The Field of Swords

by Conn Iggulden

  Brutus raised his hand and made sharp gestures to each side. He kicked his mount into a gallop as the group slid smoothly apart as if an invisible line had been drawn on the ground. Now the wind pressed against Brutus’s face and he laughed with excitement, not needing to look to know the formation was perfect. Specks of white spittle flew back from his horse’s mouth, and he leaned forward into the saddle horn, gripping with his legs and feeling as if he were flying.

  The fort was growing closer with astonishing rapidity and, caught up in the moment as he was, Brutus almost left it too late for the signal to re-form the split square. The two groups swerved together only moments before they were changing their holds on the reins to halt, but there were no mistakes. As one man, they dismounted, patting the steaming necks of the stallions and geldings Julius had brought over from Rome. Only cut mounts could be used against enemy cavalry, as intact stallions could be sent berserk by the scent of a mare in season. It was a balancing act between taking the best for the extraordinarii and keeping the bloodlines strong. Even the local Spanish whistled and called when they saw those horses, their love of the breed overcoming the usual reticence they showed to the Roman soldiers.

  Brutus was laughing at something Domitius had said when he caught sight of his mother. His eyes widened for a moment before he rushed under the gate arch to embrace her.

  “Your letters didn’t mention this!” he said, lifting her up to her toes and kissing her on both cheeks.

  “I thought you might become overexcited,” Servilia replied. They both laughed and Brutus put her down.

  Servilia held him back at arm’s length and smiled to see him so full of life. The years in Spain had suited her only son. He had a force for life in him that made other men look up and stand straighter in his presence.

  “As handsome as ever, I see,” she said with a twinkle. “I suppose you have a string of local girls pining after you.”

  “I daren’t go out without a guard to save me from the poor creatures,” he replied.

  Domitius appeared suddenly, moving between them to force an introduction.

  “Ah yes, this is Domitius, who cleans the horses. Have you met Octavian? He’s kin to Julius.” Grinning at Domitius’s appalled expression, Brutus had to wave Octavian closer.

  Octavian was overcome and attempted a salute that ended in more confusion, making Brutus laugh. He was too familiar with the effect his mother could have to be surprised by it, but he noticed they were quickly becoming the center of an admiring circle of the extraordinarii as they jostled to see the new arrival in their midst.

  Servilia waved to them, enjoying the attention after the dull month at sea.

  Young men were so peculiarly vibrant, untouched by the fears of age or death. They stood around her like innocent gods, and lifted her with their confidence.

  “Have you seen Julius, Mother? He—” Brutus broke off at the sudden hush that fell over the yard. Three young women swept out of an archway and the crowd of soldiers parted before them. They were all beautiful in different ways. The youngest was blonde and slight, her cheeks lit with rising color as she walked toward Servilia. At her shoulders were two others with features to make grown men weep into their wine.

  The spell of their entrance was broken as someone let out a low whistle and the crowd came back to life.

  Servilia raised an eyebrow at Angelina as they met. The girl knew exactly what she was doing. Servilia had seen that in her from the beginning. She was the sort of woman men fought each other to protect, and her presence in a drinking house was usually enough to start a riot before the evening was over. Servilia had found her serving wine and giving away what men would pay well for. It had not taken much persuasion, considering the sums involved. Servilia kept two-fifths of everything Angelina earned in the house in Rome, and still the young blonde was becoming a wealthy woman in her own right. As things stood, she would be looking to start her own establishment in a few years, and she would come to Servilia for the loan.

  “We were worried about you, mistress,” Angelina lied cheerfully.

  Brutus eyed her with open interest and she returned his gaze without embarrassment. Under the girl’s scrutiny, he could hardly confirm the suspicion that had come into his mind. Though he told himself he had come to terms with Servilia’s profession, the thought of his men knowing showed him he was not as secure as he’d thought.

  “Are you going to introduce us, Mother?” he asked.

  Angelina widened her eyes for a split second. “This is your son? He’s just as you said. How wonderful.”

  Servilia had never discussed Brutus with Angelina, but was caught between exasperation at the girl’s transparency and a shrewder part of her that could smell the money to be made. The crowd around them had grown. These were not men used to the attentions of young women. She began to suspect that from legion trade alone Valentia was going to be very profitable indeed.

  “This is Angelina,” she said.

  Brutus bowed and Angelina’s eyes sparkled at his courtesy.

  “You must join us at the general’s table this evening. I’ll raid the cellar for wine and we’ll wash the dust of the road off you.” He held Angelina’s eyes as he spoke and managed to make the proposition sound remarkably sexual.

  Servilia cleared her throat to interrupt them, “Lead us in, Brutus,” she said.

  The extraordinarii parted again to let them through. The hot meal that awaited them in their barracks did not seem half as tempting as it had on the ride back, without the company of the women as a spice. They stood as if abandoned in the courtyard until the small procession had disappeared inside. The spell was broken then and they broke apart to care for the horses, suddenly brisk in their movements as if they had never been interrupted at all.

  Despite Angelina’s protests, Servilia left her three companions in the rooms they had been given. Someone had to unpack the trunks and for that first night Servilia wanted her son’s full attention. She had not brought them to Valentia to find Brutus a wife from their number, after all.

  Julius did not come down with the others, sending a curt apology with his personal guard when Brutus asked if he would join them. Servilia saw the refusal did not surprise any of the men at the table and wondered again at the changes Spain had wrought in them.

  In Servilia’s honor, the meal was a mixture of local dishes, served in an array of small bowls. The spices and peppers made Octavian cough until he had to be thumped on the back and given wine to clear his throat. He had been in awe of Servilia from the first moment in the courtyard, and Brutus teased him subtly, while Servilia pretended not to notice the boy’s discomfort.

  The room was lit with warm, flickering lamps, and the wine was as good as Brutus had promised. It was a pleasant meal and Servilia found that she was enjoying the banter between the men. Domitius allowed himself to be persuaded into telling one of his stories, though the conclusion was spoiled slightly as Cabera called it out with enthusiasm, then thumped the table in amusement.

  “That story was old when I was a boy,” the old man cackled, reaching over to take a portion of fish from a bowl near Octavian. The young man was about to take the same piece and Cabera slapped his fingers to make him drop it, scooping up the rich flesh as it fell. Octavian scowled at him, clearly stifling a response as he remembered the presence of Servilia at the table.

  “How did you come to be with the Tenth Legion, Domitius?” Servilia asked.

  “Brutus arranged it when we were down in the south fighting Spartacus. I’d let him win a couple of practice bouts out of fairness, but on the whole he saw that he could benefit from my training.”

  “Lies!” Brutus said, laughing. “I asked him in passing if he would be willing to transfer to the new legion, and he practically bit my arm off in enthusiasm. Julius had to pay a fortune in compensation to the legate. We’re all still waiting to see if he’ll be worth it.”

  Domitius waited patiently until Brutus was drinking from his wine cup.
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  “I’m the best of my generation, you see,” he told Servilia, watching in amusement as Brutus fought not to choke, turning red in the process.

  The sound of footsteps made them all look up, and the men rose together to welcome Julius. He took his place at the head of the table and signaled for them to sit. Servants brought fresh dishes and Brutus filled a cup with wine, smiling when he saw Julius raise an eyebrow at the quality.

  The conversation began again and as it did Servilia caught Julius’s eye and inclined her head slightly. He copied the gesture, accepting her at the table, and she found herself letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  There was an authority to him that she couldn’t recall seeing before. He didn’t join in the laughter, merely smiling at the more outrageous chatter. He punished the wine, Servilia noted, drinking as if it were water and with no obvious effect, though a slow flush appeared at his neck that could have been from the evening heat.

  The high spirits at the table were quickly restored. The camaraderie between the men was infectious and after a while Servilia was engaged in the stories and humor with the others. Cabera flirted outrageously with her, winking at inopportune moments and making her snort with amusement. Once as she laughed she caught Julius’s eye again, and the moment seemed to freeze, hinting at a deeper reality behind the lively façade of the meal.

  Julius watched her, constantly surprised at the effect she had wrought on the usually somber gathering. She laughed without affectation and in those moments he wondered how he could ever have found her less than beautiful. Her skin was dark and freckled from the sun and her nose and chin a little too strong, yet still she had something that set her apart. The calculating part of him saw how she transferred her attention to whoever spoke, flattering them simply by the interest she showed. She was a woman who liked men and they sensed it. Julius shook his head slightly. His reaction to her disturbed him, but she was so different from Cornelia that no comparison occurred to trouble his thoughts.

  He had not been in female company for a long time and then only when Brutus managed to get enough drink in him that he didn’t care anymore. Looking at Servilia reminded him of the world outside his soldiers’ rough gatherings. He felt unbalanced with her, out of practice. The thought crossed his mind that he should be careful to keep a distance. A woman of her experience could very well eat him alive.

  He shook his head to clear it, irritated with his weakness. The first woman to sit at their table for months and he was reacting with little more sophistication than Octavian, though he hoped his thoughts weren’t so obvious. He’d never hear the end of Brutus’s mockery if they were. He imagined the amused taunts with a shudder and pushed his wine cup away firmly. No matter what, she was hardly likely to show interest in a friend of her son. It was ridiculous even to entertain the idea.

  Octavian interrupted Julius’s musings as he reached across the table to offer Servilia the last morsel of an herb dish. The young Roman had grown in strength and skill under the tutelage of Brutus and Domitius. Julius wondered if Octavian would have so much to fear from the apprentices in the city as he’d used to. He doubted it. The boy seemed to thrive in the company of the rough soldiers of the Tenth and even copied the way Brutus walked, to his friend’s amusement. He seemed so young, it was strange to think Julius had been married when only a year older.

  “I learned a new feint this morning, sir,” Octavian said proudly.

  Julius smiled at him. “You’ll have to show it to me,” he said, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair.

  Octavian beamed in response to the small show of affection. “Will you train with us tomorrow, then?” he asked, readying himself for disappointment.

  Julius shook his head. “I’m going out to the gold mines with Renius for a few days,” he said, “but perhaps I will when I come back.”

  Octavian tried to look pleased, but they could all see he took it as a straight refusal. Julius almost changed his mind, but the dark humors that plagued him eased back into his thoughts. None of them understood his work. They had the light spirits of boys, and that carelessness was no longer a luxury he could afford. Forgetting his earlier resolution, Julius reached for his cup and emptied it.

  Brutus saw the depression settle on his friend and struggled to find something to divert him.

  “The Spanish swordsmith will begin working with our legion men tomorrow. Can’t you delay the trip until you’ve seen what you paid for?”

  Julius stared at him, making them all uncomfortable.

  “No, the preparations are made,” he said, refilling his cup and cursing softly as he spilled a little of the wine onto the table in the process. Julius frowned at his hands. Was there a tremble there? He couldn’t tell. As rather stilted conversation resumed, he watched them all, looking for some sign that they had seen his weakness. Only Cabera met his eyes and the old man’s face was full of kindness. Julius drained the cup, suddenly angry with all of them.

  Servilia dipped her fingers in the water bowl and wiped her mouth delicately with them, a gesture that held Julius’s attention, though she seemed not to notice it.

  “I have enjoyed this, very much, but the journey here was tiring,” she said, smiling at them all. “I will rise early to watch your training, Octavian, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, come and watch,” Brutus said pleasantly. “I’ll get a carriage ready for you in the stables, as well. This is a luxurious post, compared to some. You’ll love it here.”

  “Find a good horse and I won’t need the carriage,” Servilia replied, noting the flicker in Julius’s eyes as he digested this piece of information. Men were such strange creatures, but she had yet to find one who didn’t enjoy the thought of a beautiful woman on a horse.

  “I hope my girls won’t be a disruption to you all. I will look for a place in the city tomorrow. Good night, gentlemen. General.”

  They rose with her and again she experienced that strange frisson of excitement as Julius’s eyes met her own.

  Julius stood soon after she had left, swaying slightly.

  “I have left my orders in your quarters, Brutus, for the time I am away. Make sure there is a guard on those girls while they are in our care. Good night.” He left without another word, walking with the exaggerated stiffness of a man trying to hide the effects of too much wine in his blood. For a moment there was a pained silence.

  “It’s good to have a new face here,” Brutus said, carefully avoiding more difficult subjects. “She’ll liven this place up a little. It’s been too quiet recently.”

  Cabera whistled quietly to himself. “A woman like that . . . all men are fools around her,” he said softly, his tone making Brutus stare at him in puzzlement. The old man’s expression was unreadable as he shook his head slightly and reached for more wine.

  “She is very . . . graceful,” Domitius agreed, searching for the final word.

  Brutus snorted. “What did you expect after seeing me with a sword? I’d hardly come from a cart horse, would I?”

  “I did think there was a female quality to your stance, yes,” Domitius replied, rubbing his forehead in thought. “Yes, I see it now. It looks better on her, though.”

  “It is a manly grace in me, Domitius, manly. I’m quite happy to demonstrate it again to you tomorrow.” The old smile had returned to Brutus’s face as he narrowed his eyes in mock offense.

  “Do I have a manly grace, Domitius?” Octavian asked.

  Domitius nodded slowly, his manner easy. “You do, of course, lad. It is only Brutus who fights like a woman.”

  Brutus roared with laughter and threw a plate at Domitius, who ducked it easily. It crashed on the stone floor and they all froze comically before the tension dissolved into humor once again.

  “Why does your mother want a house in the city?” Octavian asked.

  Brutus looked sharply at him, suddenly sorry to have to puncture his innocence. “For business, lad. I think my mother’s girls will be enter
taining the legion before too long.”

  Octavian looked around in confusion for a moment, then his face cleared. They were all watching him closely.

  “Will they charge full price for someone of my age, do you think?” Octavian said.

  Brutus threw another plate in his direction, hitting Cabera.

  Lying on the narrow pallet in his rooms above, Julius could hear their laughter and shut his eyes tightly in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 3

  _____________________

  Servilia already loved the little city of Valentia. The streets were clean and busy with people. There was an air of affluence about the place that made her palms itch. Yet despite the signs of wealth, it had a fresh feel to it that her own ancient city had lost centuries before. This was a more innocent town. Even finding the right building had been easier than she’d expected. There were no officials needing a private payment before documents could be signed; it was simply a matter of finding the right place and paying gold to the current owner. It was refreshing after the bureaucracy of Rome, and the soldiers Brutus had sent out with her were able to show her three possible locations as soon as she asked. The first two were close to the water and likely to attract more of the dockworkers than she wanted. The third was perfect.

  In a quiet street close to the market and away from the waterfront, it was a roomy building with an impressive façade of white lime and hardwood. Servilia was long familiar with the need to present a pleasant face to the world. No doubt there were grimy little houses hidden in the towns where widows and whores earned a little extra on their backs, but the sort of place she wanted would attract dignitaries and officers from the legion, and be correspondingly more expensive.