Conn Iggulden - Emperor 02

by The Death of Kings

  “Be silent, gentlemen. You do not serve Rome with your spite,” the Master of Debate said across them, bringing a restless stillness back to the benches. He looked around at the seated senators and nodded to Julius, who had risen at the end of Cato's speech.

  “I was a witness to the caution of Lepidus against Mithridates. He was late to engage and had barely moved beyond his landing place when I came upon him to hand over the body of the Greek king. I have seen too many such compromises in this Senate. Lepidus is a poor choice, when we need to move quickly and crush the rebellion before it grows out of control. We must put aside our grievances and factions to grant the command to the one who will achieve most and fastest. That is Pompey.”

  The Master of Debate nodded his agreement, dropping his usually impartial stance, but was then compelled to recognize Cato as the man stood again.

  “I am concerned that the threat against us is being used as a blind for ambition, Senators. Lepidus will never endanger us when the battles are over, but Pompey may well have his eyes on a future even as we discuss this choice. My vote will be for Lepidus.” The man lowered himself carefully back into his seat, glaring at Julius for a moment.

  “Are there any other candidates? If so, let them rise, or we will go directly to a vote.” The Master of Debate waited, his gaze sweeping the rows.

  Crassus stood stiffly, ignoring the surprise of Cato's supporters. He received the nod to speak and crossed his hands behind his back, like a tutor addressing his wards.

  “Senators, I fear that politics will bring us to the wrong choice for the city. I do not know who would win a vote between Pompey and Lepidus as commanders, but if it is Lepidus, that could only lead to disaster. I put myself forward as a third candidate to prevent the waste of lives that would surely result from any command by Lepidus. Though I have devoted myself to business in recent years, I too rest on my previous record with the legions, for your approval.”

  Once again, the noise of conversation broke out all over the Senate hall as Crassus sat. Pompey was amazed at the revelation from his friend and tried to catch his eye without success as Crassus looked away from him. As the noise died, Pompey stood, his hands tightening into fists unconsciously.

  “I withdraw my name from consideration in favor of Crassus,” he said bitterly.

  “Then we will move to a vote without further delay. Rise for your choice, gentlemen,” the Master of Debate replied, as surprised as anyone by the turn of events. He waited a few moments more for the senators to make up their minds, then began to call the names.

  “Lepidus!”

  Julius craned his neck with everyone else still seated to judge the numbers, then breathed out in satisfaction. There were not enough to carry the vote.

  “Crassus!” the Master of Debate intoned, smiling to himself.

  Julius stood with Pompey and the others who had judged the choice correct. The Master of Debate nodded to the consul, who stood and gripped the rostrum before him.

  “Crassus is appointed general of the north armies assembling and is ordered to take the field against the rebellion and destroy it utterly,” the consul said.

  Crassus stood to thank the senators.

  “I will do my utmost to preserve our lands and the city, gentlemen. As soon as the legions are brought together in the Campus Martius, I will move against the rebels.”

  He paused for a moment and smiled slyly.

  “I will keep the legates in place under me, but I must have a second-in-command should I fall. I name Gnaeus Pompey as that second.”

  Curses and cheers broke out all over, with the calls for quiet from the Master of Debate ignored. Julius laughed at the stroke and Crassus inclined his head toward him in acknowledgment, clearly enjoying himself.

  “Keep silence!” the Master of Debate bellowed above them, finally losing his temper. The babble subsided under his glare, but slowly.

  “We should move on to the details, Senators,” the consul said, shuffling through his papers. “Our runners report that the slaves are well armed after Mutina, having outfitted themselves with legionary supplies and armor. One of our people claims to have seen the gladiators training the slaves in sword and spear work, mimicking our formations on the field. After Mutina, they should not be underestimated.” The consul licked his fingers nervously as he scanned the sheaf of parchments in front of him.

  “Do they have officers?” Pompey called out.

  The consul nodded as he read. “It seems they have a structure based on our own legions in every way. I have the original message from the owner of the barracks where the gladiators escaped. It's here, somewhere.”

  The senators waited patiently as the consul found the paper he was looking for.

  “Yes, there were seventy of them and all the guards were killed. The barracks slaves went with them, though whether they were willing or forced, the man does not know. He claims to have barely escaped with his own life. It seems these gladiators form the officer class of the army.”

  “Who leads this rabble of gladiators?” Pompey demanded, uncaring that his tone went some way to confirm the fiction of Crassus's leadership.

  The consul searched through the papers again, and licked his fingers more than once to separate them.

  “Yes, I have it. They are led by a gladiator named Spartacus, a Thracian. He began it and the rest followed him. There is nothing more, but I will pass anything further to Crassus as the reports come in.”

  “With your permission, gentlemen, I would like to leave with my second to prepare for the march ahead of us,” Crassus said.

  As he turned, he tapped his hand on Julius's shoulder. “I want Primigenia with me when we go, Julius,” he said quietly.

  “They will be ready,” Julius promised.

  * * *

  Crassus lay back in the warmth of the sunken bath, allowing the difficulties of the day to slide away from him. Darkness had come early outside, but the bathing room was lit with softly flickering lamps and candles, the air thick with steam from the water. He rested his arms along the marble sill, enjoying the coolness against his skin. The water came to his neck, but with the smooth stone seat under the surface, he could relax completely. He exhaled slowly, wondering why the pool in his own estate could never be as comfortable.

  Servilia sat naked in the water across from him, only her shoulders above the surface. When she moved, the swelling curves of her breasts eased into view for tantalizing moments before they slid down again, blurred by the sweet oils she'd poured for them both. She'd known it was what he wanted as soon as he came to her from his generals, tired and irritable. That had all gone as her fingers worked away the painful spots from his neck before he stepped into the deep pool, set into the floor of a private part of her home. She could always sense his mood.

  She watched as the tension of the day left Crassus, amused by his sighs and groans. She knew what hardly anyone else suspected of the aging senator, that he was a terribly lonely man who had accumulated fortunes and influence without holding on to the friends of his youth. He rarely wanted anything more from her than the chance to talk in privacy, though she knew the sight of her nakedness could still arouse him, if she let it. It was a comfortable relationship, without the sordid worry of payment to spoil the intimacy. He offered her no coin but the conversations, though they were sometimes worth much more than gold.

  The oils glittered on the surface of the pool, and she traced patterns in them with a finger, knowing he would be enjoying the sight of her.

  “You have brought Primigenia back,” she said. “My son is wonderfully proud of the men he's found for the name.”

  Crassus smiled slowly. “If you'd known Marius, you would understand why it gave me such pleasure to do it.”

  He chose not to remind her of the part Pompey and Cinna had played, preferring not to hear their names in her house. That was another thing she understood without it having to be said.

  Servilia raised herself out of the water, laying her sle
nder arms out to the sides, so that her breasts were fully visible. She was very vain about them and she moved without embarrassment. Crassus smiled appreciatively, completely comfortable with her.

  “I was a little surprised to hear he'd given command to Julius,” he said.

  Servilia shrugged, which fascinated him. “He loves him,” she replied. “Rome is lucky to have sons like those two.”

  “Cato would not agree, my dear. You must be wary of him.”

  “I know, Crassus. They are both so very young. Too young to see the danger of mounting debts, even.”

  Crassus sighed. “You came to me for help, remember? I have set no limit on Primigenia's purse. Would you have me cancel the debt? I would be laughed at.”

  “For raising Marius's legion back from the ashes? Never. You have acted as a statesman, Crassus; they will know that. It was a noble thing to do.”

  Crassus chuckled, resting his head back on the cool stone and staring up at the ceiling where the steam hung in a cooling mist.

  “You are flattering me rather obviously, don't you think? We are not discussing a small sum, for all the pleasure it brought me to see Primigenia back on the rolls.”

  “Have you thought that Julius may pay the debt? He has the gold for it.” As the air cooled on her skin, she shivered slightly and sank back into the water. “So much better for you to make a gift of it, a grand gesture to shame the petty men in the Senate. I know you care nothing for money, Crassus, which is why you have so much. It is the influence it brings that you love. There are other kinds of debts. How many times have I passed on information that you used for profit?”

  She shrugged in answer to her own question, making the steaming water ripple away from her. Crassus lifted his head with an effort, letting his gaze play over her. She smiled at him.

  “It is a part of my friendship and it has given me pleasure to help you once in a while. My son will always think kindly of you if you gift the money to him. Julius will support you in anything. You could not buy such men with coins, Crassus. They have too much pride, but a forgiven debt? That is a noble act and you know it as well as I do.”

  “I will . . . think about it,” he said, his eyes closing.

  Servilia watched him as he sank into light sleep and the water cooled around her. He would do as she wanted. Her own thoughts drifted back to seeing Julius at the trial. Such a forceful young man. When her son had passed over Primigenia to him, she wondered if they had considered the debt to Crassus. It would not be a burden now. Odd how the thought of her son's gratitude was a minor pleasure compared to Julius knowing she had been a part of the gift.

  Idly, she let her hands slide over her stomach as she thought of the young Roman with the strange eyes. He had a force in him that was no more than echoed in the sleeping Crassus, though it was the old man who would take the legions north.

  One of her slaves entered the room in silken silence, a beautiful girl Servilia had rescued from a farm in the north.

  “Your son is here, madam, with the tribune,” the girl whispered.

  Servilia glanced at Crassus, then signaled the girl to take her place in the warm water. If he woke, he would not be pleased to find himself alone, and the girl was attractive enough to catch even his interest.

  Servilia pulled a robe around her still-wet skin and shivered slightly in anticipation.

  She paused for a moment in front of a huge mirror set into the wall and pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. Her stomach felt light with a surprising tension at the thought of meeting Julius at last, and she smiled at herself in amusement.

  Brutus sat with Julius in a chamber that had nothing of the artistry she employed for her business rooms. It was simply furnished and the walls were covered in subtly patterned cloth that gave a feeling of warmth. A fire flickered in the grate and the light was golden as both of them rose to greet her.

  “It's good to see you at last, Caesar,” she said, extending a hand. Her robe clung to her damp skin exactly as she had hoped it would, and his expression gave her pleasure as he struggled not to stare at her.

  Julius felt overwhelmed by her. He wondered if Brutus was troubled by the fact that she seemed almost naked, despite the thin cloth that covered her skin. He saw she had been bathing and his pulse thumped at the thought of what might have been going on before his arrival. Not beautiful, he thought, but when she smiled, there was something utterly without pretense in her sensuality. He was dimly aware that he hadn't slept with a woman for so long he had almost forgotten, and even then, he didn't remember Cornelia or Alexandria stirring him as this one did so effortlessly.

  He flushed slightly as he took her hand.

  “Your son speaks very highly of you. I'm glad we could meet, even for just a moment before I return home. I'm sorry I can't stay longer.”

  “Primigenia will be mustering to put down the rebellion,” she said, nodding. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her words. “I won't keep you and I should return to my bath. Just remember you have a friend if you ever need me.”

  Julius wondered if there really was a promise in the eyes that looked so warmly back at him. Her voice was low and soft and he could have listened to it for a long time. He shook his head suddenly, as if to break a trance.

  “I will remember,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he considered her. As she looked at Brutus, he stole a glance to where the lines of damp cloth curved around her breasts, and flushed again as she caught his glance and smiled with obvious pleasure.

  “You must bring him again, Brutus, when you have more time. My son speaks highly of both of us, it seems.”

  Julius looked at his friend, who was frowning slightly.

  “I will,” Brutus replied. He led Julius away and left her looking after them. Her fingers brushed lightly over her breasts as she thought of the young Roman, the hard nipples having little to do with the air on her skin.

  * * *

  Brutus found Alexandria's home easily, despite the dark of the streets. In the armor of Primigenia, he was an uninviting target for the raptores who preyed on the weak and the poor. Octavian's mother, Atia, answered the door with a look of fear that vanished as she recognized him. He entered behind her, wondering how many others lived in terror of soldiers coming for them in the night. While the senators surrounded themselves with guards, the people of Rome could afford no protection other than the doors they barred against the rest of the city.

  Alexandria was there and Brutus was struck with embarrassment as Octavian's mother prepared their evening meal only feet away.

  “Is there somewhere more private for us to talk?” he asked.

  Alexandria glanced at the open doorway to her room, and Atia tightened her mouth to a thin line.

  “Not in my house,” she said, frowning at Brutus. “The two of you aren't married.”

  Brutus flushed. “I'm leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to . . .”

  “Oh, yes, I understand very well what you wanted, but it's not happening in my house.” Atia went back to cutting vegetables then, leaving Brutus and Alexandria to stifle giggles that would only have confirmed her suspicions.

  “Would you come outside with me, Brutus? I'm sure Atia can trust you in the view of the neighbors,” Alexandria said. She pulled on her cloak and followed him out into the night as Atia upended her chopping board into the stewpot, unmoved.

  Alexandria stepped into his arms and they kissed. Though it was dark, the streets were still crowded. Brutus looked around him in irritation. The little doorway hardly offered shelter from the wind, never mind the kind of privacy he wanted.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said, and in fact he had been hoping for exactly the kind of meeting Atia had prevented. He was leaving to fight on distant battlefields, and it was almost a tradition to find a welcoming bed for the night before.

  Alexandria chuckled, kissing him on the neck, where his armor made his skin cold.

  “Pull my cloak around us,” she whispered into his ear, quicken
ing his pulse. He arranged the cloth so that it wrapped them both and they were breathing each other's breath.

  “I'm going to miss you,” he said wistfully, feeling her body press closely against him. He had to grip the cloak with one hand, but the other was free to slide against the warmth of her back and, when his fingers had warmed, under her stola and against her flesh. She gasped slightly.

  “I think Atia was right,” she whispered, not wanting the woman's sharp ears to hear them. With his broad hand on her hip, she felt as if she were naked with him, and the crowds rushing by in the darkness only added to her excitement. The cloak formed a warm space against the cold and she held him tightly, feeling the hard lines of his armor. He was bare-legged, as always, and it was with a shocking sense of daring that she put her hands on his thighs, feeling the smooth strength of them.

  “I should call her to protect me from you,” she said, moving her hands upward. She found soft cords and loosened them to feel the heat of him against her hand. He groaned softly at the encircling touch, glancing around him to see if anyone had noticed. The crowds were oblivious in the dark and suddenly he didn't care if they could be seen or not.

  “I want you to remember me while you are away, young Brutus. I don't want you looking wistfully at those camp whores,” she whispered. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

  “I wouldn't . . . oh gods. I've wanted you for such a long time.”

  Under the cloak, she unbuttoned her stola and eased him into her, her eyes shuddering closed with the movement. He lifted her weight easily and, together, they braced against the doorway, unaware of anything else around them as they moved in silence. The crowd jostled near them, but no one stopped and the night swallowed them.