The Gods of War

by Conn Iggulden

  He had enjoyed the Triumph scenes of Gaul, with a lice-ridden Vercingetorix dragged in chains to a public execution. Brutus had been given the best seats to witness the death of wolves and boar. Even the Tiber had been dammed to fill a circus with water stained red by fighting ships on its surface. Wonder had followed wonder and the Senate had responded in a desperate frenzy, calling Julius “Imperator” and “Dictator for Life.” His latest statue had a simple plaque to the “Unconquered God,” and when Brutus had seen it, he had drunk himself unconscious and lost two days.

  There were times when he thought he should just take a horse and leave Rome. Julius had showered him with enough wealth to buy a house and live in comfort. When he was sick of it all, he dreamed of taking ship somewhere too far for Julius to reach and finding his own kind of peace there. He did not know if such a place existed any longer. He returned to Julius like a child to a festering scab, plumbing new depths of misery with a horrified fascination.

  “Are you going to the Senate house?” Brutus asked just to break the silence.

  Julius blew air through his lips. “Back to the talking shop, where I can buy a thousand words for a bronze coin? No, I have letters to write to the kings of Parthia. I have not forgotten those who caused the death of Crassus and his son. It is an old debt, but I will answer it for those who can’t speak.”

  “I thought you were still drunk on the pleasures of Rome,” Brutus said softly. “Are you sniffing the spring wind again?”

  Julius smiled at the image. “Perhaps. I may be an old warhorse, my friend, but an empire does not build itself from a comfortable seat in the Senate. I must be seen.”

  “The Tenth are old men now,” Brutus replied. “I would never have believed it, but they went to the farms and houses you gave them without looking back.”

  Julius snorted. “There are new men to blood, Brutus. New legions that have never heard the battle horns or marched to exhaustion as we have. What would you have me do when my last Triumph has ended, sit and smile until my son is grown? I am not a man for the quiet times. I never have been.” He smiled. “But there is still the Egyptian Triumph to come. A host of scribes and architects arrive in a just a few hours to plan it.” Julius stared off into space as he contemplated bringing Rome to a standstill once more. “It will be the greatest in the city’s history, Brutus, I guarantee it.”

  “How can it be, after the last one? They’re still talking about the sea battle in the Campus,” Brutus said, remembering to hide his distaste.

  The vast stone bowl had been shallow enough to see the dead clustered like dark coral on the bottom. In tiny galleys, captured warriors had struggled against criminals and men condemned to death. The pale waters had become a broth and when it was drained back into the Tiber, the river itself had run red. The scent of rotting flesh crept through Rome for days afterwards.

  Julius clapped him on the shoulder, rising to his feet and stretching. “I have something new in mind for my last Triumph.” He seemed on the verge of revealing his plans, then he chuckled. “I will make sure you have a seat in the forum for the climax. You should bring this new wife of yours.”

  Brutus nodded, knowing he wouldn’t. He wondered if his mother would be interested in seeing Julius parade his queen and swollen ego one more time.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

  When the Senate meeting ended, Mark Antony made his way up from the forum to Julius’s home. He walked with six armed lictors at his back, though he hardly noticed them, nor how the crowds parted before his tread.

  In Julius’s absence, he had expected a livelier debate than usual in the Senate. He should have known better. The empty seat had more menace than the presence of the man. They all knew the meeting would be reported in full detail. Julius’s scribes recorded the most inane of conversations and even those like Cicero were made nervous by their incessant scribbling.

  There had been times when the subject under discussion brought back some of the old honesty and fire Mark Antony remembered. Julius had abolished the tax system of Roman dominions, devolving the right to collect coins to local men in a dozen countries. The Greeks knew better than to let revenues fall after their last failed rebellion, but the praetor of Spain had made the trip to Rome to complain of new levels of corruption. It was the sort of thing that had been meat and drink to the Senate before the civil war. Some of the subtle restraint had slipped away as they wrangled and argued over details and proposals.

  Mark Antony could still see the moment when Cassius had implied the problem was with the system itself, his glance straying to the scribe who faithfully recorded his words. The senator’s thin face had paled slightly and his fingers had begun to tap nervously on the lectern. After that, the debate had foundered and the praetor of Spain had been sent home with no new resolution to his problems.

  It was not how Mark Antony had dreamed it would be, when Julius gave him command of Italy years before. While the civil war wound through to a conclusion, Rome had been peaceful. It was true that he had made no great changes, but the city had been stable and she prospered. Men who applied for trading rights knew that they would be considered on their merits. The Senate passed difficult points of law on to the courts and accepted the decisions made, whether they approved or not. Mark Antony had worked harder than at any other time in his life and had taken a quiet satisfaction from the order in the city.

  That had changed when Julius returned. The courts still functioned, but no one was foolish enough to bring a charge against a favorite of Caesar. The rule of law had lost its foundation and Mark Antony found himself sickened by the new attitude of caution. He and Cicero had spent many evenings in discussion, though even then they had been forced to send their servants away. Julius had spies all over Rome and it was rare to find a man who cared so little for his life that he was willing to speak out against the Dictator, even in private.

  It had been a long year, Mark Antony thought to himself as he walked up the hill. Longer than any other in Roman history. The new calendar had set the city in an uproar of misunderstandings and chaos. Julius had declared that it would last for 445 days, before his new months could begin. The freak summer that had hit so late seemed just a symptom of the confusion, as if the seasons themselves had been upset. With a smile, Mark Antony remembered Cicero’s complaint that even the planets and stars had to run to Caesar’s order.

  In older days, the city would have employed astronomers from all over the world to test the notions Julius had brought back from Egypt. Instead, the Senate had vied with each other to acclaim the new system and have their names reach Caesar’s ears.

  Mark Antony sighed as he reached the street gate to the old Marius property. The general he had known in Gaul would have scorned the attitude that had infected the august Senate. He would have allowed them their dignity, to honor the traditions if for no other reason.

  Mark Antony took a deep breath and gripped the bridge of his nose in hard fingers. The man he had known would resurface, he hoped. Of course Julius had gone a little wild on his return. He had been drunk with the success of a civil war and a new son. He had been plunged from a life of struggle into a great city that hailed him as a god. It had turned his head, but Mark Antony remembered Julius when Gaul was a cauldron of war, and he still looked for a sign that the worst was over.

  Julius was waiting for him inside as Mark Antony passed through the gardens. He left his lictors on the street rather than bring armed men into the presence of the Dictator of Rome.

  Julius embraced him and ordered iced drinks and food to be brought over his protests. Mark Antony saw that Julius seemed unusually nervous and his hand shook slightly as he held out a cup of wine.

  “My last Triumph is almost ready,” Julius said, after both men had made themselves comfortable. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Brutus lay on his stomach and groaned at the stiff fingers that worked themselves into old scars and muscles. The evening was cool and quiet and his mother�
��s house still employed the very best of girls. It was his habit to come and go as he pleased and his moods were well known to the women Servilia employed. The girl who used her elbows to work at a knot of muscle had not said a word since he stripped naked and lay down on the long bench, his dangling arms grazing the floor. Brutus had felt the unspoken invitation as she let her oiled hands linger, but he had not responded. His mind was too filled with despair and anger to find release in her practiced embrace.

  He opened his eyes as he heard light footsteps tap across the floor of the room. Servilia was there, wearing a sardonic expression as she viewed the naked flesh of her son.

  “Thank you, Talia, you may leave us,” she said.

  Brutus frowned at the interruption. Without embarrassment, he pushed himself up and sat on the bench as the girl scurried out. His mother did not speak until the door had closed and Brutus raised an eyebrow in interest. She too knew his moods and allowed him privacy when he came to the house. To have broken the routine meant something else was in the wind.

  Her hair was a cloud gray, almost white now that she had abandoned her dyes and colors. It no longer hung loose, but was tied back with pinned severity. She still stood with the erect posture that had drawn men’s eyes in her youth, but age had melted the flesh from her, so that she was lean and hard. Brutus supposed he loved her, for her dignity and refusal to be broken in the life of Rome.

  She had been there in the forum when Julius held up his son, but when Brutus had come to the house that first evening, she had shown him a cool reserve that demanded respect. He might have believed it if there had not been moments when fire flashed in her eyes at the mention of Julius’s name. Then she would raise her hand to touch the great pearl that was always around her neck and look into distances too far for Brutus to follow.

  “You should dress yourself, my son. You have visitors waiting for you,” she said. The toga he had worn lay folded and Servilia brought it to him as he stood. “You go naked under this?” she asked, before he could speak.

  Brutus shrugged. “When it is hot. What visitors do you mean? No one knows I am here.”

  “No names, Brutus, not yet,” she said as she draped the long cloth around his shoulders. “I asked them here.”

  Brutus regarded his mother in irritation. His gaze flickered to his dagger where it lay on a stool. “I do not share my movements with the city, Servilia. Are the men armed?”

  She tucked and tweaked at the robe until it was ready to be clasped. “They are no danger to you. I told them you would listen to what they have to say. Then they will leave and Talia can finish her work, or you can join me for a meal in my rooms.”

  “What are you doing, Mother?” Brutus asked, his voice growing hard. “I don’t like games or mysteries, or secrets.”

  “See these men. Listen to them,” she said as if he had not spoken. “That is all.” She watched in silence as he tucked his dagger away and then she stood back to look at him. “You look strong, Brutus. Age has given you more than scars. I will send them in.”

  She left and moments later the door swung open to admit two men of the Senate. Brutus knew them instantly and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Suetonius and Cassius were stiff with tension as they closed the door behind them and approached.

  “What is so important that you must come to my mother’s house?” Brutus said. He crossed his arms carefully, leaving his right hand near the hilt of his dagger under the cloth.

  Cassius spoke first. “Where else is private, in Rome?” he said.

  Brutus could see the sinews standing out in the man’s neck. The senator was clearly under an enormous strain and Brutus disliked being so close to him.

  “I will hear what you have to say,” Brutus said slowly.

  He gestured to the bench and watched closely as both men sat down. He did not join them, preferring to remain able to move quickly if the need arose. Every instinct warned him to caution, but he showed them nothing. The hilt of his knife was comforting under his fingers.

  “We will have no names, here,” Cassius said. “It is dark outside and we have not been seen. We have never met, in fact.” His taut features stretched into an unpleasant smile.

  “Go on,” Brutus said, sharply, anger surfacing. “My mother has bought you a few moments. If you can say nothing of use, then leave.”

  The two men exchanged glances and Cassius swallowed nervously.

  Suetonius cleared his throat. “There are some in the city who have not forgotten the Republic,” he said. “There are some who do not enjoy the Senate being treated as servants.”

  Brutus took in a sharp breath as he began to understand. “Go on,” he said.

  “Those who love Rome may be dissatisfied with too much power in one man’s hands,” Suetonius continued. A fat bead of sweat worked its way down his cheek from his hairline. “They do not want a line of kings built on a corruption of foreign blood.”

  The words hung in the air between them and Brutus stared, his thoughts whirling. How much had his mother guessed of their intentions? All their lives were in danger if even a single one of her girls listened at the walls.

  “Wait here,” he said, striding to the door.

  The sudden movement brought Cassius and Suetonius almost to panic. Brutus flung open the door and saw his mother seated down the corridor. She rose to her feet and walked to him.

  “Are you part of this?” he said, his voice low.

  Her eyes glittered. “I have brought you together. The rest is up to you.”

  Brutus looked at his mother and saw her coldness was a mask.

  “Listen to them,” she said again as he hesitated.

  “Are we alone?” he asked.

  She nodded. “No one knows they are here, or that they are meeting you. This is my house and I know.”

  Brutus grimaced. “You could get us all killed,” he said.

  Her smile mocked him. “Just listen to them, and be quick,” she said.

  He closed the door then and turned to face the two senators. He knew what they wanted, but it was too much to take in at once. “Go on,” he said again to Suetonius.

  “I speak for the good of Rome,” Suetonius replied in the old formula. “We want you to join us in this.”

  “In what?” Brutus demanded. “Say the words or get out.”

  Suetonius took a slow breath. “We want you for a death. We want you to help us bring back the power of the Senate. There are weak men there who will vote in a new king if they are not restrained.”

  Brutus felt cold with an unnatural fear. He could not demand they speak the name. He did not know if he could bear to hear it.

  “How many are with you?” he said.

  Suetonius and Cassius exchanged another glance of warning.

  “Perhaps it is better for you not to know at this time,” Cassius said. “We have not heard your answer.”

  Brutus did not speak and Cassius’s face hardened subtly.

  “You must answer. We have gone too far to let it rest now.”

  Brutus looked at the two men and knew they could not let him live if he refused. There would be archers outside to cut him down as he left. It was how he would have planned it.

  It did not matter. He had known from the beginning what he would say.

  “I am the right man,” he said in a whisper. The tension began to ease from the pair. “There must be some trust in this, but I do not want my mother involved again,” Brutus went on. “I will rent another house for us to meet.”

  “I had thought—” Suetonius began.

  Brutus silenced him with a wave of his hand. “No. I am the right man to lead you in this. I will not risk my life on fools and secrets. If this is to be done, let it be done well.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “If we are to risk our lives for the good of Rome, it must be before spring. He plans a campaign in Parthia that will take him away, perhaps for years.”

  Cassius smiled in triumph. He stood and held out his hand.

  “The
Republic is worth a life,” he said as Brutus gripped his thin fingers.

  CHAPTER 34

  From the highest rooftops, the petals of red roses filled the air by the million, drifting down on the Dictator’s procession. The citizens of Rome reached up to them like children, entranced. For weeks, they had walked to the city from their farms and homes, drawn by the lure of glory and spectacle. The price of a bed had soared, but Julius had given every family a bag of silver, a jug of sweet oil, and corn to make bread. The city had been rich with the smell of baking as they rose at dawn to watch Julius sacrifice a white bull at the temple of Jupiter. The omens had been good, as he had known they would be.

  He had employed hundreds in the arrangements for the Triumph, from the ex-legion adventurers charged with capturing animals in Africa, to the stonemasons given the task of re-creating Alexandria in Rome. Statues of Egyptian gods lined the route through the city and by noon many were draped with climbing children, laughing and calling to one another.

  The ancient streets had a festive air, with every junction festooned in bright banners fluttering gaily over the city. By nightfall, there would be many girls with Julius to thank for a wedding dress from the material. Until then, Rome was a riot of color and noise.

  The column that wound its way through the main streets at noon was more than a mile long and lined at every step by cheering citizens. Soldiers of the Tenth and Fourth had been recalled from retirement to lead Julius through the city. They walked like heroes, and those who knew their history showed appreciation at the sight of the men who had taken Gaul and beaten Pompey at Pharsalus.

  The gladiators of Rome marched wearing heads of falcons and jackals, while chained leopards spat and struggled to the delight of the crowd.