Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (28 page)

The younger men had released some of the night’s tension as soon as they reached the safety of the tree line in the hills and Julius had given permission to stand down. They had whooped and cheered until they were hoarse, while the veterans looked on smiling, more concerned with cleaning and oiling their equipment than celebrating.

Quertorus had sent out fifty of their best hunters to bring back meat, and by mid-morning had a steaming meal ready, roasting hares and deer together on small fires. Any flame was a risk, but the trees would break up the smoke and Julius knew they needed the rejuvenation and warmth of hot meat, and only insisted the fires be scattered as soon as the last of the hunters’ kills were cooked.

The difference that age makes was clear that afternoon. The young recruits were fully recovered, moving energetically about the camp in small groups, chatting and laughing. The veterans lay like the dead, without even turning in sleep, so they woke stiff and cramped. Bruises spread under their skins, appearing where there had been no mark the night before. The younger ones shrugged off their wounds, but didn’t mock the veterans for their stiffness. They had seen their skill and not their age.

Julius had found Cornix chewing amiably as he sat close to the cooking fires, obviously enjoying the warmth in his old bones.

“You survived, then,” Julius said, genuinely pleased the old man had lived through the chaos of the attack. The knee was still heavily wrapped and flat against the ground to rest.

Cornix gestured in welcome, waving a piece of meat vaguely. “They couldn’t kill me, right enough,” he agreed, sucking dry the meat he held before pressing it into his cheek to soften enough for chewing. “There were a lot of them, I noticed.” His eyes searched out Julius’s, full of interest in the young man.

“Eight or nine thousand left, we think,” Julius said.

Cornix frowned. “It’ll take forever to kill that many,” he observed seriously as he worked the piece of meat around his mouth, ruminating.

Julius grinned at the old man. “Yes, well. Craftsmen take time over their work,” he said.

Cornix nodded in agreement, a smile breaking over his wrinkled face despite himself.

Julius left him with his meal and found Gaditicus. Touring the camp together, they visited each of the sentries, who stood in threes so that there would always be one to give warning of an attack. Each group was in clear sight of the next all the way around the camp. It used a lot of men, but Julius had ordered short watches of only two hours, so the changes came quickly and the night passed without alarm.

The following day, as darkness fell early in the winter evening, they marched out of the woods and once again attacked the camp of Mithridates.

  CHAPTER
25
  

A
ntonidus paced up and down the lushly furnished room, his skin mottled with anger. The only other occupant, lounging on a soft purple couch, was the corpulent figure of the senator, Cato. The eyes that watched Antonidus seemed small, lost in the fleshy expanse of the sweating face. They gleamed with intrigue as they followed the steps of Sulla’s erstwhile general, tracking up and down the marble. Cato grimaced slightly as he saw the road dust that clung to Antonidus. The man should have known better than to demand a meeting before he had even washed himself.

“I have no new information, Senator. Not a scrap of it,” Antonidus said.

Cato sighed theatrically, reaching out a pudgy hand to the arm of his couch and pulling himself upright. The fingers that gripped the wood were slick and sticky with sugary residues from the dinner Antonidus had interrupted. Idly, Cato sucked them clean as he waited for the irritable man to find calm. Sulla’s dog had never been a patient man, he knew. Even when the Dictator had been alive, Antonidus had conspired and wheedled for more authority and action where none was needed. After the rather sordid assassination, Antonidus had acted outrageously, far exceeding his authority as he searched for the killers. Cato had been forced to throw his support behind the man when his activities were discussed in Senate, or see him brought down by those he had offended. It was a fragile protection even then and Cato wondered if the pacing general knew how close he was to destruction. Antonidus had offended almost everyone that mattered in the city in the previous months, questioning even those who were above suspicion.

Cato wondered to himself how Sulla had been able to stand the grim company of his general. He soon tired of it himself.

“Have you considered that you may not find whoever ordered the assassination?” he asked.

Antonidus stopped his pacing as he spoke, spinning to face the senator.

“I will not fail in this. It has taken longer than I thought, but eventually someone will talk or some evidence will be found that will point a bloody finger, and I will have my man.”

Cato watched him carefully, noting the manic glitter of his eyes. Dangerously obsessive, he thought, considering having the man quietly removed before he caused any more trouble. The public efforts had been made, and if Sulla was not avenged, well, the city would continue regardless, whether Antonidus was successful or not.

“It could take years, you know,” Cato continued. “Or you could die without finding your culprit. It would not be so strange. If anyone was going to reveal themselves or be betrayed, I did think it would happen soon after the deed, but nothing points that bloody finger of yours and may never do so. It may be time to give up the chase, Antonidus.”

The black eyes bored into him, but Cato was unaffected. He cared nothing at all for the man’s obsession, for all he had been content to let him run wild around the houses of Rome for a while. Sulla was dead and ashes. Maybe it was time to bring the dog to heel.

Antonidus seemed to sense the thoughts in the flat, bored expression with which Cato returned his glare.

“Give me a little longer, Senator,” he asked, his angry looks replaced by a sudden wariness.

Perhaps after all, he did know how Cato protected him from the outrage of the other senators, the fat man mused. Dismissively, he looked away and Antonidus spoke hurriedly.

“I am almost sure the killing was at the order of one of three men. Any one of them could have arranged it, and they were all supporters of Marius before the war.”

“Who are these dangerous men?” Cato inquired archly, though he could have reeled off the names as easily as the general. The informers reported to him before Antonidus, after all, as well they should have, with Cato’s money in their purses.

“Pompey and Cinna are most likely, I think. Perhaps Cinna most of all, as Sulla was . . . interested in his daughter. And Crassus, the last of them. Those three had the money and influence to buy a murder, and they were no friends to Sulla. Or they could have acted together, with Crassus providing the money and Pompey the contacts, for example.”

“You have named some powerful men, Antonidus. I trust you have not mentioned your suspicions to anyone else? I would hate to lose you,” Cato said with mockery in his tone.

Antonidus seemed not to notice. “I will keep my thoughts to myself until I have proof to accuse them. They have profited by Sulla’s death and openly vote against his supporters in Senate. My instinct tells me it was one of them, or they were consulted. If I could only question them to be sure!” He was practically grinding his teeth in anger, and Cato had to wait as the general’s skin lost its mottling and the spasm of rage faded.

“You may not approach them, Antonidus. Those three are well protected by Senate tradition and their guards. Even if you are correct, they may yet escape you.”

He said this mainly to see if Antonidus could be taunted into a complete loss of control and was gratified to see the purpling veins in the man’s forehead and neck. Cato laughed and the general snapped out of his anger, bewildered by the sudden sound. How had Sulla been able to bear him? Cato wondered. The man was as open as a child and as easy to manipulate.

“The solution is an easy one, Antonidus. You hire your own assassins, being careful not to let them know you.” He had his complete attention now, he noted with satisfaction. Cato felt the beginnings of a wine headache and wanted the angry little fellow to leave him.

“Send your killers to the families, Antonidus. Choose a loved wife, a daughter, a son. Leave a mark on them to show it was done for Sulla’s memory. One of your arrows will hit home, and the others . . . ? Well, they were never friends of mine. There will be advantages in having them made vulnerable for a time. Then let it be finished and imagine Sulla is at rest in a sensible fashion, as good ghosts should be.”

He smiled as Antonidus mulled over the idea, the thin face lighting with bright cruelty. The lines of worry eased from the general’s forehead where they had been carved over the months since the poisoning. Cato nodded, knowing he had reached his man. His thoughts turned to the possibility of a little cold meat before he slept, and he barely noticed as Antonidus bowed out of the room, moving with quick, excited steps.

Later, as he pressed food into his slowly chewing mouth, Cato sighed with irritation as his thoughts turned to the problem of his idiot son and Renius. He remembered watching the man fight in the arena and shivered deliciously as he pictured a controlled savagery that had shocked even the baying crowd of Rome to silence. A man who risked his life so cheaply would not be easy to turn. What could he offer for his son? The boy general, Brutus, was heavily in debt. Perhaps gold would sway him. Power was such a fickle thing, and where money and influence failed, as he thought they must, he would need such useful tools as Antonidus. It would have been a shame to lose him.

*      *      *

Alexandria paused before knocking on the gate of the estate she had known so well. The five miles from the city had been a little like turning back time for herself. She had last stood there as a slave, and memories flooded her. Being whipped by Renius, kissing Gaius in the stables, working until she dropped in wind and rain, killing men with a kitchen knife in the darkness under the walls at the height of the riots. If Julius hadn’t taken her into the city, she could be working there still, broken by the years.

Old faces came back to her and the intervening time seemed to vanish, so that it took every bit of her courage to raise her hand and thump it into the heavy wood.

“Who is there?” a strange voice called, accompanied by quick footsteps to the top of the wall within. A face she did not know looked down at her, carefully blank as the slave took in her appearance and the little boy who held her hand. She raised her head defiantly under this scrutiny, looking back as confidently as she could despite her racing heartbeat.

“Alexandria. I have come to see Tubruk. Is he here?”

“Please wait for a moment, madam,” the slave replied, disappearing.

Alexandria took a quick breath. He had judged her as a freewoman. She straightened her shoulders further, her confidence growing. It would be hard to face Tubruk, and she had to force herself to be calm as she waited. Octavian remained silent, still angry at the decision they had made for him.

When Tubruk pushed open the gate and came out to her, she almost wilted, gripping Octavian’s hand hard enough to make him yelp. The man seemed unchanged, still the same as the rest of the world swept wildly onward. His smile was genuinely friendly and she felt some of her tension ease.

“I heard you were doing well,” he said. “I can have some food brought if you’re hungry.”

“Thirsty, after the walk, Tubruk. This is Octavian.” Tubruk bent down to look at the small boy as he edged behind Alexandria, looking worried.

“Good morning, lad. I expect you are hungry?” Octavian nodded convulsively and Tubruk chuckled. “I never knew a boy who wasn’t. Come inside, I’ll have refreshments brought to us.”

Tubruk paused in thought for a moment.

“Marcus Brutus is here,” he said, “and Renius with him.”

Alexandria stiffened slightly. The name of Renius carried bitter memories. Brutus, too, was a name from her forgotten past; sweetness mixed with pain. She gripped Octavian tightly as they passed through the gate, more for her own comfort than his.

The courtyard brought bright memories back to her with a small shudder. She had stood . . . there, to stab a man who grabbed at her, and Susanna had died over by the gate. She shook her head and took a deep breath. It was too easy to become lost in the past, here of all places.

“Is the mistress at home?” she asked.

Tubruk’s expression changed slightly as he replied, making him look older. “Aurelia is very unwell. You won’t be able to see her, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but it was you I came to see.”

He led them into a quiet room that she had rarely entered in her time as a slave. The floor was warm and the room felt comfortable and lived in. Tubruk left them to arrange a meal and she began to relax even further as they waited alone. Octavian fidgeted irritably, scuffing his sandals on the rug until Alexandria stopped his swinging feet with a firm grip on his knee.

When Tubruk returned, he put down a tray with a jug and bowls of freshly sliced fruit. Octavian fell on it with delight, and Tubruk smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm as he sat down and waited for Alexandria to speak.

“It’s about Octavian that I want to speak to you,” she said after a pause.

“Would you like me to have someone show him the stables?” Tubruk replied quickly.

She shrugged. “He knows what I’m going to say.”

Tubruk filled a cup with cool apple juice for her, and she sipped at it as she collected her thoughts.

“I own a part share in a metalsmith’s in the city, and we took Octavian on as an apprentice. I won’t lie to you and say he was perfect. He was almost wild for a while, but he’s a different boy now.” She was interrupted by the sight of Octavian trying to cram melon slices into his mouth. Tubruk saw her look and stood suddenly.

“That’s enough for now, lad. Go and find the stables. Take a couple of the apple pieces for the horses.”

Octavian looked at Alexandria, and when she nodded, he grinned and scooped up a handful of the fruit, disappearing out of the room without another word. His footsteps echoed for a moment, then all was still again.

“He doesn’t remember his father, and he was a street urchin when we took him in. You should see how he’s changed, Tubruk! The boy is fascinated by the skills Tabbic teaches him. He’s good with his hands and in time I think he could make a fair craftsman.”

“So why have you brought him to me?” Tubruk prompted gently.

“We haven’t been able to let him out onto the street for nearly a month now. Tabbic has to walk him home each evening and then come back alone in the dark. The streets aren’t safe even for him these days, but Octavian has been badly beaten three times since we took him on. The first time, he had a silver ring stolen, and we think they look for him in case he is carrying something else. There’s a gang of boys involved. Tabbic has complained to their masters when he knows who they are, but the third beating came right after that. It’s breaking the lad, Tubruk. Tabbic made him a knife but he wouldn’t take it. He said they’d kill him with it if he pulled a blade on the gang, and I think he’s probably right.” She took a deep breath to continue.

“His mother is desperate and I said I would ask you if you’d take him and teach him a trade. We hoped you could have him work around the estate for a year or two, then when he’s older, we could take him back to the shop and he could continue with the apprenticeship.” She felt she was babbling and came to a halt. Tubruk looked down at his hands and she went on hurriedly, unwilling to let him speak and refuse.

“His family are related to Julius distantly. Their grandfathers were brothers or something, or brothers-in-law. You’re the only one I know who can get him away from the street gangs, Tubruk. It will save his life. I wouldn’t ask if there was anyone else, but . . .”

“I’ll take him,” Tubruk said suddenly. Alexandria blinked in surprise and he chuckled. “Did you think I wouldn’t? I remember when you risked your life for this house. You could have run away and hidden in the stables, but you didn’t. That is enough for me. There’s always work around an estate like this, even though we’ve lost a bit of land since you were last here. He’ll earn his food, don’t worry. Will you leave him here today?”

Alexandria felt like throwing her arms around the old gladiator. “Yes, if you like. I knew I could depend on you. Thank you. Will you let his mother visit him from time to time?”

“I will have to ask Aurelia, but it should be possible as long as it isn’t too frequent. I’ll tell her about the family link. She’ll probably love the idea.”