Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (36 page)

Cato passed through the gate, smiling slightly as he saw the numbers of armed men in the area.

“Expecting a war, Caesar?” he said.

“A legion must drill, Senator. I would not like to be caught unprepared,” Julius replied. He frowned as Cato’s men entered behind their master. He had to allow it, but he thanked his house gods for his foresight in bringing so many of Primigenia out of the city barracks. Cato’s men would be dead in seconds if he gave the order. Their faces showed they understood this as well as anyone as their horses were led away, leaving them exposed in the open courtyard.

Cato looked at him. “Are you now the general of Primigenia, then? I do not recall an application having been made at the Senate house.” His voice was light and without threat, but Julius stiffened, knowing he had to watch every word.

“It has yet to be made official, but I speak for them,” he replied. Courtesy demanded he offer the senator a seat and refreshment after his journey, but he could not bring himself to utter the fictions of politeness, even knowing Cato would take it as a small triumph.

Renius and Brutus moved to Julius’s side and Cato looked from one to the other, seemingly unaffected by the men he faced.

“Very well, Julius. I will speak to you of my son,” Cato said. “I have offered gold for him and had it refused. I have come tonight to ask what you do want for him.”

He raised his head and Julius saw his deep-set eyes were bright. He wondered if this man had ordered the killing of Pompey’s daughter. Would the risk be lessened from him if he handed Germinius back to his father? Or would it be seen as a weakness that Cato would use to scatter his house in ashes?

“He has taken oath, Senator. There—”

“You are understrength, are you not?” Cato interrupted. “I can have a thousand men here tomorrow morning. Healthy slaves from my own estate to be the backbone of Primigenia.”

Renius growled suddenly, “There are no slaves in the legions, Senator. Primigenia are freemen.”

Cato waved a hand as if it was of no consequence. “Free them after they have taken your precious oath, then. I have no doubt a man like you will find a way, Renius. You are so . . . resourceful.” As he spoke, a fraction of his spite gleamed through and Julius knew to give way to him would be to invite destruction.

“My answer is no, Senator. The oath cannot be bought back.”

Cato looked at them without speaking for a moment.

“You leave me no choice then. If my son must serve two years with you, I want him alive at the end of it. I will send the men”—he paused—“
freed
slaves, Renius. I will send them to you to protect my son.”

“When you have freed them, they may not do what you want,” Renius replied, matching the senator glare for glare.

“They will come,” Cato snapped. “Few men are as troublesome to me as you have been.”

“They will not be your son’s guards if they come to Primigenia,” Julius said. “Believe me when I say I will not allow it.”

“Will you give me
nothing
?” Cato said, his voice rising in anger. All movement in the courtyard changed as hands began to creep toward swords.

“If the gods allow, I will give you your son two years from now. That is all,” Julius replied firmly.

“See that you do, Caesar. If he does not survive . . .” He spoke through clenched teeth, all pretence at calm gone, “Be
sure
he does.”

Turning on his heel, he signaled to his men to open the gate. The soldiers of Primigenia reached it first and Cato climbed into his carriage without a backward glance.

Brutus turned to Julius as the closing gate hid the view of Cato’s men.

“What are you
thinking
? How many of his ‘freed slaves’ will be spies, do you think? How many will be assassins? Have you thought of that? Gods, you have to find a way to stop him.”

“Don’t you want a thousand more for Primigenia?” Julius said.

“At that cost? No, I think I’d rather give Germinius back to his father, or have taken the gold. If it was a smaller number, we could have them watched, but a thousand! A full half of Primigenia we can’t trust. It’s insane.”

“He’s right, you know,” Renius added. “A hundred would be more than I’d like to take in, never mind this many.”

Julius looked at both of them. They had not been there when he had scoured the coasts for Roman sons, nor when he’d found his veterans in Greece.

“We will make them ours,” he said, ignoring his own doubts.

*      *      *

Having slept until the sun rose to its greatest height above the wintry city, Cato suffered with a headache that even hot wine could not shift. It throbbed slightly as he listened to Antonidus, hardly able to bear his posturing.

“Ten thousand sesterces is high, even for a death, Antonidus,” he said. He enjoyed watching the prickle of sweat that broke out on the general’s brow, knowing as well as the man himself that if the money wasn’t paid, a sure death would come from the assassins’ spite. Keeping him waiting was a petty response, Cato knew, but still he let the time drag out, tapping his fingers idly on the arm of his couch. Pompey’s public enmity was to have been expected, of course, even if the assassin hadn’t left a clay token in the little girl’s grip, as he had been told to do. Cato could not have guessed the senator would throw away his favors simply to make the point, though he could applaud the subtlety of the move. He had hoped Pompey would act in grief and folly, allowing Cato to have him arrested and removed from the games of power in the Senate. Instead Pompey had shown a restraint that marked him as a more dangerous enemy than he had realized. Cato sighed and scratched the corner of his mouth. If he were judged by his enemies, he was surely a power in Rome.

“I would be tempted to withdraw my support and my funds from your revenge, Antonidus, if it wasn’t for the matter of this trial of yours. I have hired Rufius Sulpicius to be your advocate.”

“I can argue against Caesar myself, Senator. It is a simple enough case,” Antonidus responded in surprise.

“No, I want that young cockerel humiliated. From what I have seen, he is young enough and rash enough to be brought down easily. A public embarrassment in front of the magistrates and the plebeians should remove some of the fresh gloss of his tribune rank. We may even demand his death for the wrongs you have suffered.” Cato rubbed his forehead with his eyes closed, his full mouth pursing. “There
is
a price for my son and he must pay it. Use Sulpicius. There are few better minds in Rome than his. He will appoint the jurists for you and find the precedents in custom. I have no doubt that this Caesar will be well prepared. Have you sent the summons?”

“No, I was waiting for a date to be set. I have applied to the praetor, but there has been no reply as yet.”

“That, Antonidus, is why you need a man like Sulpicius. Meet with him and let him handle the case. He will secure a date for trial in a month or less. That is his business, you know. Your precious house will be back in your hands, for which I expect you to be suitably grateful and indebted to me.”

“I am, Senator. And the money?”

“Yes, yes,” Cato said waspishly, “you will have your funds, both for the court and . . . the other matter. Now leave me to my rest. The day has been long and tiring.”

Even in the privacy of his own home, he did not speak without care, taking pleasure in the forms of conspiracy that forced him to employ men like Antonidus. He knew that many of the senators saw him as a man only of words, preferring the cut of a reply to their martial posturing. The assassins were a delicious departure from his usual intrigue, and he found the power it gave him quite intoxicating. To be able to point to any man and call down a death on him was a thrill even for a palate as jaded as his own. As the general left, he called for a cool cloth to drape over his face.

  CHAPTER
32
  

T
he trial began as the sky lightened to the east of Rome, the false dawn that woke the workers and sent the thieves and whores to their own beds. The area in the forum that was set aside for legal proceedings was still torch-lit from the night, and a large crowd had gathered at the boundary, held back only by the solid line of soldiers from the city barracks. Under the direct command of the praetor who would oversee the trial, these were charged with keeping the peace in the event of an unpopular verdict, and the crowd was careful not to come within range of the staffs they carried. Unusually, for a case concerning such an apparently minor matter, the benches on either side of the advocates’ square were also full. Many of the people Julius knew from the Senate had come to listen, either at his invitation or the call of Antonidus. His own family had stayed at the estate outside Rome. Cornelia and his daughter had to remain under the protection of Primigenia, and Julius did not want Tubruk anywhere near Antonidus or the senators, for all his assurances that he could not be recognized.

Julius’s searching gaze found Brutus in the second row of three, sitting next to a woman who raised her head to look back at him. There was something disturbing in her cool appraisal, and he wondered how she seemed to stand out against the crowd around her, as if she were sitting fractionally closer than anyone else. In a timeless moment, she leaned back slowly, arresting his attention. Her hair was unbound, and before he summoned the will to break the contact, she raised a hand to pull a tendril back from where it had fallen loose over her face.

Forcing himself to relax and concentrate, he breathed in the warm air, going over the points he had prepared with his jurists in the weeks after the formal summons. If the case was judged fairly, he knew they had an excellent chance of winning, but if any of the three magistrates was in the pay of his enemies, the trial could be a mockery, with everything won but the final verdict. His gaze swept over the gathering crowd, all of them oblivious to what was at stake. They had come for the entertainment of oratory, to cheer or curse clever points of debate. Julius hoped too that some had come because of the rumors his jurists had started around the city, that the trial was to be nothing less than a defense of Marius. There did seem to be a lot of the plebeians in attendance, and the sellers of baked fish and steaming bread were doing a fine trade already as the people waited patiently for the magistrates and the praetor to make their entrance.

Julius looked again at the draped shields that Alexandria had completed, and noticed that many of the crowd craned their necks for a glimpse of them as well, pointing and talking amongst themselves. Only Alexandria, Tabbic, and himself knew what was under the thick folds of cloth, and Julius felt a touch of excitement at the response they would get when he unveiled them at last.

Behind him, his three jurists shuffled through their papers and notes one more time, their heads bowed in low mutters. Hiring Quintus Scaevola to help him prepare the case had cost him two talents of gold, but there were few men in Rome with a better command of the twin laws of custom and the Twelve Tables. It had taken such a vast fee just to tempt him out of retirement, but despite his arthritic stiffness, the brain behind the heavy-lidded eyes had turned out to be as sharp as Julius had been told. Julius watched Quintus as he scribbled a footnote to the papers for the trial and caught his eye as he looked upward in thought.

“Nervous?” Quintus asked, waving the sheaf at the court and the shadowed crowds beyond.

“A little,” Julius admitted. “There is a great deal at stake.”

“Remember the point of value. You always leave that one out.”

“I remember, Quintus. We’ve been over it enough times,” Julius replied. He had grown to like the elderly jurist, although the man seemed to live only for the law and cared nothing for the other concerns of the city. As a joke in their first week of preparation, Julius had asked him what he would do if he found one of his sons setting fire to a house in the city. After a great deal of silent thought, Quintus had said that he would not be able to take the case as the law forbade calling himself as a witness.

Quintus pressed the notes into Julius’s hands, his expression stern. “Do not be afraid to consult, remember. They will try to make you speak without thought. If you feel the arguments are slipping from you, turn away and I will advise as best I can. Do you remember the passage from the Twelve Tables?”

Julius raised his eyes in exasperation. “The one we all memorized as children? Yes, I know it.”

Quintus sniffed at the sarcasm. “Perhaps you should recite it again to be sure,” he said, unmoved.

Julius opened his mouth to reply, but a light cheer from the crowd interrupted him.

“It’s the magistrates . . . and the praetor. Only an hour late, Master Scaevola,” one of the younger jurists hissed to Quintus. Julius looked to follow their gaze and saw the group come out of the Senate building, where they had been preparing.

The crowd fell silent in anticipation as the group of four men walked slowly with their guards into the court area. Julius scrutinized them carefully. The praetor was unknown to him, a short red-faced man with a bald crown. He walked with his head bowed as if in prayer, taking his seat on the raised platform that had been assembled for the trial. Julius watched as the praetor nodded to the centurion of the guards and signaled for the magistrates to take their seats next to him.

These men were familiar enough and Julius breathed a silent sigh of relief as he saw none of them were faces he recognized from the factions in the Senate. His worst fear was that they would be Cato’s creatures, but he brightened as one of them smiled at him. The people’s tribune took his place last as the most senior of the magistrates. The crowd let out a ragged cheer for their representative, and the man smiled back at them, raising his hand briefly in acknowledgment. His name was Servius Pella, which was just about all Julius could call to mind about him. His hair was white and cropped close to an angular skull with deep-set eyes that seemed black in the dim light of the torches. Fleetingly, Julius wished he had taken the time to meet the man at one of the Senate meetings, but shoved the thought aside. It was pointless to worry about the magistrates, he knew. If he could deal with the posturing of Antonidus’s advocate Rufius, he had a strong enough case. If he was humiliated, he would lose not only the house that had belonged to Marius, but also a great deal of his status in the Senate and the city itself. He could not regret the risks he had taken in forcing the trial. Marius would have expected no less.

Julius glanced over to where Cato sat and found the heavy gaze fastened on him with interest. Bibilus was there at his side, as always, and Catalus. Julius saw that Suetonius was sitting with his father, with the same supercilious smile on each face. Their expressions would have marked them as kin even if he hadn’t known it already.

Julius looked away rather than show his anger after the revelations from Cornelia. Cato’s supporters would learn to fear in time, as he removed the pillars of their influence, one by one.

Quintus patted Julius’s shoulder and sat down with the other jurists. The crowd shuffled and whispered as they sensed the trial was about to start. Julius glanced again at the shields, checking that the drapes hadn’t slipped to reveal even a part of them.

The praetor stood slowly, his hands smoothing the folds of his toga. With a motion, he ordered the torches snuffed and everyone present waited as each light was covered, leaving the gray dawn to light the forum.

“This august court is convened on the ninety-fourth day of the consular year. Let the records be marked. I charge all present in the sight of the gods that they shall speak only truth here, under penalty of banishment. If any man declares falsehood in this court, he will be denied fire, salt, and water and sent far from this city, never to return, in accordance with the edicts.”

The praetor paused, turning to catch the eye of first Antonidus, then Julius. Both men dipped their heads to show understanding, and he continued, his voice a sharp ring across the silent rows.

“In this case of
rei vindicatio,
who is the plaintiff?”

Antonidus stepped forward onto the floor of the court. “I am, sir. General Antonidus Severus Sertorius. I claim wrongful possession of my property.”

“And who will speak on your behalf?”

“Rufius Sulpicius is my advocate,” Antonidus replied. His words created a buzz of excitement in the crowd, causing the praetor to look sternly at them.

“Step forward the defendant,” he said loudly.

Julius stepped off the platform that held the shields, and faced Antonidus across the floor.

“I am Gaius Julius Caesar, the defendant before this court. I claim possession of the property. I speak for myself.”

“Have you brought a part of it for the symbol?”

“I have, your honor,” Julius replied. He turned to the row of draped cloths and deftly twitched one away, revealing the first bronze shield to the court. A gasp went up from the crowd and a pleased whispering commenced.

The shield was all Julius had hoped. Alexandria had given everything to its creation, fully aware that in front of the court and Senate, she could make her name in a single day.

The shield was ringed in bronze beading, but all eyes were fixed on the face and shoulders of the main figure of Marius, a life-size relief that glared out at those assembled. The whispering went on and on and then a cheer started in the crowd as they tried to show their approval for the dead general.

Antonidus spoke in fierce conversation with his advocate, and the man cleared his throat for the attention of the magistrates. The noise from the crowd was too much for the praetor, and he sent a flat hand signal to the centurion of the court guards. As one, the soldiers crashed the butts of their staffs into the paving and the crowd settled, wary of attack. Rufius stood forward, a bony vulture of a man dressed in a dark robe. He pointed with a sneer at the shield.

“Honorable Praetor. My client insists that this . . . item was not part of the house in dispute. It cannot qualify as the symbol unless it was part of the property.”

“I know the law, Rufius. Do not presume to lecture me,” the praetor replied stiffly. He turned his head to Julius. “Can you answer?”

“It is true that while Antonidus was in unlawful possession of the house of Marius, no such shield hung on the walls, but it was hanging this morning and will do as well as anything as the symbol of disputed ownership. I can produce witnesses to attest this,” Julius said smoothly.

The praetor nodded. “That will not be necessary, Caesar. I accept your point. The shield will be used.”

He frowned as a fresh cheer came from the crowd around them, and almost raised his hand for another signal to the guards. At this, the people fell silent, knowing better than to push his patience too far.

“Plaintiff and defendant, approach the symbol and complete the rite of dispute,” he said loudly.

Antonidus crossed the court floor, a slender spear held in his hand. Julius stepped up onto the platform with him, keeping his face blank of any triumph that would offend the magistrates. Julius touched his spear to the shield with a tiny ring of metal, then stood back. Antonidus brought his own point down and his mouth tightened as someone in the crowd jeered the act. Then he turned his back on Julius and walked back to his station by Rufius, who stood with his arms folded, relaxed and untroubled by the exchange.

“The property has been marked for dispute. The trial may now begin,” the praetor intoned, settling himself in his seat for comfort. His part of the proceedings was now over until the time came to dismiss the court. The three magistrates stood and bowed to him before one of them cleared his throat.

“As plaintiff, your advocate must speak first,” the magistrate said to Antonidus. Rufius bowed to him and took three steps out into the floor to better command the space.

“Praetor, Magistrates, Senators,” he began. “This is a simple case, though the penalties incurred involve the extremes of our law. Five weeks ago, the defendant brought armed men into the city for the purpose of violence. Such a crime is punishable by death or banishment. In addition, the defendant employed his men in breaking into a private house, that of the plaintiff, General Antonidus. The punishment for that is a mere whipping, but after death that may be seen as unnecessary cruelty.” He paused while a titter of laughter ran along the benches of the court. The crowd outside remained silent.

“Rough hands were laid on the servants and guards of the house, and when the owner returned, he was forbidden entry to his own home by the same soldiers.

“He is not a vengeful man, but the crimes against him are many and grave. As his advocate, I call on you to administer the sternest punishment. Death by the sword is the only possible answer to such a flouting of Rome’s laws.”

A polite clapping came from the men around Cato, and Rufius nodded briefly to them as he resumed his seat, his bright eyes belying the air of relaxation he pretended.

“And now the defendant,” the magistrate continued. Nothing in his manner showed whether he had been moved by Rufius’s words, but still Julius stepped forward with a hollow feeling in his stomach. He had known they could try for death, but hearing it in court made it a reality that shook his confidence.

“Praetor, Magistrates, Senators, people of Rome,” Julius said loudly enough to carry to the crowd. They cheered this, though the praetor frowned at him. Julius ordered his thoughts before continuing. Instinctively, he felt that the defense of Marius would appeal more to the people who had suffered under Sulla than to the silent judges, but playing to them was a dangerous course and could even sway the magistrates against a strong case. He would have to be careful.

“This case has a longer history than five weeks,” he began. “It begins on a night three years ago when the city prepared for civil war. Marius was the legally appointed consul of Rome, and his legion had fortified the city against attack—”