—if you take more than one step back, you will fall."

  He watched as the men shuffled around on the wall, checking the width for themselves. His face hardened.

  "I will keep fighters in the courtyard to deal with any that get over the wall. Do not look down, even if you see your friends being killed before you."

  Cabera came out of the buildings, his bow restrung in his hand. "This is how you inspire them? Your empire is built on this sort of speech?" he muttered.

  Renius frowned at him. "I have never lost a battle. Not with my legion, not in the arena. I have never had a man run or break under my command. If you run, you will pass me, and I will not run."

  "I won't run," Marcus said clearly, into the silence.

  Renius met his eyes, seeing a touch of the madness he had witnessed before.

  "Nor will I, Renius," said another.

  The others all nodded and murmured that they would sooner die, but still the faces of a few were puckered in terror.

  "Your children, your brothers, your fathers will ask you if you did. Be sure you can
look them all in the eye."

  Heads nodded and shoulders lifted a little straighter.

  "Better," Cabera muttered again.

  Julius moved easily through the open door onto the courtyard. His breastplate and leggings were oiled and smooth. His short scabbard swung as he walked. His face was a brutal mask as an obvious rage burned inside. The men on the wall turned away from him, looking out over the fields.

  "I will take the head of every man from my estate not within these walls," he growled.

  Cabera shook his head quickly, not wanting to disagree with the man while those on the wall were listening. "Sir," he whispered. "They all have friends outside. Good men and women who are trapped or unable to fight through to you. Such a threat hurts their morale."

  "It pleases me. Every man outside these walls will be killed and I will pile their heads inside the gates! This is my home and Rome is my city. We will cut out the filth that burn the houses and scatter them on the wind! Do you hear me, little man?" His internal fury built into incandescent rage. Renius and Cabera stared at him as he climbed up the corner steps and walked the length of the wall, shouting orders and noting sloppiness.

  "For a man in politics, he has an unusual approach to a problem," Cabera said quietly.

  "Rome is full of men like him. That, my friend, is why we have an empire, not empty speeches." Renius smiled his shark smile and walked over to where the women waited in a quietly murmuring group.

  "What can we do?" asked a slave girl. He recognized her as the one he had whipped so many months ago for distracting the boys in their training. Her name was Alexandria, it came back to him. While the others shrank from his gaze, as befitted the rank of slaves of the house, she held his eyes and waited for his answer.

  "Fetch some knives. If anyone gets past the wall, you must fall on them and keep stabbing until they are dead."

  A gasp came from a couple of the older women, and one looked a little sick.

  "Do you want to be raped and killed? Gods, woman, I am not asking you to stand on the wall, just to protect our backs. There are too few men to bring some down to protect you as well!" He had no patience with their softness. Good for bed, but when you had to depend on one... Gods!