Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) (24 page)

‘Octavian, or Caesar as I suppose we must call him now, has four legions at full strength. Both the Fourth Ferrata and Ninth Macedonia have followed him north. We do not yet know his destination. With the four from Ostia coming here, those are all the legions on the mainland, senators. The question we must ask is how best to use them to sanction our rogue consul.’

He paused again, catching the eye of Senator Pansa at his side, who nodded.

‘I remind you that this new Caesar refrained from violence against this Senate when he had every opportunity to do so. It is my feeling that we have not lost the argument with him, if we were to grant at least some of his requests.’ He saw Suetonius and Bibilus rise to their feet and talked over them as they began to reply. ‘I have
not
forgotten his illegal occupation, senators, only that he carried it out without bloodshed or loss of
honestas
– integrity. Even so, I would not turn to him if he did not command the only force capable of taking on Mark Antony!

‘The choices come down to one, senators. Give me your authority. Confirm Senator Pansa and myself as consuls ahead of time. We will take four legions to Caesar and assume command of a unified army capable of bringing Mark Antony to heel. The consul has mutinied and must be stripped of his rank. Who else but consuls have the right to take the field against him – and the authority of the Senate to do it?’

Bibilus had been caught in mid-argument by the suggestion and he sat down to think it through. It was not lost on him that removing Hirtius and Pansa from the Senate would leave very few capable of challenging his own position. A thousand men from the legions at Ostia would be enough to keep Rome quiet for a little while longer. He began to think he could vote for such a course.

Suetonius felt the sudden space at his shoulder as Bibilus sat, but he did not resume his own seat.

‘What concessions will you give Octavian in exchange for his service?’ he called, then repeated himself even louder as the men around him told him to be quiet.

‘I do not intend to renounce the amnesty, Suetonius,’ Hirtius said dryly. ‘You don’t need to worry on that point.’ A chuckle went around the benches and Suetonius flushed as Hirtius continued. ‘This young Caesar has asked for a Lex Curiata, which we can grant. It is nothing more than his right and such a gesture costs us nothing. In addition, we will also win over good Romans who depend on that vote to take control of their own properties. I have entreaties from them every day. Finally, I propose to offer him the rank of propraetor, to welcome him back into society, where we can make use of him. He has no formal rank at present and I do not think his change of name will take him much further.’

Suetonius sat down, apparently satisfied. Hirtius breathed in relief. It was beginning to look as if he might get his way. The thought of a campaign against Mark Antony worried him not at all, not with the forces that would be at his disposal. He looked over the benches to where Bibilus was watching him. Hirtius smiled at the man’s obvious satisfaction. Men like Bibilus thought they ruled the city, but they could never lead a legion, or appreciate anything beyond their own sense of importance. When he returned with Pansa as consuls, he would deal with Bibilus as Caesar had once dealt with him. Hirtius smiled openly at the thought, nodding to the fat senator as if to an equal.

For once, no one rose to oppose or add to the debate. Hirtius waited, but when they remained in their seats, he cleared his throat.

‘If there is no dissent, I will call for a vote to bring our consular year in early and take our legions to command Caesar in the field.’

‘What if he refuses, even so?’ Suetonius called from the benches.

‘Then I will have him killed, though I do not think it will come to that. For all his faults, this new Caesar is a practical man. He will see his best chance lies with us.’

The vote passed quickly and with very few opposed. It would have to be confirmed by the citizens of Rome, but if the new consuls returned victorious, it would be a formality. Hirtius turned to Pansa and raised his eyebrows.

‘It seems you and I are in for a long ride, Consul.’

Pansa grinned at the new title. Just the thought of getting away from the endless bickering of the Senate brought contentment. The prospect was invigorating. Pansa scrubbed a hand through the white bristle of his hair, wondering whether his armour would need polishing when he had it brought out of storage.

Arretium was a military town, barely a hundred miles north of Rome. Whatever Maecenas’ reasons for recommending it, it had the benefit of being within swift range of the capital, while far enough away to give the Senate the sense that they were not immediately threatened.

The Fabii property Maecenas owned was indeed a delight, a low complex of buildings and gardens that stretched up a hill on various levels, each host to a bewildering display of imported fruit trees and statues in white stone. It felt like a place to rest and enjoy the end of summer, with the struggle safely behind them. A banqueting hall led out onto the gardens and Maecenas had agreed to host the legates of four legions in rooms on the estate. Twenty thousand legionaries had descended on the town itself and doubled its population, so that prices went up and those who could not afford rooms camped in fields.

Legates Silva and Paulinius had welcomed Liburnius and Buccio like old friends. In fact, the four men had met before on campaigns, but they could all take comfort in knowing they had not risked the wrath of the Senate alone.

Octavian said a brief prayer to Ceres as he sat at the table, thanking the goddess for producing the meal that lay before them. Maecenas had produced the Falernian and Octavian had to admit it was superior to the sour wine Silva had served before.

‘So are you going to tell us?’ Maecenas asked, pulling a cooked goose apart with his fingers. He saw Octavian frown. ‘There are no surprises with twenty thousand men camped all around the town, Caesar. A messenger from Rome cannot be kept secret. Are we to be branded traitors, then? Have they sent a demand for our heads?’

‘I would know how to react to that,’ Octavian replied.

He looked around the table at the six men who had risked everything for him. Agrippa was watching every change of expression on his face, as if trying to read his thoughts. Liburnius kept his gaze on the food, still very aware of the change in their respective statuses since their last meeting. Yet he too had done what mattered and marched men north to follow Caesar. Octavian had welcomed the newly promoted legate with only a dry comment on the rising value of the favour he still carried. Presumably, Gracchus would catch up with him eventually, though Octavian was amused at the thought of the dour legionary still searching for his lost commander.

From his tunic, Octavian withdrew a scroll and unrolled it, ignoring the spots of grease his fingers left on the dry surface.

‘I have orders here,’ he said, ‘orders to report to consuls Hirtius and Pansa and to put myself under their authority.’ His eyes scanned the page yet again. ‘They are coming north with four legions and it seems I have been made a propraetor, by will of the Senate.’

The men around the table gaped at him in rising excitement. In just a few words, they had gone from standing outside the law to being welcomed back. Liburnius and Buccio looked up together, the same thought striking them both. It was Buccio who managed to speak first.

‘If they have appointed consuls before the year is up, it can only mean Mark Antony is out.’

Liburnius nodded as he speared a piece of slow-cooked lamb with his knife and chewed slowly.

‘Will you do it?’ Agrippa asked for all of them. ‘Will you accept Senate authority after all that has happened? Can you even trust them, Caesar? For all we know, this is some ruse to get close enough to attack.’

Octavian waved a hand, almost overturning his cup of wine and then gripping it to keep it steady.

‘How many legions could they have summoned at such short notice? Even if it is a trap, they would just smash themselves against our men. I am inclined to believe them, gentlemen, but that does not solve my problem, does it? Why would they make such an offer? Why would they even want my legions, if not to punish Mark Antony? Yet he should be fighting
with
me, not against me! He goes north to attack Decimus Junius, one of those who wielded knives on the Ides of March. Should I join the Senate and prevent him achieving exactly what I would like to see happen? By the gods, how can I join my enemies, to fight against my only ally?’

As he spoke, the sense of excitement drained from the men at the table. For just an instant, they had seen a way through the fear and chaos of their position, but Octavian’s anger snuffed out their hopes.

‘So you will not join the new consuls, Caesar?’ Legate Silva said.

‘No, I’ll join them. I’ll even march north against Mark Antony with them.’ Octavian hesitated, considering how much he could tell them. He had already made his decision. ‘Why would I resist marching north? Mark Antony is right – Decimus Junius is away from Rome, but still in reach. I would be following the same path before too long. Let these new consuls think whatever they like. Let them believe whatever they like. They are bringing me reinforcements.’

Maecenas rubbed his forehead, feeling the tension that would lead to a headache. To avert it, he drank a full cup of the Falernian, smacking his lips.

‘The men around this table came to follow Caesar,’ he said. ‘Heir to the divine Julius. Will you now tell them they must also accept orders from the Senate? From the very senators who voted an amnesty for his killers? They’ve mutinied before for less.’

His words prompted a furious response from Buccio and Paulinius, both men shouting over the other at the insult to their honour. Maecenas looked at them, his own anger simmering.

‘So we march to attack Mark Antony, to save that whore’s whelp Decimus Junius?’ Maecenas continued. ‘Have you all gone deaf, or can you hear me say that?’

Octavian glared at his friend, rising from the table and leaning on his knuckles. His eyes were cold as he stared and Maecenas had to look away as the silence swelled and became uncomfortable.

‘Ever since I came back from Greece,’ Octavian said, ‘my path has been strewn with rocks. I have suffered through fools and greedy men.’ His gaze fell on Liburnius then, who suddenly looked away. ‘I have had my rightful demands scorned by fat senators. I have seen plans turned on their head and ruined in front of my eyes – and yet, despite
all
that, I find myself here, with four legions sworn to me alone and another four on the way. Would you have me tell you all my plans, Maecenas? For friendship, I will, though it will make the task a thousand times harder. So I ask you this. Put aside the demands of friendship and act, for
once
, as an officer under my command. I will accept the rank of propraetor and if any man asks how I can put myself under Senate authority, tell that man that Caesar does not share his plans with every soldier under
his
command!’

Maecenas opened his mouth to reply, but Agrippa shoved his wooden trencher across the table, butting him in the chest.

‘Enough, Maecenas. You heard what he said.’

Maecenas nodded, rubbing his temples where an ache still throbbed.

‘I have no choice,’ Octavian said to them all, ‘but to be the very model of Roman humility and discipline. I will accept the command of Hirtius and Pansa because it suits my aims.’ His voice was hard as he went on. ‘I will have to show these new consuls more than just words and promises. We should expect to be sent first into battle, or any other situation where our loyalty can be tested. They are not fools, gentlemen. If we are to survive the coming year, we have to be sharper and faster than the consuls of Rome.’

Hirtius and Pansa rode on well-groomed geldings in the third rank of their new legions. Both men were in fine form as they trotted along the wide stone route of the Via Cassia. Hirtius looked back over his shoulder at the trudging ranks, reliving old memories and seeing no flaw in the men he had been given. Their very solidity was a balm after the raving chaos they left behind. There were no arguments on the road, no riots. He and Pansa were of one mind, delighted that Mark Antony’s mistakes had raised them to the highest post in Rome six months early. It was clear to both of them that the man should have been quietly executed on the Ides of March, but there was no point in regrets. If Caesar had lived, Hirtius and Pansa both knew they would have become puppet consuls for the Father of Rome, able to act only at his bidding. Instead, they were free and in command of legions. There were worse fates.

‘Do you really think he will fall in line?’ Pansa asked suddenly. Hirtius did not have to ask whom he meant. The subject had come up at some point every day out of Rome.

‘It is a perfect solution, Pansa, as I’ve said. Octavian is just a youth. He reached too far and had his fingers burned. All he wants now is to salvage a little dignity.’ He patted his saddlebag, where the Senate orders rested in their pouch. ‘Making him propraetor gives him recognition, though you will notice it makes him governor in name, but without a place to govern. What a gift, that is worth so much and yet costs us nothing!’ Hirtius smiled modestly, hoping his colleague would remember who had suggested it.