‘Nothing more, your honours. I rest,’ Julius said.
The crowd cheered him and called insults to Rufus as he too ended his case. The three magistrates stood and bowed to the praetor before leaving for the senate building where they would thrash out their final verdict. The extra soldiers that had come running from the barracks cleared the way for them, armed not with staffs but swords.
When they had left, the praetor stood to address the crowd, pitching his powerful voice to carry over their heads.
‘When the judges return, there will be no disturbance, whatever the outcome. Be sure that any hostility will be met with quick and final punishment. You will depart peacefully and any man who does not will suffer my displeasure.’
He took his seat again, ignoring the baleful stares that were focused on him from the people of Rome. It held for only a few seconds, then a lone voice called ‘Ma-ri-us!’ and was quickly joined by those around him. In a few moments, the whole crowd was stamping and yelling the name and the assembled members of the Senate looked around them nervously, suddenly aware that only a thin line of soldiers stood between them and the mob.
Moving with stately slowness, Julius decided the moment was right to reveal the rest of Alexandria’s work. He caught her eye on the benches as he grasped the rough cloth that covered the first and saw she was grinning with excitement. Then he whipped it away and the crowd cheered raucously. It was the three crossed arrows of Primigenia, Marius’ beloved legion. On the benches, Brutus stood on impulse to cheer as wildly as the crowd and others close by him followed his lead.
The praetor snapped out some order to Julius, but it went unheard over the unruly crowd and Julius moved to the others, pulling away the coverings one by one. With each, the crowd grew louder in their roaring as those who could see shouted out descriptions to those behind. Small children were hoisted to their parents’ shoulders to see and fists punched the air in enjoyment. Scenes from Marius’ life were shown, his battles in Africa, the Triumph through the streets of the city, his proud stance on the walls as he waited for Sulla.
Julius paused dramatically as he reached the last one and the crowd quietened as if at an unseen signal. Then he pulled the cloth away to reveal the last shield. It shone in the morning light, completely blank.
Into the silence, Julius spoke. ‘People of Rome, we cast the last image on this day!’ he cried, and they erupted into a bellow of cheering and shouts that had the praetor on his feet, shouting to his guards. The space between the crowd and the court was widened, with the soldiers using their staffs to push the people back. They moved away in confusion, yelling defiance and jeering Antonidus. The name of Marius began again as a chant and it seemed as if all Rome was shouting the name.
Cornelia watched in the grey light as Tubruk leaned towards Clodia and kissed her. He was so gentle it almost hurt to watch, but she could not look away. She hid from their sight in a dark window, and felt more alone than ever. Clodia would ask for her freedom, she was sure, and then she would have no one.
Cornelia smiled bitterly as she probed the tender places of her memories. It should have been different. Julius seemed so full of life and energy as he took Rome in his hands, but none of it was for her. She remembered the words that used to pour out of him when Marius was still alive. She’d had to put a hand over his mouth to stop her father’s servants from hearing as he talked and laughed with her. There had been such joy in him then. Now he was a stranger and though once or twice she had caught him looking at her with the old fire, it had gone as soon as she recognised it. There had been times when she’d gathered courage to demand that he make love to her, just to break the ice that was forming between them. She wanted it, even dreamed of him, but each time the memory of Sulla’s rough fingers took her resolution and she slipped alone into her nightmares. Sulla was dead, she told herself, but she could still see his face and sometimes in the wind she thought she could smell his scent. Then terror would curl her into the bedclothes against the world.
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 organising 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 greying 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 towards 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’ 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’ heart sank. If they were expecting trouble, it could be that 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 him seemed almost painful after the crashing cheers and chants before.
‘I find in favour 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 favour 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 l
ooked 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’ 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.
Rufus interrupted at Julius’ side. ‘It is customary to allow thirty days to pay such a large debt.’
Julius smiled without humour. ‘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, Rufus caught Julius’ 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, beaming 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 THIRTY-THREE
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 sense of pride amongst the original survivors as they saw Marius’ 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’ mind, ignored. Every day brought footsore travellers 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, Cornelia 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 coloured 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’ 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 any more?’ 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 stable boys 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 or Brutus had risked his best stallion galloping around the woods, but he didn’t want to spoil the mood of optimism that had come to him. He had promised Alexandria, after all.
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