Conn Iggulden - Emperor 02

by The Death of Kings

  Tubruk put his arm around her nurse and Clodia rested her head on his shoulder, whispering to him. Cornelia heard his deep chuckle for a moment and envied them what they had found. It was not in her to refuse if Clodia asked, though the thought of being the forgotten wife while Julius gloried in his city and his legion was unbearable. She had seen them before, those poisonous Roman matrons with nurses for their children and slaves to work in the houses. They spent their days buying rich cloth, or organizing a social circle that Clodia saw as a kind of death. How they would pity her when they clawed out the truth of a loveless marriage.

  Cornelia rubbed angrily at her eyes. She was too young to be destroyed by this, she told herself. If it took a year to recover, then she would wait out the healing. Though he had changed in his prison, there was still the young man she'd known in Julius. The one who had risked life and her father's anger to come to her room over the slippery rooftops. If she could only keep that man in mind, she would be able to talk to him again and perhaps he would remember the girl he'd loved. Perhaps the conversation would not become an argument and neither of them would leave the other alone.

  A shadow moved in the courtyard and Cornelia raised her head to see. It could have been one of the soldiers on his rounds, she thought, then let out her held breath as the graying night revealed him. Octavian, spying on the lovers. If she called to him, the moment of privacy Clodia and Tubruk had found would be spoiled, and she hoped the boy would have the sense not to get too close.

  Julius too had grown up inside the walls and once had been as fascinated by love as Octavian.

  She watched in silence as Octavian crouched behind a water trough and peered at Tubruk. The couple kissed again and Tubruk reached down to the ground, his fingers searching as he chuckled again. When he had found what he wanted, Cornelia saw his arm go back and jerk forward, sending a pebble clattering toward where Octavian hid.

  “Go back to bed,” Tubruk called to the boy. Cornelia smiled, turning away to take the advice herself.

  * * *

  “The Senate doors are opening!” Quintus said at Julius's shoulder. Julius turned to see the magistrates returning.

  “That was fast,” he said nervously to the jurist.

  The old man nodded. “Fast is not good in a property case, I think,” he muttered ominously.

  Julius tensed in sudden fear. Had he done enough? If the decision went against him and the judges accepted the call for a death penalty, he would be dead before the sun set. He could hear their sandals on the forum stones, as if they marked off his last moments. Julius felt sweat trickle down his side under his toga, cold against his skin.

  With the rest of the court, he stood to receive the magistrates, bowing as they entered. The soldiers who had accompanied them from the Senate building took up their posts in a second line between the crowd and the court, their hands on their swords. Julius's heart sank. If they were expecting trouble, it could be the magistrates had warned them of the verdict already.

  The three judges moved to their seats with slow dignity. Julius tried to catch their eyes as they settled, desperate for some clue of what was to come. They gave nothing away and the crowd became silent as the tension grew, waiting for them.

  The magistrate who had spoken throughout the proceedings rose ponderously to his feet, his expression grim.

  “Hear our verdict, Rome,” he called. “We have searched for truth and speak as law.”

  Julius held his breath unconsciously and the silence that surrounded them seemed almost painful after the crashing cheers and chants before.

  “I find in favor of General Antonidus,” the man said, his head and neck stiff. The crowd roared in anger, then a hush fell again as the second judge rose.

  “I too find in favor of Antonidus,” he said, his gaze swinging over the unruly chaos of the crowd. A fresh bellow of jeers followed his words and Julius felt suddenly dizzy with reaction.

  The tribune stood and looked over the crowd and the bronze images of Marius, his gaze at last falling on Julius.

  “As tribune, I have the right to veto the judgments of my fellow magistrates. It is not a path I would choose lightly, and I have weighed the arguments with care.” He paused for emphasis and every eye was on him.

  “I exercise that veto today. The judgment is with Caesar,” he said.

  The crowd went berserk with joy and the chant of “Ma-ri-us” could be heard again, louder than ever.

  Julius collapsed in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Well done, lad.” Quintus smiled toothlessly at him. “There's a lot of people who will know your name if you ever stand for higher office. I did enjoy the way you used those shields of yours. Showy, but they like that. Congratulations.”

  Julius let out a long slow breath, still light-headed from being so close to catastrophe. His legs felt shaky under him as he crossed the floor to where Antonidus sat. Loudly enough for the magistrates to hear him over the crowd, he took the first part of his revenge for Cornelia.

  “I lay hands on you for the sum of thirty thousand sesterces,” he said, gripping Antonidus's robe roughly.

  The man stiffened in helpless rage, his eyes searching out Cato in the crowd on the benches. Julius too turned, still keeping his grip. He saw Cato meet the general's eyes and then slowly shake his head, his expression one of distaste. Antonidus seemed dazed at the turn in his fortunes.

  “I do not have the money,” he said.

  Rufius interrupted at Julius's side. “It is customary to allow thirty days to pay such a large debt.”

  Julius smiled without humor. “No. I will have the money now, or the general will be trussed and sold as a slave in the markets.”

  Antonidus struggled violently in his grip, unable to break it.

  “You can't! Cato! You cannot allow me to be taken!” he shouted as Cato turned his back on him and prepared to leave the court. Pompey was in the crowd, watching the scene with avid interest. The general retained enough sense to stop his mouth from blurting out the secrets of the assassins. Either Pompey or Cato or the assassins themselves would have him tortured and killed at such a revelation.

  Brutus stepped from his bench to stand by Julius. He carried a rope in his hands.

  “Bind him, Brutus, but gently. I want to get as much as I can for him on the slave blocks,” Julius said harshly, letting his anger and contempt spill out for a moment.

  Brutus completed the task with quick efficiency, finally gagging Antonidus to muffle his roaring. The magistrates looked on without a reaction, knowing the action was within the law, though the pair that had voted against Julius were red with silent anger.

  When the job was done, Rufius caught Julius's attention with a hand on his arm.

  “You spoke well, Caesar, but Quintus is too old to be a choice of jurist for the future. I hope you will remember my name if you need an advocate yourself?”

  Julius stared at him. “I am unlikely to forget you, I think,” he said.

  With Antonidus bound and claimed for slavery, the praetor dismissed the court and the crowd cheered again. Although Cato had moved first, most of the other senators stepped quickly down from the benches, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of such a large mob of the citizens they represented.

  Together, Julius and Brutus dragged the prone general over the floor of the court, depositing him roughly against the platform that held the shields.

  Alexandria stepped around the milling senators to reach Julius, her eyes bright with the triumph.

  “Well done. I thought they had you there for a moment.”

  “So did I. I must thank the tribune for what he did. He saved my life.”

  Brutus snorted. “He's one of the people, remember. They would have torn him apart if he'd judged against you like the others. Gods, look at them!” Brutus waved his arm at the citizens who clustered as close as they could to catch a glimpse of Julius.

  “Stand up by the shields and acknowledge them,” Alexandria said, be
aming at him. Whatever else happened, she knew her work would be in demand and fetch huge prices from the good and the great of Rome.

  Julius stood and the crowd cheered him. A new chant started and a pleased flush started across his cheeks as he heard his own name slowly supplanting that of Marius.

  He raised an arm in salute and knew what Quintus had said was right. The name of Caesar would stay in their minds, and who knew where that could take him?

  The morning sun had risen to light the forum and gleam off the surfaces of the bronze shields Alexandria had created. They glowed and Julius smiled at the sight of them, hoping Marius could see them, wherever he was.

  CHAPTER 33

  The first warmth of spring was in the morning air as Julius ran through his beloved woods, feeling his legs stretch away the tensions of the days. With the excitement of the trial behind him, he spent most of his time with Renius and Brutus at the Primigenia barracks, returning home only to sleep. The men he had recruited in Africa and Greece were shaping well, and there was a new excitement amongst the original survivors as they saw Marius's beloved legion alive once more. The men Cato had procured for them were young and unscarred. Julius had been tempted to question them about their pasts, but resisted the impulse. Nothing before their oath mattered, no matter what Cato held over them. They would learn that in time. Renius spent every waking hour with them, using the experienced men to help him drill and train the new ones.

  Though they were still at less than half strength, the word had been sent out to other cities and Crassus had promised to pay as many as they could call to the Primigenia standard. The debt to him was at a dizzy level, but Julius had agreed to it. For all the gold from Celsus, it took a fortune to make a legion, and Crassus stood against the Sullans, as he did. The vast sums simmered at the back of Julius's mind, ignored. Every day brought footsore travelers from all over the country, lured by the promises of scouts in distant provinces. It was an exciting time and as the sun set each evening, Julius left them reluctantly, looking forward only to the coldest of welcomes at his home.

  Though they shared a bed, she jumped when he touched her and then she would rage at him until his temper snapped or he left to find a couch in another room. Every night was worse and he went to sleep tormented by longing for her. He missed her old self and sometimes he turned to her to share a thought or a joke only to find her face filled with a bitterness he could not begin to understand. At times, he was tempted to take another room and have a slave girl brought to him just to give him ease. He knew she'd hate him then and he suffered through the long nights until a constant snapping anger colored his waking hours and sleep was the only peace. He dreamed of Alexandria.

  Though it shamed him, he had brought Octavian into the city on three occasions just to give him an excuse to stop at Tabbic's shop. On the third occasion, Brutus had been there, and after the three of them had stuttered through a few minutes of embarrassment, Julius had vowed not to go again.

  He paused, panting as he crested the hill that overlooked his estate, not far from the new boundary fence hammered in by Suetonius's father. Perhaps it was time to do something about that, at last. With good clean air filling his lungs and a light sweat from the run, he felt a lift in spirits as he surveyed the land that was his. Rome was ready for change. He could feel it even as he felt the subtle shift of seasons that would bring back the heat of summer to the streets and fields.

  A thunder of hooves jolted him out of his reverie, and Julius stepped off the path as the noise grew louder. He guessed who it was before he caught sight of the little figure, perched high on the back of the most powerful stallion in the stables. Julius noted the boy's balance and skill even as he forced a frown that brought Octavian to a shuddering stop in the damp leaves of the woods.

  The stallion snorted and danced at being held back, tugging at the reins in a clear signal to go on. Octavian slid off his bare back with one hand buried in his mane. Julius said nothing as he approached.

  “I'm sorry,” Octavian started, flushing with embarrassment. “He needed a run and the stable lads don't like to stretch him. I know I said—”

  “Come with me,” Julius interrupted.

  They walked in silence down the hill, a forlorn Octavian leading the stallion behind Julius. He knew a beating was likely or, worse, he could be sent back to the city and never see a horse again. His eyes filled with tears that he wiped quickly away. Julius would despise him if he saw him weeping like a baby. Octavian resolved to take his punishment without tears, even if it was to be sent away.

  Julius called for the gate to be opened and marched Octavian over to the stables. Some of the horses had been sold when Tubruk raised the ransom, but the estate manager had kept the best bloodlines to let them rebuild the stock.

  The sun was rising as Julius entered the shadowy stalls, bringing a blessed breath of warmth. Julius hesitated as the horses turned their heads to welcome him, sniffing the air with soft noses. Without a word of explanation, he crossed to a young stallion Tubruk had raised and trained from a foal and ran his hand over the powerful brown shoulder.

  As Octavian looked on, Julius buckled the reins and chose a saddle from the rack on the stable wall. In silence, he led the gently snickering horse out into the morning sun.

  “Why don't you take your pony out anymore?” he asked.

  Octavian stared at him, completely at a loss. “He's too slow,” he said, patting his stallion's neck without noticing. The powerful horse towered over him, but stood calmly at the touch, showing nothing of the temper that irked the stableboys of the estate.

  “You know you're kin to me, don't you?” Julius asked.

  “My mother told me,” the boy replied.

  Julius thought for a moment. He suspected his father would have taken a stick to his son if he had risked his best stallion galloping around the woods, but Julius didn't want to spoil the mood of optimism that had come to him. He had promised Alexandria, after all.

  “Come on then, cousin. Let's see if you're as good as you think you are.”

  Octavian's face lit up as Julius led the horses out together and watched as the boy leapt lightly onto his stallion's back. Julius mounted at a more sedate pace, then whooped suddenly and kicked his mount into a gallop up the hill.

  Octavian watched him openmouthed for a moment, then a smile stole across his face as he pressed his heels and yelled a response, the wind making his hair fly.

  * * *

  When Julius came back into the house, Cornelia longed to embrace him. Flushed from the ride and with his hair made wild with dust, he looked so young and full of life that it broke her heart. She wanted to see him smile at her and feel the strength of his arms as he gathered her into them, but instead she found herself speaking angrily, the bitterness spilling uncontrollably even as part of her cried for softer words she could not find.

  “How much longer do you expect me to live here as a prisoner?” she demanded. “You have your freedom, while I can't eat or walk anywhere without a group of your Primigenia bastards following me!”

  “They are there to protect you!” Julius replied, shocked at the depth of her feelings.

  Cornelia glared at her husband. “For how long, Julius? You know better than anyone that it could be years before your enemies cease to be a danger. Would you have me confined for the rest of my life? What about your daughter? When did you hold her last? Do you want her to grow up alone? Those soldiers even searched friends of my father's when they came to visit. They won't be back, you can be sure.”

  “I have been working, Cornelia, you know that. I'll make time for her, I promise. Perhaps Primigenia has been overcautious,” Julius admitted, “but I told them to keep you safe until I have broken the threat of assassins.”

  Cornelia swore, surprising him.

  “All this based on what happened to Pompey's daughter! Has it occurred to you that there might not be any danger? For all we truly know, Pompey was attacked for something that had nothing to do
with the Senate, yet as a result, I am forbidden even short trips into the city to break the monotony. It is too much, Julius. I cannot stand it.”

  The words would not be held, though she writhed in confusion. This was not how it was meant to be. He must see her love, yet he was pulling away.

  Julius looked at her, his expression hardening. “Do you want me to leave my family open to attack? I cannot. No, I will not. Already I am moving against my enemies. I broke Antonidus in full view of Cato and his supporters. They will know I am dangerous to them, and that increases the risk to you many times over. Even if their killers strike at me alone, they could stumble into you.”

  Cornelia took a deep breath to slow her pounding blood. “Is it to save us, then, or to save your pride that we are prisoners in our own home?” She watched as his eyes tightened in anger, and she ached for him.

  “What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “Do you want to go back to your father? Then go, but Primigenia will travel with you and make that place a fortress. Until my enemies are dead, you must be safe.”

  He pressed his hands deeply into his eyes, as if to hold back the frustration that swept over him. He reached out to her and gathered her stiff body into his embrace.

  “My pride has nothing to do with it, Cornelia. There is nothing more important in my life than Julia and you. The thought of someone hurting you is . . . unbearable. I must know you are safe.”

  “That's not true though, is it?” she whispered. “You care more for the city than your own family. You care more for your reputation and the love of the people than for us.” Tears came from her and he held her tightly, resting his head on hers. Her words appalled him and he struggled with an inner voice that noted a kernel of truth in them.