Conn Iggulden - Emperor 02

by The Death of Kings

  “No, wife,” he said, forcing a lighter tone. “You are more than all the rest.”

  She held herself away from him, looking up into his eyes. “Then come away with us, Julius. If that is true, take your gold and your family and leave this ugly dispute behind you. There are other lands to settle in, where Rome is too distant to trouble us and your daughter can grow without fear of knives in the night. She has nightmares even now, Julius. I fear more for what the confinement is doing to her than for myself. If we mean so much to you, then leave Rome.”

  His eyes closed in grief. “You cannot . . . ask me for that,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. As he spoke, she broke his grip and stood apart from him and though his arms ached to hold her again, he could not. Her voice was harsh and loud, filling the room.

  “Then don't preach to me about how much you care for us, Julius. Don't ever say that again. Your precious city keeps us in danger and you wrap yourself in lies of duty and love.” Tears of anger spilled from her red eyes once again, and she flung open the door, shoving roughly past the soldiers of Primigenia who kept station on the other side. Their faces were pale at what they had heard, but both men kept their gaze fastened on the floor as they followed Cornelia at a distance, fearful of provoking her any further.

  In moments, Julius was left alone in the room and he sank numbly onto a couch. It was the third time they had argued in the three days since the trial, and the worst. He had come home full of the excitement of his triumph, and as he told her, it had somehow brought her feelings to a head, making her speak with an anger he had never seen before. He hoped Clodia was on hand. Only the old nurse seemed to be able to calm her. Anything he said made it worse.

  Glumly, he thought back over the argument. She didn't understand the work he had undertaken in the city, and he clenched his fists in sudden irritation at himself. She was right: he had wealth enough to take them all away. The estate could be sold to his avaricious neighbors, and he could leave the struggles of the Senate and the dominions to others. Tubruk could retire and it would be as if the family of Caesar had never played a part in the greatest city.

  A memory flashed into his mind of Tubruk pressing his fingers deep into the black earth of the fields when Julius was a little boy. Julius was of the land and could never leave it, though hurting Cornelia shamed him. She would see, when his enemies were broken, that this was simply a passing grief, and they would be able to watch their daughter grow in peace, in the arms of Rome. If Cornelia could only endure for the present, he would make it up to her in time. At last he shrugged off the dark lethargy that plagued him and stood. It was approaching noon, and with a Senate meeting scheduled for the early evening, he would have to be quick to complete his business with the house of Suetonius before making his way to the city.

  Octavian was in the stables helping Tubruk to mount. The stallion Julius had ridden that morning gleamed from the brush. Julius patted the boy on the shoulder in thanks as he threw his leg into the saddle, the memory of the exhilarating ride easing his anger for a moment. Guiltily, he realized he was pleased to get away from the estate, from her.

  * * *

  The lands owned by Suetonius's father were closer to the city than Julius's own, with a great stretch that touched his own borders. Though the senator had no military rank, he employed a number of guards, who challenged the two travelers as soon as they passed the border, then accompanied them to the main buildings with professional caution and speed. Messengers were sent ahead as Julius and Tubruk approached the house entrance, and the two men exchanged glances at the efficiency.

  The place where Suetonius had grown up was a sprawling mass of white-walled enclosures, nearly twice the size of the one Julius had inherited. The same stream that fed his own land ran through the Prandus holdings, and the grounds were lush with growth and color. Ancient pines shaded the entrance, and the path up to it was cool from the shadows cast by overhanging branches. Tubruk sniffed in disapproval.

  “Impossible to defend, this place,” he muttered. “The trees give too much cover and it needs a good outer wall and gate. I could take it with twenty men.”

  Julius didn't reply, thinking of his own home, with the cleared land all around it. He hadn't realized before what a mark Tubruk's influence had left, especially after the slave riots years before. Suetonius's house was beautiful and made his own seem stark and bare in contrast. Perhaps Cornelia would find time passed more easily if her surroundings were less like a soldiers' barracks.

  They dismounted to pass through the entrance, a tiled arch leading into an open garden where they could hear the rush of running water hidden by flowering bushes and plants. Julius removed the heavy packs from the horses and shouldered his, with Tubruk taking the other, passing the reins into the hands of the slaves that came to greet them. They were shown to seats in a cool outer chamber and told to wait.

  Julius settled himself comfortably, well aware that the senator could ignore their presence for a good part of the day. Tubruk went to a window to look at blooms that Julius thought might appeal to Cornelia around their own home.

  A young male slave entered from the inner house and approached the two men.

  “Senator Prandus welcomes you, Tribune. Please follow me.”

  Tubruk raised his eyebrows in surprise at the speed of the response. Julius shrugged and the two of them followed the slave into a far wing, where the man opened a door for them and bowed as they entered.

  Senator Prandus stood with his son in a room that resembled a temple more than a place to live. Rich, swirling marble lined the walls and floor, with the house shrine set into the far wall. The air smelled lightly of a soft and fragrant incense, and Julius breathed it in appreciatively. There was no doubt changes would have to be made at his estate. Every step of his feet brought new and interesting details to the eye, from the bust of an ancestor in the shrine to a collection of Greek and Egyptian relics on a wall that he itched to examine. It was a calculated display of wealth, but Julius took it all in as a guide to the changes he would make and missed the intended effect completely.

  “This is unexpected, Caesar,” Prandus began.

  Julius dragged his attention from his surroundings and smiled openly at the pair watching. “You have a beautiful home, Senator. Especially the gardens.”

  Prandus blinked in surprise, then frowned as he was forced into courtesy. “Thank you, Tribune. I have worked many years to make it so, but you have not said why you are here.”

  Julius lifted the pack from his shoulder and dropped it onto the marble floor with an unmistakable chink of coins.

  “You know exactly why I am here, Senator. I have come to buy back the land that was sold to you during my confinement with your son.” Julius glanced at Suetonius as he spoke and saw the younger man had his features fixed into an arrogant sneer. Julius did not respond to it, keeping his own face blank. It was the father he would have to deal with.

  “I had hoped to build my son a house on that land,” the senator began.

  Julius interrupted him. “I remember you saying. I have brought the price you were paid and a quarter again to compensate you for the loss. I will not bargain with you for my land. I will not offer again,” he said firmly, untying the bag to reveal the gold.

  “That is . . . a fair settlement,” Prandus said, looking at the bags. “Very well, I will have my slaves remove the boundary.”

  “What? Father, you can't just . . .” Suetonius began angrily.

  The senator turned to his son and gripped his arm tightly. “Be silent!” he snapped.

  The younger man shook his head in disbelief as Julius approached to take his father's hand to seal the agreement. Without another word, Julius and Tubruk departed, leaving Suetonius alone with his father.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked in furious amazement. His father's mouth twisted to mirror his own sneer.

  “You are a fool, my son. I love you, but you're a fool. You were there at the trial with me. That man is not s
omeone you want as an enemy. Is that clear enough for you?”

  “But what about the house you were going to build? Gods, I've spent days with the architects already.”

  Senator Prandus looked at his son, his eyes showing disappointment that hurt the younger man worse than a blow. “Trust me, Suetonius. You would have died in that house so close to his lands. Whether you realize it or not, I have kept you alive. I do not fear him for myself, but you are my eldest son and he is too dangerous for you. He frightens Cato and he should terrify you.”

  “I'm not scared of Caesar, or his soldiers!” Suetonius shouted.

  His father shook his head sadly. “That, my son, is why you are a fool.”

  * * *

  As Julius and Tubruk guided their horses through the estate gate, they heard a shout from the main building. Brutus ran out to meet them and their cheerful greetings died on their lips as they saw his expression.

  “Thank the gods you've come back,” he said. “The Senate is calling everyone in. Primigenia has to be ready to move.” As he spoke, a slave brought his own mount out and he swung himself into the saddle.

  “What's happening?” Julius snapped as Brutus took up his reins, feeling a surge of excitement.

  “A slave rebellion in the north. Thousands of them and hundreds of gladiators who killed their keepers. Mutina has been overrun,” Brutus replied, his face pale under the road dust.

  “That's not possible! There are two legions there,” Tubruk broke in, horrified.

  “That was the report. The messengers are out all over, but I thought you'd want the news as fast as I could bring it.”

  Julius turned his horse's head and gripped the reins tightly. “I can't take away the men guarding my wife, not with the danger of another rebellion spreading here,” he said flatly.

  Brutus shrugged. “The order was to have every available soldier ready to march north, Julius, but I'll forget those ones,” he replied, reaching out to clap his friend's shoulder in support.

  Julius gathered in his reins, ready to dig his heels into the horse's flanks. “Make the house secure, Tubruk,” he ordered. “If the rebellion spreads, we may come to appreciate the way you have set up the defenses after all. Keep my family safe, as you have done before.”

  They shared a moment of private understanding as Tubruk looked into Julius's eyes. So Brutus couldn't hear, Julius leaned down over the shoulder of his stallion and whispered into Tubruk's ear.

  “I know what I owe you,” he said. Sulla's death had saved them all.

  “Don't worry. Now go!” Tubruk replied gruffly, slapping Julius's horse on the rump. The two young men bent low over the saddles as they kicked their mounts into a full gallop, raising a mist of dust on the road to Rome.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Senate building was buzzing with activity as Julius and Brutus approached. They dismounted at the edge of the forum and led their mounts toward the clustered groups of senators who were coming in from all directions, summoned to the emergency meeting from all over the city and beyond.

  “How did you get the news so quickly?” Julius asked his friend as they crossed the space. Brutus looked uneasy, then his head came up.

  “My mother told me about it. She has a number of . . . contacts in the Senate. She was probably one of the first to know.”

  Julius noted a wariness in Brutus's manner and wondered at it. The young man had been pressing for a meeting between Servilia and himself, and Julius sensed how important it was to him.

  “I really will have to see this mother of yours,” he said lightly.

  Brutus flashed him a look, searching for mockery, and then relaxed, satisfied. “She is very interested in meeting you, after that trial. I want you to know her. She is like no one else I've met.”

  “Perhaps tonight, then, if there's time,” Julius replied, hiding his reluctance. Tubruk had already offered a number of opinions on the woman, but he owed it to Brutus, if it was something he wanted.

  Brutus took the reins of the two horses in one hand as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Come to the barracks afterward, if you can. I'll have Primigenia ready to march on your orders,” he said. His eyes were bright with an excitement that made Julius chuckle.

  “As soon as I'm free,” he said, walking up the steps and into the gloom beyond.

  The Master of Debate and the consul were still on their way, so no official discussion had begun as Julius entered the Senate building. Instead, half the full number of his colleagues were clustered in anxious knots, shouting questions and comments to each other in a clatter of noise that only served to heighten the impression of an emergency. There was no order to it, and Julius took the time to visit those he knew, picking up the details that Brutus had not heard.

  Pompey was with Crassus and Cinna, engaged in a heated argument. They acknowledged Julius with a nod as he reached them, then the fast-talking continued.

  “Of course you'll have command, my friend. There is no one else of note and even Cato won't hesitate with only the forces at Ariminum guarding the south,” Crassus said to Pompey.

  The sun-dark commander shrugged, his face full of bitter knowledge. “He'd do anything to stop me taking military control, you know that. He must not be allowed to put up his own people. Look what happened in Greece! And the pirates that roam at will, attacking our merchants. If these gladiators are the same ones we failed to put down at Vesuvius, then Mutina was lost because of our timid policy since Sulla's death. All because Cato blocks the Senate from sending out a general equal to the task. You think this time will be any different?”

  “It may be,” Cinna answered him. “Cato has holdings in the north that must be under threat from the slaves. They could even turn south and attack the city. Cato wouldn't be such an idiot as to ignore a threat to Rome. They must send you out. At least we have the legions back from Greece to join the others.”

  “There is the consul, coming in. He must use his veto against Cato if the fat fool interferes. This is more than a personal matter between us. The safety of the north is at stake. The safety of Rome herself.”

  Pompey left them, shoving rudely through the gathering senators to speak to the consul as he entered. Julius watched as he met the man, an elder elected to the position as a compromise between the Senate factions. As Pompey spoke to him, his hands moving with his words, the man looked nervous and intimidated. Julius frowned, tapping his fingers against his stomach in tension as the consul turned his back on the gesturing Pompey to step up to the rostrum.

  “Take your seats, Senators,” the consul called.

  The meeting oath was quickly taken and then the consul cleared his throat to address the tense ranks before him.

  “You have been summoned for an emergency meeting to debate a response to the uprising. I have the latest reports with me and they are worrying. It was a revolt of gladiators from a ring school at Capua. At first the local praetor looked as if he could handle it, but he failed to contain the rebellion. It seems they have managed to gather a slave army and flee north. They have plundered a number of towns and estates, killing hundreds and burning anything they could not steal. The legate at Mutina engaged the slaves and the garrison was destroyed with no survivors.”

  He paused. Those senators who had not heard the news gasped and shouted in outrage, and the consul raised his hands to calm them.

  “Senators, this threat cannot be overstated. The legions at Ariminum have been told to secure the city, but with Mutina gone, the north is completely open. The estimates I have are varied, but they may have as many as thirty thousand slaves under their command, with more coming in as they ravage each town. I can only assume they overwhelmed the Mutina legions with vast numbers. They must be met with the largest force we can muster while still keeping our southern borders secure. I need not tell you that we cannot strip garrisons from Greece without dire risk so soon after their own rebellion.

  “At present, they show no sign of turning toward Rome, but if they do so,
there are more than eighty thousand slaves who could rally to their cause by the time they reach the south. This is a grave threat and our response must be swift and final.”

  The consul glanced quickly at Cato, then Pompey.

  “I ask at this time that you put aside your grievances for the good of the city and Roman lands. I call on the Master of Debate to hear the responses.”

  The consul sat down, wiping his brow nervously, obviously relieved to be able to pass the meeting to another. The Master of Debate had held his post for a number of years, his experience giving him a detachment that served to cool the hottest tempers. He waited patiently for quiet before choosing his first speaker.

  “Pompey?”

  “Thank you. Senators, I ask to be given command of the legions sent against these rebels. My record speaks for me as qualification and I urge you to vote quickly. Every soldier of Rome within a hundred miles has been called back to the city. Within a week, we should have an army of six legions to send against the slaves, joining with the two at Ariminum when we reach it. If we delay, this slave army will grow further until it may be impossible to stop. Remember that they outnumber us, Senators, even in our own homes. Grant me the command and I will destroy them in the name of the Senate.”

  Pompey sat down to scattered cheers and stamping of feet. He did not respond to the noise, his gaze fixed on the figure of Cato, who had risen slowly, his face flushed.

  “Cato to speak,” the Master of Debate confirmed.

  “Pompey's record is indeed a fine one,” Cato began, smiling at the stone-faced senator across the benches. “I agree with him that a force must be assembled and sent to strike quickly before the fire of the rebellion burns the north. However, there are other choices for men to command the force we send, others who bear the rank of general and have experience in fighting for Rome. It strikes me that a man who puts himself forward may not be suitable for such a role. Better we appoint a general who is acceptable to all of us for this difficult task. I confess Pompey's eagerness makes me uneasy given our recent city history, and instead I suggest the command is handed to Lepidus, fresh returned from Greece.” He sat down in silence before a babble of angry shouts and conversation broke out, with both factions abusing the other.