Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (13 page)

“I thought it was over.”

“Perhaps that was the last one,” Gaditicus replied. “Head wounds are always complicated. Cabera said it might go on for a while.”

“Or for the rest of my life. I miss that old man,” Julius said, his voice bleak. “My mother used to have shaking fits. I never really understood what it was like before. It feels like dying.”

“Can you stand? I don’t want to lose the men, and after your speech they could well march all morning.”

Gaditicus helped the young officer to his feet and watched him take a few deep breaths to steady himself. He wanted to offer words of comfort, but the words didn’t come easily.

“You will beat this,” he said. “Cabera said you were strong and nothing I’ve seen makes me think differently.”

“Maybe. Let’s move on, then. I’d like to stay close to the sea, so I can wash.”

“I could say I told you a joke and you pissed yourself laughing,” Gaditicus said. Julius chuckled and Gaditicus smiled at him.

“There, you see? You are stronger than you realize. Alexander the Great had the shaking sickness, they say.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and Hannibal. It is not the end, just a burden.”

*      *      *

Brutus tried to hide his shock when he saw Aurelia the following morning. She was plaster-white and thin, with a web of wrinkles that had not been there when he’d left for Greece three years before.

Tubruk had seen his distress and filled the gaps in the conversation, telling Aurelia the answers to the questions she did not ask. The old gladiator was not sure she even recognized Brutus.

Aurelia’s silence was covered by the laughter of Clodia and Cornelia as they tended Julius’s baby at breakfast. Brutus smiled dutifully at the child and said she looked like her father, though in truth he could see no resemblance to anything human. He felt uncomfortable in the triclinium, aware that these people had formed bonds that excluded him. It was the first time he had ever felt like a stranger in that house, and it saddened him.

Tubruk left with Aurelia after she had eaten only a little food, and Brutus tried hard to take part in the conversation, telling the women about the blue-skinned tribe he had fought in his first few months with the Bronze Fist in Greece. Clodia laughed when he told them of the savage who had waved his genitals at the Romans, believing he was safe. Cornelia covered Julia’s ears with her hands and Brutus blushed, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I am more used to the company of soldiers. It has been a while since I was in this house.”

“Tubruk told us you grew up here,” Clodia broke in to put him at his ease, knowing somehow that it was important she did so. “He said you always dreamed of being a great swordsman. Did you reach your dream?”

Shyly, Brutus told them of the sword tourney he had won, against the best of the legion centuries.

“They gave me a sword made with harder iron that keeps a better edge. It has gold in the hilt. I will show it to you.”

“Will Julius be safe?” Cornelia asked without warning.

Brutus responded with a quick smile. “Of course. The ransom has been paid. There is no danger for him.” The words came easily and she seemed reassured. His own worries were untouched.

*      *      *

That afternoon, he walked back up the hill to the oak with Tubruk, each of them carrying axes on their shoulders. They took up positions on each side of the trunk and began the slow rhythm of blows that ate a deeper and deeper gash into the wood as the day wore on.

“There is another reason for my coming back to Rome,” Brutus said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his hand.

Tubruk laid down his axe and breathed heavily for a few moments before replying.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I want to find my mother. I am not a boy any longer and I want to know where I came from. I thought you might know where she was.”

Tubruk blew air out of his lips, taking up the axe again.

“It will bring you grief, lad.”

“I must. I have family.”

Tubruk hammered his axe blade into the oak with enormous power, wedging it deeply.

“Your family is here,” he said, levering it out.

“These are my blood. I never knew my father. I just want to know her. If she died without me seeing her, I know I would always regret it.”

Tubruk paused again, then sighed before speaking.

“She has a place in the Via Festus, on the far side of the city, near the Quirinal hill. Think hard before you go there. It could disappoint you.”

“No. She deserted me when I was only a few months old. Nothing she could do would disappoint me now,” Brutus said softly, before taking up his axe again and continuing to cut at the old tree.

As the sun set, the oak fell, and they walked back to the estate house in the twilight. Renius was there, waiting in the shadow of the gate.

“They’ve built where my house stood,” he said angrily to Brutus, “and some young legionaries marched me out of the city as a troublemaker. My own city!”

Tubruk let out an explosive shout of laughter.

“Did you tell them who you were?” Brutus asked, trying to remain serious.

Renius was clearly nettled by their amusement and practically snarled, “They didn’t know my name. Pups, fresh from their mother’s milk, every one of them.”

“There is a room here, if you want it,” Tubruk said.

Renius looked at his old pupil for the first time then. “How much are you asking?” he said.

“Just the pleasure of your company, old friend. Just that.”

Renius snorted. “You’re a fool then. I’d have paid a fair rate.”

At Tubruk’s call, the gate was opened and Renius stalked in ahead of them. Brutus caught Tubruk’s eye and grinned at the affection he saw there.

  CHAPTER
11
  

B
rutus stood at the crossroads at the base of the Quirinal hill and let the bustling crowd pass around him. He had risen early and checked his armor, thankful for the clean undertunic Tubruk had laid out. Some part of him knew it was ridiculous to care, but he had oiled each segment and polished the metal until it shone. He felt garish in the darker colors of the crowd, but he took comfort from the solid weight, as if it protected him from more than weapons.

The Bronze Fist had their own armorer, and like everyone else in the century, he had been the best. The greave Brutus wore on his right leg was skillfully shaped to follow the muscles. It was inscribed with a pattern of circles cut with acid, and Brutus had given a month’s pay for it. Sweat trickled behind the metal sheath and he reached down to try to scratch the skin beneath without success. Practicality had made him leave the plume of his helmet back at the estate. It would not do to be catching it on lintels inside the house where his mother lived.

It was the sight of the building that had made him pause and take stock. He had been expecting a tenement of four or five stories, clean but small. Instead the front was covered in a façade of dark marble, almost like a temple. The main buildings were set back from the dust and ordure of the streets, visible only through a high gate. Brutus supposed Marius’s house had been larger, but it was difficult to be sure.

Tubruk hadn’t told him anything more than the address, but as he took in his surroundings Brutus saw it was a rich area, with a good part of the crowd made up of servants and slaves running errands and carrying goods for their masters. He had expected his mother to be impressed by the son who had become a centurion, but when he saw the house he realized she might think of him as just a common soldier, and hesitated.

He thought of going back to the estate. He knew Renius and Tubruk would welcome him without judging his failure, but hadn’t he planned the meeting all the way from Greece? It would be ridiculous to turn back with the grand building in sight.

He took a deep breath and checked his armor one last time for imperfections. The leather laces were tied and there was not a blemish to be seen. It would do.

The crowd parted around him without jostling as he moved forward. Up close, the gate brought back memories of Marius’s house on the other side of the city. He had barely reached it before it was swung open before him, a slave bowing and waving him in.

“This way, sir,” the slave said, fastening the gate closed and walking before him down a narrow corridor. Brutus followed, his heart thumping. Was he expected?

He was taken into a room that was as lavish as any he had ever seen. Marble columns supported the ceiling and were gilded at the head and foot. White statues lined the walls, and couches were gathered around a pool in the center, where he caught a glimpse of heavy fish swimming almost motionlessly in the cool depths. His armor seemed clumsy and loud in the stillness, and Brutus wished he had unlaced the greave to have a good scratch before coming in.

The slave vanished through a doorway and he was alone with only the soft rippling of the water to distract him. It was peaceful enough, and after a moment’s thought he removed his helmet and ran his hands through his damp hair.

He felt the air move as another door opened behind him, and then stood abruptly in surprise as a beautiful woman walked toward him. She was painted like a doll and about his age, he judged. Her dress was of some fabric he had never seen, and through it he could see the outline of her breasts and nipples. Her skin was perfectly pale and the only ornament she wore was a heavy chain of gold that ran around her throat.

“Do sit,” she said. “You should be comfortable.” As she spoke she sat down on the couch he had leapt from and crossed her legs delicately, making the dress move and reveal enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. He sat down beside her, trying to find a scrap of the resolution he had summoned before.

“Do I please you?” she said softly.

“You are beautiful, but I am looking for . . . a woman I used to know.”

She pouted and he wanted to kiss her with a terrible ache, to gather her into his arms and make her gasp. The image of it made his senses reel, and he realized the air had filled with a perfume that made him dizzy. Her hand reached out and touched him just at the top of the greave, where inches of his bare brown leg were revealed. He shivered slightly and then came to his senses in shock. He rose to his feet in a sudden movement.

“Are you expecting payment from me?”

The girl looked confused and younger than he had first thought. “I don’t do it for love,” she said, a good deal of the softness in her voice suddenly missing.

“Is Servilia here? She will want to see me.”

The girl slumped into the couch, her flirtatious manner gone in an instant. “She doesn’t see centurions, you know. You have to be a consul to have a go with her.”

Brutus stared at her in horror.

“Servilia!” he shouted, striding past the pool to the other side of the room. “Where are you?”

He heard a clatter of running feet approaching behind one door, so he quickly opened another and slipped through, closing it on the laughter of the girl on the couch. He found himself in a long corridor with a gaping slave looking at him, bearing a tray of drinks.

“You can’t come through here!” the slave shouted, but Brutus pushed him aside, sending the drinks flying. The slave bolted away, then two men blocked the corridor at the end. Both held clubs and together they filled the narrow walkway, their shoulders brushing the walls as they strode toward him.

“Had a bit too much to drink, have you?” one of them grated as they closed.

Brutus drew his gladius in one smooth movement. It glittered, the blade etched like the greave with swirling designs that caught the light. Both men paused, suddenly uncertain.

“Servilia!” Brutus yelled at the top of his voice, keeping the sword leveled at the men. They drew daggers from their belt sheaths and advanced slowly.

“You cocky little bugger!” one said, waving his blade. “Think you can come in here and do what you like? I never got the chance to kill an officer before, but I’m going to enjoy this.”

Brutus stiffened. “Stand to attention, you ignorant bastards,” he snapped at them. “If I see a blade pointing my way, I will have you hanged.”

The two men hesitated as he glared at them, responding to the tone almost as a reflex. Brutus took a furious step toward them.

“You tell me how men of your age have left their legion to guard a whorehouse. Deserters?”

“No . . . sir. We served with Primigenia.”

Brutus held his face stiff to mask his surprise and delight. “Under Marius?” he demanded.

The older of the pair nodded. By now they were standing erect before him, and Brutus looked them up and down as if it were an inspection.

“If I had time, I would show you the letter he wrote to send me to my century in Greece. I marched with him to the steps of the Senate house to demand his Triumph. Do not shame his memory.”

The two men blinked in discomfort as Brutus spoke. He let the silence stretch for a moment.

“Now, I have
business
with a woman named Servilia. You can fetch her to me, or take me to her, but you will act like soldiers while I’m here, understood?”

As the two men nodded, a door slammed open at the end of the corridor and a female voice snapped out.

“Stand away from him and give me a clear line of sight.”

The two guards didn’t move, their eyes locked on the young centurion. The tension showed in their shoulders, but they remained still.

Brutus spoke clearly to them. “Is this the one?”

The older man was sweating with strain. “She is the lady of the house,” he confirmed.

“Then do as she tells you, gentlemen.”

Without another word, the two guards stepped aside to reveal a woman sighting down the length of an arrow at Brutus.

“Are you Servilia?” he said, noting the slight shake of her arms as they began to tire.

“The name you have been yelling like a street brat selling fish? I own this house.”

“I am no danger to you,” Brutus replied. “And I’d ease off on that bow before you shoot someone by accident.”

Servilia glanced at her guards and seemed to find comfort in their presence. With a release of breath, she unbent the bow, though Brutus saw she held it so it could be quickly drawn and fired if he rushed at her. She had known the threats of soldiers before, he guessed.

The woman Brutus saw there was nothing like the one from the room of statues. She was as tall and slim as he was, with long dark hair that hung loose about her shoulders. Her skin glowed with sun and health and her face was not beautiful, in fact was almost ugly, but the wide mouth and dark eyes had a knowing sensuality that he thought would ensnare many men. Her hands were wide and strong on the bow, and gold bangles chimed on her wrists as she moved.

He took in every detail of her and felt pain as he recognized a touch of himself in the line of her perfect throat.

“You don’t know me,” he said quietly.

“What did you say?” she said, coming closer. “You disrupt my home and carry a blade into my rooms. I should have you whipped raw, and do not think your pretty rank will save you.”

She walked superbly, he thought. He had seen that sort of sexual confidence in a woman only once before, at the temple of Vesta, where the virgins moved with insolence in every stride, knowing it was death to any man who touched them. She had something of that and he felt himself becoming aroused, sickened by it, but not knowing how to feel like a son. Blood rushed into his face and neck and she smiled sensually, showing sharp white teeth.

“I thought you would look older,” he murmured, and a look of irritation came into her eyes.

“I look how I look. I still don’t know you.”

Brutus sheathed his sword. He wanted to say who he was and have shock break through her confidence, to see her eyes widen in amazement as she realized what an impressive young man he was.

Then it all seemed worthless. A long-suppressed memory came to him of overhearing Julius’s father talking about her, and he sighed to have it confirmed. He was in a whorehouse, no matter how rich it seemed. It didn’t really matter what she thought of him.

“My name is Marcus. I am your son,” he said, shrugging.

She froze as still as one of her statues. For a long moment she held his gaze, then her eyes filled with tears and she dropped the bow with a clatter and ran back down the corridor, slamming the door behind her with a force that shook the walls.

The guard was looking at Brutus with his mouth open.

“Is that true, sir?” he said gruffly. Brutus nodded and the man flushed with embarrassment. “We didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you. Look, I’m going to leave now. Is anyone waiting to put a bolt in me as I go through the door?”

The guard relaxed slightly. “No,” he said. “Me and the lad are the only guards. She doesn’t need them, as a rule.”

Brutus turned to leave and the guard spoke again.

“Sulla had Primigenia cut off the rolls in the Senate. We had to take what work we could find.”

Brutus turned back to him, wishing he had more to offer.

“I know where you are now. I can find you again if I need you,” he said. The guard stretched out his hand and Brutus took it in the legionary grip.

On his way out, Brutus passed through the room with the pool, thankful to find it empty. He paused only to collect his helmet and splash a little of the water on his face and neck. It didn’t help cool his confusion. He felt dazed by events and desperately wanted to find somewhere quiet where he could think through what had happened. The thought of struggling in the busy crowds was an irritation, but he would have to get back to the estate. He had no other home.

At the gate, a slave came running toward him. He almost drew his sword again at the running footsteps, but the slave was another young girl, unarmed. She panted as she reached him and he noticed the rise and fall of her chest almost absently. Another beauty. It seemed the house was full of them.

“The mistress told me you should return here tomorrow morning. She will see you then.”

Inexplicably, Brutus felt his spirits lift at the words.

“I will be here,” he said.

*      *      *

The pattern along the coast suggested the next settlement would be farther than the soldiers could march in a day. They made better time when they crossed the tracks of heavy animals and could follow them until they turned away from the coast. Julius was unwilling to travel too far from the sound of crashing surf for fear of losing themselves completely. When they turned off a trail, it was hard, sweaty work to cut their way through stalks and thornbushes as high as a man’s head and tipped with red thorns as if already marked in blood. Away from the sea, the air was thick with moisture, and stinging insects plagued them all, rising unseen from the heavy leaves as the Romans disturbed them.

As they made camp for the evening, Julius wondered if the isolation of the Roman settlements was evidence of some farsighted plan of the Senate’s to prevent these disparate villages banding together as the generations passed, but guessed it was just to give them room to grow. He supposed he could have pushed the men on through the dark, but the officers from
Accipiter
were far less comfortable in the hot African night than those who had grown up on that coast. Strange animal calls and screams woke them and had hands reaching for their swords, while the recruits slept on, oblivious.

Julius had given Pelitas the task of selecting guards for the watches, matching new men with those he trusted, in pairs. He was well aware that every mile along the narrow game tracks was a chance for the young villagers to desert. With weapons scarce, they went unarmed during the day, but swords had to be given to those on watch, and one or two of them eyed the old iron blades with something like avarice. Julius hoped it was a greed for the things of their fathers, not a desire to steal what they could and run.